The Arts in New York City
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"Photo Essay"
I approached my first destination, Highline Park, with a bias realized from Rem Koolhaas’ novel, Delirious New York. Throughout this book, Koolhaas provides examples exhaustively, trying to document “the symbolic relationship between its [Manhattan] mutant metropolitan culture and the unique architecture to which it gave rise”. Koolhaas gives the example of among others, Coney Island; an amusement park born of the culture and attitude of its neighborhood. The fate of the architecture of the park equally interlocked with its neighborhood: “the need for pleasure dominates…step up production of pleasure generates its own instruments.”
Because of this plethora of evidence for Koolhaas’ argument that individual architectural objects were permutations of their surrounding neighborhood, I did not even pause to consider anything to the contrary. However, as I traversed Highline Park, I found that this park was independent and even contradictory of its surrounding. The first contradiction I found was number of people on the Highline versus the lack of people on the streets of Manhattan.
At face value, this fact seems inconsequential, but it led me to realize that Koolhaas’ argument had some rather fundamental flaws. He did not realize that each structure, whether it was the Highline Park or Carnegie Hall, had its own individuality that represented itself in its architecture and attraction to people.
Armed with this realization, I began to look for contradictions between the architecture of Highline and that of the surrounding buildings. It did not take long to realize many of the distinct features of Highline, one of the only green patches left at this time of the year, were straight-edged and rectangular in its shape. However, the apartment buildings in the vicinity of Highline, all were irregular and weirdly shaped.
The most striking of examples I found was when I realized that it was far easier trying to flanuer along the tracks of Highline park than it was walking down Ninth Avenue.
I felt Quinn hit the nail when he described his goal of flanarie: “each time he took a walk, he felt as though he were leaving himself behind, and by giving himself up to the movement of the streets, by reducing himself to a seeing eye, he was able to escape the obligation to think, and this, more than anything else, brought him a measure of peace, a salutary emptiness within…By wandering aimlessly, all places became equal and it no longer mattered where he was. On his best walks he was able to feel that he was nowhere.”
There were several factors that allowed me to get as close as possible to the feeling of being nowhere. The continuous stream of new and unique images like rail tracks covered with plants, a wall covered with aluminum foil, and weirdly shaped benches, all which prevented me from doling on one point for too long. Furthermore, these images were so far removed from what I normally experience, I felt as if I was not myself. As I walked along the tracks I felt that I was “nowhere”.
My second destination served to reinforce the fact that all architectural structures are individualistic and are not permutations of their surroundings.
If one were to apply Koolhaas’ idea to the Empire State Building, it would stand to reason that the architecture of the ESB and its surrounding buildings should be significantly alike. However, I found a similar disillusionment as I had at Highline Park; the buildings in the vicinity lacked several features that the Empire State Building had. The most prominent was the desire to reach the sky that manifested itself in the pointed peak atop the building. None of the surrounding buildings had this desire.
As I reached the end of my meditation, I realized that each structure, be it a park or building, was almost human in its individualistic nature and ambition to be unique.
“Flânerie can be understood as the observation of the fleeting and the transitory which is the other half of modernity to the permanent and central sense of self…. It is a way of going on precisely because it is so utterly futile” (Tester 7).
It’s hard to be a true flâneur when one is asked to be; that is, being assigned to walk around the city without purpose, it was at first difficult to let go of expectations and simply walk. Cameras in hand, I marched forward from the 1 train towards High Line Park.
The High Line
I had never been to the High Line before, although the concept of an “industrial” park interested me; I always imagined it to be very steampunk and gritty, with wiry metallic “plants” and shadows of its former function as a freight line. My imagination stayed just that, for the reality of the park is less eccentric and more of an elevated walk through the city, treating the buildings like giant sequoias in a large, abstract garden. The juxtaposition of painted brick building and vibrant grassy ground is a pretty collision of gritty urban structure and the freshness of nature. It adds more to the illusion of walking through the city as if it were a garden. The planners of the High Line were quite the innovative bunch; they succeeded in smoothly mixing nature with the city, and then implanting park-goers right in the middle of it, able to enjoy their surroundings without feeling much different from walking along a slow-moving city block.
A view from High Line Park, of High Line Park near 23rd Street and the brick “garden” that complements it.
Formerly a freight line, High Line Park reminds me of what Certeau says: “…New York has never learned the art of growing old by playing on all its pasts” (127). The High Line’s very being has been mutated from its original purpose; instead of being a freight line, or the rusty old remnants of one, it has become a park. Not only does this transformation reflect New York City’s ability to constantly update itself, but it makes for a unique park. A pretty awesome park. Sure, there were no metallic trees, but they still had the old lines running through the park. These were definitely my favorite part, as they showed the park’s history, and looked pretty cool, too. You could walk on tracks without worrying about the third rail!
Rails at High Line Park. My favorite park of the composition there
Chinatown
I take the F down to Chinatown, refraining from walking there only due to a time budget. The F lets me off near Straus Square, an area of Chinatown I am not much familiar with. I figure that will make my favorite neighborhood more “flâneursy” or “flâneurable”.
I love Chinatown. Like the High Line, it’s a blend, albeit a different type of blend. Chinatown is a mixing of cultures – those from East Asia and that of America; more specifically, that of New York City. Generally speaking, Chinatown is delicious B grade restaurants, quick walking, beckoning shop keepers willing to strike a deal, food carts selling simple sweets whose aromas fill the air, a lot of honking from the street, lots of talking incomprehensible to me. Chinatown is also a crowded place. It has not entirely followed Koolhaus’ proposals of continuously moving upwards (at least in the area of business), but does follow his notion of continuous crowding. It’s the perfect place for flânerie because it’s a good place to get lost in a crowd while still being important. Every vendor wants your business. Every passer-by wants their personal space, so you’d better watch where you’re lest you want glares or foreign exclamations. Even more conducive to flânerie are the streets; unlike the upper West Side, Chinatown is not numbered, so the streets are haphazardly named with tons of back streets and crevices to explore.
There are many artistic aspects to Chinatown. For one, the calligraphy is appealing, although maybe it’s just the linguistics nerd inside me squealing. The writing is like water, flowing in each character. It’s omnipresent; not just on business awnings but on street signs, too. Another beautiful aspect is the red. Red is a bold colour, a colour of passion and assertion and, in China, luck. As I walk through Chinatown, I notice the collective presence of red: red awnings, red font on signs, red good luck charms, red bean paste, and even red, East Asian style shades on the street lights.
Toto, I don’t think we’re at the High Line anymore…
Getting off the F train and walking into Chinatown. Red awnings, calligraphy, food, and crowds of people.
My feet take me someplace new during my travels. A little place called Kimlau Square. It is mostly grey and stony, with a statue of an imposing man, and a monument for Chinese-Americans who died for our country. Although plain and gray, it is as an aesthetic piece; it is simple, balanced, and noticeable in the city maze.
