Sunday in the Park with Wales
Feb. 20th, 2005 11:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shadowkatToday my friend, Wales, and I made the forty-five minute subway trek from Brooklyn to Central Park to see the Gates. Meandering our way through the city and the park and masses of people of all shapes, sizes, creeds, and tongues in the process.
For those who are media deprived, like the video store guy I chatted with on Sat, The Gates is the Christos, more than 20 years in the making, project for New York City. They first proposed it over 20 years ago and were turned down. Tried again with Dinkins, turned down again. In the intervening years - they did other things, such as put up umbrellas in California and wrap the walkways of Loose Park in Kansas City in yellow fabric. Then, two years ago, they got a spot of luck - Bloomberg, a long-time fan of their work got elected Mayor of New York City and immediately approved the project the moment he heard of it. So the Christos' (they are a couple) set about creating their numerous bannered gates around Central Park. Tall orange metal brakets, with saffroon fabric hanging evenly at the same height on each, from the top, spaced about 10 feet from each other - astonishingly similar to banners at The Renaissance Fair or Medieval Event or Dance Festival or from sidewalk lamp posts announcing the approach of a holiday season. The frabric is tough, like burlap, rough. When the wind hits it, it furrows or balloons similar to a kite or sail. Not at all what I expected. And I'd seen pictures of them before hand.
Zig-zaging around horse and carriages and people towards the park on 57th Street, the acrid smell of horse and manure in the air, I tell Wales about the video store guy who'd told me he'd been dragged by a friend to film the Gates at 5am in the morning Friday. How I informed him I was seeing it with a friend who was an art history major. "Oh, could you come back and explain to me what the point of it is?" He'd asked perplexed. He had been expecting a mural or something artsy, something with meaning. "All this thing is is a bunch of metal things with curtains, stupid." Danny from my book club the other night made the same remark. "They are just a bunch of fabric hanging from metal rods. How stupid. Why look at that?" Bridget, another book club member, who had gone to see them responded, "true, but seeing how people reacted to them was a real treat. The diversity. All languages. All economic classes were there. And the kids adored them, one girl was so excited..."
Ah, conceptual art...got to love it. KidBro was trained as a conceptual artist. Years ago he explained to me the point of conceptual art and why he had no patience for paintings, drawings, or more traditional/standard forms. When we paint or draw - we are attempting to communicate what is inside us to the world at large - or just with ourselves. "Contemplating your navel," he'd remark with disdain. Kidbro could pretty much draw anything with little effort. Whether or not someone else sees our painting or drawing is not necessarily important - depending on the artist. We are only interested in their reaction to the extent that they got what we attempted to communicate. Not so with the conceptual artist. When they create art - they aren't so much interested in conveying a message or communicating what lies inside them, nor do they care if the viewer got the message, because in some instances there is no message intended - as they are interested in how others relate to what they've created. It's a bit like a scientist conducting an experiment - if I put a bunch of pink umbrellas in my rat's cage - how will the rat deal with those umbrellas? How will it reacte? The conceptual artist is an external artist as opposed to internal one. To him/her - any reaction to their art - is interesting. They created the art to obtain a reaction. To be interacted with by a large variety of people - the more, the better. And the more diverse the reactions the better. That's why they pick major urban areas or places which recieve a lot of traffic. And in most cases conceptual art cannot be hung on a wall, placed in garden, put in a museum. It is in effect a spectacle in of itself - a performance, which is why it boggles most people's minds. Because it redefines how you think of art, how you experience it. Making art both communal experience and a solitary one at the same time.
In the Christos case - their art often changes how you look at something, how you experience it.
While sitting on a park bench in the center of Central Park, a spot we'd sat numerous times in the past, starring out across the great lawn, watching the sun filter through the naked branches of the trees and the orange frabric of the Gates, Wales commented:"The park looks so different, I never looked at it quite this way before." People were walking, standing, sitting, playing on roller skates, we watched a bunch of roller-skaters showing off and a passerby commented:"This is not California." "What do you mean?" asked Wales. "Well if this was California, they'd be in bikinis and shorts and more people would be out..." It was 36 degrees Farenheit. We stared at her perplexed, before she wandered on. The Gates brought out all sorts of people today, on one walk-way, we appear to pass the actor/comedian Jack Black, or so Wales tells me, insisting it's him. I glance back and just see a slightly stocky man, around five foot three or five, with a blue cap on his head and black hair, but I believe her. Wales is good at spotting celebrities.
