By Ben Joravsky
“I made it back in 1992, and it’s one of my favorite pieces in my personal collection,” she says. “It’s essentially a found object, but what’s so complicated was pinning the eggs together so they wouldn’t fall apart. It’s taking something natural and putting it in a man-made construction. And it’s humorous. Think about it: what if you racked up with eggs?”
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While Fuller was developing her surrealistic style, the surrounding Wicker Park neighborhood was developing as an art community. The Coyote festival began seven years ago as an offbeat gallery walk; it’s since expanded into a four-day extravaganza featuring hundreds of artists, rock groups, poetry readings, and plays. “We drew 80,000 people this year,” says Mary Beth Cregier, president of the not-for-profit volunteer board that coordinates the exposition. “We broke through to the mainstream; the Tribune and Sun-Times wrote about us; even the Daily Herald came in from out of town to cover it.”
“For a while I was just shocked. It never occurred to me that people would steal anything. Art doesn’t have any street value. Maybe they figured it would look cool above their friend’s pool table. Maybe they were just drunk. I kept racking my brain thinking of the people who had been through my studio, but I can’t remember any bad-looking types, although there’s really no way to tell a bad type.”
As for Cregier, she says she’s getting a little tired of hearing about the theft. “For one artist out of 800 in the festival, Vicki Fuller sure takes up a lot of my time,” she says. “She must have called me ten times demanding to know what I could do about this theft. Well, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. She says, ‘Do you think we should put something in the newsletter warning other artists?’ Well, what are we supposed to write: Watch things so they don’t get stolen? I mean, duh.”
Such are the dreams of wannabe champions like Diaz, a 20-year-old fighter from the northwest side. Until recently Diaz was battling palookas in the relative obscurity of the Hamlin Park field house. Then he made the Olympic team. In August he came within a few punches of winning the bronze medal. Now this.
“I’m not gonna throw my money away,” he says. “I’m not gonna run out and buy a car. A car’s not a good investment. I’ll take care of myself. I won’t be one of those sad old guys you read about in the papers. I’ll win the championship in two or three years and defend it for five years; then I’ll come back home to Chicago and settle down.”