The simple, solid memorial in Kimlau Square stands out in the city.
Thank you to those who died for our freedom.
I continue to walk throughout Chinatown, eventually finding myself in familiar territory near Mulberry Street. It is past noon; my journey is coming to a close. There is only one thing left to do…
Dumplings and a Snapple for four bucks! Did I mention that when good Chinatown food hits your taste buds, it is the equivalent of your eyes seeing Paolo Veronese’s The Wedding Feast At Cana?
A Final Thought: Snippets
“The flâneur is the secret spectator of the spectacle of the spaces and places of the city” (Tester 7). I felt like just that: the hidden watcher of the city. I observed little happenings as I strolled through Manhattan blocks and the High Line, and even in the subway:
I’m on the subway and hear two men talking heatedly in French. I wish I did not have to get off so soon; I was hoping to catch some words or maybe gush over them.
As I walk from the station to High Line Park, I see a Batman painting on the window of a bakery. Big Booty Bread Company, to be exact.
At the High Line, everyone is staring at two window washers. I am staring at everyone.
A model poses for the camera. A group of friend converse. A young man sits, lonely.
A little boy uses a bench as a slide. Clever. I wish I were that small again.
People watch people as if they viewed are penguins behind glass at a zoo. But the viewers are the ones in the cage.
Too perfect to see while we’re discussing Beethoven in class.
(Funny thing: After all this, I have to say I kind of did escape my problems for the majority of the time I strolled, although more so in the familiar crowds of Chinatown than the new, less packed High Line.)
When I stepped off the subway unto a busy Manhattan street, searching for some telltale patch of green at the distant end of the block, I had no idea of what to expect on my visit to the Highline. I had always loved the sprawling oasis of Central Park and what it represented – the idea of taking refuge in nature when the city grew too loud and tumultuous, of escaping from the hectic pace of life into an “alien” world of trees, grasses, and flowers – but I had never visited the Highline and didn’t anticipate how little the park would betray its surroundings. Amid burnished storefronts and old street signs, one could easily miss the glass elevator that shuttles visitors to and from its second story overpass and the adjacent staircase. There was no pulsating electric sign, no magisterial grove of trees, no heralding crowd of tourists, rushing by one another to catch a glimpse of another New York landmark. As we entered the park on a cold, bright November afternoon, only a few people were strolling along the walkway, a converted freight rail track that that runs from Gansevoort Street in the Meatpacking District to West 34th Street on Manhattan’s Westside. The scene that opened before us was the same one we had encountered moments earlier, walking casually in the streets, and yet that brief flight of stairs seemed to somehow transport. The structure itself was a model of simplicity: a metal path, understated shrubbery, benches, a sparse, but striking array of art objects, brief plateaus, unexpected views, and a sense of reorientation of the familiar embodied in the very logic of the construction:
I had expected something more – intricate landscaping, bright fauna, crowds of visitors, perhaps some food and live music. There was none of that in the Highline. But there was something that in New York City can be as rare and invaluable as any masterpiece of art and architecture – a genuine sense of calm and perspective. It was an impenetrable calm that enclosed the thin stretch of track, unperturbed by the ceaseless, blearing traffic below and the imperious arch of the skyline above. The sounds were still there. The hectic pace of the city still rumbled below, visible with a slight glance over the railing. The shadows of skyscrapers were still bent fiercely over the horizon. And yet, twenty feet above the chaos, one could not help but feel, as much as De Certeau felt gazing down from the 110th floor of the WTC, that the agitation [of the city] is momentarily arrested by vision” Perhaps De Certeau captured this arrested vision of the City better than any other in his essay:
“The gigantic mass is immobilized…It is transformed into a texturology in which extremes coincide..paroxysmal places in monumental relief…one lifted out of the city’s grasp…one’s body no longer clasped by the streets that turn and return according to an anonymous law…its elevation transfigures him into a voyeur…It puts him at a distance…It transforms the bewiching world by which one was possessed into a text…It allows one to read it, to be a solar Eye…a God…this lust to be a viewpoint and nothing more.”
“Walking in the City” can mean stumbling into an endless procession of sights, sounds, and tastes, wandering the bright, buzzing labyrinth of momentary distraction and eternal enchantment that the streets of Manhattan offer. In the Highline, however, to walk is to walk, to be with people is to really be with them, to see is to see. Like all great works of arts, it is useless. It serves no immediate utilitarian or sensual need, and so serves a most important need for people of New York City: the need for tranquility, for understatement, for intimacy, and for a kind of bare, but essential beauty. The beauty of the Highline is always a minimalist beauty. The views are not grandiose or contrived. The design is not imposed upon the surrounding neighborhoods. Vegetation is designed to reflect the wild, resilient growth that persisted after the railway was discontinued.
There is, in this simplicity, a rich spectrum of possibilities for the the flaneur, the “voyeur…lusting to be a viewpoint and nothing more.” One can look ahead and allow oneself to be carried by the logic of the path, submitting to its gentle bends and strange offerings. Odd statues speckle the landscape, offering pleasure in their curiousness and unabashed superfluity. Zebra stripe buildings peek through the brown, windswept foliage, as if mocking some imagined safari, a fantasy of urban visitors. Benches invite visitors to rest, and talk, and absorb the scenery more completely:
Or, one can look to the side, and see the alleyways, decrepit and graffitied. And notice the the river peering through, feel it whispering the city’s secrets in the light autumn breeze. The people who live there speak in the elaborate paintings that decorate the walls of old, decaying edifices:
Or one can look down at the yellow taxi cabs and the bleak, gray sidewalks, with residents scurrying to destinations nameless and obscene, eyes downcast, shoulders braced against the crowd – and perhaps see oneself in the whirl of silver hubcaps and winter coats.
Or one can cast his gaze upward at the arresting grandeur of a skyline that speaks for itself:
One moment my eyes descend into a desolate urban canyon, the next they are drawn upward by the gleaming visage of steel and glass. At once the symbolic relief of a defiant street culture, the hard, steel lines of cororate office building, the sumptuous sllouhette of some temple of culture are all present in my shifting field of vision:
One can understand Quine when he says New York is the “Nowhere he built around himself”. But one also gets the sense of being everywhere, of being connected to everything. One is small, marginal to the city, but also inseparable from its diverse life. One is surrounded by Scruton’s ugliness, but also by beauty – and the boundary between the two is often not clearly demarcated.
