MIRRORS Installation at GALLERY 1039

Thanks to the power of Eduardo Galeano’s writings, I have created my first outdoor art installation, entitled MIRRORS, in my own front yard, smack in the middle of this working class neighborhood of Hammond, Indiana where I have been living for 13 years.     

This installation opened on Halloween, just in time for trick or treating children and their parents on Monday, October 31st.  I thought that the subject matter of the exhibit lent itself to the opening days of the exhibit which include Halloween, Dias de los Muertos, and the feasts of All Souls and All Saints.  And, I thought, it might find persons more open to participating in the Woman from Oslo segment of the exhibit.

This installation includes three short works excerpted from books by Eduardo Galeano, a journalist, novelist, poet, and artist from Uruguay. He is considered one of the great writers of Latin America. I created the elements you’ll see pictured here in response to his stories.

As a sonic backdrop that evening, from my open windows came the movie soundtrack from “American Beauty,” composed by Thomas Newman.

The title piece of the exhibit, MIRRORS:

Mirrors are full of people.

The invisible see us.

The forgotten recall us.

When we see ourselves, we see them.

When we turn away, do they?

                                  from MIRRORS, Stories of Almost Everyone by Eduardo Galeano



Taken before dark – the dress hanging from the tree in the background is part of the Woman from Oslo segment of the exhibit.


The mirror now reflects the night sky and the dress , blowing inthe breeze, only a shadowy suggestion of form.


The Art of Drawing You


     In a bed by the Gulf of Corinth, a woman contemplates by firelight the profile of her sleeping lover.

     On the wall, his shadow flickers.

     The lover, who lies by her side, will leave.  At dawn, he will leave to war, to death.  And his shadow, his traveling companion, will leave with him and with him will die.

     It is still dark.  The woman takes a coal out of the embers and draws on the wall the outline of his shadow.

     Those lines will not leave.           

     They will not embrace her, and she knows it.  But they will not leave.   

                       from MIRRORS, Stories of Almost Everyone by Eduardo Galeano


The third piece took the most time, thought and work to create, and has a dual title:  “The Woman from Oslo, aka The Passion of Speech [1]”; the latter title being Galeano’s original title in his book.

Marcela was visiting the snowy North. One night in Oslo, she met a woman who sang and told stories. Between songs, she would spin yarns, glancing at slips of paper like someone telling fortunes from crib notes.

This woman from Oslo had on an  enormous dress dotted all over with pockets. She would pull slips of paper out of her pockets one by one, each with its story to tell, stories tried and true of people who wished to come back to life through witchcraft. And so, she raised the dead and the forgotten, and from the depths of her dress sprang the odysseys and loves of the human animal for whom speech is life. 

                     From The Book of Embraces by Eduardo Galeano




I made the “enormous dress” and affixed three pockets.  In each pocket I placed a slip of paper.  On the slips were written:

“Joan Ruel McQuade / Daughter-Sister-Cousin-Wife-Aunt-Mother / 1932-1985.”

“Sean Francis McQuade / Son-Brother-Uncle / 1957-2012.”

“Mary Katherine McQuade /Daughter-Sister-Aunt-Mother / 1962 – 1986.”

By evoking and including the names of my family members, I felt I could invite others to do the same, without fear of being prescriptive – I wanted to be a colleague in the exercise, rather than a puppeteer.  As trick-or-treaters came streaming by, groups of adolescents, youngsters with parents and/or older siblings, it quickly became apparent that the entire exhibit was drawing them in.   They were interested, asking questions, taking selfies in the mirror, eagerly reading the words, asking what the slips of paper on the table were for.  I explained that this was an art project, something called public art and that it needed the participation of others to be truly successful.  If they would like to write the name of someone they knew who had died, someone they could keep alive in the act of remembering, I would add that person’s name by placing it in a pocket of its own on the dress.  By the end of Hammond’s trick or treating session I had 21 names on 21 slips of paper.  This level of participation was more than I had hoped for and it left me feeling at once awestruck and deeply satisfied.  My work had made an impact.  People welcomed the opportunity to name and give life, in that moment, to someone who had died. They wanted to share their story.  My interest reminded them that their story had meaning just as their loved one’s life was precious and worthy of remembrance.

Each weekend during the monthlong exhibit I will take down the dress long enough to affix new pockets and add the slips with names.   I have posted a sign inviting those who care to record their stories to contact me.  I’ve also invited people to write their stories for inclusion in a dedicated website and for possible printed publications.

