I sensed them before I saw them.  A carbonated excitement that pushed aside the steady hum of the front lobby.  It was a gaggle of girls, perhaps 10 or 11 years old.  They had tote bags on their shoulders and duffle bags dropped to their feet.  Their small group, roughly a half dozen, tittered blissfully, gazing up to the ornate ceiling, pointing to the chandeliers, looking around at the austere paintings on the wall.  Nearby, two mothers are digging in their handbags and collating paper printouts, waiting to check in.  A third woman stood with the girls.  Her smile seemed to relish the girls’ delight while her eyes were attentive to the other lobby guests.  Great instincts; she was not a rookie chaperone.

I offered to share cupcakes with the girls in the café while the mothers got checked in.  More great mother-chaperone instincts: she was listening for red flags and scanning my soul as I introduced myself.  I expected nothing less.  I asked her to join us and we all tumbled into the café.

They were a Girl Scout troop from a suburb of Chicago.  In addition to a camping trip, an excursion to a fancy hotel in another city had been their goal for this year’s cookie money and fundraising.

“This is SO cool,” said one, as we sat at a long table. They nodded to each other in agreement. They were a calico assembly of curls, ponytails, dimples, glasses, friendship bracelets and giggles.

I learned most of them were fifth graders as well as veteran Girl Scouts.  I asked what they liked most about being Girl Scouts.  They told me they enjoyed learning new things, going new places, and sharing a connection that was special from their “regular” classmates and friends.

“We only meet a few times a month, so it’s special when we’re all together.”

The girls admit that they’ve matured together too, learning how to plan things and even how to fight and make up.  When I asked them to describe themselves, they offered “funny,” “talented,” “loving,” “electric.”

When I asked what they each wanted to be when they grew up, I was prepared for Doctor, Lawyer, Veterinarian, Police Officer, the short list of ambitions that we grown ups typically dispense to children.  My heart leapt with joy to hear, instead, Trapeze Artist, Interior Designer, Teacher, Viola Player, Pilot.

Of course, I’ll have no way of knowing if the girls will land on these goals 10-20 years from now.  Still, I was excited to hear that they were already dreaming outside the box.  Don’t get me wrong, there are phenomenal careers inside the box, but you have to admire the vast number of pre-schoolers who, according to a recent Forbes poll, intend to become superheroes and princesses. They’ll realize how competitive those gigs are, eventually. In fact, a survey on Salary.com reports that 70% of us changed our “dream job” once we became adults. (Although 60% of us still wish for those childhood ideals.) Realized or not, the point is to dream.

My merry band of cupcakes began to fall away into spirited side conversations.  All three mothers were with us now, the adult business of check-ins and room keys handled. Annie, my cupcake girls’ self-appointed spokesperson, explained that they were hoping to have two adjoining rooms separate from the mother-chaperones.

“I doubt that’s going to happen,” she said with a comical twist at the mouth.

“Probably not,” I agreed, giving her a wink.  “But it never hurts to dream.”

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As the minute hand makes its incremental sweep toward five o’clock, the atmosphere on the main floor swells with anticipation for the weekend.  A boisterous cluster of men greet one another near the lobby bar.  A young co-ed rushes to the concierge for directions.  A preschooler fingers the pink sparkles on her princess shirt as parents carry her sibling up the stairs in a stroller.  Perched on impressively high heels, a slender woman anxiously watches the revolving door.

Down the hall in the boutique, an older couple selects a tangerine silk blouse for their theater outing.  As they chat with the associate, I follow the blouses, blazers, cocktail dresses, bracelets and chocolates to a table display of candles.  I recognize the round tins immediately. I’d received one as a gift last year, but had expected not to enjoy its scent because I’m not a fan of mint chocolate.  Turns out, I loved the candle so much I’ve kept the burned out tin as a reminder to research the maker and vendor.

Here they were. Voluspa Truffle White Cocoa.

A woman neared the table to examine other tins as well: Baltic Amber, Panjore Lychee, Dahlia Orange Bloom.

