Livin’ The High Line

I love The Plinth, the High Line’s public art platform that stretches across Tenth Avenue at 30th Street. In honor of the just-announced, upcoming (in October) commission — a giant pigeon by artist Iván Argote titled Dinosaur — I’m posting some of my favorite pigeon-on-the-High Line photos from the past 15 years. They show up everywhere, in all the iconic places, and are our true neighbors in New York City. I admit to loving them.

A new, 3rd, edition of On the High Line has just been published by Fordham University Press / Empire State Editions, and it’s in many ways an entirely new book. I built a companion website that has more than 650 photos — historic, contemporary, aerial and rooftop — at HighLineBook.com, and you’ll find lots more information about the book there.

During the course of my research I learned a lot more about the history of this landscape so many of us love so dearly, and I wanted to share one story that particularly captivated me. I’m pretty sure that the very first essay I wrote as a child was about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, so in a way I’m coming full circle here. To begin, have a look at the Gansevoort Pumping Station in the first decade of the 21st century; it’s the handsome brick building in the center of the farmers’ market:

Designed by the architectural firm Bernstein & Bernstein, this station had five pumps, each of which could deliver 2,700 gallons a minute through the city’s High-Pressure Hydrant system, which was developed in 1909. On Saturday, March 25, 1911, workers at this station were notified of a devastating fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in Greenwich Village, and the FDNY raised the water pressure in the hydrant system to help members battle the fire in a building that no sprinklers. One hundred and forty-six garment workers were killed that day, including 123 women and girls, many of whom were young Italian, Eastern European, and Jewish immigrants.

In later years the Gansevoort Pumping Station became a cold-storage warehouse, part of the municipally operated Gansevoort Market Meat Center, and in 1984 Premier Veal moved in. Efrain Gonzalez’ photo below shows how it was soon decorated by a Lower East Side graffiti artist who painted murals of cows on the sides of the building. These were, in later years, targeted with paintballs by animal activists.

The station was torn down in 2011 to make way for the new Whitney Museum. Sitting below that magnificent building on Gansevoort Street, designed by architect Renzo Piano, is another layer of High Line history.

A number of years ago I took this photo of a woman painting a painting of a woman painting a painting in the European paintings wing of the Metropolitan Museum.

I thought of her yesterday morning when I had the great joy of attending the Met’s press preview in advance of the re-opening of the European Paintings Galleries, which the museum’s director, Max Hollein, described as “a completely new re-hang,” in which the curators “gave renewed attention to women artists” and took into account histories of class, gender, race, and religion. The goal of the show “Look Again: European Paintings 1300-1800″ was to create new cultural and artistic dialogs outside the more traditional focus of national schools of art and geographic distinctions. The galleries have been closed, for the most part, over the past 5 years as the Met renovated the many skylights — they embrace a total of 30,000 square feet — that make this wing so distinct. It was a beautiful, sunny morning and every space was filled with natural light. I had to lie on a bench to get this shot (you can see my left sneaker peeking out…) and the security nicely ignored me as I made myself comfortable. This is a place I’ve loved since childhood.

You need a lifetime to appreciate the nearly 800 works in these 45 galleries, many of which have been restored or borrowed from other departments in the Met. (According to curator Stephan Wolohojian, they extend over 2 acres and represent 9,000 gallons of paint.) My favorite gallery is “The Artist’s Studio,” which features ten paintings made between 1538 and 1955 showing the creative work in process. The featured work is Kerry James Marshall’s monumental “Untitled (Studio),” and also includes a few works by women, including a wonderful self-portrait by Elaine de Kooning (from 1946).

Most striking about this new wing is the adjacencies the Met’s curators achieved, which feel surprising and modern in a space that also feels unequivocally timeless. There are too many to mention, but a stunning example is Picasso’s “The Blind Man’s Meal” from 1903, which hangs next to El Greco’s “The Vision of St. John.” Another pairing, on the same wall, puts Picasso’s “The Actor” (1904-05) next to El Greco’s “Saint Jerome as Scholar” (1610).

In another gallery, Max Beckman’s modern triptych, “The Beginning” (1946-49) hangs side-by-side with Jean Bellegambe’s “The Cellier Altarpiece” from 1509.

The new galleries, filled with old favorites and new surprises, open on November 20th.

This week the newest park in the Hudson River Park system, Gansevoort Peninsula, opened on the former Pier 52, just south of Little Island and across the highway from the Whitney Museum. I will be writing more about this place, and its long, strange, history, but for now I offer some pictures and a few thoughts.

If you’ve lived in New York City for your entire life, as I have, the idea of a beach in Manhattan is pretty outrageous. I was dubious about this one from the moment it was announced several years ago, but going there on a hot, sunny day and seeing the happiness abounding — in folks of all ages — had a softening effect. This place is a little miracle.

The best part of Gansevoort Peninsula can’t be experienced through photographs: it’s the sound of the waves of the Hudson River lapping against the rip-rap. Yes, there’s garbage and all kinds of junky stuff washing up with the water, but this is New York City. We expect that. Soon there will be droves of kayakers, paddle boarders and kite surfers stepping off the broad, smooth stones that were placed here for easy launching into the river.

Another thing I love about this park is the way David Hammons’ “Day’s End” sculpture, a work that memorializes the history of the piers in West Chelsea, casts its long shadow across the beach. It’s here, but not here, just like the pier it replaced. And lest you forget you’re in New York City, the park’s designers have helpfully placed a manhole cover at the western edge of the beach, in the boardwalk. See photo below and, as always, click to enlarge the image.

But my favorite part of Gansevoort Peninsula is its history. Soon I’ll be sharing more photographs, including some rare images I found in the Municipal Archives, and telling the fascinating and truly strange history of Thirteenth Avenue. This park occupies the last patch of the lost avenue, and its history is truly remarkable. More soon.

The Olana Historic Site, home to Hudson Valley School painter Frederic Church, just published my article about why this landscape matters so much in the American story. As readers of this blog know, I mostly write about urban landscapes here, primarily the High Line. But 120 miles north, just up the Hudson River, is another beloved landscape, one that has been a second home to me for many decades. This is the link to my article on Olana’s website, where you’ll also find — here — the addictive and marvelous “SkyCam,” a live-streaming camera placed on a stanchion outside Church’s studio by the folks who manage this glorious place.

The Skycam offers a 24/7/365 view of a particular “bend in the river” that was important to Church and also played a key and unprecedented role in the fight to stop a nuclear power plant that would have been built in Olana’s viewshed. I became somewhat obsessed with the SkyCam during the pandemic, and collected more than 400 screenshots that show the same, fixed, view in different light, times of day, seasons, and weather conditions. During those days the camera captured the essence of those first months of lockdown: the fact that we were fixed in place but everything was constantly changing around us. Olana graciously gave me permission to share some of them here. I’ve assembled them in collages to make it easy to see the dramatic shifts that occur as time goes by.