Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Why I am here: On beauty in the Menomonee Valley


A constant, rhythmic thunder reverberates from the steel underside of the wide freeway overhead. Below, the Menomonee River slides silently between tilted flanks of concrete. Colorful graffiti decorates floodwalls on both sides of the channel; a skull motif interspersed with a surprisingly aesthetic tagging style.


Two young women walk slowing along the canted concrete. They stop now and then to photograph, one with a digital SLR, the other with a cell phone. They seem like students. When I reach them I ask. One says yes, they have come all the way into Milwaukee from UW-Waukesha.


When I explain my own presence as artist in residence their expressions brighten with curiosity. One of them asks if there are any other places they can go to get good pictures. I hesitate, not knowing where to begin. Before I can formulate an answer, misinterpreting my gesture, she responds: “I guess not, huh?”

“On the contrary,” I reply quickly. “There are too many choices to describe them all. That’s why I’m here.”

To allay her sudden bewilderment I mention a couple of locations nearby that I revisit regularly. Then we part, setting off in opposite directions along the railroad tracks, seeking—each in our own fashion—to capture a fragment of this remarkable and complex place in the warmth of an Indian summer afternoon.


Myriad questions follow me down the tracks: I wonder what drew them to the Menomonee Valley, these two students from suburban Waukesha County? What will it mean to them? What essence of this place will they express in their photographs? Does it speak to them, as it does to me, in a cacophony of overlapping voices?

The Menomonee Valley is a model for economic redevelopment that integrates business and industry with restoration of natural processes. The post-industrial landscape still bears scars from decades of neglect and abuse and yet the new industrial landscape rising among them includes attractive parks and recreational venues. Here is a symbol of new urbanism, a contrary voice of hope in a world we are constantly told is facing imminent environmental collapse. Its story is one of transformation, not merely or even primarily the transformation of the land itself, as significant as that has been. There is a deeper narrative, one rooted in how we as humans relate to the land, how we have changed.


Rebecca Solnit says, “If environmental problems are really cultural problems—about the nature of our desires and perceptions—then a crucial territory to explore or transform is the territory of the mind.”1

What we have learned, here in the Menomonee Valley as elsewhere, is that our actions have consequences that often we cannot foresee. The destruction of a wild rice marsh once seemed so insignificant a price to pay for the growth of an industrial economy that no portion of it was spared. But, slowly, like an alcoholic trying with erratic success to stay on the wagon, we are learning how to live on the earth without destroying it. We are reintroducing natural features into a landscape thoroughly altered by human activity. In the process we are reintroducing ourselves to nature and learning to value its many manifestations, even and perhaps especially in the heart of the city.


As a counterpoint to common scenarios of environmental disaster, the transformation of the Menomonee Valley can resound as one of the success stories that symbolize the more important changes in the territory of the mind.

“Many…artists have been driven by a moral imperative” to play a role in this transformation, says Solnit. Like many rust-belt regions, the Menomonee Valley has been a magnet for artists. The two student photographers from Waukesha are just the latest to come here for inspiration. Are they here to mine the decaying past or celebrate the possibility of a brighter future?

I concur with Robert Adams who said, “The job of the photographer, in my view, is not to catalogue indisputable fact but to try to be coherent about intuition and hope.”2 Photography has a long tradition of aligning itself with concerns for nature and conservation of wilderness, as exemplified by an earlier Adams named Ansel. But in the late 20th Century Robert Adams and other photographers of the “New Topographics” school began to question the popular wilderness aesthetic. Pointing their cameras at human-altered landscapes, they rejected “longstanding landscape paradigms of the picturesque, pastoral, and sublime.”3 Instead they championed a clear-eyed examination of the land and our often troubling relationships with it.


Their efforts, arguably, have contributed a great deal to the still nascent transformation of the mind that is necessary to creating new, healthier and more sustainable relationships with the land. Today, of course, many things have changed, including photography, which is more democratic than ever. New technologies enable more people to photograph anything and everything, everywhere. Like the cacophony of voices that must be deciphered to hear the story of the Menomonee Valley, a multiplicity of overlapping paradigms now prevails in how we perceive our place on the land and in the world.