“This one,” I say authoritatively, “is truly divine.” I begin to tell her about my serendipitous discovery and realize that she already has a number of tins balanced in the crook of one arm.  With her other hand, she held a flute of champagne. We strike up a conversation about candles, the good, the bad, and the cheap.

“I’ve bought them for fifty dollars and I’ve bought them for five,” she said.  “The good ones are worth whatever you spend, if you like them. I like the ones with soy and natural products best, like these.”

My new candle sister’s name is Michelle, a Milwaukee-area native who travels the country as a real estate professional.  She picks up a few candles for her stash whenever she visits the Pfister’s WELL spa. She might burn candles at any time, she says, but always when she meditates, a practice she’s adopted in the past five years. I admit to her that I’ve only been meditating for a week, after several failed and short-lived efforts over the years.

“It’s still difficult,” she laughed, “but, now, I can tell the difference when I don’t take the time to still myself every day.”

Michelle has become as equally diligent about balancing her busy world with regular exercise, girls’ outings with her sisters, spiritual readings, and treating herself to a massage.

“At the end of any given day, we’re responsible for dozens of decisions with serious weight and consequence. The reality of our lives can be immense,” she says. “I  do my best to live well in between it all.”

Michelle takes a sip of champagne and flashes a warm and brilliant smile.  I thank her for sharing her story and wish her an exquisitely quiet evening.  She raises her glass and I head for the lobby.  The bustle had thickened with friends laughing in the lounge, business women arriving with their roller bags, and couples in formal attire weaving through a crowd of dress slacks and denim.  It is definitely the weekend, but Michelle may be off to the best start.

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I feel enchanted tonight.  Maybe it’s the night air, the saucy décor of Blu, the nighttime glitter of city lights or, maybe, it’s my first Narrator assignment.  Yes, let’s go with that last one.

Excited, I take a seat at the bar and begin to survey the room.  This, I’m good at.  I wouldn’t  say that I’m a voyeur, but I’ve always insisted that people watching should be an Olympic sport.  I order my standard whiskey on the rocks, and observe.

Near the window, a cluster of women have landed on a topic that pulls them toward one another, gesturing passionately as they talk.  Behind them,  a lively team of conference attendees are chattering when, much to the group’s delight, a dark-haired man stands to add elbow antics to the discussion.  Neither of these groups need their rhythms interrupted by me.  Not now.

An attractive, mature woman enters the lounge with a  tall, sturdy man following closely behind.  Like popping corn, my mind springs with questions as I watch them cross the dark room to the cozy seats near the fireplace.  Settling into opposite corners of the love seat, I notice that his banter sounds measured, her laugh feels polite, and both their smiles seemed anxious.  Aha. First date jitters.  They don’t need me in the way.

Between my first sip of whiskey and the final clink of naked ice, I fully realize the spindly awkwardness of my charge. Striking up a conversation with another barfly is one thing, but accosting strangers and inserting myself into their evening is altogether different.  I considered leaving for the night when, one heartbeat later, a tall gentleman strides in to take one of the window seats.  I watch him as he watches the city flicker below us.

I remind myself that everyone has a story to tell –including this stranger– and I’ve been given the opportunity to share them. I take a deep breath, collect my notebook and my nerves and introduce myself.

“I’m in computers,” he says of his work, adding a string of clarifying words  like “applications,” “supply chain,” “operations.”

“Logistics?” I ask.

He gives a relieved nod and relaxes his shoulders.  His name is Andy, a Dallas native currently living in Denver. He’s in Milwaukee with his team to wrap up a project that spans several years and several cities.

“Did you have reservations about striking out on your own as a consultant instead of scouting a corporate gig?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said, after a moment. “But, sometimes, I can’t believe this is the life I get to have.”

Andy had wanted to be a pilot as a kid, like his father and, later, his brother.  In fact, Andy earned certifications, and has flown numerous times.  Still, another path chose him. He told me how he enjoys the challenge of his work, his rituals for downtime when on the road, the food districts he misses from his home city, holiday plans for Brasil with his wife, and how he’d love to retire in San Francisco.