This project is one which I hope to continue in other places, even as I hope to repeat it each year at this time for one month.  In future years I hope to include a performative element by wearing the dress and telling stories of the people whose names are on slips in my pockets.

This project also opens the door for other hoped for, yet to be imagined public art projects which I would like to facilitate, which would be expanded to include the works of other artists in the community.   I would like to work with students of all ages in the schools in creating visual and sonic responses to literature by the many important writers of our times and earlier times.  I would like to facilitate art that brings people together in discovery and sharing.

I welcome invitations to facilitate this project at other sites.  Similarly, I would welcome an invitation to be an artist in residence in community working on other installation projects.  Write me at julia.m.volkmann@gmail.com to begin the conversation.

My thanks to Eduardo Galeano, who passed away April 13 2015.   He is remembered by the many people who loved him.  His spirit also is alive and well in his many literary works, which include The Book of Embraces; Mirrors, Stories of Almost Everyone; Open Veins of Latin America; and Memory of Fire Trilogy, among others. 

Also, thanks to Barb McBride who spent hours with me getting these pieces in place in the yard. Thanks to Eva Volkmann whose counsel came in just the right ways at the right time as I developed the work.




 “I hope that you can imagine you have journeyed with me through all the frozen, unreal and unnatural lifestyle things that we had to go through to get to this point so that could end up in Eulipia.”   Opening from Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s written dedication on  RETURN OF THE 5000 LB MAN album and lettered on wall over Café Stritch bar.

“I hope that you can imagine you have journeyed with me through all the frozen, unreal and unnatural lifestyle things that we had to go through to get to this point so that could end up in Eulipia.”
Opening from Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s written dedication on
RETURN OF THE 5000 LB MAN album and lettered on wall over Café Stritch bar.

Late October of 2013 I was in sunny San Jose, California, for a conference sponsored by the Alliance of Artist Communities, an organization that I’ve had membership in for several years.  I was there to do some networking and take my own pulse, as it were, to see if this conference and the work of these artist communities made my heart pick up the beat; whether I  came away with the sense that this was a direction I needed to take personally:   Did I want to become part of an artist community?    Could I find a residency where I could work on my own art practice(s) even as I contributed to making an environment for other artists to do the same?   In  a comic counterpoint to this important mission, I was being relentlessly plagued by the ear worm “Do you know the way to San Jose” and could not seem to shake it until I arrived at the Café Stritch, where a conference luncheon was being hosted.

            Upon entering the club I was  immediately captivated by the ambience of the place and the visually compelling, larger than life photos of great jazz musicians on the walls of the first and second floor of this rejuvenated eatery and music venue.   I learned later that the photos were part of a larger series taken by photographic artist Kathy Sloane, whose work I was not familiar with, but whose subjects were mostly known to me, with the exception of one individual, whose likeness commands the attention of all who enter, either painted on the wall to the left of the entrance, or as the central backdrop photo on the musical stage.

Image taken from Kirk’s album RETURN OF THE 5000 lb. MAN and rendered 10 feet tall on the wall to the immediate left upon entering Café Stritch.

Image taken from Kirk’s album RETURN OF THE 5000 lb. MAN and rendered 10 feet tall on the wall to the immediate left upon entering Café Stritch.

Kathy Sloane's silver gelatin photo of the spiritual force guiding the cafe:  Rahsaan Roland Kirk  immediately beneath his legendary stritch saxophone and top hat.

Kathy Sloane’s photo of the spiritual force guiding the cafe: Rahsaan Roland Kirk immediately beneath his legendary stritch saxophone and top hat.

This conference ultimately gave me an important, unlooked for gift.   Aren’t those the best kinds of gifts;  the unexpected ones that delight even as they arrive unannounced?  I was given the chance to re-connect with a few long-dormant creative forces within me – the jazz vocalist, the photographer, the writer and the happy wanderer.   Remember that song from the 50’s?  I sang it at Girl Scout Camp in the 60’s – its lyrics are included at the end of this piece. It now takes over as the dominant ear worm, wreaking its havoc on my brain   It was in Café Stritch that I experienced again, after what felt like a long psychic drought, a zest for life, and a tantalizing, excitingly vital possible next chapter for myself.  A refreshing change after spending numerous weeks moving lugubriously through the emotional and psychological adjustments involved in transitioning from being a 13-year employee in an arts college to joining the ranks of self-employed.