The Highline seems to reflect the most ambitious, even starry-eyed vision of what a city, what New York City can be: beauty and degeneration in redemptive coexistence, various neighborhoods, cultures, and styles appreciated as distinct, living entities, but united in the narrative of walking, a celebration of the public that offers private joys, an anonymity that is also an implicit form of intimacy. What we experience at the Highline, more than the ‘Return to Nature’, is a return to the city, its organic patterning and peopling. As Decerteau observed, “Beneath the discourses that ideologize the city, the ruses and combinations of power that have no readable identity proliferate , without points where one can take hold of them, without rational transparency, they are impossible to administer”. At the Highline, we are able to experience the city as a complex totality, which for people who live there, is very much related to the totality of the self. At the Highline distance is no boundary to intimacy, as one is set apart from the city, while remaining very much a part its enveloping life.
Although I would like to claim that our next destination was selected after careful thought and deliberation, I have to admit that the Empire State Building chose us more than we chose it. Towering over the skyline, it immediately attracted our gaze and offered us so clear a contrast to the scope, design, and spirit of our present surroundings that all other options seemed to dissolve. “Empire State seemed to float, like an enchanted fairy tower, over New York”, Rem Koolhaas observed in his “Delirious New York”. ”A structure so lofty, so serene, so marvelously simple, so luminously beautiful, had never before been imagined.”
The neuropsychologist Julian Jaynes hypothesized that early language users, without well established relationships between the various regions of the brain needed for speech and comprehension, hallucinated the voices of the Gods and built monuments in the center of their cities to localize them. Drawn by the allure of the Empire State Building , traversing block after block in its shadow, it is not difficult to see the traces of such a primal relationship to structures. In a landscape of competing glitter and attraction, the Empire State Building attempts, like the Godheads of old, to seize the attention of its viewers, to inspire compelling interest and even awe in a city where interest is endlessly divided and awe is regarded as the most unforgivable sentimentality. As Koolhaas observed, ”The ESB is the last manifestation of Manhattanism as pure and thoughtless process, the climax of the subconcious Manhattan”. Beyond conversations about aesthetics and cultural context, there is man’s fascination with the tremendous – his universal respect for natural power, elegant functionality, and sheer height – and it is this fascination that is animated in the ESB.
While Highline attempts to fuse with a surrounding vision of the city, the ESB seeks to overshadow – it does not strive to elevate, but to surpass. The ESB stands as self-absorbed monument to its own vision, an aesthetic end-in-existence, a thoughtless charge against the vault of heaven. One cannot help but connect the building to Stillman’s Tower of Babble – “a form of automatic architect, a sensuous surrender by its collective makers – from the accountant to the plumber – to the proccess of building”, as Koolhaas puts it. There is something undeniably arrogant and extra-human in the building. But there is also something necessarily superficial:
Pure product of proccess, the 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.”
The lobby of the ESB is a museum of the myth of its own exterior. Reliefs of the buildings are carved into the walls. The famous image of King Kong scaling the side of the building is parodically recreated with an ape doll in one of the display cases.
The interior has its own beauty, but it is a different grade of beauty. The lobby, with its harsh, bright-dark textures does not welcome. It does not invite exploration. It seems to be cognizant of the fact that the utopian premise of the exterior is only a premise, that the interior of business offices and restaurants cannot justify the collective gesture of Babel-making any more than internal motivation can justify the poetry of sorrow in Ivanov. There is a sort of embarrassment in design.
The contrast between the Highline and the ESB is not only a constrast between two visions o f New York City, but between two visions of man and his project of civilization.
There are many places in New York City where people can go to find beauty and recreation. Of course New York City if known for its magnificent and towering skyscrapers that never cease to amaze me every time I look at them but there are also other places other than skyscrapers and tall buildings which can appeal to people’s senses with their own beauty and design. One such place is called the High Line. This public park that was once an old freight line but now its architecture has been converted into a magnificent park filled with plants and flowers of all sorts, grasses, benches, and walkways. Approaching the park near the 14thstreet entrance, I can see the overpass where the railway is situated as I walk toward the entrance.
When I reach the stairs of the entrance, I enter as if I’m at a station ready to get on a train. And yet when I reach the top of the stairs I’m in a whole new place, a place I thought I wouldn’t find as I walked around the neighborhood. I didn’t realize that a place like this was here, especially after passing many restaurants and nice stores full of clothes. I had the pleasure of seeing the High Line at night and during the day. At night, the place was really beautiful, with the lights from the surrounding areas pouring into the space. During the day, I walked around and saw the water of the Hudson River in the distance.
Like Central Park, the High Line is “as series of manipulations and transformations performed on the nature “saved” by designers” (Koolhaas 23). Here, nature has been transplanted and planned by designers. There’s beautiful flowers and plants everywhere. There’s a view of the Hudson River on one side and the hustle and bustle of the streets on the other.Walking around here, I can definitely understand the flânerie, “the activity of strolling and looking” (Tester) here at the High Line, especially when my friends and I went at night. We spent an hour or two just walking around the place, admiring its beauty. There were colorful plants and trees and leaves everywhere. I wanted to take pictures of all of them. I was transfixed by the spectacle of how beautiful the plants and the buildings surrounding the place were. I would really like to go back there when the weather is much nicer and warmer so I could see the flowers in full bloom and sit on a bench and just absorb the surroundings. I can also understand when Tester quotes Baudelaire saying, “The man who loves to lose himself in a crowd enjoys feverish delights that the egoist locked up in himself as in a box, and the slothful man like a mollusk in his shell, will be eternally deprived of” (Tester 2). I would have never experienced the beauty of the High Line if I did not actually go there. A picture is worth a thousand words, but I feel that the actually feeling of being there is different. I appreciate the park more for what it does when I was there; this natural beauty is able to exist with in the concrete jungle of New York City, which I think is great, since sometimes I am jaded by the tall typical buildings of the city.
One thing I really like about the park is how they incorporated the railway into the natural beauty of the park. The plants grow with in it and on the tracks which sort of reminds me of the country when the unused tracks are overrun with grass. This element brings a sense of wildness amidst the backdrop of the city. It’s like the concrete jungle meets Mother Nature. It was inventive to use a structure so ubiquitous in New York City as a place where nature can thrive and be seen.
Another thing I liked is how they used the tracks in an interesting way. They put some of the wooden chair benches on wheels that were placed on the actual tracks and could move. I thought that was cool how they used an existing structure to make such a cool object that fits in with the ambiance of the park to remind us that this actually was once a railway.
Another thing I also noticed while walking through the High Line were the benches. All of them seem to slope downwards at the end. It reminds me of how trains slope downwards when heading from higher to lower ground and how sometimes they must slope downwards to reach tunnels.
These wooden benches and the other wooden chairs and the stone where some of the plants lay also seem to emphasize the natural element of the park with in the frame work of a metal station and railways. It’s like a reflection of the city. Nature in the city is surrounded by the outer framework of concrete and metal buildings. Still, there is a unique beauty in that; such beautiful natural “wild” places can exist within that metal framework. It’s nice to have a natural element in a city full of towers and metal and cars, even if that means that nature had to be “transplanted” in.