I thank him for allowing me to intrude on his quiet time, pay for his drink and wish him safe travels home.  As I leave, I feel buoyant. Proud that I braved this assignment, pleased to put my people watching talents to work, and enchanted –all over again– by the city’s sparkling lights.

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My first month as Artist In Residence has been action packed. While it has been a whirlwind to get here, I could not have asked for a better start.

I’ve had the distinct pleasure of meeting some wonderful people and attending some great events, making my transition into this position smooth and fun.

I’ve been introduced to a lifetime of memories. The beauty is each one is new, unique and provides me with a bit of inspiration.

Lola played dress up with Timothy & named his mannequin Marlene

Some of my favorite moments include:

• Being graced with the presence of a “Klondike Kate” who offered to sing me one of the songs of her performance.
• Meeting the brilliant Lola. A seven-year-old that told me all about her life as the malevolent little sister and shared her evil laugh. She also named one of my mannequins, Marlene.
• Being invited by a lead a member of the Intermezzo String Quartet for a day of antique store shopping the next time I’m in Madison.

• Meeting my model, Rose, who made my first project come to life. We were both invited that day to attend a showing of Othello at the Rep Theater. Othello meets Biker Gangs, HOW FUN!

I will never forget the night I finished my first weaving. I was joined by a kind but quiet woman who was captivated by the process. She had seen every fiber process leading up to weaving. Her sister has sheep so she has seen sheering, carding and spinning (all processes involved in making yarn); after about an hour of vigilantly watching she shared that it was her birthday.

Sharing a special bonding moment with the birthday girl that night was fantastic. She cared as much about the weaving as I. And the next day, she continued on with her life but profoundly moved me in the moment that 28 feet of woven cloth escaped the restriction of the loom.

The following day a couple came in who had lived together in Milwaukee from the time they were born to the time they were somewhere in their thirties. It has been 26 years since they had been back and they said the Artist in Residence programs was one of their favorite changes to the city.

Easter was my day off. And by day off, I mean I only was in the studio seven hours instead of 10-14 hours and I was sketching and putzing instead of energetically sewing and weaving.

A very creative five-year old joined my favorite part of that day. We worked on some new sketches and her sense of positive and negative space with the use of neon pink was very inspiring.

A well known singer in her home town, Sherron, had a late flight into Milwaukee. Still awake from jet-lag, we took a midnight tour of the art collection. That night two weddings had happened. We enjoyed the view of the ballrooms as the clean up crew collapsed the tables and shared stories about the fun the bridal party had.

As I worked steadily the days leading up to my opening gallery night show, the studio was visited by high school guidance counselors, bankers, knitters, family members of people who once had a sewing machine, or once had a loom.

That “Big Night” came with my first visit of friends that might as well be family. My mother’s childhood friend stopped in with her partner and their child, who is now eleven. This was my first time meeting her. What an amazing event for a reunion.

After a wildly successful premier gallery night, HOW could this residency possibly get any better?

Model, Rose, dons Timothy Westbrook's First Gallery Night Piece

Easily. A lovely poised, elegant, woman whose great aunt was an on-call tailor in the early days of the hotel, walked into my studio. She shared stories of women who would tear their dresses when a miss step of the heel caught the hem of a train. A tailor would be on sight to quickly mend the tear then send them back to the dance floor.

Shortly after, a leading frame historian who also works in art frame restoration came in the space, sat down on the floor cross-legged with me and we discussed history, art preservation, textiles and museums. It was truly an honor.

Later that week, an incredible group of people started to filter into the hotel – championship dancers. This was the 25^th year of the Wisconsin State Dancesport Championships. I enjoyed our former Narrator Ed’s perspective he describes it perfectly.

Timothy meets a legendary opera singer

My first month has gone faster than the dancers can spin. Just when I thought it could not get any better, late in the evening on the last day of April in walks the first opera singer into the studio. Thirty-six years ago, he performed as Papageno in a production of the Magic Flute in Milwaukee. What a magical way to end what has been an extraordinary month.

