Getting Around in New York

Here is another post bringing this blog to a close as the daily expression of my passion for New York. Of course, one of the joys and one of the curses of New York City is its public transportation system. When it works well, it is incomparable. To speed from uptown to downtown in a just a few minutes in one of the busiest cities in the world is a marvel. As I have said many times before, it feels like magic to disappear into the ground in one part of the city and to reemerge into the light in a completely different part of Gotham, all within minutes. Without the subway, without the ability of people to move from one remote section of the city to another, New York would be very different and significantly less dynamic.

Still, once you become reliant on the subway, it becomes very annoying when it doesn't work properly. When it is too slow, too hot, too crowded, or inaccessible altogether, it can completely alter plans, turning a good day into a bad one. Probably the worst things about subway travel are the unexpected and often unannounced closings of certain stations and even whole lines. It is never wise, especially on the weekend, to count on the subway to get you anywhere as quickly as you planned. I must say, though, that despite the terrible overcrowding, the reliability of the subway on weekdays is impressively consistent.

I suppose our worst public transportation story had nothing to do with the subway, but resulted from the foolish decision to take the bus from downtown to uptown on a hot summer night when the air conditioning on the bus wasn't working properly. Owing to street closings, special emergencies, and the generally slow pace of the bus system, it took us something like 2 and 1/2 hours to travel from Houston Street to 86th Street, a trip that should take maybe 40 minutes and that can be walked in considerably less than 150 minutes. At times, it was fun, particularly quickly bonding with our fellow passengers who were even more frustrated than we were. But after the first 90 minutes, there was very little that was amusing about the final hour of what came to be known as the Third Avenue Crawl.

I can't end, however, on a negative note. The subway has its troubles and in the economic downturn, those troubles will most likely continue to multiply. But the subway remains one of the glories of New York City. Long may it thrive!

New York City

This is the first of a series of posts bringing this blog to a close on July 4th as a site for the everyday expression of one settler's passion for life in New York City. Although this blog will continue, the posts will not be daily, as they have been almost without exception since last July 4th when my brother John suggested I start a blog about my love for New York. Rather, I will post only occasionally here (not more than once a week) and only when I am truly moved to write.

It now surprises me every time I hear about someone who doesn't care for New York or hates New York or is indifferent to New York. In many ways, it is an impossible place - rude, cramped, dirty, and endlessly noisy. But all of these qualities are the necessary concomitants of its energy, its joys, and its unrivaled variety. I can't imagine living anywhere else, as I find I am now fueled by its vitality, animated by its lessons, shaped by its endless possibilities.

It seems to me that a single year of New York living has yielded more learning, more growth, more exposure to a wide world of yeasty experience than 20 years in almost any other place I have lived - including Albuquerque, New Mexico; St. Paul, Minnesota; Burlington, Vermont; Long Island, New York; or Urbana, Illinois. The number of plays I have seen, musical events I have attended, classic movies I have viewed, museums I have visited, poetry readings I have heard, or book talks I have witnessed in just a few months exceeds the sum total of such experiences in all the other places I have lived. It is all true, but it astounds me nonetheless to say this. New York has become a symbol for full tilt living for me. I think I would die a premature death if I were separated from it for too long.

Storm King

"Storm King" refers to a mountain that borders the outdoor sculpture park called "Storm King Art Center" that is located in upstate New York, only about an hour by bus from New York City. This center displays on its grounds the works of some of the most noteworthy sculptors of the 20th century. I wasn't prepared, however, for the emotional wallop this park delivers in terms of its sheer beauty and enchanting interplay between the things of nature and the things of human beings. To look out over the bluff of the museum center and to view these giant works, all greatly separated from each other, is to be part of a landscape where art and nature don't merge exactly, but co-exist in a particularly satisfying way. By this, I mean that the sculptural park is big enough to allow artists to create works that are virtually unlimited in size and thus able to compete visually with the grand vistas of forests, mountains and plains around and behind them. When you add in the oranges and reds that many of the sculptures wore, along with the more muted bronzes and browns, you have a natural and crafted landscape that is utterly unique.

I don't know what it is about a place like Storm King, but both Karen and I found ourselves weeping gently as we joined our first tour and began to investigate works both quite close to us and others at surprisingly great distances (as much as a half mile away). It is a combination of this place's unique beauty - both natural and human-made - and the commitment of the artists to realizing their creative visions that especially moved us.

This past weekend we visited Hyde Park and all these places recalling the greatness of the Roosevelts. Our day touring their ancestral home, ER's own Val-Kill, and FDR's Top Cottage, which was to be his retirement retreat, was incredible. We also toured Dia at Beacon, which was wonderful, too. But it was Storm King that took our breath away and that both of us feel we need to return to again and again.