Another place where people can go to reflect and find beauty is at the World Trade Center Memorial. Here, where the Twin Towers once stood, are two pools. These large pools have waterfalls that cascade down the sides into a center hole.
Around each pool are the carved names of people lost during September 11. It is very solemn and reflective place as we remember the tragic events that happened that day and the loved ones that we have lost.
These two pools, in place of the North and South towers, are sort of the opposite of the structures that are usually built in New York City. Usually we build upwards, making towers and skyscrapers that soar into the sky. From the height of what once was the World Trade Center, according to Certeau, we are “lifted out of the city’s grasp. One’s body is no longer clasped by the street that turn and return to it…” (128). We think of skyscrapers as placing ourselves above the hustle and bustle of the street, bringing us to new heights and bringing us new perspectives. However, I believe it’s not just skyscrapers can bring us different perspectives; these two pools bring us a new perspective as well. We stand at a height were we are also looking down, though not from a building, but from the ground looking down at the waterfalls fall into the center of the square. We see that there can be beauty in something other than a skyscraper. Looking at the pools we can reflect and meditate about our lives. In a way, the natural beauty of the cascading waterfalls frees us, if only for a moment, from the hectic hustle and bustle of city life.
Much more common to the scene of New York City, are the buildings surrounding the memorial pools. They tower over us and soar high in the sky. They are magnificent in height and sometimes I am in awe at how wonderfully tall these buildings are. Together, these buildings show the typical structures that are seen throughout the city while the pools offer a nice contrast to the metal framework of the city by offering space that includes the natural element of water.
What I believe that these two places have in common is that they both use natural elements within the context of New York City, which is the concrete jungle. The High Line uses plants and trees in a space were railroad tracks can be seen while the World Trade Memorial uses water in a space that once contained two buildings. These places both utilize areas that are ubiquitous spots in New York City. The High Line is in a place of a historic freight line while the World Trade Center Memorial is a site of the famous Twin Towers. Both these places are spaces that can be viewed as very beautiful. I know that I found the foliage at the High Ling very beautiful while I also found the reflecting pools at the World Trade Memorial site to be beautiful. For me, I think part of the beauty lies not only in the delightful experience that I have, but also that these two sites are able to exist in spaces of the city that are so occupied by metal skyscrapers, concrete buildings, and busy, noisy cars. It’s wonderful that while the city has the skyscrapers and buildings that we love to see, there are also some spaces were there is an element of natural beauty within the metal framework of the city that’s different from what we are typically used to seeing.
All these elements call us to be a spectator to the things that are in the city, like the flaneur, who is “the secret spectator of the spectacle of the spaces and places of the city” (Tester 7). We should partake in the places and areas that the city has to offer. We cannot be closed off to the world, rather we should explore what is right in front of us. We should experience the sights and sounds, the delights and joys of the city. After all, we do live in the greatest city in the world, why not take advantage of it?
Throughout the ages, humans’ creations have reflected the era they live in. The High Line Park and Empire State Building are two such creations that reflect the very different nature of their time. The Empire State Building is a 20th century marvel of architecture, while High Line Park is a simple walkway with some greenery through the West Side of Manhattan.
The Empire State Building is, to put it simply, imposing. Looking a it from afar, ones sees a massive “thing” of steel jutting into the sky. 
The rest of the lower east side of Manhattan is similar in its steely, huge grey qualities. However, The Empire State Building takes it to a new lever. It builds on its surroundings, and is similar in from and function- but still manages to conspicuously stand out from afar. As Koolhaas put it, “The Empire State Building is to be a skyscraper surpassing in height anything ever constructed by man (Koolhaas 138)”. While the statement is clearly not true today, the concept remains- a building more massive than anything around it.
When one walks around The Empire State Building, one can’t help but feel lost in a sea of artificiality. There is nothing green in sight. Walking through the lobby, one is impressed by the cold, magnificent marble, but at the same time feels disconnected from nature.
It recalls the “Tower of Babel” of Auster- a building which only contained things man built “with his own two hands (Auster 75)”.
The building is clearly representative of ideas of the time of art and accomplishment. Making something powerful with the force of labor was a goal that many at the time strived for. Making such a gargantuan building was a monumental ask, and one which the people at the time would’ve approached with awe and amazement.
High Line park, on the other had, is a representative of a completely different era and very different values. From the very moment one lays his eyes upon the former train tracks, it’s evident that the path is long and stretches for quite some while. In stark comparison to The Empire State Building, it is a simple, one level walkway lined with bushes, grasses and shrubbery.
Above the floor of the city, yet so far below the top of the mighty skyscrapers, one truly feels what it’s like to get lost in the middle of everything. The most noticeable thing about the modern park is the way it combines modern construction, architecture and materials with natural and simple devices.
This enlightening feature is a direct result of modern ideas of beauty being not only manade, but natural and pristine. The park attempts to combine functionality it is a walkway, after all- with beauty and emerges as a bold statement of the era. Nature is art, and art is functionality.
The two locations are both results and products of the time. The Emire State Building is a call to the era of human creation, where nothing more than steel, wood and concrete are thought of. Is is the era of Manhattan, of doing, of building. The High Line is the result of a modern thought of combining both art and functionality into one being- something which other eras might have thought of as absurd.
In Michael de Certeau’s essay, Walking in the City, the idea of flaneury is surfaced as a major aspect of art in the unconscious mind. With that said, it seems as though underneath the somewhat chaotic but normal buzz in New York City lies more than concrete, skyscrapers and subway tracks. Certeau says that the act of flaneurism “offers a series of turns (tours) and detours that can be compared to ‘turns of phrase’ or ‘stylistic figures’; there is a rhetoric of walking” (131) By simply immersing yourself within the act of walking, one can note a lot about the area. Similar to the idea of a picture being worth a thousand words, a surrounding can act the same.
With the hell life of being a New Yorker, there’s always a necessity to have a place of relaxation, a getaway that’s only a subway stop away. Whether it is in the city itself or in one of the other boroughs, nature is never too far away from us. Although it may be hard to find this natural phenomenon as time goes on, it seems as though we aren’t losing this essential part of life. Instead, we try to find ways of blending it in. With a flaneurist mindset, I was able to see nature at work not only in its natural setting but also in an innovative way at the Highline Park and Prospect Park.
My first stop as a flaneurist was, ironically enough, in Brooklyn near my old high school. I would always visit this park once a week with my friends after a rough day of classes. Now in college, I was more than happy to come back and let out some stress. While walking to the Circle near Prospect Park West, I stopped and actually admired the entrance. For so long, I would just run into the park believing that all Prospect Park had to offer was in the inside. However, I finally stopped myself and saw the two pillars for their aesthetic beauty. These two tall columns reminded me of a Roman or Greek structure from ancient times. With that said, one may have thought that these structures would stick out like a sore thumb. However, I found these added pillars to be just right and succinct with the neighborhood.