The romantic view is alive and well, sitting, somewhat uncomfortably perhaps, alongside dispassionate critique. New paradigms have joined the mix. Some of the voices are passionate advocates for change. Some speak of the need for community; others for a resurgence of spiritual perspectives.


Many of these paradigms are playing out in the Menomonee Valley. Part of my role as artist in residence, I believe, is to try to untangle the various threads of the story and “to be coherent about intuition and hope.” Post-industrial decay is so Twentieth Century. The challenge today is to discover and to reveal the surprising beauty of nature married with progress toward a sustainable future in unexpected places like this.

Forty years ago Robert Adams wrote, “Scenic grandeur is today sometimes painful. The beautiful places to which we journey for inspiration surprise us by the melancholy they produce.” He attributed that sense of melancholy to “the way we have damaged the country.”2 Although by many measures things have worsened since then, I believe there is reason for hope. That hope will be manifested most clearly when young people from the suburbs journey to places like the Menomonee Valley to be inspired, not by graffiti and residual blight but by the burgeoning beauty in the formerly damaged country of the inner city.

That may or may not have happened today but it is why I am here.



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Notes:

1. Solnit, Rebecca. As Eve Said to the Serpent: On Landscape, Gender, and Art. The University of Georgia Press. Athens. 2003.

2. Adams, Robert. Beauty in Photography: Essays in Defense of Traditional Values. Aperture. Millerton, N.Y. 1981.

3. Foster-Rice, Greg and Rohrbach, John. Reframing the New Topographics. Center for American Places at Columbia College Chicago. 2010.


This post is one in a series that relates to my Menomonee Valley Artist in Residency. For more information about the residency and links to previous posts and photographs, go to MV AiR.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Zimmerman is open for gallery night

You're invited!
Menomonee Valley 2014

Menomonee Valley Artist Residency
Open House
 

Along with my hosts at Zimmerman Architectural Studios I invite you to visit with me on gallery night. Come see my latest artworks.

Zimmerman Architectural Studios
2122 W. Mount Vernon St.

Friday, October 17
5:00 - 8:00 p.m.

New work and works in progress will be on display.
If you have never been to the historic gas building that Zimmerman remodeled for their offices, it's worth a visit in itself!

Refreshments will be served.

Zimmerman is easy to see but hard to find. It is the large brick structure behind the tall octagonal tower near 25th Street between St. Paul and Canal Streets. Access is from 25th Street.


If you can't make it on gallery night, feel free to contact me to make an appointment for a visit: eddee@eddeedaniel.com

Fly Fishing in the Menomonee River
To learn more about the Menomonee Valley Artist in Residency and for links to blog posts and photographs, go to MV AiR.

 

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Growing with the Menomonee Valley

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Even now, 24 years later, Kymme vividly remembers her first day in the Menomonee Valley. A sandblasting company had just hired her and she was looking for the building. She chuckles about it today, but back then it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

“I lived on the south side and was going to MATC at the time,” she told me.  “I had gone back and forth across the 16th Street Viaduct plenty of times and never paid attention to the Valley. It was an area that nobody went to. I saw railroad tracks and it was dirty and I thought there would be trouble down there. It looked scary!”
16th Street Viaduct
Then came the fateful day that the temp agency she worked for to help pay for college assigned her to the sandblasting company. She reminisced: “I had to find my way into the Valley. I don’t remember the address—probably it was Canal Street. The road didn’t even seem like a road. I had no idea where to go.”

She finally found the business in a non-descript building at the end of a dusty path lined with used tires. She recalls working there for a couple of months. For about a year after that she again gave little thought to the Valley. Then she was surprised to learn about a bingo hall that was under construction at the very location where the sandblasting company had been. “You couldn’t see the bingo hall from the viaduct,” she said with a smile.