I’ve enjoyed it all, from every conversation to the few people that popped their heads in long enough to put a smile on my face. Even some of the late night wise guys quotes have been great. Some of my favorites have been:

•  “Can you make a jacket with bird cages on the shoulders?”
• “What man, did you get in a fight with all your cassettes?”
• “What looks better, country or rock and roll?”

Thanks for making my first month so memorable.

Looking forward to sharing my work with you! Stop by anytime, my door is always open.

- Timothy

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In March, a team of collective Marcus foodservice and hospitality employees submitted an amazing tabletop design in this year’s WRA/NACE competition. We are proud to announce they have won two awards for their submission “Detection.”

The first award was for “Most Innovative” and the second was for “Best Use Of Theme.”

Drawing inspiration from Sherlock Holmes, the team wanted their piece to be a setting that was romantically mysterious ruse on the verge of being solved.

Congratulations to the entire team involved including:

• Emily Rizzo
• Kim Casey
• Louis Williams
• Maggie Fehring
• Nicole Frederickson
• Theresa Wolf
• Tony Bilot

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Historic Turner Hall Ballroom very much alive on 4th Street in Milwaukee.

It is the people who are the best at what they do who are the most difficult to write about. How do you document the seam which is so well constructed that it appears seamless? I’ve been trying to figure out a way to explain the concierge position for quite some time. Pfister Chief Concierge Peter Mortensen is a terrific storyteller, in addition to being an stellar concierge. Peter has a love for both the arts and Milwaukee history, both details which lead him to the story he tells below.

Peter and I traveled to record this piece in Milwaukee’s historic Turner Hall Ballroom. Since this is the place where his story resides, I felt it impolite to leave the topic of our conversation out of the conversation. You may notice Peter’s voice has a deep echo, and that’s because we were sitting in the middle of the cavernous ballroom on a quiet Sunday afternoon.

Below, Peter regales us with the story of how a man living in Milwaukee, in 1892, wrote the world’s first pop music hit. Here is an old video of the song After the Ball as introduced by the songwriter himself, Charles K. Harris. Then, to hear Peter talk about the music coming full circle one hundred years later with performers Joan Morris and William Bolcom was ice cream scooped onto the cake. Click play or download below to listen to these gems of Milwaukee’s past and present.

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That’s the best way I can describe this Narrator experience. My last few posts will be going live over the next couple of days and my successor will be at work getting acquainted with the speed and rhythm of this sparkling old gal on Wisconsin Avenue. From an artistic standpoint it’s been like getting to eat chocolate cake for breakfast every day. The staff have been great. They’ve been generous with information, gracious in introducing me to guests and other coworkers, and ever tolerant of my constant game of 20 questions.

Every day I’ve arrived at the hotel the guests, employees, and structure itself have all been potential colors across my palette with which to paint this experience. So here we are, having arrived at the point of final conclusions.

Well, fellow writer, here’s what I have to leave you with. My two cents for you to take or leave. The rabbit hole is in front of you. Do you take the red or blue pill? This is your garden to till, and you determine how fruitful the result.

* Get a gym membership. There are pastries all over this place. They taste too good. Too good! Hopefully your will is stronger than mine in the face of bakery.

* Tip well. Especially in the beginning. You will be loved even more.

* Conversation is give and take. The first part of that is give. Most people aren’t familiar with being interviewed but most everybody knows how to have a conversation. For people to get comfortable enough to tell you the good stories it’s often necessary to offer something about your life, sometimes before they do.

* Don’t get too over concerned about the writing. They chose you for a reason. Write it. Post it. Exhale. Have a drink.

* Don’t be afraid to ask. The more you engage the staff the more they will engage you. The people who have been here a long time are a wealth of knowledge. Several people have worked at the Pfister longer than I’ve been alive! But if you don’t ask they won’t necessarily offer their information. Some of them have seen decades of faces working here and it might take a while before they recognize yours.

