I am fond of cities with rivers. Berwyn has no water of its own, but its proximity to Chicago makes it tolerable—and there are woodlice in Berwyn. I saw one a few days ago: a bedraggled, winter-worn thing making its way from one darkened place to another. There is water enough for woodlice in Berwyn, but such water exists only in the form of moisture. There are no free-standing bodies of the stuff: puddles notwithstanding. Chicago (just a few, scant kilometers to the east) possesses numerous sources of free-standing water: there is Lake Michigan, and there is the Chicago River. To the south, Lake Calumet stamps the local environment with its own influence, as does the Cal Sag canal; this human-made river winds its way through the southern and south-western reaches of the Greater Chicago Metropolitan Area, scarcely touching Chicago itself. Because of my fondness for water, I find that I must live within easy access to it. This was no problem when I lived closer to the lake, years ago. When I lived in Prague, this was no problem: my beloved home-city stands firmly within the mold-friendly deeps of a verdant river valley; the Vltava (a queen among rivers) is sometimes impossible to avoid. This suits me. Chicago, on the other hand, is a massive sprawl: a textbook example of divergence. The racial/ethnic divisions within the city are marked by the presence (or absence) of water, carcinogen-content (or the lack of it) in the soil, and other telling socioeconomic/class/ethnic indicators. In short: clean, pretty water, is an indicator of race and class. The far south and west sides of Chicago are not considered culturally viable or economically appealing. They are gulags. None of this is visible from the core of the city: that region of Chicago dedicated to the worship of the city’s Most Holy Trinity: Money, Commercialism, and Lifestyle Design. There is a particular charm to the core of the city, however. The Near North region of Chicago seduces with a kind of shock and awe precision, and the northern regions of the city are quite nice (and metaphorically gated.) The Gold Coast and regions thereabout give unbiased considerations to the city’s museums, galleries, and rodents. The Loop and the city’s big business sector are equally generous in their trust-endowments, held in scrupulous care for future generations of banks, ad agencies, botox-dealers, law firms, and rodents. For all of this, I cannot say that I hate Chicago. I’ve left the confines of the city, but I can walk there if I choose; if I take rail-based public transport, I will—inevitably—find myself in the neighborhood of Pilsen: strangely fitting, though it is no longer home to the city’s (and the country’s) most massive Czech and Slovakian communities. (Remnant Czech and Slovakian names still linger there, though now they’re endowed with the sensual, piquant music of Spanish inflection.) Pilsen offers an alternative to the humdrum psychosis of Chicago, and it’s pretty. By Chicago standards, that counts for something, I suppose. Pilsen and its brazen display of personality will eventually find a way into my gallery, but for now, my camera has captured the more central and northerly stretches of the city’s presentable face. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great week/end.