Chicago Board of Trade - LaSalle Street Facade
Matted prints are a great option if you want to choose your own frame. They come in two sizes: 8x10" and 16x20". These are standard frame sizes. You may easily find these frames at any retail shop.
One thing you need to know about frames. Those cheap, thin frames with swivel locks and kickstands will not work. They are designed for simple photo prints or diplomas. The matted print will be too thick for these frames. Find a decent frame that is at least 1" deep.
I make every print myself in my studio. No photo lab. No outsourcing. Every print is handmade.
I print on metallic photo paper. It is the perfect paper for black-and-white architectural photography. It adds a distinctive pearlescent, three-dimensional sheen to the prints.
For mats, I use 4-ply Crescent Arctic White matboard. It is off-white, traditional, and restrained. Not bright white, which is too bright and overwhelms the image. This matboard is the archival standard for conservation framing.
I mount prints on 3/16" Bainbridge foamcore. It is acid-free, clay-coated, rigid, and lightweight. It is ideal for archival print mounting.
The print is permanently sealed between the mat and the mounting board. It is intentional. A hinge mount leaves the print too loose. Also, it causes the print to bulge in the middle. A sealed mount keeps the print flat and tight. If you need a hinge mount or a matboard backing instead of foamcore, let me know.
Every print is signed and numbered (limited edition) on the mat in pencil. On the back, you will find a Certificate of Authenticity with all the details about the print and my contact information.
The actual photo print size for an 8x10” matted print is 6x6” with a 1” mat border, and for a 16x20” print, it is 12x12” with a 2” mat border. Since the photo prints are square and the matted prints are rectangular, the bottom mat border for 8x10” prints is 2” and for 16x20” prints it is 6”.
A framed print is a finished artwork. It is not just the image, it is a physical object that looks intentional, lasts decades, and feels complete.
The frame color, finish, and moulding profile. Print mounting, matting, and glazing. These are all deliberate decisions that elevate the image to the level of an artwork, which you can hold in your hands, put on the wall, and live with every day.
I am a professional framer, and I enjoy making frames for my prints. I put a lot of thought into what frame to use for my prints. And how to mat, glaze, and mount them. And after decades of frame-making, I acquired the skills to make my prints perfect, exactly the way I want them. I am proud of what I do.
I make every print myself in my studio. No photo lab. No outsourcing. Every print is personally crafted by me.
I start with printing the image on one of my large-format printers. I use glossy metallic photo paper almost exclusively. It is the perfect paper for black-and-white architectural photography. It adds a distinctive pearlescent, three-dimensional sheen to the print. In a bright spotlight, it looks like a hologram.
For glazing, I seal the print with archival 5-mil PET film, featuring a unique, high-gloss “mirror-like” finish. There is only one manufacturer of this glazing, the price has doubled in recent years, and it is issued in small batches that sell out instantly. But the result is worth the trouble. It gives the print that elusive look of a silver gelatin print from a traditional darkroom, which was treated with a vintage photo heat glossier.
I have been a photographer all my life, and I still have my traditional darkroom. I can produce small silver gelatin prints, but large 44x44” prints are obviously out of reach with this old technology. I am happy that I can replicate that look and feel for the prints on any scale with the new technology I developed.
But this is my choice. If you prefer to use museum anti-reflective glass sheets, please let me know. I can do that, but the print prices may double (since glass is expensive), and delivery will be limited to Chicagoland only (because it is glass and it breaks in shipping).
I permanently mount my prints to white aluminum Dibond sheets using archival pressure-sensitive high-tack acrylic adhesive. It is not a simple process. I use a heavy 750-pound, 60” wide large-format laminator to complete this task. And it is the most dangerous and nerve-racking stage in the whole printmaking process. A tiny misalignment or a speck of debris on the surface can ruin the almost-finished print.
Finally, the print is ready for framing. Frame-making is where a woodworker meets an artist. It is a totally different set of skills, materials, instruments, and studio space.
Over the years, I developed relationships with several suppliers, and I get my frame moulding delivered by truck in large, long boxes. I believe my studio stocks more frame moulding than your average frame shop down the street.
I cut the moulding at 45 degrees using my mitre saw mounted on a custom 10-foot-long, heavy-duty feed bench I built long ago. I then join the cut sticks with a pneumatic v-nailer to make a square frame. Now the finishing touches: I sand and paint the frame corners to make them even and smooth.
Now it is time to put the print and the frame together. I secure the print inside the frame with flexible points and install the hanging wire (or D-rings for the large prints). I sign the print, attach the Certificate of Authenticity, and the print is ready.