As we spoke finishing touches were being added to the new 19-story hotel now looming over that viaduct. But even before the new addition it’s been many years since anyone could cross the 16th Street Viaduct without noticing the presence of Potawatomi Bingo & Casino (recently renamed Potawatomi Hotel & Casino). Kymme’s personal story is closely tied with the continual transformation that began with that first bingo hall, a transformation that extends from Potawatomi’s periods of expansion to revitalization of the surrounding Menomonee Valley, the place she had once shunned as scary.

The hotel opened in August
“I was hired February 28, 1991 and we opened in March. I was here from the beginning,” she said proudly. Kymme started as a pull-tab clerk. This meant walking up and down the bingo aisles selling tabs or tickets with combinations of symbols, some of which would be winning combinations that could be turned in for a cash prize. For several years after that she worked as the paper clerk who sold bingo sheets. Because of her qualifications and skills, she steadily worked her way up in the organization, becoming a supervisor, a payroll specialist, and eventually executive assistant to the General Manager.

After seven years at Potawatomi Kymme, who is Oneida, decided to take a break and return to her home in northern Wisconsin. The hiatus lasted two years before she returned. “I was bored up there,” she freely admits. Back in Milwaukee she studied bioscience at UWM, her sights aimed on a career as a crime scene investigator. She also went back to Potawatomi, working part time to support her studies. She remembers it as a busy time when she also became “a full time mom.”

After Potawatomi opened a poker room in 2001 Kymme dealt poker for a couple years. One day a friend suggested she apply to the public relations department. They needed a community relations specialist, she was told. “I didn’t know anything about PR,” she confesses, “but I knew a lot of people in the Native American community. I had the connections and resources.” This led to the Community Relations position she’s held ever since.

One of Kymme’s favorite duties has been to coordinate the annual Powwow, which is held in the Casino’s Expo Center. Although not widely advertised, the Powwow, with its traditional dances and singing, is open to the public. “It’s also the one time you can bring children to the casino,” Kymme tells me.

Before long, as the Menomonee Valley itself began to change, Kymme found herself the go-to person for people newly interested in the Native American heritage of the vicinity. She muses, “It was kind of funny because they were calling a casino to learn stuff about Native Americans.” But it seems natural enough for two reasons. First, as Kymme puts it, “We were here before it was Milwaukee.” But more to the point, perhaps, it was the return of the Potawatomi to this degraded landscape that helped inspire Milwaukee to turn things around.

“We were the first to see the potential,” Kymme says. When the tribe began investing in the valley and cleaning up the river “there was a domino effect” as other businesses saw the value of locating there. “Slowly it became a safe place and a beautiful place.”

Kymme is particularly happy to have the opportunity to work with the Urban Ecology Center as a cultural outreach and education specialist. The Center, which opened its Menomonee Valley Branch in July, 2013, has assumed stewardship of the new Three Bridges Park and has begun to introduce the natural world to children in nearby South Side neighborhoods.

With obvious emotion Kymme concludes, “I think the ancestors who lived here before it was Milwaukee are happy now.” 


This post is one in a series that relates to my Menomonee Valley Artist in Residency. For more information about the residency and links to previous posts and photographs, go to MV AiR.  

Monday, September 15, 2014

Doors Open at Zimmerman and Menomonee Valley Art Residency

Zimmerman Architectural Studios is on the Doors Open Milwaukee tour list and as Artist in Residence I will be there too. It will be a great opportunity to tour the spectacular building and also catch up on the work I've been doing. 

Briefly, the work I have been doing has taken me far and wide in the Valley, documenting the changing landscape and meeting people who are part of the transformation and revitalization of Milwaukee's central valley.

For a more thorough description of the Art Residency and an overview of my work to date click here.



Zimmerman Architectural Studios is at 2122 W. Mount Vernon St. The building is easy to see but hard to find. It is the large brick structure behind the tall octagonal tower near 25th Street between St. Paul and Canal Streets. Access is from 25th Street.
The building will be open from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m. on Saturday, Sept. 20.