Three weeks after leaving my day gig  I learned that I would require surgery to remove a portion of my colon and my life was not only turned upside down, but inside out.   Thankfully, all biopsies results indicate there was no cancer, but the pesky polyp was of a size and configuration that the only safe course was to remove it, to avoid the possible outcome of it  becoming cancerous in the years ahead.  Morale of the story dear reader – do NOT stall on getting your routine colonoscopy, as I did.

To say I was dazed and confused after the one-two punch is an understatement.  But one truth became ever more clear:  I had stayed in my position too long, under circumstances that were far too stressful and the rewards of paycheck and influence had long ceased to be adequate compensation. Consequently, I was extremely out of balance and I would take this time and opportunity as gift, to recover, to heal, to find myself without the narrow and limiting definers of my old title and overwhelming responsibility in a politically fraught office and financially challenged institution.  I would give myself the nourishment and attention that I had, for too long, deprived myself, working 50 and 60 hours a week.

I decided to delay the surgery until after this conference  so I could  discern whether there might be a future path for myself while networking  with representatives from residencies all over the United States along with a few from Europe and Asia.   In another article I’ll explore in greater detail the mission of the Alliance, and the span of artist residence communities that make up this very unique organization.

The Alliance hosted the opening night of the conference at Zero, multi-media artists exhibit space in what was once a huge garage with the rounded ceiling far above.   The space resonated loudly with the sounds of hundreds of staff from the various participating residences, artists, and numerous members of the various governing boards as well as presenters of workshops that would take place in the week ahead.  I was pleased to meet up with the always energetic and pragmatically visionary Michael Orlove, the former programming director of the Chicago Office of Cultural Affairs, who had recently taken over at the NEH (National Endowment for the Humanities) as the Director of Artist Residencies.   I also met the charming Mario Garcia Durham, President and CEO of the Association of Performing Arts Presenters (APAP). 

The evening was made perfect by what happened as I allowed myself to tune into the solo musician performing for us that evening.   Cado dos Santos was playing to an audience that was far more involved in its conversations with one another, paying scant attention to a performer that I believed deserved better.  And I was tired of trying to make small talk with so many new people.  I moved closer to the speaker nearest me so that I could really hear his voice and guitar work and the effort more than paid for itself.  I was delighted to hear him take standards and re-cast them on his guitar with distinctive latin grooves; sambas, bossas and the like.  His voice, a rich resonant baritone had some gravel to it, due to his smoking habit.  It was not a trained voice, but it was an authentic, charismatic and confident; one that served the lyrics and the music well.   Then he started singing Cole Porter’s “I Get a Kick Out of You,”  over a marvelous samba  which segued to bossa and back again on his guitar.  I was captivated by the new life he breathed into the tune, and couldn’t help singing along, in sheer enjoyment, getting an embodied sense for what it felt like to sing over that type of rhythmical and melodic foundation – so different from the swing styling  I typically employ when singing that song.  Cado (short for Ricardo, dubbed as such by his toddler sister who couldn’t get her mouth around the R’s) noticed that I was singing and must have figured that I knew what I was doing, because as he played the instrumental bridge, he looked over at me to catch my eye, then with eyebrows raised, tilted his head toward the microphone in the mute invitation to join him up there and sing.  I promptly joined him and started singing, my heart full, my face alight, and my body alive and channeling that spectacular surge I experience whenever I sing with great musicians.  It is at once the joy that comes from singing as well as the sense of energetic connection with the other musicians while we’re linked for this song, heart, mind and soul.  At the end of the song the applause was gratifying, but I was more aware of the gratitude I felt toward Cado for having the courage and generosity to invite me up there to sing, never having met me before or knowing how that risk might play out.   I thanked him and he invited me to stick around so that we could talk.  I did stick around and ultimately did one more tune with him “Corcovado (Quiet Night of Quiet Stars)” This time we each took a verse in our native language;  English lyrics for me, Portuguese for him. 

Cado relaxing after the gig.

Cado relaxing after the gig.

Later, when we talked, I learned that he was a self-taught musician who came to San Jose from Rio de Janeiro with his mother when he was about 12.  Like most musicians I know, he works a day job to make ends meet.   He still lives at home with his mother and younger sister.  He also told me of Café Stritch as the nearest place to hear jazz in downtown San Jose.  He’d played there before and had another gig lined up to play there again on November 2nd.  We agreed to meet there on the evening that the Russo-Alberts Trio was playing and I would interview him and record the interview while also taking photos. 