Now, let’s talk about the frames I use for my prints. In my opinion, black-and-white photography does not require elaborate framing. A simple but sophisticated matte black frame is all that is needed. It is like the famous Audrey Hepburn’s "little black dress" designed by Hubert de Givenchy for the movie “Breakfast at Tiffany's”. It became iconic and has been described as "perhaps the most famous little black dress of all time." Accordingly, a “little black frame” is all that is needed for my prints.
For 16x16” prints, I use a simple 3/4” matte black frame, but it is 1 1/8” tall, which adds a touch of sophistication. It looks proportional to the relatively small size of the 16x16” print.
For 24x24” and 32x32” prints, I use the same style but a different profile frame. It is a wider 1 1/4" frame, which works for larger print sizes. And it is not as tall, only 7/8", which keeps the prints more grounded on the wall and less overpowering.
For large 44x44” prints, the frame design requires a totally different approach. Compared to smaller prints, the large print is a statement, it is a centerpiece of the room. It is a celebration, and the "little black dress" concept doesn’t work here. It needs a bit of exuberance. At the same time, it has to be constrained and confident. Like a Rolls-Royce brand identity.
To meet this challenge, I came up with a design of two different frames stacked together to form a unified frame for large prints.
The main frame is one of the most expensive frames I used, a custom frame made in Italy. It is 2” tall and 2” wide. It is a block, but it has a bevel on the inside. The beauty is in color, or to be precise, in color gradation. It is dark charcoal on the outer sides, which gradually transforms into a patina of silver leaf on the inner bevel through dark copper leaf on the front side. The beauty is that the gradation is not even, it looks painted by hand. It looks authentic, rustic, and antique.
The secondary frame is 1 1/8" wide, and it has a similar rustic, scratched, antique look, but it is pewter, which is almost the same color tonality as a photographic print it frames. It is more restrained than the primary frame and works well as a separator. Also, it has this chiseled, rough edge, another detail that adds authenticity to the whole frame.
I owe you a clarification about print sizes. The framed print sizes listed on my website (16x16”, 24x24”, 32x32”, and 44x44”) refer to the sizes of prints mounted on the board before framing. But with the frame included, the outside dimensions will be obviously larger. Also, because of the white space (1” or 2”) around the image to separate it from the frame, the actual print size is smaller. Here is the table with all dimensions:
| Framed Print | Outside Dimensions | White Space | Actual Print |
| 16x16” | 17x17” | 2" | 12x12" |
| 24x24” | 26x26" | 2" | 20x20" |
| 32x32" | 34x34" | 2" | 28x28" |
| 44x44" | 50x50" | 1" | 42x42" |
And here is the sample picture to explain the dimensions table:
These are the standard frame options I offer on my website. If you need a custom frame or print sizes, please reach out to me, and I would be happy to help.
A photo print is an option if you want to frame it yourself or have a frame shop you know and trust that will frame it for you.
A photo print is just a loose print that I will send to you in a shipping tube.
I make prints myself in my studio. I use glossy metallic photo paper almost exclusively. It is the perfect paper for black-and-white architectural photography. It adds a distinctive pearlescent, three-dimensional sheen to the print.
The prints are part of a limited edition. They are signed and numbered just below the print. The Certificate of Authenticity is enclosed with the print.
I offer on my website three different sizes for photo prints: 24x24”, 32x32”, and 44x44”. If you need a custom size print, please let me know.
Split print is a great option if you want to go big, really big, up to 10 feet or maybe even bigger. It is a great option for office lobbies and for any place with large, tall walls.
There is a little “behind-the-scenes” story about split prints. I used to offer 60x60” on my website, but it was a mixed bag. First of all, that was the maximum print size I could make because all the materials (backing board, glass, etc.) do not come in sizes bigger than 60x60”. That was the ceiling I could not break. Second, the shipping of these prints was a nightmare. They are big and had to be shipped freight in a crate (not cheap), and every second print I shipped came back damaged, with big holes poked by careless forklift drivers at the sorting facilities.
There had to be a solution to these problems. And I found it in split prints.
Split print is a square print divided into nine (3 by 3) or more smaller squares. 60x60” print becomes a set of nine 20x20” prints, and 120x120” print is a set of nine 40x40” prints. No frame is required for this print presentation, as these are acrylic prints.
Acrylic print is a print on metallic photo paper face-mounted on a 1/4” thick sheet of acrylic (with polished edges) and sandwiched for strength with a sheet of aluminum Dibond. It is a modern, contemporary way to present a photographic print.
Because these are relatively small prints, compared to the final result, they can be shipped on a palette, which eliminates the shipping damage I had before. Plus, they are not heavy, and one person can easily put them on a wall using cleat hangers.
The best practice is to leave about a 1/4" or 1/2" gap between the acrylic print tiles. Since the edges of the acrylic prints are polished and the acrylic is quite thick at 1/4", it creates an interesting optical effect like looking through water.
If you are in the Chicagoland area, I will get you in touch with an installation guy I trust and have used for years, and he will help you install the split print in your home or office.