* The concierge has a list of events for the week. I liked to ask what was coming up to be present for the ones which sounded the most interesting to cover.

* I’m pleasantly surprised there was a job to do and that we (as humans) haven’t entirely traded our social skills for laptop computers and backlit telephones. I wonder if after book publishing became widespread, social types feared the world would shove it’s head in a book and never again converse.

* My favorite meal is breakfast. Any time of day, breakfast feels like starting all over again. The Cafe at the Pfister makes terrific breakfast until 2pm.

* Guests will expect you to know about the hotel’s history, art collection, and surrounding downtown area. The more information you can offer, the more credibility it will provide the ethereal Narrator title when trying to answer the question, “So, what is it that you do here?”

It’s been a great fun half year. The experience has felt akin to being a part of a theater production, or a circus. Except the circus is stationary and the carnival-goers are the travelers who come to visit you. Strap yourself in and take the ride up that first roller coaster climb…

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Dancers perform for the judges. More than five couples usually share the dance floor. The elaborate network of temporary overhead lighting ensures that all is seen.

This weekend marks the 25th anniversary of the Wisconsin Dancesport Championships. The company has a long history with the hotel as they’ve held the annual event at the Pfister all these years. This high-heeled party brings dancers from across the country to compete at their specialized steps.

It is interesting to see the dancers’ posture and gait change depending upon which dance is announced. For example, to an untrained eye (mine) the tango appears stiff and exacting. The foxtrot takes on a more sly, playful, and sensual body movement. During waltzes dancers’ bodies become languid and graceful, flowing toward the next position. Dancers are on display everywhere across the 7th floor in varying stages of preparation, warm-up, cool down, and rushed focus to perform last minute wardrobe alterations. There are rumbas, cha chas, jazz dances, solos, the jitterbug, salsa dances. The list goes on to nearly every dance you’ve ever (or some, in my case, never) heard of. During competition fellow dancers between heats applaud and cheer for their friends and colleagues.

An impromptu city of vendors springs up wherever dance competitions take place. They are prepared to satisfy all of the dancers potential needs from shoes to outfits and photo/videography. I spoke with the shoe vendor in the foreground and she observed that she would likely spend one week at home this month.

Between competition dancers relax and recharge throughout the cafe and lobby lounge. The women wear makeup which reminds me of my theater days and the men stand at attention as suitors with impeccable posture. Coaches critique improvements necessary before the next time they hit the floor. The vibe is that of a large extended theater company from all walks of life.

My favorite part was to watch the shadows swim across the dance floor as dancers moved in and out of the light.

One can’t help but wonder about the impact shows such as So You Think You Can Dance have had on these competitions. I would imagine the larger exposure of dance offered to the modern lexicon has brought an influx of new blood in to the dance community.

Shadows of fabric tornado across the wood floor.

Each dress is designed to be more eye catching than the last. Men's pants are loose and look comfortable but I imagine serve the purpose of accentuating leg movements.

Artist Timothy Westbrook's costume display on the 7th floor. Could celluloid cassette tape be the new sequin?

I tried to imagine any other environment where an event such as a ballroom dance championship could be held that would be as fitting as the Pfister Hotel. Nothing came to mind, except possibly some fantastical land which exists only in a poet’s imagination. Standing amidst the assembled bustle of  thoroughbred peacock dancers which have taken up residence inside of the crown jewel of the Marcus family, the two feel so fitting you wonder where the dance stops and the hotel begins and vice versa. The delineation between stage and spectator blurs to a point that the fray is as much a part of the experience.

Swing dance high steppers.

A brick and mortar structure can be lovely standing by itself but without the people to breathe a kiss of life into it’s hallways, it is just a pile of well placed bricks, doors, and floors. The unique events and personalities passing through these doors create the personality of the Pfister Hotel, possibly even more so than this lovely house which Guido and Charles built.

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I'm not the first to find Joe as a subject. Katie Musolff also painted him outside on Wisconsin Avenue during a break.

“I’m going to be 22.”