This interview and photo session were, and still are, a part of my plan for becoming self-employed as an interdisciplinary artist, singing jazz, and interviewing the various participants in the jazz scene:  musicians, composers, club owners, fans etc.  I hope to find a way to be in the music making act as well as stand back from it just far enough to interview the various individuals, photographing them and writing about it all.   I had brought along my camera and recorder in case the opportunity presented itself, which I suppose in retrospect was an invitation to the universe to make it happen, and so it kindly obliged and provided me several opportunities.    

Thursday afternoon after our conference luncheon I introduced myself to Steve Borkenhagen, the 60 something manager/owner of Café Stritch.  I immediately liked this tall, lanky guy and his palpable enthusiasm for jazz.  He’s a sunshiny sort that talks at the speed of light.   I had to bring out my recorder to ensure I caught all that he was saying, as I would have been hopelessly lost if I had to rely on taking notes. 

He told me that he and his 24-year old son Max had recently taken the family run restaurant, Eulipia, off line after 30 years, remodeled and re-purposed the site as a music club with food and renamed it Café Stritch.  I commended him on the tasty re-design and the powerful illustrations throughout the space, and asked about the origins of the name.  He explained that stritch refers to a modified alto-saxophone which resembles a larger version of a soprano saxophone (or perhaps a bass clarinet in shape at least) because the bell is not turned up in a U-shape as it typical with the alto, tenor and baritone saxes.  In researching the subject a little more, I learned that modern legend claims that the name “stritch” was concocted by Rahsann Roland Kirk for his Buescher straight alto sax, a latter day variant on the original sax line created by Adolphe Sax. 

A daily ritual at the opening of the Cafe Stritch - hanging the legendary top hat and stritch, once owned and employed by the guiding spirit of the Cafe, Rahsaan Roland Kirk.

A daily ritual at the opening of the Cafe Stritch – hanging the legendary top hat and stritch, once owned and employed by the guiding spirit of the Cafe, Rahsaan Roland Kirk.

This café’s name honors Kirk’s musical spirit as it references the instrument synonymous with Kirk’s groundbreaking use of it in unforgettable concerts.  Kirk’s beloved stritch and one of his famous hats were given to Steve by Kirk’s widow who remains a good friend of the Borkenhagen family.  Horn and hat are lovingly hung on the back stage wall each day after the club opens and they’re taken down each day before the club closes for the night.  

I asked him about the source of the quotation on the wall above the bar.  Steve  explained that its a quoted from  one of Kirk’s albums entitled THE RETURN OF THE 5000 POUND MAN, and on the album is a tune called THEME FOR THE EULIPIONS.  The album was released in 1976, just a year before Kirk died. 

He said that he opened his jazz club EULIPIA in 1977 and operated it for three years before converting it to a restaurant.  Then for thirty years the restaurant operated until March of 2013 when Café Stritch opened at the same location.   He hastened to say that though he and his wife owned the establishment since 1977, his son is the owner of the café, and Steve, the father, works for him. Max, the youngest son, is the artistic director, so he books all the music, the art selection and manages social media.  

I ask Steve when he was first introduced to jazz, and he told me his father taught social studies and English literature in junior high school by day and played traditional jazz nights and weekends and would practice with the other musicians at their home. 

Somehow, though I was interviewing Steve, the nature of our conversation had us frequently comparing notes and sharing anecdotes from our lives.  The ages of our children,  what newsletter service I use for the restaurants where I’ve done music booking, event planning, writing and communications, and then I found myself telling him about how I came to be terminated from my position and how it led me to begin this project. 

Steve asked me about my singing, confessing that he has a soft spot for female jazz singers, and wondered what tunes I sing.  I rattled off a few:  Sister Sadie, Stolen Moments, Foggy Day and he interrupted (come to think of it, he interrupted often) to ask if I sang Lush Life – when I told him I did, he said it was his favorite ballad of all time.    We talked about the fact that trying to tightly contain music within genres is not particularly meaningful and Steve mentioned how Coltrane is a perfect example of that in his rendition of “My Favorite Things” and how a local singer can bring him to tears with  her rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” 

Steve is alternately listening to the Russo-Alberts trio and then leaning over to explain something about the performance to an audience member not familiar with jazz.

Steve is alternately listening to the Russo-Alberts trio and then leaning over to explain something about the performance to an audience member not familiar with jazz.