Located in the Windsor Terrace, Park Slope area of Brooklyn, Prospect Park seems to represent a lot of its surroundings. While walking around, I couldn’t help but have a nostalgic feeling of the old Brooklyn. By old Brooklyn, I mean before skyscrapers and the new technological era that I have grown up in. With it’s many cobblestone houses and colonial feel the Park seems to reflect the age and maturity of the neighborhood. Surrounding the park, you have cobblestone paths and 4-foot fort fencing, similar to that of Central Park.
Another aspect of the Park that I found very fitting was the way in which it accommodates the people of Park Slope. To no surprise, the area is made up of primarily young white families or emerging artistic eclectic groups of people. With this said, many of these people probably shop at organic places, buy clothes from Brooklyn Industries, or run around the lake while walking their dogs or strolling their kids. The park offers many events that seem to fit the area. For example, there was a mini marathon and an organic farmer’s market. If you’re not an outdoor person, then you can always find Grand Army Plaza on the other side of the park with the library. It’s amazing to believe that all of this is able to mix with nature at it’s best.
Although the cold weather may bring the level of nature down, the vast colors of the fall season still struck me as beautiful. The trees, although in hibernation, just willowed naturally without any interference of tall buildings or skyscrapers. The autumn colors accompanied the landscape of the large lake with the crunching of twigs as well. Although it’s been a while since my last visit to Prospect Park, not a lot has changed. Even with its stagnant aspect, the park still offers this peaceful getaway from the crazy life of a New Yorker.
Taking the subway a few stops to the city, I found myself in the Meat Packing, Chelsea district at the Highline Park. What seems to be an antique of New York City’s past from the under path is actually an innovative and futuristic twist on one of the city’s most important pieces to its present success: the railroad system. Abandoned in the early 20th century but reinvented in the last few years, these railroad tracks combined with the futuristic influence of the ever-growing neighborhood creates the Highline Park. Running parallel to the West Side Highway and the Hudson River, the Park transcends the idea of nature and parks.
While trying to find actual remnant of the old tracks, I was surprised to see all shapes. When thinking of a park, one normally thinks of an area dominated by trees, flowers, or something of the sort. I must note that there was some to offer from mother nature. Although not as grand with trees as Prospect Park, you see the effort by the park to restore a natural beauty with gardens growing everywhere including old garden tracks. In addition, we get a small view of the Hudson, something needed as a balancing element in the architectural city of an expanding New York. However, I must point out the effects of the recent Hurricane Sandy that struck the park with great force. It is evident within the lack of color and somewhat lifeless appearance of the garden.
However, that aspect of a cliché “park with a garden” is greatly overshadowed by the geometric shapes and architectures that one sees. All the lines and futuristic influence I saw overwhelmed me. Instead of plants, tall buildings and skyscrapers casted their tall presence over me. It seems as though the city has taken a toll on nature as its industrializing influence is seen throughout the park. For example, one of the pathways is actually the bottom of a hotel. If that wasn’t distracting enough, one can find other skyscrapers amassing the environment. Furthermore, construction of another building took away from the natural beauty of the park itself. What was supposed to be an innovative park turned out to be a flop in my opinion. Besides the gorgeous view and walk, the park had nothing to offer. To me, it seemed too perfect, almost pretentious in its design.
It seems as though my own walk in the city has made me an amateur flaneurist. Preferably, I admired Prospect Park the most because it stayed true to the idea of a park with its simple beauty and recreational atmosphere. The Highline, on the other hand, offered nothing but shapes and a reemphasis on the busy life of New York City with the shadowing of skyscrapers. As you can see, by simply immersing myself in walking with a flaneurist attitude, I was able to connect a lot of ideas that I would have not seen if I were to just walk without purpose. There is so much more to the design of a park than an aesthetic or euphoric feeling. In addition to their beauty, there is history and influence that is just waiting to be conversed about.
New York City is often referred to as a “concrete jungle.” It is a chaotic maze with its own unique scenery consisting of its natives, sounds and smells. It can be both terrifying and glorious. It can feel foreign or familiar. This “jungle” is made up of giant looming buildings casting shadows on the rushing passers-by. Bright lights accompany the sounds of blaring horns and buzzing conversations. The smells from street vendors, restaurants and apartment windows waft through the air, providing a brief tease as individuals hurry on their way. And, as with all jungles, there is that one spot that makes people pause in awe; that perfect spring or field that seems out of place and is, therefore, all the more wonderful. In New York City, one of these places is the highline, an unexpected oasis in a frenzied jungle.
The highline is an elevated park created from the restoration of old railroad ruins. Unlike a traditional park, like Central Park or Prospect Park, the highline does not have multitudes of tall trees, but rather sticks to small bushes and flowers which seem almost natural to an abandoned overgrown railway. It has a very simple and modern setup, with simple geometrical benches scattered around and steel railings along the sides.
One of the amazing things about the highline is that it unifies the otherwise conflicting ideas of the creation of modernism and the preservation of nature. Here we have a modern structure that adds to the “hip” industrial neighborhood surrounding it by inserting aspects of the natural world. It is a park that merges with the city instead of trying to escape from it.
I found the creation of the highline to be in accordance with the observed history of Manhattan in regard to the natural versus the artificial. If we look at the cow theme that plays out in “delirious new york” we see a movement from “real cows [grazing] on the site of the first Waldorf” to totally synthetic cows that are “stiff and lifeless, but effective in its production of…endless…milk” (p. 150). Finally, in the last appearance of the concept “cow,” we see both “real cows” and an artificial cow that “milks champagne…and whisky” (p.51) inside the Waldorf, as an integral part of the social event. This evolution of the cow in modern society is repeated with parks. Before the highline, there was nature and the city, two opposite ideas that were in no way connected. What makes Central Park so wonderful is the fact that it is in the center of the hustle and bustle of the city, yet is totally disconnected from that chaos. However, the highline is able to merge the two. It is a park, but not one where you can forget where you are. It overlooks traffic lanes instead of lakes and has modern buildings along its sides instead of trees.
You cannot forget you’re in the city while walking on the highline because the city is an integral part of it. In this way, the highline is able to represent progress and the hope for a unified future where nature plays a more prominent role in our industrialized lives.
This idea of progress and hope is also represented through the Freedom Tower. Just as the highline represents a more promising future, the Freedom Tower does this on a much larger level. Through memorializing those lost on 9/11 this skyscraper takes the ruins of the old and uses it to form something better and stronger. Koolhaas was correct in his statement that a skyscraper, especially one as impressive as the Freedom Tower, “is itself and through sheer volume cannot avoid being a symbol” (p. 100). Merely as a result of its magnitude and significance, the Freedom Tower becomes symbolic of a brighter future.