Meandering our way towards the Resevoir on 90th street - we wondered how far the Gates went. I suggested they went all the way to 125, Harlem. Wales commented that would only be fair. Zig-zagging around masses of people - I said, "People can be so frustrating, they are milling around, every once and a while crowding together to take pictures or chat in small groups in the middle of the sidewalk, no wonder we can't move." "People tend to be chaotic," said Wales, wisely. "Yes, they are. Not nice. Not mean. Complex. Uncontrollable." "Like birds," she said. And we both laughed, remembering the woman who had handed out fabric samples in the park - samples from the Gates.
She carried an odd pole with her - a pole with a tennis ball on top. And people surrounded her much as pigeons might a woman feeding them. When a few people attempted to get more than one swatch of frabric - she informed them she only had enough to give one per person. As I tentatively held out my palm, she smiled..."It's like feeding birds."
The Resevoir on 90th Street is the most astonishing sight, one I don't remember seeing before now. We climb up to it, not as many people here. Wrought iron surronds it. The water is crusted with breaking ice and stone
aquaducts on three sides. Looking across the broad expanse of dark gray and brown water, we see the skyscrapers blending with the sky, through a viel of skeleton branches and naked trunks with wisps of green pine and brush, intermixed with the saffroon orange of the Gates - the only spot of real color. "Why is everyone wearing orange today?" Wales asks. "Who? What?"
"I've seen so many orange scarfs and jackets more than usual...or maybe I'm just noticing it more because of the Gates." Maybe. She glances down at two traffic cones. "I like the fact that they are the same color as traffic cones...there's something almost ironically amusing about that...traffic control." I smile and nod. Glancing towards the far end I comment on how the Gates appear to stop at the end of the Resevoir. "How sad." Wales remarks.
"And unfair." It does seem unfair, I think. They should expand the length and bredth of the Park. "Must have been too much work."
The blue has almost faded from the sky now and the sun appears to be a frosted yellow - easy on the eyes, when earlier it required sun glasses. We hasten towards Barnes and Noble to pick up a book for Wales then homewards. On the way we discuss the last project of Christos we'd both experienced, albeit separately. Wales asks if I remember when he draped Loose Park in Kansas City in yellow - wrapping the walk-ways like the yellow-brick road. A project that did not sit easily with her, and appears to annoy her to this day. "The Whole Yellow-Brick Road/Wizard of OZ thing was so old, so cliche." She states. "Besides, Loose Park is in Missouri not Kansas anyways." "It is in Kansas City though," I retort. I vaguely remember - but not seeing it, just seeing the drawings of it which continue to sit in the Neilsen Art Gallery. I ask her when it was - the 80s? No, she remarks, the 70s - late 70s. And that explains it - it must have been 78 or 79 when I first moved to Kansas City from Pennsylvania. Asking my parents about it later, they concur, mentioning how it had been going on but we'd either just missed it or didn't see it because we'd recently moved. I wonder if that's why I wanted to see this so badly? Because I'd missed the last one?
Later I ponder my feelings about the Gates and realize I liked them. They made me happy. Watching the frabric unfurl in the window. Watching the people meander. Seeing the bits of color in the Park. How the sun reflected off of them. The reflection in the water. It reminded me of why I adore this city - it always has a new surprise, a new wonder, never boring. Never mundane. No matter how long I've been here or how well I think I know it, I discover something new. The only other place I've been to that was like that was London, England. A place I could easily traverse. That always had a new wonder around every corner. No one the same. Every face, every voice diverse.
Now, here I sit, past midnight, looking out on a landscape of white. Yet another changing face of the world outside my window.