After he acknowledged that jazz is in his DNA, I asked Steve about the club’s practice of booking many musical styles and artists in addition to jazz.   “That’s because we have to make money,” he replied without missing a beat.  The pop, indie and rock musicians will play for little or nothing, he said, even those with bigger names, so the house need not levy a cover charge, resulting  in much larger audiences, usually two to three times the size of the jazz audience.  Jazz musicians on the other hand will only play for a sizeable fee (relatively speaking), which in turn requires a cover charge, with the unfortunate consequence of smaller audiences.  

After going down another conversational byway, we returned to Steve talking  about his hope to create his own informal introduction to jazz course which he wants to call “The Gift of Jazz”   He said the idea occurred to him in a recent celebration of what would have been Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s 78th birthday, which featured Steve Turre, leading jazz trombonist who had performed for ten years with Kirk back in the 60’s and 70’s.   He said the lineup of players for the three concerts and the music being performed was so powerful and momentous, yet, so inaccessible to many because they had no understanding of the form, the history, and important players.  As I asked more questions with the intention of helping him formulate a plan (I’m an event planner, after all) he said I could be a co-conspirator if I wanted in making this plan manifest.    He said he wouldn’t charge for the workshops because it was all about the love, not the money.  We proceeded to knock around ideas about how he might structure the series and had a grand old time brainstorming possibilities. 

Steve then segued into talking about the Kirk Birthday concert series featuring Turre and other heavy hitters.  He scheduled the celebration to coincide with the San Jose Jazz Festival, which took place August 9 – 11, 2013.  Kirk’s actual birthday is August 7,  hence the synergistic opportunity.  Two months later he could still quote Richard Scheinin, the classical and jazz music critic for the San Jose Mercury who tweeted to the world that the best event of the jazz festival would be found at Café Stritch, referring to the Kirk birthday celebration/tribute concert.  Steve went so far to say that he was confident that when Scheinin looked back over the past year of concerts that he attended, he was sure that Scheinin would declare the Kirk tribute concert to be the most compelling and important musical event of the year. 

I think about Steve’s pride and enthusiasm over Scheinin’s reaction and I understand it on so many levels.  I know the power that journalist and critic Howard Reich’s voice has in the Chicago community and I imagine how I would feel, as an owner of a small struggling jazz club, to have Howard say similar things consistently about the jazz concert that I personally conceived of and brought to life.   Especially when the big kid was in town – the San Jose Jazz Festival  – with its impressive line up of jazz stars spanning three days. 

This inspired my suggestion to Steve that he think about getting a 501c3 in place for the jazz programming that he does, while keeping the for-profit business of bar and food.  The jazz musicians could meet with students in the club during the day and conduct in-services, and Steve could get underwriting for their steep fees to play at night while providing a service through his “Gift of Jazz” workshop series.  He said that what he’d really like to do is eliminate the kitchen, extend the bar so that about 15 more stools could be put in place and the seating area on the floor could accommodate about 20% more people than it could currently.  He declared that the food business was not a solid source of income and the kitchen was a waste of valuable space.  He thought that becoming strictly a jazz club with a 501c3 for underwriting thoughtful programming could be a great thing.  He admitted that he  dreams of becoming a club like the Village Gate or the Village Vanguard with similar year round cutting edge, world renowned programming.    He said that the band that would be playing that evening, the Russo Alberts Trio would have the kind of vibe that the top clubs have and I would see it if I came. 

Steve stands at the door to say goodbye even as he awaits the next guests coming for the live music.

Steve stands at the door to say goodbye even as he awaits the next guests coming for the live music.

Before I left Steve, I asked to take his photo at the entrance.   I went back to my hotel room with a lilt in my step and I found myself humming as I went, looking forward to returning that evening and dreaming of how I could travel, meeting and having wonderful conversations with more club owners like Steve, and sing alongside more talented, generous of heart musicians like Cado.  


I love to go a-wandering, Along the mountain track, And as I go, I love to sing, My knapsack on my back.


Val-deri, Val-dera,
Val-deri, Val-dera, My knapsack on my back.

I love to wander by the stream, That dances in the sun, So joyously it calls to me, Come! Join my happy song!

I wave my hat to all I meet, And they wave back to me, 
And blackbirds call so loud and sweet, 
From ev’ry green wood tree. CHORUS

High overhead, the skylarks wing, They never rest at home, But just like me, they love to sing, 
As o’er the world we roam.

Oh, may I go a-wandering, Until the day I die! Oh, may I always laugh and sing, Beneath God’s clear blue sky!