I hope you'll come for a visit.


For more information about Doors Open Milwaukee click here

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Cargill Sculpture Park: an "under-loved" park in the Menomonee Valley


Cargill, the giant food products corporation, has been in the news lately for closing its beef cattle slaughterhouse, resulting in the sudden loss of about 600 jobs. Earlier this year, it was at the center of a much quieter story of preservation. The company was in the process of demolishing several disused structures on its property. One of them, an old, decaying cattle ramp, had long formed the backdrop of a small sculpture park nestled in the Menomonee Valley.

The small, well-maintained sculpture park sits in the shadow of the 16th St. viaduct. It was created in the 1980s by Bernard Peck, vice president of the former Peck Meat Packing Corporation. Peck provided sculptors Joseph Mendla and Hilary Goldblatt with studio and gallery space and was inspired to turn part of the company’s grounds into a place for sculpture. 

"Menomonee," Hilary Goldblatt
Mendla and Goldblatt each contributed a sculpture to the new park.  Goldblatt’s contribution was a site-specific Cor-Ten steel abstraction entitled “Menomonee” that evokes the history of the Valley as well as its surroundings, including the cattle ramp and nearby viaduct. Mendla donated “Space Game,” a welded-steel sculpture with three interlocking parts in contrasting colors. The sculpture was originally intended for an indoor setting where the three pieces could be playfully rearranged. A concrete pedestal was added when the work was sited at the entrance to the corporate marketing center.

"Space Game," Joseph Mendla
(Historical note: When the family sold the Peck Meat Packing Corp. Mendla and Goldblatt moved to another Menomonee Valley studio where they established Hartbronze, which, at the time, was Milwaukee’s only commercial foundry specializing in art bronze.)

"Oops, Missed," Bernard Peck
Bernard Peck added a sculpture of his own to the park. He designed and constructed the whimsical piece entitled “Oops, Missed,” which features a stainless steel lightning bolt penetrating a brick wall topped by a lightning rod.

The 40-foot “Angel in a Cage” has perhaps the most compelling story and certainly the most commanding presence. Richard Pflieger, a student at the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design, created it for a class competition in 1983. MIAD approached Peck to find a site for the winning work and he agreed to place it in the new sculpture park. Inspired by the backyard shrines common on Milwaukee’s south side as well as the many fences in the valley, Pflieger’s bold statement suspended a fiberglass angel inside a tall cage of cyclone fencing.

"Angel in a Cage," Richard Pflieger
The news that Cargill might remove the towering sculpture mobilized members of the Milwaukee Arts Board, the Hank Aaron State Trail public arts committee (of which I am a member) and others who wanted to save it. City officials considered alternative sites, another Menomonee Valley artist offered to store it and bids were solicited for deinstalling the work.

When the concerns of the arts community and the cost of removal were presented to Cargill, though, the company decided to keep the sculpture in place. Although it might seem anticlimactic, the outcome highlighted overlapping constituencies in the Menomonee Valley, a place that is in the midst of dynamic transformation, where industries coexist with the arts, culture and recreational venues. Interest in a striking but often-overlooked sculpture park also was rekindled. For over 30 years this sculpture park has been more than a monument to Bernard Peck’s personal vision and passion for art. It is a visible statement that places art literally at the center of the industrial Valley, helping to make it more inviting and nurturing an enduring sense of place.

The part of the Cargill plant that is adjacent to the sculpture park is not part of the company that is closing down operations. Perhaps the best outcome of the story is the renewed attention the situation brought to an overlooked sculpture park. 

Untitled, Claire Liberman
This untitled stone sculpture by Claire Liberman rounds out the Cargill collection.

An edited version of this essay first appeared in Art City in a series on "Milwaukee area's under-loved parks." I want to thank Mary Louise Schumacher for inspiring this essay and creating the placemaking series on Art City.

