Chicago has changed in countless ways since my departure (and grudging return) from Earth—um…I mean the Czech Republic. Skyscrapers of oddly metallic pedigree have replaced squat, ugly, Gothom-esque newspaper headquarters…the Art Institute has begun to employ biometric security measures: rather like Star Trek on a shoestring budget; and, most charmingly, the Michigan Avenue bridge has been renamed in honor of Chicago’s founder—a towering figure in African American history with a decidedly French name. I’m disturbed by some of Chicago’s changes, gladdened by others, and somewhat amused by most. The Art Institute of Chicago—aside from retina scanners—has also expanded northward. It’s new, Modern Wing (which opened in May of 2009) has considerably opened the venerable Art Institute, though such an expansion come at a negligible cost. One of the fountains is gone. It was my favorite fountain, possibly because my friend, Oleg, fell into it in a way that was probably more street performance than accident. Oleg has an intriguing relationship with water. He’s rather like an ostrich within sight of water deep enough for wading. If you’ve ever seen ostriches reacting to ponds, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Who knew that desert birds were so fond of impersonating swans with over-fluffed feathers!? For as graceful as they are, when running, they’re doubly graceful—and flagrantly surprising—when doing the swan thing. Oleg, for as much of a land-lubber as a Russianized Ukrainian might seem, he’s a water critter. If he’s neck-deep in the stuff, he’s quite happy. Unfortunately, Oleg’s fountain is gone. As are the school-kids gawking at him. On the most recent Renderosity Sunday, Oleg’s absence wasn’t an issue. No one missed his fountain. A whole new-ish wing of the museum itself stood proudly where once there were splash puddles. On the day that I made this photograph, I met LovelyPoetess for the first time. As expected, she lives up to her name, though she was more photographic than poetic on that day. Ah, but poetry is such a solitary thing: one goes into poetry mode, usually when there isn’t a swanky camera in hand to offer the charming distraction of things to see…and so I hung out with Tara and Bill, Corey, and Yvonne: laughing, talking, laughing, meandering around, assuming strange poses, and snapping photographs of things. On the east wall of the Art Institute Modern Wing, I saw what resembled piano keys, and naturally, I simply had to photograph them. Later, I noticed colors: reflected sky and odd louvers, rather like post-modern vertical blinds—the kind you’d read about in a William Gibson novel. I had to photograph those as well…and somewhere between conversation and a quick cigarette break, I snapped yet another picture of the same eastern wall: because of the colors. I rather liked the sky reflected in metal-interrupted panes of glass…and this is the shot I managed to find. I stood bare feet away from the dead and recontextualized foundation of Oleg’s fountain. I rather like this view better than the old dingy view…and I’m not too upset with the loss of the fountain. I’m sure Oleg has found another one to fall into in whatever performance mood dictates such dramatic tumbles, splashes, and school-kid giggles. I rather enjoyed making this photo, and thank you for taking a peek, reading and commenting. Hopefully, you’re all on the verge of a fantastic, productive, fun week.