For those who are media deprived, like the video store guy I chatted with on Sat, The Gates is the Christos, more than 20 years in the making, project for New York City. They first proposed it over 20 years ago and were turned down. Tried again with Dinkins, turned down again. In the intervening years - they did other things, such as put up umbrellas in California and wrap the walkways of Loose Park in Kansas City in yellow fabric. Then, two years ago, they got a spot of luck - Bloomberg, a long-time fan of their work got elected Mayor of New York City and immediately approved the project the moment he heard of it. So the Christos' (they are a couple) set about creating their numerous bannered gates around Central Park. Tall orange metal brakets, with saffroon fabric hanging evenly at the same height on each, from the top, spaced about 10 feet from each other - astonishingly similar to banners at The Renaissance Fair or Medieval Event or Dance Festival or from sidewalk lamp posts announcing the approach of a holiday season. The frabric is tough, like burlap, rough. When the wind hits it, it furrows or balloons similar to a kite or sail. Not at all what I expected. And I'd seen pictures of them before hand.
Zig-zaging around horse and carriages and people towards the park on 57th Street, the acrid smell of horse and manure in the air, I tell Wales about the video store guy who'd told me he'd been dragged by a friend to film the Gates at 5am in the morning Friday. How I informed him I was seeing it with a friend who was an art history major. "Oh, could you come back and explain to me what the point of it is?" He'd asked perplexed. He had been expecting a mural or something artsy, something with meaning. "All this thing is is a bunch of metal things with curtains, stupid." Danny from my book club the other night made the same remark. "They are just a bunch of fabric hanging from metal rods. How stupid. Why look at that?" Bridget, another book club member, who had gone to see them responded, "true, but seeing how people reacted to them was a real treat. The diversity. All languages. All economic classes were there. And the kids adored them, one girl was so excited..."
Ah, conceptual art...got to love it. KidBro was trained as a conceptual artist. Years ago he explained to me the point of conceptual art and why he had no patience for paintings, drawings, or more traditional/standard forms. When we paint or draw - we are attempting to communicate what is inside us to the world at large - or just with ourselves. "Contemplating your navel," he'd remark with disdain. Kidbro could pretty much draw anything with little effort. Whether or not someone else sees our painting or drawing is not necessarily important - depending on the artist. We are only interested in their reaction to the extent that they got what we attempted to communicate. Not so with the conceptual artist. When they create art - they aren't so much interested in conveying a message or communicating what lies inside them, nor do they care if the viewer got the message, because in some instances there is no message intended - as they are interested in how others relate to what they've created. It's a bit like a scientist conducting an experiment - if I put a bunch of pink umbrellas in my rat's cage - how will the rat deal with those umbrellas? How will it reacte? The conceptual artist is an external artist as opposed to internal one. To him/her - any reaction to their art - is interesting. They created the art to obtain a reaction. To be interacted with by a large variety of people - the more, the better. And the more diverse the reactions the better. That's why they pick major urban areas or places which recieve a lot of traffic. And in most cases conceptual art cannot be hung on a wall, placed in garden, put in a museum. It is in effect a spectacle in of itself - a performance, which is why it boggles most people's minds. Because it redefines how you think of art, how you experience it. Making art both communal experience and a solitary one at the same time.
In the Christos case - their art often changes how you look at something, how you experience it.
While sitting on a park bench in the center of Central Park, a spot we'd sat numerous times in the past, starring out across the great lawn, watching the sun filter through the naked branches of the trees and the orange frabric of the Gates, Wales commented:"The park looks so different, I never looked at it quite this way before." People were walking, standing, sitting, playing on roller skates, we watched a bunch of roller-skaters showing off and a passerby commented:"This is not California." "What do you mean?" asked Wales. "Well if this was California, they'd be in bikinis and shorts and more people would be out..." It was 36 degrees Farenheit. We stared at her perplexed, before she wandered on. The Gates brought out all sorts of people today, on one walk-way, we appear to pass the actor/comedian Jack Black, or so Wales tells me, insisting it's him. I glance back and just see a slightly stocky man, around five foot three or five, with a blue cap on his head and black hair, but I believe her. Wales is good at spotting celebrities.