Reference:

Buck, Diane M. and Virginia A. Palmer (1995). Outdoor Sculpture in Milwaukee: A Cultural and Historical Guidebook. The State Historical Society of Wisconsin, Madison

This post is one in a series that relates to my Menomonee Valley Artist in Residency. For more information about the residency and links to previous posts and photographs, go to MV AiR.  

Monday, August 25, 2014

Can art save Detroit?

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The Artist (detail), Grand River Avenue Creative Corridor
I wasn’t prepared for Detroit. Now that I’ve been there I wonder if anything could have prepared me for the experience, for the shock. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried. I’d read about the city’s troubled history, the bankruptcy and current malaise. I’d seen some of the many photos that have been taken of its storied architectural monuments in ruins—so many that they spawned an entire genre dubbed “ruin porn.”

That wasn’t why we chose to visit Detroit, my friends and I. The ruins have been exploited for whatever potential they possessed, an act of desperation in a city with few opportunities for economic gain. You can still find guided tours of decaying parts of the city. And it’s true that the towers with their vacant windows and hollowed interiors create an awesome and horrifying spectacle. But what affected me more deeply were the endless blocks of boarded or burned out houses and the great swathes of simply empty land in the middle of what was once the fourth largest city in the country.

The second, more hopeful surprise was the art.

Mural, Grand River Avenue Creative Corridor
Blight attracts graffiti like a dead carcass attracts flies and Detroit is awash in graffiti. But as we drove through certain neighborhoods the graffiti gave way to far more accomplished and serious murals. These often were painted in the very places you would expect to see graffiti and in fact, the murals and graffiti were so intimately intertwined that it could be difficult to disentangle the two. Moreoever, although I am no graffiti expert, it seemed that a substantial percentage of the graffiti itself had higher aesthetic aspirations than typical tagging.

We weren’t there to see graffiti. My wife and I and four friends were on a pilgrimage to see the renowned and recently controversial Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA). Talk of selling off its world-class collection to pay the city’s creditors following the bankruptcy has died down of late—fortunately. However, the mere idea that such an important public asset could have been dispersed inspired us to see what we might have missed.

Mural by Diego Rivera (detail), Detroit Institute of Arts
We were not disappointed. If we had done nothing else, visiting the DIA was worth the 7-hour drive to Detroit. The magnificent 27-panel cycle of murals by Diego Rivera in the central court is justly famous. But the entire collection is of such a high caliber that I would rank it among the best museum collections I’ve had the privilege to visit. For me it was an added boon that the superlative works of art by well-known masters often were not the ones made familiar through reproductions. 

The quality of the DIA collection was not a surprise. After all, it had been assessed for billions of dollars in anticipation of the proposed sell-off. (True! Estimates varied between four and eight billion dollars.) The surprise, given the distressed conditions, was the vitality of the contemporary art scene and the many creative projects going on elsewhere in the city. We managed to visit several, mostly in passing. At two sites, however, we were given extended personal tours.

Love. Grand River Ave. Creative Corridor offices
Driving away from downtown on Grand River Avenue is one of the places where you suddenly realize the graffiti has been supplanted with artistic murals. The Grand River Creative Corridor, as it is known, was a deliberate initiative by a real estate executive to transform the depressed strip into a creative hub that would attract tourists, artists, new businesses, entrepreneurs, and investors. Its website boasts of “over 100 murals on 15 buildings; an outdoor fine-art gallery at a bus stop; free-standing art installations;” along with cleanup efforts along the corridor.

Decorated abandoned house, African Bead Museum
Also on Grand River Avenue is the African Bead Museum. Unfortunately, we never got there during visiting hours, so we only saw the buildings from the outside. But what a treat that was! We happened upon it following an evening thunderstorm. This abandoned house, transformed into a sparkling gem with colorful designs and faceted fragments of mirrored glass, reflected a stunning sunset. The rainbow that rose over the house seemed to symbolize the potential for art to further catalyze revitalization.

