Walking the High Line

Somewhere among the 2,028-block grid that is the island of Manhattan, lies the High Line.Spanning 19 of those blocks between Gansevoort and West 30^th, the High Line is a public park built on top of a former railroad; a railroad that was abandoned for almost 20 years. The High Line has come a long way since the barren days of the 80’s and 90’s. In fact, it can now officially be considered a hotspot for both tourists and couples alike.  While the High Line has become a form of modern art, the Empire State Building is a typical Koolhaasian skyscraper of early Manhattan architecture: built, on a single plot, with no purpose other than to exist as a skyscraper—as the tallest structure in New York City. Despite these differences, the High Line and the Empire State Building are two forms of a singular concept discussed in Rem Koolhaas’s Delirious New York, that of architectural lobotomy.

Walking down the High Line was a far cry off from my expectations. To be frank, I was expecting a lot more flowers, artwork and general color, not the drab beige weeds that lined either side of the walkway. Though I understand that late November is not exactly the season for vivid flora, a scene slightly richer in color was definitely anticipated. Yet, there is still something beautiful and entrancing about turning something that was once as abandoned and forsaken as the High Line was, into a work of art, if only a seasonal one. It is a classic story of redemption, with the High Line playing the part of the phoenix rising from the ashes. The buildings of the immediate area are nothing like the massive or gaudy structures one may find framing the streets of Times Square or 5^th Avenue, rather they are reflections of the High Line itself—artsy, beautiful, and just a little bit pretentious. This recent New York Times article claims that the gentrification of the West Side has led to property values in the area increasing by 103%. The existence of this particular gentrification process is solely due to the presence of the High Line, and the crowd it typically attracts.

In introducing the concept of architectural lobotomy, Koolhaas writes, “…a lobotomy—the surgical severance of the connection between the frontal lobes and the rest of the brain to relieve some mental disorders by disconnecting thought processes from emotion. The architectural equivalent separates exterior and interior architecture.” (Koolhaas, 100) In explanation, architectural lobotomy consists of the interior of a structure being segregated from the exterior, the inside divorced from the outside. The High Line embodies a form of architectural lobotomy similar to that of  “Murray’s Roman Gardens,” which are discussed in Delirious. This form is where the interior “registers and manipulates shifts in metropolitan culture.” (Koolhaas, 104) and the exterior is fairly utilitarian, accepted through its inconspicuousness. In short, the interior is fantastic, while the exterior remains plain. This is precisely the form that exists in the High Line– the walkway, with its artwork, landscaping and atmosphere, serving as the fantastic interior, and the railroad itself acting as the plain exterior.

The Empire State Building was, at least according to Koolhaas, born from the establishment of the 1916 Zoning Law. The zoning law, in essence, limited the options architects had in designing skyscrapers, thereby enabling them to choose. The calling card of the Empire State Building is its legendary height, which at one point made it the tallest building in the world. I always find it slightly humorous that whenever I must find the Empire State Building, all that is required from me is that I merely crane my neck and walk in the direction of the structure towering overhead.

Concerning its representation of architectural lobotomy, the Empire State embodies a second form, opposite from that of the High Line. Regarding this alternate form, Koolhaas asserts, “Pure product of process, Empire State can have no content. The building is sheer envelope. The skin is all, or almost all. Empire State will gleam in all its pristine beauty, for our children’s children to wonder at.” (Koolhass, 141) In this variation of architectural lobotomy, the exterior is still divorced from the interior, but here the exterior is the fantastic. It is the skin of the building that all will marvel at for generations, making the interior an afterthought. Of this interior, Koolhaas observes, “Its ground floor is all elevator; there is no space left between the shafts for metaphor.” (Koolhaas, 143) It is the interior that is functional, pragmatic and sensible, while the exterior inspires all those that gaze upon it.

It is not despite their differences, but rather because of their differences that the High Line and the Empire State Building are capable of encompassing the concept that is architectural lobotomy. While it is the interior of the High Line and its beautiful walkway that represents the fantastic, it is the exterior of the Empire State that achieves the same result. And as much as the exterior of the High Line epitomizes utilitarian functionality, it is the interior of the Empire State, consisting mainly of elevator shafts, that exemplifies that same practicality.