That was Joe’s answer when I asked how old he was. His response was shared with a grin in that adorable way that only people up to a certain age are excited to tell you how old they’re going to be.

Joe started with the Pfister as a busser at the ripe young age of 18. After time spent cleaning tables Joe moved on to being a food runner and from there he has become a bartender. Joe bartends upstairs in Blu on occasion but most nights you can find him downstairs in the lobby lounge. This is where he prefers to spend his workday, as he prefers the relaxed vibe and the ability to spend time getting to know his customers.

To be fair; calling Joe a rookie isn’t entirely accurate. He has worked at the Pfister Hotel for 4 years.

The other day Joe and I were discussing houses. I just bought a fixer-upper in the Harambee neighborhood and Joe asked about my buying experience and challenges faced thus far in remodeling. Joe said that he’s thinking about buying a house. Maybe a single family, maybe a duplex. Something that a couple of handy buddies can move in and help him fix up in exchange for cheap rent. He gets that far-off glassy gaze while describing his house. “Somewhere that can be my own place with a pool table and a garden and I can make it my own.”

“How old are you anyway, Joe?” I finally asked him.  That’s when he told me he was going to be 22.

“How many 22 year olds who want to buy a house and put roots down?” I found myself thinking. This is the biggest reason I waffle on whether or not to call this guy a rookie.

Joe is the youngest bartender currently pouring drinks between the Pfister’s lobby lounge, Mason Street Grill, and Blu.

Possibly as a result of being a young he is interested in discovering new things. Joe is always quick with the best place to get a bite of food, try an innovative cocktail, or find an under-the-radar music venue. He knows who has the best hot wings, and where the burgers only cost a buck on Thursdays. He’s got his pulse on the city and it would be a traveler’s loss not to ask this young man his recommendation. I call Joe a rookie not because of a lack of experience, but because of the youthful excitement we all hope to keep fostering as we grow older.

It’s true that at 22 he may not yet be a walking recipe dictionary for every variety of fruit juicy martini, or ironically named shaker filled with frou frou creamy sweet shots. But his youthful manner is very much a boon to the young man. Joe doesn’t lean behind the bar with the sneer of a bartender who has “seen it all,” and as such hasn’t developed a bedraggled ambivalence to the world. Joe hasn’t seen it all. The world is still relatively new to him. He hasn’t heard it all, and he’s not developed the presumption to assume how your story is going to end when you’re in the middle of telling it. This guy is interested in hearing about your hometown, your last vacation, or an artist whose work he hasn’t previously been exposed to. Joe has the current experience which one cannot buy, the experience of being in the middle of one’s glorious youth. But for the mere cost of a glass of beer, you can enjoy Joe’s company. Which is almost as good as being young again yourself.

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Timothy Westbrook, Pfister Artist in Residence, celebrated his first gallery night Friday, April 20th 2012. The event was a great success. Here’s a glimpse into Timothy’s rationale behind “The Femme Nouvelle” piece and the evenings events.

The show began around 5:30 pm with Timothy reenacting a turn of the century dressing with his model Rose.

Timothy walked through the process of tightening a traditional corset and discussed his use of recycled fabric. Both the corset and the prototype skirt were fashioned out of recycled Pfister hotel bed sheets that he had dyed a beautiful deep purple.

Over the corset and prototype skirt, Rose donned a Timothy Westbrook original jacket.

Timothy specializes in weaving with recycled materials.  The fabric used in the jacket was hand woven by Timothy with both wool and the cassette tape. The shimmer of the cassette tape reflected the light wonderfully.

Timothy then fashioned the jacket from this woven material. The details on the sleeves and lapels were exquisite.

There were some friendly faces in the crowd. Last year’s Artist in Residence, Shelby Keefe, came out to support Timothy and couldn’t help touching the fabric.

The night was full of art, cheese, wine and conversation. Timothy is already preparing for his next gallery night to be held in July.

Thanks to everyone who came out to support our 2012 Artist in Residence and please stop by the Westbrook studio in the Pfister to see more of Timothy’s work.

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