HBCH June, July, August 2010 : Page 80

Nature Nurtured A former Latvian summer camp in Wisconsin, Camp Wandawega gets reincarnated as a creative playground for Chicago’s art and design set By Meghan McEwen Photography by Bob Coscarelli and Greg Gillis David Hernandez was an infant the first time he slept at Camp Wandawega. Te Latvian summer camp located in Elkhorn, Wisconsin, is also where he learned to swim, climb trees and fish. More than 30 years later, when he took his then fiancée (now wife) Tereasa Surratt back to see the magical setting of so many childhood memories, they left with a parting request to the 80-something-year-old owner/priest: “If you ever decide to sell this place, call us first.” Te call came five years later, and Hernandez and Surratt couldn’t resist. Tey snatched up all 25 acres: the main lodge; a three-story hotel; two cabins; an archery range; basketball and shuffleboard courts; a garage; two piers; horseshoe pits; and all the furniture inside. Te lure of the place, which sits directly on a quiet 800-foot stretch of Lake Wandawega, is undeniable. Sunshine streams through a canopy of majestic oaks, silver maple and cottonwood trees; winding gravel pathways crisscross through lush hostas and patches of wildflowers; and it’s not uncommon to stumble across a family of blue heron cranes or find eggs on the shore from nesting turtles. Welcome to the scenic backdrop of Camp Wandawega, where nature, culture and art go hand in hand, and big, freewheeling ideas fuel the creative currency that has transformed a former Latvian summer camp into a weekend playground for Chicago’s creative set. From the first summer Hernandez and Surratt took ownership, Camp Wandawega’s transformation has FIRST-CLASS CABIN Art camper Tyler Petersen walks past a two-bedroom cedar cabin from the ’30s carrying a silkscreened print. Left: David Hernandez and Tereasa Surratt stand on a pier from the ’40s while their dog, Frankie, dries off. 80 | | Summer 2010