However, the similarities between the highline and the Freedom Tower don’t end at symbolism. Both these locations have highly modern designs with clean-cut geometrical shapes and sharp edges.
However, unlike the highline, the Freedom Tower doesn’t contain that sense of unifying nature and modernism. The Freedom Tower retains its own type of beauty, one that is entirely structural and artificial down to the rectangular fountain with the gaping square in its center.
During the birth of the skyscraper, many individuals produced varying ideas of what they envisioned as the future Manhattan. One of these sketches called theorem, created in 1909, depicts the skyscraper as being numerous levels of “virgin sites on a single metropolitan location” (p. 83). I found it interesting that this vision of the skyscraper more strongly resembles the highline (in design rather than height) than our skyscrapers today.
In truth, both these objects are a result of the ongoing history of Manhattan, and it is exciting to see what they will evolve into in the future.
Tanmai Shah Walking In The City
MCHC 1001
Both the Highline Park and flushing meadows Corona Park are City of New York Parks. When one thinks of a park, one imagines a large open space where people can engage in all forms of recreational activities situated in the midst of nature. Flushing Meadows Corona Park follows this convention. It has vast open spaces perfect for all kinds of activities. Flushing Meadows Corona Park also connects six recreational complexes offering an even greater amount of options to choose from. However, the High Line Park doesn’t follow this convention. The High Line Park is a raised walkway that winds its way through the streets of Manhattan. It is significantly smaller than Flushing Meadows Corona Park which limits the variety of recreational activities. It, however, allows one to enjoy the structure and architecture of the city, something which the Flushing Meadows Corona Park does not offer its visitors. 
Compared to the High Line Park, the Flushing Meadows Corona Park provides a wider variety of recreation. Walking through this park one gets a sense of the endless possibilities of activities that can be done there. The experience changes seasonally; the fountains at the Unisphere are on in the spring and summer, the foliage is in full bloom, and the temperature is warmer, as opposed to in the fall and winter when the amount of visitors is much less. The Unisphere is a unique structure which is the site of many events such as the Breast Cancer Awareness Walk and the World Fair. Walking though the park you can see countless plots of open spaces which visitors use as soccer, cricket, and baseball fields, basketball, tennis, and badminton courts, and as trails for biking, walking, or jogging. Passing by people playing sports makes you want to jump in and play with them.
As mentioned previously, the park connects a zoo, an art museum, a botanical garden, a science museum, and a baseball stadium. These attractions provide unique recreational opportunities that other parks do not have. The Unisphere is describes on page 291 in Delirious New York as, “The Globe is 120 feet in diameter with an open grid of latitudes and longitudes supporting the land masses… It dramatizes the interrelation of the peoples in the world and their yearning for peace through understanding.” Walking through the park you experience firsthand the diversity of visitors, the melting pot phenomenon of New York City on a smaller level. The Unisphere struck me as compelling because of its grand size. It’s a park landmark that is great to visit no matter what time of year it is. 
The High Line however, is situated in Manhattan. The High Line deviates from the normal idea of a park. Walking through the High Line for the first time gives visitors a new idea of what a modern park can be. The High Line is constructed on a raised platform that continues through several streets in the city. It offers visitors unique perspectives of Manhattan as well as of the statue of liberty and the empire state building to not just tourist but local residents.
In terms of recreation there are fewer options due to the size of the park. Walking through the High Line you can see tour groups and many photographers that are attracted to the unique perspectives and views of the city that are offered. Like the Flushing Meadows Corona Park, the experience of walking through the High Line alters with the seasons.
During the warmer seasons the park attracts more visitors. The High Line was designed by the city for people to enjoy the city, but a few coincidences here and there make the experience all the more worthwhile. A billboard saying, “God is too busy to find you a parking spot,” right over a parking lot, or a incredibly realistic cardboard cutout of shirtless man in the window of a nearby apartment waving as people walked by provide with people laughs along the path. Along the path of the park, there are spots designed to let visitors view the unique architectural designs of buildings close by.
In Delirious New York, Koolhaas states that, “-as Manhattan changes from a city into a metropolis, the need for escape becomes more urgent,”(32). This need for escape gave rise to idea of the High Line Park. With exits and entrances located frequently along the path, visitors can descend to the hustle and bustle of the city or ascend to escape the concrete jungle.
Both the High Line Park and Flushing Meadows Corona Park serve as a place for recreational activities and as a place to escape from the city life. Each offers its own unique perspective of the city. Each stands as a testament to its time.
Duality in Urban Identity – The High Line Park and the 9/11 Memorial
The assumed role of architecture within civilization is often reduced to merely structures meant to house organisms for various purposes: housing, working, shopping, and so on. However, structures have evolved over the centuries, transitioning from merely dwellings for solely practical purposes into works of art that can be assimilated into a modern-day setting with their multi-functionality and plethora of uses. The High Line Park and 9/11 Memorial (the projected location of the Freedom Towers) lend witness to this as they are both pieces of architecture within New York City that rose out of the ashes of a former, practical structure and evolved into places that came to symbolize an even greater concept. Once a historic freight line, the High Line Park was transformed into an extended garden, complete with shrubbery, park benches, and a beautiful view from above. On the other hand, once the site of the Twin Towers, the 9/11 Memorial resurrects the glory of the World Trade Center in a location that commemorates the bravery of incalculable departed souls, workers, emergency personnel, and visitors alike. These two structures present the modern view that architecture does not necessarily have to serve a tangible purpose: it can exist to honor nature and human life, lending witness to the beauty of life and artwork in general.
The multifaceted approach to construction now enables sites to cater to an individual’s visual senses, rather than solely the functionality of the place in question. The fact that “the use of each [building] platform can never be known in advance of its construction,” provides insight into the impact of urbanization on the development of architecture in New York City. In fact, “in terms of urbanism, this indeterminacy means that a particular site can no longer be matched with any single predetermined purpose…each metropolitan lot accommodates…an unforeseeable and unstable combination of simultaneous activities, which makes architecture less an act of foresight than before and planning an act of only limited prediction” (Koolhaas 85). This applies to High Line Park as the setting was once home to a train line, considered to be the functional purpose—however, in time the park became a location where visitors could stroll at their leisure, observing the Manhattan skyline amongst the comfort of beautiful plants and trees clothing the once barren tracks. The enclosed pictures are a reminder of the dichotomous nature of the park as the tracks serve to commemorate its previous function as home to a subway line, while the benches and plants adhere to the visual aesthetics of the area, pleasing its visitors’ eyes and providing them with solace from the bustle of Manhattan’s city life and sensory stimuli. High Line Park offers its visitors the opportunity to become flaneurs and wander through the park setting while admiring the structures prevalent within it. The flanerie involved with the parks contrasts highly with that offered by Manhattan streets as the park is a more contained and less diverse region. The experience of walking through High Line Park offers one the peace of mind to escape the pandemonium of city life and walk into an alternate universe covered by vegetation and promoting relaxation. The benches and shrubbery succeed in doing so by offering a more comfortable and inviting environment for the visitor to sit down, as opposed to Manhattan streets’ emphasis on flaneuring through crowded roads, only to be met by the honks of taxi cabs and the shouts of frustration of city workers and travelers.