Each fine art print is produced specifically for you.
From the moment your order is confirmed, your print enters a deliberate production process: printing, inspection, drying, mounting, framing, final quality control, and secure packaging for shipping. Nothing is rushed. Every step is completed in-house to ensure consistency, precision, and permanence.
For matted prints and 16x16” framed prints, the production takes 1-2 days. For large framed prints, it takes 3-4 days.
If you are in the Chicagoland area, the shipping takes only one day. Large prints, I will deliver personally. I will contact you to schedule a delivery date and time that is convenient for you.
If you are outside of Chicago, the shipping takes 2-3 days, standard UPS Ground transit time. Large prints will be shipped in a crate built out of lumber and plywood. To open it, you might need a screwdriver, there will be many screws to remove.
You will receive an email with shipping tracking information once your order is ready for shipping.
Because most of the work is handmade in the studio, minor variations are part of the object's character. The result is not a mass-produced item, but a permanent piece crafted with attention.
Split prints are the only option I outsource to the photo lab. But I guarantee the quality of the prints because they are made under my supervision. Delivery time for split prints is about two weeks, but it can vary depending on the scope of the project.
If you have a specific deadline, please contact me before placing your order, and I will do my best to accommodate your timeline without compromising quality.
Each work is produced to order and crafted individually in my studio. Because of this, my payment and refund policies reflect the seriousness and permanence of the object.
Payments
Full payment is required at the time of purchase to secure your edition and initiate production.
I accept major credit cards and other secure payment methods at checkout. Production begins once payment is received.
There is an option at the checkout for “Payment in Person”. Please use it if you want to reserve your print but need to customize it and are unsure of the exact price. I will email you the invoice, which you can safely pay on my website later.
Refunds and Returns
All prints are made to order. As such, sales are considered final.
I do not offer refunds for change of mind, incorrect size selection, or personal preference. I encourage collectors to review dimensions, framing options, and placement carefully before purchasing.
If your work arrives damaged in transit, please contact me within 48 hours of delivery with photographs of the packaging and the piece. I will repair or replace the work as appropriate.
In the rare event of a production defect, I will make it right.
Cancellations
Orders may be cancelled within 24 hours of purchase, provided production has not yet begun. After production starts, cancellations are not possible.
I stand behind the quality, craftsmanship, and permanence of every piece. If you have questions before purchasing, I am always available to assist.
ADDRESS: 141 West Jackson Blvd, Chicago, IL
ARCHITECTS: Holabird & Root
YEAR BUILT: 1930
You walk down LaSalle Street, and you don't really see it. You feel it, maybe. Something pressing at the far end of the canyon, something that makes you look up. But you don't stop. You have somewhere to be. You have always had somewhere to be.
That is the problem. The building has been standing there since 1930, speaking in a language carved into limestone, and almost nobody reads it anymore.
Let's read it.
Stand at Adams and LaSalle and face south. The canyon does the work for you. Both sides of the street run parallel walls of glass and granite for half a mile, and at the end, where all that compressed financial energy has to go somewhere, it meets the Chicago Board of Trade Building. This is not an accident. Holabird and Root designed the north facade to close that corridor like a door closing at the end of a hall. Every bank, every exchange, every brokerage tower on LaSalle points toward it. The canyon was built to funnel your eye to this place.
What you see is a throne. That is the only word for it. The Art Deco setbacks step back from the base in geometric stages, each recession catching a different angle of light, the whole mass reading from a distance like a gray limestone crown. Critics have called it an armchair. But armchairs are for resting. This building does not rest. The vertical piers run without interruption from the street level to the roofline, pulling the eye upward with a kind of insistence. The recessed spandrels between them disappear into shadow. What remains is pure vertical momentum, as if the building itself were still rising.
It replaced something very different. The 1885 building that stood on this corner was designed by William Boyington, and it was a Victorian monument to certainty: Maine granite from Fox Island, a clock tower that made it briefly the tallest building in the city. Impressive. Already obsolete. The geology of the Loop did not cooperate. The building stood on caissons sunk into the prehistoric muck of the old lakebed, and when the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago went up across the street in the late 1920s, the excavation destabilized what was left. By 1929, the old Board of Trade was structurally finished. They tore it down and built what you see now.
What they did not destroy was the argument the building was making. At the dedication of the 1885 structure, a labor organizer named Albert Parsons stood outside and called the building the crowning symbol of the private property system. He was not wrong. The building was a symbol. It just kept being a symbol after Parsons was hanged following the Haymarket affair, after the Depression, after the open-outcry pits fell silent and trading moved to screens. The argument outlasted every one of its participants.
Now look at the facade itself. Not the whole building. The facade. This is where the argument becomes specific.
