Drawing on the past
Most people are lucky to have one act that hits. William Horberg is well into his third. Horberg was born in Chicago and grew up around Belmont and Broadway in the Lakeview neighborhood in the 60s and 70s. He ran a repertory movie theater called the Sandburg at the corner of Division and Dearborn from 1979 to 1981, then moved out to Hollywood. He went on to a storied career producing films like A Rage in Harlem, The Talented Mr. Ripley, and Milk, as well as TV shows like The Queen’s Gambit. Now he has turned to drawing as a way to explore the places of his childhood that left an indelible mark on him, to fix them in a lasting way as memories fade and bulldozers bury a past that informed everything he was to become.
There’s something about drawing—no matter the artist’s skill level—that can communicate people and places more intimately than any photograph. Evidence of human touch brings an intimacy no machine could ever replicate. When I look at Horberg’s pen-and-marker depictions of the landmarks of his childhood, I feel my way through those streets palpably in ways a frozen black-and-white print can never approach. It doesn’t hurt that I know many of these places from firsthand experience, but Horberg’s versions are from decades before I got to Chicago; some from before I was born. Yet I feel links to those bygone days in these vibrant and likable pictures.
Memory plays a starring role. Decades removed from his subject matter, Horberg has used family photos and period snapshots to get the details of the architecture right. There are certain things that are impossible to render without visual source material, whether perceptual or photographic—you just can’t make them up. The particularity of a cornice or how a street sign might have a typo or some other unique irregularity—these are aspects that make Horberg’s drawings distinctive. And yet, as a longtime Chicago resident, I can see the armature or skeleton of the city I know behind these long gone facades. No matter how many of these buildings have been demolished or how many businesses have succeeded ones that failed, something of the spirit of these blocks remains right where it’s always been.
Horberg’s depictions of neighborhoods like Old Town may not look instantly familiar to younger residents but they’ll surely recognize something like Crate & Barrel, which began as a small storefront on Wells Street before ballooning into a home furnishings brand. His drawing of Kroch’s & Brentano’s bookstore on Wabash in the Loop instantly took me back to the early 90s when I was a student at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Coincidentally, the caption accompanying this drawing recounts a childhood incident of getting busted shoplifting with his friends. I had a run-in with a Kroch’s store detective myself a couple decades after Horberg. When I recount this to him via email, he’s happy to hear I was continuing his traditions.
“My Old Town: Growing Up in Chicago 1959-1986”Through 10/22: Tue-Fri 10 AM-6 PM, Sat 10 AM-5 PM, Sun by appointment, Firecat Projects, 2019 N. Damen, 207-249-9486, firecatprojects.org
Nostalgia for the people and places of childhood is a side effect of aging. The further we are from formative early locales and friendships in our lives, the more it feels like they’re gone forever—and that whatever has taken their place is lesser or lacking. Had Horberg not left town in 1987 his depictions of Chicago would undoubtedly be very different. Revisiting geography through the mind’s eye is almost the opposite of walking the same streets for decades on end and noticing incremental changes. I don’t mean this as a criticism of Horberg’s project but to note the specific slant of his approach. He names his exhibit “My Old Town.” It is a place preserved in amber.
This series was largely completed during the plague lockdown, a time when many artists looked inward by necessity and circumstance. If you can’t go outside you must find subject matter elsewhere. One’s past can be a deep well to draw from but holds its share of pitfalls and false paths. Fortunately for Horberg and for us, his looking back has produced images that teem with life even as they mourn what’s gone.
Horberg’s We Deliver depicts Lakeview’s historic Hotel Belmont residential building on a winter day. Credit: Courtesy the artist
When I first looked through this body of work I was reminded of the drawings of the late Wesley Willis. Horberg also relies on rulered perspectival lines to depict urban vistas and a colorful marker palette. Unlike a Willis, a typical Horberg drawing features at least one person, often a close friend or loved one. These images are as much a tribute to those who have come and gone as the burger stands and movie theaters that formed Horberg’s identity.
By rooting his compositions in recognizable blocks of our city, the artist allows any viewer who’s logged time in Chicago to feel a connection. Whether he’s depicting the Hotel Belmont, the Bahá’í Temple, the Jazz Record Mart, or just a humble row of brick apartment buildings, Horberg’s Chicago is our Chicago as well. It’s a place where past and present are in a constant state of flux, a lively, often fraught state of constant renegotiation and debate. I know it better from looking at these drawings.
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