Dia:Beacon

Dia:Beacon is designed to be a larger than life experience of art. When you first walk into this museum that was once a box making factory and see its first "gallery" that appears to be the length of a football field, you gasp a little at the sheer length and height of the room you are in and quickly begin to notice as well how effectively this huge area is used to display the work of art that is your introduction to Dia. The work is Imi Knoebel's "24 colors for Blinky, 1977," which displays 21 of the panels on a rotating basis. Each shape is brightly colored and each evades recognition as a square or triangle, rectangle or trapezoid. No shape is symmetrical or predictable. Individually, they seem like improvisations, but together they strike you as the perfect, monumental work of art for this extremely large venue.

The area that houses this work is so large, however, you can't really quite make out the work until you walk toward the middle. At that point, you can see the colors and the shapes and begin the process of trying to absorb the artist's use of color and shape to create this unique experience of art. As I looked, I was immediately reminded of Ellsworth Kelly's room of colored panels that occupy a large gallery at the MET. But Kelly was primarily interested in experimenting with color in a relatively small space. Knoebel's ambitions seem grander, though I actually have no idea what they are. But there is something about the unevenness and uniqueness of each shape and the fact that these shapes actually rotate through the work (I don't know how often) that remind me of some sort of cycle of life. Add to this the fact that this work is dedicated to Blinky Palermo, a fellow artist who died at a young age, and you have a work that is reaching for something momumental, like the gallery in which it is displayed.

"Next Fall" to Close on the 4th of July

A great American play is about to close after only 132 performances. It is a story about our identities as Americans - sexually, religiously, interpersonally - and like any really good American play, it makes us laugh and cry, often at the same time. It is about our need to love and our need to judge, about our penchant for unconscious cruelty and our compulsion to reach out to others for help and for meaning. And it reminds us that it is never too late to forgive or to learn. "Next Fall" is about all these things and more.

I refuse to accept that this simple, beautiful play did not attract large audiences because of a no-name cast, which is the reason given by most of the pundits. Somehow, I think it is something more fundamental than that. People have forgotten what the theater does at its best. It serves as a mirror of ourselves and who we are striving to become. "Next Fall" provides us with such a mirror and does so in such gentle and heartfelt ways that it is easy to lose sight of how profound its lessons really are.

I don't know. Most likely, I overrate this play. It is perhaps too transparent, too lucid, too straightforward, too sentimental to be truly great. But I love it nonetheless and may have to see it one more time before it finally closes.

How Democracy Works Now (2)

More reactions to the films featured in the Human Rights Watch Film Festival. Two nights ago was the final film in the 12-part series called "How Democracy Works Now." These 12 films were made over a six year period in which the filmmakers obsessively followed the United States Senate's efforts to address immigration reform, particularly from the point of view of the Senate's then leader on these issues - Edward M. Kennedy. As pointed out in an earlier post, this legislative process does not just involve the senators but also very much includes the staffs of the senators and a variety of interest groups committed to immigration reform.

The lesson about how democracy works now is ironically that democracy still works as it has always worked - through the building of interpersonal relationships and in relentless pursuit of what is possible, not what is ideal. Those relationships that in some cases take many years to build are delicate and easily undermined. They must be attended to with care and devotion and they must never be overworked or exploited to excess. Interestingly, that Master of the Senate - Lyndon Baines Johnson - was a consummate politician by virtue of his relationships with other senators. It was LBJ's willingness to do whatever it took to get legislation passed that in many ways resulted in America's finest hour with respect to justice and equality and yet one of its darkest hours when it came to the fine art of persuasion, an art that Johnson practiced with such ruthlessness that he strained it to its breaking point, leading arrogantly to the tragedy of Vietnam.

Today, there is no one in the Senate like LBJ. It is both terrible and wonderful that this is the case. But on the whole when it comes to improving the quality of people's lives through federal legislation, I would have to say that the absence of a legislative genius like LBJ, however ruthless, is more terrible than wonderful. But I could easily be persuaded that exactly the opposite is also true.

Hot and Humid In New York

When it's hot and humid in New York City, everybody talks about it. Shuffling onto another crowded, unair-conditioned subway car, you can hear people murmuring how hot it is. Emerging once again from the damp heat of the underground subway to the almost as uncomfortable air at ground level, you can see people giving each other the eye communicating with emphasis that it's really hot. Walking along the city streets, with the built-up heat from the sidewalks and buildings making it feel even hotter, you can't help but notice people nodding at each other with their grim faces and then adding with a kind of obvious satisfaction - "Boy, it's hot."

But the heat also presents fun opportunities to get cool. The cool breezes on the Staten Island Ferry are always welcome, as is the icy environment inside most large movie theaters. We have been regular attendees at the Human Rights Watch Film Festival, held in the beautiful and spacious Walter Reade Theater. It is perhaps the best venue for viewing films in New York City. Whenever you go in, it is cooled to perfection, never too cold, but always providing welcome relief.

Finally, our tiny apartment, in part because it IS tiny, gets cool and comfortable immediately. And there is nothing quite like coming in from the heat to a small but cozy room where the effects of reliable air conditioning can be immediately felt. Great for sleeping, perfect for reading the New York Times in the morning, and just right for sipping a small glass of wine at the end of a long day before turning into bed and finding yourself ensconced in cool, comfortable sheets.