The High Line Park in New York. Photos & text by Glenn Belverio

Dear Shaded & Sun-bathed Viewers,

Yesterday, after 49 days of rain and gloom, the sun came out in New York. The city's vitamin D-deprived dwellers bolted from their gulag-like offices and shoebox apartments and ran through the streets, stripping off the majority of their clothing and heading for nearby parks or anywhere where they could expose their pale, corpse-like flesh to the healing rays of ultraviolet radiation. Some NYers exorcised their rain rage by setting huge piles of umbrellas ablaze in the middle of Times Square; others sacrificed squirrels and pigeons to the sun goddess in the hopes that She would stay with us for the rest of the summer.

I took the sunny day as an opportunity to visit the recently opened High Line Park in the Meatpacking District. For those who don't know, the High Line is a 1.45 mile-long (sorry, we don't do meters in the US) elevated, steel structure built in the 1930's to carry freight trains. It runs up Tenth Avenue from Gansevoort Street to 34th Street--but the new park ends at 20th Street. The remainder of the High Line will be completed next year. (As far as I know, the only other elevated rail park in the world is the Promenade Plantee in Paris).

Inspired by the wild-seeded condition left after the line had been abandoned, the landscape architecture aesthetic of the High Line is carefully controlled chaos. "Keep it wild, stay on the path" signs constantly warn. The lines between "authentically overgrown" and "calculated cultivation" blur nicely. Having grown up on a farm in New Jersey, I've seen my share of abandoned, weed-covered railroad tracks. Like the pre-renovated High Line, those country landscapes have--depending on your viewpoint--either a melancholy appeal or a quasi-apocalyptic hopelessness. Now that the High Line's vegetation is interwoven with pristine cement pathways and surrounded by trendy architecture, the promise (or illusion) of a better future pleasantly intrudes.

The Standard Hotel straddles the park.

I wasn't sure what I would think of the High Line before I visited. I thought it might be a one-time look, like walking through a gallery show or visiting a monument in a foreign city. I thought it would be too claustrophobic a place to spend my (considerable amount of) downtime in. Like the (unemployed?) lounging NYers above, I found the park very inviting, very relaxing, and will probably return with a sandwich and a good book to while away a weekday summer afternoon.

In one of the park's tunnels, artist Spencer Finch has installed a piece entitled "The River that Flows Both Ways." The 700 laminated glass panels with color film interlayer is "inspired by the Hudson River and documents a 700-minute journey on the river in a single day. The title is a translation of the Muhheakantuck, the Native American name for the Hudson that refers to the river's natural flow in two directions. Like the rail line that existed on the HIgh Line, the Hudson Rivers was, and still is, an active route for transportation of goods into Manhattan. The river and the High Line have always been linked in their geography, their function, and the imprint on the industrial legacy of the city."

These tiered wooden seats afford a peculiarly chosen view: traffic on Tenth Avenue. I think it is the least appealing view in the park This section of the High Line reminded me of Rem Koolhaas's design for the Soho Prada store which is arguably considered a flop.

Two views of Frank Gehry's IAC building.

Daisies and decay

Of course there is a luxury rental apartment building attached to the park.

Thanks for reading.

Love,

Glenn Belverio

P.S. - It might be a bit of a stretch to compare the renovated High Line to a (imaginary) developed Death Valley--but because of the luxury rental building attached to this little vision of Utopia, I couldn't help thinking of this scene from Antonioni's "Zabriskie Point" which features a realtor's pitch for "Sunnydunes."