Mural, Russell Industrial Center Arts Building
Within walking distance of our midtown hotel was the Russell Industrial Center, a former automobile body and parts manufacturing complex. Its post-industrial identity, like so many similarly abandoned factories, revolves around the arts, with studio space for visual artists and filmmakers. Milwaukeeans familiar with Riverwest’s Nut Factory will have to imagine that building bulked up about three times its size and then multiplied by 5. It covers “millions of square feet,” according to its website. I could fit only a fraction of the complex in a single photo.

The Alley Project
It would have been hard to find The Alley Project (TAP) without a guide. Fortunately, we were able to follow our friend Holly, an art therapy professor at Wayne State University, to the Southwest Detroit neighborhood where it’s located—literally in the alleys behind the houses. Holly introduced us to Erik Howard, the founder of TAP, on the street where he lives. Howard explained that the garage door murals that are the most visible manifestation of TAP really are incidental to the mission, which is to facilitate community relationships and improve the lives of participants. TAP connects creative young people with homeowners, who often are elderly and alone.

The Alley Project
Howard told us that the process has empowered over 120 youth, decreased gang activity and vandalism in its highly diverse neighborhood, and increased community togetherness and pride. In an example of working locally and thinking globally, TAP also has attracted international attention. Some of its student artwork has been showcased at the Venice Biennale. A pop up gallery in a well maintained vacant lot—outfitted with a secure bike rack—sees constant use. Indeed, we witnessed one young man (above) adding his spray-painted contribution.
Rodriguez with sculpture: Sun Dial
The granddaddy of Detroit socially engaged, community-oriented art projects is the Heidelberg Project. For 28 years artist Tyree Guyton has used two city blocks on Detroit’s east side as canvas and bully pulpit. When we arrived curator and sculptor Lisa Rodriquez was weeding around one of several of her installations on the front lot, which serves as an informal gateway into the Heidelberg Project proper.  Rodriquez’s piece was an enormous sundial in the shape of an artist’s palette. Brick pavers were embedded with melted and flattened glass liquor bottles salvaged from nearby vacant properties. She explained the symbolism of the piece and its relationship to her Native American heritage.

Rodriguez then took us on a formal tour around the two-block extent of the Heidelberg Project. When it began, Guyton was inspired to use art to stem the deterioration of his neighborhood. The mission was to improve the lives of those living in the neighborhood, much as Howard is doing with TAP. The houses themselves are integral to the art, as subject, object, and metaphor. Through the years Guyton has achieved both notoriety and acclaim and the project has grown in scope and popularity. Over 275,000 people visited the site in the past year, we were told. I’m not sure if that figure includes the surreptitious visitors who have torched some of the houses in the project.

Setbacks such as arson seem to provide Guyton with new inspiration. The charred foundations of at least four houses have been memorialized with new installations of found materials. One of them, Rodriguez explained, was once the home of Wilson Picket. Other famous names such as former White House Press Corps Helen Thomas are associated with the neighborhood as well.

View of Heidelberg Project with Pink Hummer
There were things about the project that I found invigorating, particularly its community activism and educational outreach programming. But some of the art itself appeared a bit tired to my eyes. Cast off stuffed animals and other paraphernalia of everyday life have become weather beaten after 28 Michigan winters. Such natural progression is to be expected for assemblages exposed to the elements, of course. But in the end the question that I still found burning was this: With all of the attention being paid and with the substantial financial support for the project (among other things an expensive new solar powered security system to prevent vandalism recently went online), why aren’t the houses themselves in better condition?

What does success look like for these artists? Is Detroit being saved one alley, one block, one abandoned factory, and one street at a time? The artists we met believe in the process. Their commitment to their art is matched by their commitment to the community. This is laudable and encouraging. Such local efforts may succeed where the grand gesture failed.

Renaissance Center
Detroit tried architecture. The grandiose and maligned Renaissance Center, built in the late 1970s, was intended to revitalize the already depressed city. The world’s largest private development at the time, it quickly became a textbook case for how not to revitalize a city. Recent renovations to the buildings and also to the riverfront, along with other investments in the downtown area have led some to predict that Detroit has reached a turning point. According to a recent article in the New York Times “a growing chorus of optimists in Detroit is saying that the time is right to invest,” the time-honored investment principle being “buy low.”