Likewise, the 9/11 Memorial meanders from the previous characteristic of Manhattan structures serving a tangible purpose as it dedicates its presence to the countless lives fallen at the World Trade Center. Once the center of trade and financial activity, the towers fell only to rise again as a place of solace for those wishing to commemorate the loss of loved ones. However, this occurrences demonstrates Koolhaas’ argument that skyscrapers are no longer the sole structures within Manhattan—plots of land once reserved for the construction of buildings can now be adopted into sites for a myriad of purposes, just the Freedom Towers will serve as both a memorial and the site of the new World Trade Center. Similar to the High Line Park, the 9/11 Memorial offers a wide expanse of land through which visitors can freely wander—however, the feeling differs in the sense that the sights and sounds associated with Manhattan are more prevalent within the location. While the High Line Park was more reclusive and segregated from city life, the World Trade Center’s location is located right in the middle of it in an effort to offer easy access to visitors and workers. Although the location was serene, it was difficult to meander through the crowds of tourists and visitors. I had to wait a few minutes to find an opening where I could stand and witness the actual memorial, a gargantuan square-shaped monument that led into an abyss of water. The monument was engraved with the names of people whom had perished during the tragedy. The memorial structure itself was unlike anything I had ever visited before, its unique structure ultimately overweighing the difficult process to view it. However, flaneuring wasn’t quite the same as there was less scenery to marvel at. The city skyline of various skyscrapers and trees was the generic one I had been used to since I had spent quite a bit of time already walking through Manhattan. Therefore, it wasn’t as unique a sight to see or ponder about. Interestingly, both the memorial and High Line Park had benches within them to serve as a resting spot for visitors, lending further insight into the multifaceted nature of modern-day city structures that serve both a practical and visual aesthetic purpose (a train line or finance center on one hand, and a park or memorial where a person could relax on the other). The dual nature of these city structures is exactly what defines New York City’s urban identity as one that takes into account both form, function, and aesthetics, being not only pleasing for practice usage, but also for people to enjoy and truly experience firsthand through visual stimuli. Without this duality, urban life within New York City would simply be skyscrapers whose purposes were limited to work and housing. Rather, this innovative perspective on architecture has allowed New York City to evolve into the diverse location it is recognized as today.
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 30th, 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 5th 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.
Even though I’m a native New Yorker, I haven’t even experienced half of what New York City has to offer. I’ve never been to the Statue of Liberty! It’s strange how people spend their whole lives in the same area and never visit their area’s most famous landmarks. My guess is that the hustle and bustle of New York City prevents many native New Yorkers from truly enjoying the city they reside in. Just walking along 5th Avenue during rush hour is enough “recreation” for one day. However, this past Sunday I managed to pause my busy college schedule and enjoy a pleasant walk in two New York City attractions—High Line Park and Central Park.
The first stop on my trip was High Line Park. One of my close friends accompanied me on my journey through both parks, which made the experience even better. We picked up some hot coffee from the Starbucks on 8th Avenue and 23rd Street and made our way to the elevated park.
There were a lot of people at the High Line, but it wasn’t too crowded. The narrow park was filled with benches, which offered a brief moment of rest and relaxation. Plants lined the edges of the High Line but they looked very dry and faded.
Prior to visiting the park, I glanced at it on Google Maps Street View and it looked nothing like what I saw in person. I think that the High Line is definitely more appealing in the springtime when all the plants in the park have flowered or gained color. The park was supposed to be a magnificent Garden of Eden. Instead, I saw a dull patch of discolored grass. I regret that I didn’t get to experience the High Line in its best state, but I would love to visit the park next season.
Another thing that I couldn’t help but notice was the surrounding region and structures. Evidence of construction was all around. An idle crane was towering over the park. The park abruptly ended on one side at a caged gate, beyond which one could see unfinished industrial projects. Certain areas of the park were under scaffolding. High Line Park seemed out of place with all the construction.
I thought that maybe the park had been severely affected by Hurricane Sandy, especially since it was operating on a limited schedule. On the other hand, I admire how New York City’s administration essentially recycled an old train line and turned it into a stunning greenway. In today’s fast-paced world, it’s nice to know that we still have the time and the will to create a recreational opportunity meant to entrain as well as distract the public from congested city life.
Thankfully, the unfavorable season and ongoing construction didn’t stop us from enjoying our walk. My friend and I walked the entire High Line from the entrance on 23rd Street to 30th Street, and then all the way back south until the park ended. It was a peaceful location—perfect for catching up with an old friend. The High Line was a wonderful place for a casual stroll, especially because I was able to view New York City from a different perspective. We spend most of our time either at the street level, turning up our heads in awe of the looming buildings above us, or inside buildings, marveling at the bird’s eye view of the city. But because the High Line was at an intermediate altitude, it offered an entirely new and distinctive view of the city by blending the best of the views offered from the street below and the buildings above.
The next stop on our adventure was Central Park. We took the C train to the 81st Station along Central Park West, also known as The Museum of Natural History stop.
As we made our way through Central Park, I noticed that it had also been affected by Hurricane Sandy, but significantly less than High Line Park. A few trees were overturned, but overall, Central Park seemed to be in good condition. However, even though the changing season negatively impacted the High Line, it made Central Park even more colorful and vibrant. One particular tree was a mesmerizing shade of red—I saw it from a distance and automatically thought to myself, “Definitely taking a picture of that.”
Central Park is sixty times as large as the High Line (Central Park has 843 acres while the High Line has 14), so it’s no question that Central Park had a more diverse variety of plants and even topography. In Delirious New York, Rem Koolhas describes Central Park as a synthetic Arcadian Carpet, stating “if Central Park can be read as an operation of preservation, it is, even more, a series of manipulations and transformations performed on nature “saved” by its designers. Its lakes are artificial, its trees (trans)planted, its accidents engineered, its incidents supported by an invisible infrastructure that controls their assembly” (23). It’s interesting that all of the topography in the park seems so natural, and yet, all of it was artificially created. My friend and I found ourselves struggling up steep slopes as well as carefully treading down hills in order to make sure that we didn’t slip on a leaf.