The 13-foot clock faces you directly on the north side. In a market built on futures and options, time is not a background condition. Time is the commodity. The clock sits directly in front of the six-story trading room, the silent sentinel over the noise of the pits. Around it, Alvin Meyer placed the key figures of his sculptural program: two hooded figures flanking the dial, one Babylonian, one Native American. The Babylonian carries grain from the Fertile Crescent. The Native American carries corn from the Americas. Above both, a spread-winged eagle in compressed Deco geometry.
Look at those hoods. Meyer stripped the figures of faces. He stripped them of individuality. They are types, not portraits. They are what happens when you abstract countless hands into a single price: the human labor that produced the grain becomes an emblem, the same way the market itself turns ten thousand farmers into a single number on a screen.
The clock is surrounded by this argument. Time at the center. Agriculture at the origin. Capital at the edges.
The bulls are harder to find. Most people never find them. They project from the limestone on the north side, 30 feet above street level, pushing outward from the wall like muscular punctuation. This was not subtle on Meyer's part. A bull market, named in stone, is built into the fabric of the building's skin. The facade speaks in the slang of the trading floor as readily as it speaks in allegory. It was designed to be read at multiple registers, by multiple kinds of people. The trader walking in every morning would have understood both.
Then look up. Keep looking. At 605 feet, at the very apex of the pyramidal roof, John Storrs placed a 31-foot aluminum figure of Ceres, the Roman goddess of agriculture. She holds grain: wheat and corn, the literal commodities traded in the pits below her feet for decades. She is stylized to match the building's geometric language, the folds of her robe simplified into Deco planes, her posture combining stillness and authority. Storrs was right about one thing: you cannot see her face from the street. At that height, facial detail disappears into the sky. What remains is pure silhouette, a human form abstracted into a symbol, which is exactly what an Art Deco sensibility demands. The building frames her. The canyon frames the building. Every vertical line on LaSalle Street points, ultimately, toward that faceless figure standing above the roof.
She has no face because at 605 feet she doesn't need one. She is not a person. She is agriculture itself, watching over the exchange.
The building has other stories. It has always had other stories.
When it opened in 1930, it featured a public observation deck near the top of the tower. For forty years, Chicagoans paid fifty cents to stand up there and look at everything. It was one of the city's premier vantage points long before the Hancock or the Sears Tower existed. The building was a temple, yes. It was also an invitation.
The first tenant was not the Board of Trade. It was the Quaker Oats Company, which moved in a month before the exchange officially opened. Grain was being traded in the pits below, and grain was being processed by the company on the floors above. The building was already practicing what it preached.
In 1978, farmers drove tractors into downtown Chicago and surrounded the building. Low commodity prices had devastated the Midwest, and the limestone tower at the end of LaSalle had become, for those farmers, the face of a system that was grinding them down. They were right about the symbolism, even if the economics were more complicated. The building had always been a symbol. Symbols attract exactly this kind of confrontation.
That same year, workers discovered two 12-foot granite figures, "Agriculture" and "Industry," in the Danada Forest Preserve in the suburbs. The figures had been carved for the original 1885 Boyington building and placed above the main entrance. After the demolition, a wheat speculator named Arthur Cutten bought them for his estate. When Cutten went bankrupt in the Depression, the figures were moved to the forest preserve and forgotten. Forty-three years later, someone found them. They were restored and rededicated in 2005, placed in the plaza where the building meets the street. The 1885 building is gone. Its argument is still standing.
Al Capone reportedly used one of the building's basement vaults. This is either very Chicago or very funny, probably both.
John Hughes filmed parts of Ferris Bueller's Day Off inside. The building has been present at nearly every layer of the city's mythology, the serious and the absurd side by side, which is also Chicago.
Here is the interesting truth about this city: we have built monuments to things we no longer believe in, and we walk past them every day without feeling the contradiction.
The open-outcry pits are silent now. The trading moved to screens years ago. The hooded figures still carry their grain. Ceres still watches from the roof without a face. The clock still ticks away for an exchange that no longer needs a public clock, since every trader has three screens showing the same millisecond. The building is a temple to a practice that transformed itself beyond recognition, and the temple remains, still making its argument in limestone and aluminum, still closing the canyon at the end of LaSalle.
This is what stone does that glass cannot. Glass reflects the present. Stone holds the past. Every carved sheaf of grain, every projecting bull on the north facade, every hooded figure stripped of identity: these are records of what people believed capital was, what they thought agriculture meant, how they imagined the relationship between human labor and abstract price. The building is a text. Most texts rot. This one weighs 100,000 tons and shows no sign of moving.
Walk down LaSalle to Jackson. Stop. Look at the clock. Find the bulls. Look for the hooded figures and understand what the hoods mean. Then look up at Ceres until your neck hurts.
The building has been waiting for you to pay attention.
So pay attention.
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