Some things have indeed changed. We toured the Riverwalk and ate in Greektown. We rode the “people mover,” a short loop around downtown that is Motor City’s gesture to mass transit. The place bustled with people; business appeared to be booming. We could imagine that things are improving. We could hope.
Much of the inner city has gone feral
But leaving downtown still involves running a seemingly endless gauntlet of vacant, overgrown lots and graffiti-scarred abandoned buildings. It will take more than angel investments to save Detroit. It will also take more than art. But the artists working on the ground, in the neighborhoods seem to be making a difference.

Tyree Guyton’s work now hangs in the DIA along with Rivera, Van Gogh, Warhol, and a host of other famous names. That is the traditional measure of success for an artist. But as Rodriguez guided us down Heidelberg Street we passed Guyton standing on the sidewalk near an assemblage. He was surrounded by a small group of attentive children and speaking to them with animated gestures. When someone asked if we could be introduced Rodriguez told us he preferred not to be interrupted. Clearly, teaching the next generation was a high priority.

Guyton’s fame will not save Detroit; even his art won’t save Detroit; but his example—and Howard’s and other artists all over the city—just might do the trick.

Boogaloo, by Tyree Guyton (DIA)
To see more images from our pilgrimage to Detroit go to my flickr album.


Friday, August 15, 2014

Canal Street and placemaking in the Menomonee Valley

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Canal St. overpass connects east end of valley with west
(A photo essay follows.)

Sometime around the turn of the millennium I stood on the stub end of Canal Street and looked across the west end of the Menomonee Valley at a scene of devastation. Near at hand stood Falk Corporation, one of the few old heavy manufacturing industries left in the Valley, which once had been full of such factories. Off in the distance cranes hovered over the an unfinished mammoth new stadium. Between these points the 35th Street Viaduct sliced across a broad no-man’s land dominated by the ruins of the Milwaukee Road Yards, a locomotive and railcar manufacturing and repair facility abandoned in the 1980s.

Around the crumbling buildings I also could see wide, grassy meadows speckled with wildflowers—interspersed with gravel pits and piles of broken concrete.  Along the steel-bracketed Menomonee River grew an expanding feral forest of box elder and other weedy trees. Over the next few years I found ways to explore the area, which wasn’t easy to reach. It became one of my favorite places to find what I termed “urban wilderness.” 

Jacques Vieau, a French fur trader, discovered the Menomonee Valley in 1795. I discovered a very different Menomonee Valley in 1999. But neither of us found anything new. Vieau, credited with being the first white settler in what is now Milwaukee, was preceded by no fewer than five distinct Indian tribes. When I first started to explore its urban wilderness the Valley had gone through two great periods of transformation at the hands of Vieau’s successors. The first replaced the original wild rice marsh with Milwaukee’s industrial powerhouse. The second resulted in the devastated landscape that confronted me the day I first went there.

Today, as I walk around a great sloping curve where Canal Street now proceeds down onto that former brownfield, I see notable consequences of continuing transformation. Nestled into the curve, fresh paint gleams on the Rishi Tea Company’s newly constructed factory. Rishi joins a growing number of businesses that have rediscovered the Valley, many of them right here on the former rail yards. It is no coincidence that these businesses are located along the sinuous strip of pavement that finally spans the distance from Falk to Miller Park. In fact, Canal Street has meant far more to the redevelopment of the Menomonee Valley than the average street.

When asked to describe a favorite Milwaukee street for a series in Art City on placemaking I immediately thought of Canal Street and the Menomonee Valley. Despite its storied history, for most Milwaukeeans it's the streets that cross over Canal on viaducts that have defined the Valley. The long-blighted valley floor, first with its noisy and smelly industries then later with its polluted river, crumbling buildings and vacant, often contaminated lots, was a place to avoid, a place that seemed not only unappealing but dangerous.