Personally, I think Central Park was much more fun than High Line Park. Though the High Line was peaceful and quiet, Central Park was full of life. Hundreds of people walked by me, entertainers blew huge bubbles, and musicians played a few Christmas jingles on their saxophones. Everything in the park was constantly changing and moving. Wollman Ice Skating Rink was packed, horse carriages lined up one by one, and athletes crowded Park Drive. Certain areas were peaceful, while others were full of commotion.
One of my favorite parts of the day was on a small bridge over The Lake (yes, I know, very original names). Several rowboats were floating peacefully in The Lake, while a man was playing soothing music on his guitar. It was identical to a perfect scene straight out of a romantic movie. Even the sun was beginning to set. My friend and I continued on through the Park, and eventually exited on Central Park South and 5th Ave.
What I thought would be a dull and prolonged day turned out to be interesting and fun. Getting out of the house and going out to the city was one of the best ways I spent my free time, especially as a native New Yorker. Both High Line Park and Central Park encompassed a variety of recreational and cultural activities, which all New Yorkers can experience.
Few experiences can compare to the pleasure of walking around and unearthing the numerous wonders of New York City; everywhere you turn there are countless hidden treasures that one can stumble upon. Among these many sites there are those which are created intentionally for entertainment and allow for pleasure as a direct result of their design and those that are designed for some other purpose but have the ability to be viewed with beauty despite this fact. The Stern Auditorium and Perelman Stage of Carnegie Hall is a clear example of the former whereas the High Line Park would be an area that would be classified as the latter type; despite this, I personally derived an equal amount of satisfaction from strolling through the remodeled, formerly dilapidated park as from appreciating the structural elegance and relative simplicity of this section of one of the most famous performance halls in the world due to their abilities to allow me to partake in the act of flânerie within their urban structures.
My experience with the High Line Park began much before I arrived; knowing it to be a freight line which was repurposed to function as a park, my expectations naturally were very low and I envisioned a set of tracks with a few flowers dispersed randomly in an attempt to cover up the obvious fact that it was not initially intended to function as a tourist attraction. However, much to my surprise and delight, not only was the park surrounded by beautiful foliage and innovatively constructed walkways and benches but there was also no hint of the past purpose that the park once served.
Additionally, the High Line Park blends seamlessly into the environment in which it is located while still serving as a clear refuge from the hustle and bustle of city life; in essence, it seems that it belongs because it looks as if it must belong as an area that can be used as a form of escapism from the many daunting structures that immediately surround it, resulting in large groups flocking to it.
The cultural identity of the site is epitomized by the way in which its design adheres to the situation from which it was borne. The construct of the benches and the wooden bleachers exude sleekness while retaining their functionality.
Moreover, its location amongst these gargantuan city buildings and vibrant, hectic streets allow for an urban appeal, despite the fact that the park itself was built in a more rustic nature. Finally, the era and manner in which it was created hugely influenced its design. Its creation occurring during the urban construction boom following the destruction of the World Trade Center—alongside the facts that the similar Promenade Plantée had just been created in Paris from an abandoned rail line and that there had recently been a powerful petition to prevent the rail line from which this park had originated from getting demolished—allowed the architects of the High Line not only significant means but also freedom in their construction; this resulted in interesting decisions in design like creating a tunnel surrounded by foliage alongside wide open spaces of grass and seating.
Carnegie Hall—as opposed to the High Line—had a significantly more privileged and refined history, resulting in a much more majestic appearance. During my trip to this iconic music venue (again contrary to the High Line Park) my expectations were elevated to an almost unreachable point; this is the epitome of musical significance, the site at which all of the most significant musicians of the past century had at one time performed.
However, my actual trip there left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed by the building itself; while its stage is imposing and it possesses some of the most intricate golden molding and among the most well-conceived lighting fixtures I have ever encountered, traveling through the hall alone still fails to evoke the same level of emotional appeal provided by the natural beauty of the High Line Park.
The music hall was created for the specific purpose of providing an atmosphere conducive to successful musical performances and functions effectively in that role through its expertly crafted acoustic design. However, the true enjoyment that one may achieve from the spectacle of the construct itself comes from one’s ability to witness the crowds that flock to this venue; by observing there members of the societal elite in their natural habitat, one can gain an immense amount of satisfaction.
While these two urban locales may seem completely disjointed and inseparable, when the idea of Flânerie is considered in the context of our course readings it is apparent that there is a common thread that links the two based on one’s ability to derive pleasure from the community to which they are connected. Tester—in his portrayal of a flâneur, one who partakes in flânerie—says that “for him, the private world of domestic life is…a cause [of] feelings of crisis” and he is “only home existentially when he is not home physically” (2). Though this sets the foundation for the actions of the flâneur, his essence lies in his desire to go “about the city in order to find the things which will occupy his gaze and thus complete his otherwise incomplete identity” (7). The primary way in which Tester suggests that he may begin to counteract this emptiness is by attempting to become lost in the urban atmosphere of the crowd; this idea is that which I believe truly provides the recreational and societal significance of both of these locations. Both provide areas that are saturated with people and architectural beauty and therefore allow for one to feel this sense of wonder at both the peopling and physical constructs that comprise them; by walking through these areas we can gain the societal benefit of them through practical recreational experiences.
This integral aspect of these attractions is further supported by the representation of Quinn’s desire to lose himself in New York City in City of Glass by Paul Auster; “by giving himself up to the movement of the streets…he was able to escape the obligation to think, and this, more than anything else, brought him a measure of peace” (8). These historic locations allow us the ability to throw off the yoke of required thought and rather aim towards relaxation in the beauty of these areas.
While one may believe that the iconic Carnegie Hall and the newly—and not so prestigiously—founded High Line Park are total opposites in every sense, the people and beauty which comprise them (though different in both counts) are the primary linking factor among the two. This is due to the fact that they both provide an atmosphere which allows one to partake in flânerie with the attempt of finding meaning in these sites’ active and wondrous natures;
though borne of different circumstances, this theme connects all urban environments based on a form of recreational pleasure which may be derived from them, suggesting a significant societal purpose that they each exhibit. Though it is easy to dismiss claims of similarity between these two locales, it is clear that through walking in and around them they are not quite as different as they may seem.
You are to create a photo-essayistic meditation (!) on “Walking in the City,” which will incorporate visits to the “Nature and American Vision” exhibit and the High Line Park, and will adopt the spirit of Koolhaas, Auster, Benjamin, and Certeau.
More information about this assignment will be given in class and posted to the course website. Because of restricted museum hours, exhibition dates, and class-time conflicts, museum visits (to the New-York Historical Society, and the different museums of the Caribbean: Crossroads of the World exhibit) and the trip to the High Line will need to be arranged independently. Members of the class must arrange to make their trip(s) with at least two other members of the class. More details about the museum and High Line site visits will be discussed in class and posted to the course website.