Nature Nurtured

A former Latvian summer camp in Wisconsin, Camp Wandawega gets reincarnated as a creative playground for Chicago’s art and design set By Meghan McEwen Photography by Bob Coscarelli and Greg Gillis David Hernandez was an infant the first time he slept at Camp Wandawega. Te Latvian summer camp located in Elkhorn, Wisconsin, is also where he learned to swim, climb trees and fish. More than 30 years later, when he took his then fiancée (now wife) Tereasa Surratt back to see the magical setting of so many childhood memories, they left with a parting request to the 80-something-year-old owner/priest: “If you ever decide to sell this place, call us first.” Te call came five years later, and Hernandez and Surratt couldn’t resist. They snatched up all 25 acres: the main lodge; a threestory hotel; two cabins; an archery range; basketball and shuffleboard courts; a garage; two piers; horseshoe pits; and all the furniture inside. The lure of the place, which sits directly on a quiet 800-foot stretch of Lake Wandawega, is undeniable. Sunshine streams through a canopy of majestic oaks, silver maple and cottonwood trees; winding gravel pathways crisscross through lush hostas and patches of wildflowers; and it’s not uncommon to stumble across a family of blue heron cranes or find eggs on the shore from nesting turtles. Welcome to the scenic backdrop of Camp Wandawega, where nature, culture and art go hand in hand, and big, freewheeling ideas fuel the creative currency that has transformed a former Latvian summer camp into a weekend playground for Chicago’s creative set. From the first summer Hernandez and Surratt took ownership, Camp Wandawega’s transformation has taken the form of a non-stop work/play party. Both ad execs for Ogilvy, the ambitious pair enlists friends, who in turn enlist their friends, who trade skills and manpower—from building a new floating pier to landscaping a lakeside hill—for enviable weekend stays in the beyond-charming lodge and cottages. “It’s very rustic, like camping indoors. Think chipmunks running wildly down the halls, ladybugs on your pillow,” says Surratt. But the tall, stunning brunette and author of the new book A Very Modest Cottage (published by Hearst, documenting the rescue and decoration of a one-room cabin she transported from her hometown Beardstown, Il) is far too humble. Yes, it still has all the trappings of a bona fide, no-frills camp: Tere are shared showers, creaky wooden floors, rickety piers and plenty of wicker. But make no mistake: Tis is no ordinary backwoods affair. Camp Wandawega reads like a curated thrift store paradise, where even the bathroom doors are decorated with paintpeeling vintage oars. Te rooms are outfitted with well-worn furniture that came with the place, but Hernandez and Surratt have added another layer to it all with a beguiling mix of flea market and garage sale finds: a stack of leather suitcases in one corner, weather-worn water skis in another; Hudson Bay blankets folded neatly across beds; and vintage radios, alarm clocks, Coleman thermoses, and antique lanterns as finishing touches. Te interiors, put together like a page from Te World of Interiors, play a crucial part of the camp-as-creative-outlet experience—with surratt as the consummate set designer, stylist and storyteller. “Every room is kind of a joke—we call this one ‘Brokeback Mountain room,’ because there are cowboys on the sheets,” says Surratt, who gave the main living area a decidedly hunting-lodge-2.0 spin with taxidermy overload, grommeted vintage leather sofas, and enough plaid to outfit a band of bagpipers. It’s an approach that takes every nook and cranny into account: old photos hanging by wooden clothespins, a cluster of framed paint-by-numbers, a collection of pitchers, an old fencing mask mounted on a plaque she picked up in Argentina. “It’s hard when you’re cheap. I don’t pay much for anything,” says Surratt, who’s currently working on her second book—this one about collections. “It makes it more interesting when it’s filled with junk. It was never intended to be fancy. It’s disingenuous to do anything else.” There are moments when you wonder if Hernandez and Surratt actually relax. In the two-bedroom cedar cottage, they recently spent a weekend ripping out the ceiling to expose peaked roof beams, whitewashed the entire interior and added French doors—yes, in one weekend. Over one of the beds, the wall is decorated with a simple row of fishing lures they found all over the property, imparting a tangible sense of history and place. Given Surratt’s affinity for vintage odds and ends, art and the stories behind both, her friendship— and collaboration—with Post 27 owner Angela Finney-Hoffman seems inevitable. After stopping by the beloved West Grand Avenue store (just a few blocks from her city digs) the week after it opened in 2008, Surratt and Finney-Hoffman became fast friends. It wasn’t long before Finney-Hoffman was a Wandawega regular. And it was there, around the communal kitchen island—a massive butcher block-topped vintage metal rolling cart—where Finney- Hoffman had an idea: Art Camp for adults! The next morning, “we were up before 8AM with clipboards and coffee, plotting activities” for the annual weekend combining nature, communal art projects, and a group of talented artists and designers. “We have so many creative friends, from graphic designers to textile artists—it just made sense,” says Finney-Hoffman as she dribbles white paint down a piece of scrap wood with intentional haphazardness. “There’s this great energy here,” says Finney-Hoffman. “And we’re all like a family now because of it.” The roster of campers who have made appearances reads like a who’s who in the art and design community: the guys from Post Family; surface designer Noel Ashby; furniture designers and woodworkers Tyler Petersen and Shaun Owens-Agase of Stone Blitzer; textile designer Linsey Burritt; designer and design blogger Margot Harrington of pitchdesignunion.com; furniture designers Steven Teichelman, Bladon Conner and Aaron Pahmier. “We’re not making fine art,” says Finney-Hoffman. “The setting doesn’t lend itself to that. We’re working on craft with reclaimed and found objects. We didn’t want it to offset the environment here. And we wanted it to be organic, because that’s how great art happens.” Huge pieces of reclaimed wood spread out across a field for a collaborative painting—individual painted works on pressed board and salvaged doors are configured into a giant collective work that will later be exhibited at Post 27, with various components either sold, given back to the artist or donated to a gallery wall at Wandawega. A buzz saw hums in the distance. Up on the hill, some of the furniture guys are working on birdhouses—creations they construct from scraps. “We don’t worry about the quality or variety: It could be from the firewood pile, blowdown trees from our own woods, demolished houses, you name it. So far, the birds haven’t complained,” says Hernandez. Art buttons are designed with help from Kristen Carter from Busy Beaver, the local company responsible for button vending machines at spots like Nightwood and Empty Bottle. Sam Rosen and Chad Kouri from the Post Family lead a workshop on silkscreening, and the frame-worthy results are hung by clothespins on a piece of twine strung between the trees. Mini collages are an unexpected favorite that have emerged from the activity lineup. “It’s like the art version of scrapbooking,” says Finney-Hoffman. “Tey really geek out over this stuff.” A din of paper shuffling, scissors cutting and tape pulling are the sounds of creative concentration. Tables pushed together and covered with paper, wood scraps, markers, tubs of rubber cement, rolls of twine and X-Acto knives, are an explosion of color, texture and pattern. Everyone brings huge wooden crates and their cigar boxes full of magazine clippings, vintage papers and visual graphics. “Te purpose isn’t to go out and buy a bunch of new materials. It’s about the art and getting people out of the city—getting them off the grid to a setting that’s open creatively,” attests Finney-Hoffman. Last summer, a collective brainstorming and improv sketching session laid the groundwork for an unbelievably cool tree house that’s currently in the works—a modernist-meets-camp cabin in the sky. And when they aren’t creating, campers have their run of the pleasure grounds, including access to a sports room packed with mostly vintage recreation equipment: rackets, balls, bows, fishing poles, tackle boxes. Along the hallway hangs a row of adorable plaid vintage life vests—all fully usable—including a tiny faded orange one that belonged to Hernandez as a kid. At the end of the long days, the group heads up the hill, where a huge farmhouse dinner awaits. Surratt and Hernandez often recruit chef friends to come for the weekend to prepare food for their guests. Another friend, DJ Ed Menacho spins music during dinner and throughout the evening, and then again in the morning, when dreary-eyed campers reconvene for a big communal breakfast. Surratt sashays around with trays of food, perfectly wrapped silverware and towering stacks of color-popping Fiestaware (discovered in the lodge when they knocked down a wall in the breakfast Room), while delegating responsibilities with the charm of a practice-perfect hostess. She points to a kitchen wall covered with brightly colored, patterned vintage aprons on hooks: “Tose aren’t decoration. When we have big, communal breakfasts, everyone has something to do— that’s why I have so many aprons.” Hernandez, who can be found at any given hour climbing on the roof to fix a leak or scaling trees to work on the electrical, is famous for his giant bonfires—at least 15 feet high—which light up the dark, starry night. And at least once during the weekend, the art campers file into the old wooden pews in the outdoor chapel for a projected movie screening in the woods— either an Eames art film or the finale slideshow of the weekend’s events. By the time Sunday morning rolls around, oldtimers wander in for the weekly outdoor Latvian Catholic service that has continued uninterrupted for more than 50 years. “We have vestments that are 100 years old and hand-painted with gold silk—they’re like artwork. Tey donated it with the property, because they knew we would continue to let the community come for service,” says Surratt, who takes as much pleasure in preserving long-standing traditions at Wandawega as she does creating new ones. “David’s mom showed me old photos of traditional Latvian craft competitions—basket weaving, pottery, cute little old ladies who could crochet like nobody’s business. Te art camp is bringing it back. It feels like part of the tradition.”

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