The Menomonee Valley was a dank, forbidding place that divided the city.

Until recently, that is. In the past 15 years the Menomonee Valley has undergone a remarkable—and well-planned—transformation. After decades of contraction, business and industry are expanding once again. The natural environment that suffered degradation while the Valley became “machine shop to the world” is being reintroduced. Perhaps most surprisingly, the Valley now attracts 10 million visitors a year to recreational and entertainment destinations.

To a large extent, the redesign and extension of Canal Street made all of this possible.

In 1999 when I first saw the Milwaukee Road Yards you could not drive the four-mile length of the Menomonee Valley. Canal Street languished beneath the viaducts as a dusty, deteriorating alley that provided truck access to the few remaining industries. Near 32nd St. the pavement ended abruptly atop a truncated ramp overlooking the urban wilderness.

The Harley-Davidson Museum
Today Canal Street is a continuous four-lane road that connects the Harley Davidson Museum on the Valley’s east end with Miller Park on the west. Significantly, the roadway is flanked by the Hank Aaron State Trail, a unique urban park. By bike or on foot, the trail is the best way I’ve found to experience the resurgent vitality of this place.

Miller Park
Commuters drive and cycle their way in both directions along Canal and the bike trail. But they do far more than provide access to workplaces and recreational venues in the Valley. Together they have helped create a new, inviting and forward-looking identity for the Menomonee Valley.

The Valley is now recognized locally and nationally as a model of economic and environmental sustainability. Canal Street has been a catalyst for cultural as well as economic development. Public arts programming has brought performances as well as temporary installations and permanent sculptures.

"Nature Belle," temporary public sculpture by Roy Staab, 2006
Since most of the viaducts still sweep over the Menomonee Valley, access is one of the keys to its revitalization. Geographically and functionally isolated, disconnected from the municipal street grid, and handicapped by a legacy of negative perception, simply bringing people down to the Valley and enabling free movement once there has been a major accomplishment. The new Sixth Street Bridges provide gateways into the valley but it is Canal Street that physically and symbolically creates a unified whole.
Stormwater Park & Industrial Center
The street winds past the Palermo Pizza factory, under the 35th Street Viaduct and around an industrial center, which has risen atop the former Milwaukee Road Yards. I walk beside the road on the Hank Aaron Trail, through Stormwater Park. The path arcs gracefully among tall golden coneflowers, brushy shrubs, and young oak and maple trees. I pause at a railing overlooking a pond. A heron rises abruptly from the reeds, sails off over the resuscitated river.

The newly unified Valley is in the midst of another great transformation. It is not only being revitalized but also reimagined. By design it is a place where economic development is tied to environmental restoration, community needs, and cultural assets. I believe the Menomonee Valley truly embodies an exciting vision for sustainable urban development. It all began with Canal Street.

An edited version of this essay first appeared in Art City. To see it there click here. I want to thank Mary Louise Schumacher for inspiring this essay and creating the placemaking series on Art City.

Photo Essay (all photos 2014 except as noted)

The end of Canal St., circa 2003
Construction of Canal St. overpass, 2006
Public art on Hank Aaron Trail, circa 2005 (taken 2014)
Fundraising run/walk on Canal St. and Hank Aaron Trail, 2007
Hank Aaron Trail & Canal St. looking west from 6th St.
High Rise Bridge spanning the Valley
27th St. Viaduct and Menomonee River


35th St. Viaduct
25th St. roundabout and Potawatomi hotel under construction
City Yards at 25th and Canal
27th St. Viaduct, Canal St. & CP Rail from bike trail
Stormwater Park in action after rainfall in June

Canal Street extension winds into the west end of the Valley around Rishi Tea factory and under the 35th St. Viaduct.


This post is one in a series that relates to my Menomonee Valley Artist in Residency. For more information about the residency and links to previous posts and photographs, go to MV AiR.