A clap of thunder and rain slamming against the window woke me from a deep sleep last night, an omen for the day ahead. By morning, the rain had eased, but the sky remained slate gray and threatening.
We hadn’t gone far before the rain returned. What should have been bucolic farm scenes unfolded instead as soggy fields behind a steady rhythm of windshield wipers. Not the drive I had imagined, and a concern, since my one must-see stop was entirely outdoors.
As we neared the “spectacular sculpture” of Paul Bobrowitz, the rain began to taper. By the time we pulled into his driveway, it stopped altogether, a small but welcome miracle.
On a previous road trip through Wisconsin, I’d stumbled upon Paul’s expansive property filled with extraordinary, exuberant art. I immediately fell in love with his work. A self-taught sculptor, he transforms salvaged metal, stone, and found materials into large-scale pieces that feel both playful and intensely alive. That first visit ended with two sculptures in my car and a lengthy conversation with Paul.
On this trip the number of artworks has grown significantly, scattered across his six-acre property. There is whimsy, playfulness, and great expressiveness in his work. After seeing the Kohler Preserve, Paul’s work would fit right in. Like the artists exhibited there, he is somewhat manic about creating art. Although he sells his sculptures, I have the feeling that he creates them more for himself than for any other reason.
We spent a couple of hours there, walking on muddy ground to take in as much as we could. Just as we were preparing to leave, the rain began again.
The drive to Madison alternated between backroads and highways, the rain shifting from drizzle to downpour, but never fully letting up. Entering the city, I was struck by how young everyone looked, a reminder that this is, at its core, a college town.
After lunch, we set out for the Madison Contemporary Art Museum, down the street from the state capitol building. Designed by architect César Pelli, the museum has a striking glass and steel structure. That, however, was the only interesting thing about it. Most of the galleries were closed in preparation for a new exhibition. The one open gallery took all of five minutes to see, a letdown after the richness and energy of Bobrowitz’s world.
The other museum we wanted to see, the Chazen Museum of Art on the University campus, is closed for renovation. Even if it had been open, we wouldn’t have visited it. By mid-afternoon the rain was coming down in sheets, the roads were flooding, and we were tired. We’d planned to walk through the campus, but that was clearly out of the question.
We’ve been lucky for the last couple of days; this trip has delivered exactly what I’d hoped for. Today, not so much. Yes, between gray skies and washed-out views, there was one bright stretch of time wandering through Paul Bobrowitz’s unruly, exuberant landscape. I am grateful the rain paused just long enough to allow us to enjoy the art.