Meandering our way towards the Resevoir on 90th street - we wondered how far the Gates went. I suggested they went all the way to 125, Harlem. Wales commented that would only be fair. Zig-zagging around masses of people - I said, "People can be so frustrating, they are milling around, every once and a while crowding together to take pictures or chat in small groups in the middle of the sidewalk, no wonder we can't move." "People tend to be chaotic," said Wales, wisely. "Yes, they are. Not nice. Not mean. Complex. Uncontrollable." "Like birds," she said. And we both laughed, remembering the woman who had handed out fabric samples in the park - samples from the Gates.
She carried an odd pole with her - a pole with a tennis ball on top. And people surrounded her much as pigeons might a woman feeding them. When a few people attempted to get more than one swatch of frabric - she informed them she only had enough to give one per person. As I tentatively held out my palm, she smiled..."It's like feeding birds."
The Resevoir on 90th Street is the most astonishing sight, one I don't remember seeing before now. We climb up to it, not as many people here. Wrought iron surronds it. The water is crusted with breaking ice and stone
aquaducts on three sides. Looking across the broad expanse of dark gray and brown water, we see the skyscrapers blending with the sky, through a viel of skeleton branches and naked trunks with wisps of green pine and brush, intermixed with the saffroon orange of the Gates - the only spot of real color. "Why is everyone wearing orange today?" Wales asks. "Who? What?"
"I've seen so many orange scarfs and jackets more than usual...or maybe I'm just noticing it more because of the Gates." Maybe. She glances down at two traffic cones. "I like the fact that they are the same color as traffic cones...there's something almost ironically amusing about that...traffic control." I smile and nod. Glancing towards the far end I comment on how the Gates appear to stop at the end of the Resevoir. "How sad." Wales remarks.
"And unfair." It does seem unfair, I think. They should expand the length and bredth of the Park. "Must have been too much work."
The blue has almost faded from the sky now and the sun appears to be a frosted yellow - easy on the eyes, when earlier it required sun glasses. We hasten towards Barnes and Noble to pick up a book for Wales then homewards. On the way we discuss the last project of Christos we'd both experienced, albeit separately. Wales asks if I remember when he draped Loose Park in Kansas City in yellow - wrapping the walk-ways like the yellow-brick road. A project that did not sit easily with her, and appears to annoy her to this day. "The Whole Yellow-Brick Road/Wizard of OZ thing was so old, so cliche." She states. "Besides, Loose Park is in Missouri not Kansas anyways." "It is in Kansas City though," I retort. I vaguely remember - but not seeing it, just seeing the drawings of it which continue to sit in the Neilsen Art Gallery. I ask her when it was - the 80s? No, she remarks, the 70s - late 70s. And that explains it - it must have been 78 or 79 when I first moved to Kansas City from Pennsylvania. Asking my parents about it later, they concur, mentioning how it had been going on but we'd either just missed it or didn't see it because we'd recently moved. I wonder if that's why I wanted to see this so badly? Because I'd missed the last one?
Later I ponder my feelings about the Gates and realize I liked them. They made me happy. Watching the frabric unfurl in the window. Watching the people meander. Seeing the bits of color in the Park. How the sun reflected off of them. The reflection in the water. It reminded me of why I adore this city - it always has a new surprise, a new wonder, never boring. Never mundane. No matter how long I've been here or how well I think I know it, I discover something new. The only other place I've been to that was like that was London, England. A place I could easily traverse. That always had a new wonder around every corner. No one the same. Every face, every voice diverse.
Now, here I sit, past midnight, looking out on a landscape of white. Yet another changing face of the world outside my window.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-02-21 07:56 am (UTC)Yes, that was in a way what it was like. But this frame didn't just frame the park but in an odd way transform it - so you saw it differently. It was very similar to what happens when someone transforms a town sidewalk during Christmas - putting up banners.
The sidewalk is the same, but you see it differently, with all the evergreen and red banners and bells. It seems more cheerful somehow.
Here, on a gray colorless winter day in Feb, and Feb days are the worst - everything looks dead or in hibernation, drab, as if something sucked the color out of it or faded it. And here we have these saffroon gates - this orange, not bright, not faded, sporadically through the park - which has the oddest effect on it, making the park appear larger somehow and smaller at the same time, joyful, playful, as if someone dressed an old washerwoman in an orange dress.