photographs and random miscellaney from my brain
Pete’s tavern. They’re very subtle about the fact that O’Henry used to write here.
(I actually love this bar and on the rare occasion that I have gotten my act together to celebrate my birthday, this has been one of my more favored locations)
The most common definition for corruption has to do with grift and dishonesty. But corruption can also mean decay and rot.
Both variations of the word are appropriate here.
When people learn about late 19th and early 20th-century New York City political corruption, one person (Boss Tweed) and his machine, Tammany Hall are at the heart of the story. But what people generally don’t realize is that Tammany Hall was an actual, physical…hall. It had a few locations, and this was the last.
The building has spent the last few decades operating as the union square theater, and is now vacant and being gut renovated.
If you get up close, you can see the inscriptions to the old order of Tammany along the side. My favorite though, is the discovery of grift never ends – they’re attempting to preserve some of the friezes on the building, and they’re basically disintegrating to the touch because it turns out that they’re just something like plaster of Paris instead of proper building-grade materials. Heh.
Union square. These days, I think maybe we all need one of these.
A little more going on downtown before I return to the normal. Friday night, I went downtown for an appointment, and I was there a bit early, so I was able to walk over to the oculus, which had opened right around the same time I left for my trip. I had seen photos of the interior, and I’ve seen the exterior construction over the years, and…of course, I had been somewhat deflated by its transformation from imaginary bird with open wings to somewhat more grounded…dinosaur with massive spiky exoskeleton…
But upon walking inside the massive space, it really did take my breath away.
And yes, you can criticize the commercialism, but you know what? It replaces a much less beautiful shopping plaza that was destroyed. I spent a few minutes talking to one of the concierges (yes, it has concierges), and he seemed genuinely enthusiastic about everything that was going on. Every time we go through a travesty like Penn Station we should be reminded that we can (and do) do better with our public spaces. Even if this isn’t everyone’s taste, it’s grand and ambitious.
Then, of course, when I finished up my evening, they were testing out the tribute in lights. Always beautiful.
15 years.
15 years ago, I left my apartment on a perfect, clear, beautiful morning and headed in a different direction than normal because I had to vote.
10 years ago, I unburdened myself of the bottled up memories of what happened after I walked outside.
One month ago, on the first day of my summer vacation, before I left for my actual trip, I found myself in lower manhattan. And then I found myself inexorably drawn to the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. I had visited the Memorial before, when it first opened and still required tickets (and still inspired solemnity rather than selfies on the part of most visitors), but I had not gone to the museum since its opening. One month ago I did.
I’m not going to post a gallery of pictures here, because photos don’t really do it justice. I spent most of my visit trying to simply experience the space. There were, of course, as seems to be everywhere these days, the inconsiderate and completely inappropriate visitors who have no respect for the purpose of the exhibit, but I largely put those people in the background and simply stood still while they nattered on around me until they eventually disappeared from my field of view (which they all eventually would), and I could simply absorb each exhibit and moment in the timeline at my own speed.
The moment that I finally broke down in tears was a small one in the context of the day. Amidst trucks and plane debris, and half burned SEC releases and…shoes, there was a small display of camera equipment pulled from the debris, with an explanation of the two photojournalists who were injured and the one who was killed on that day.
In my essay ten years ago, I wrote about a lot of things, but I left out a lot of small details, and when I was looking at that small display last month, one discrete memory came flooding back.
In the moments after the second plane hit, and I gathered with hundreds of others along 6th avenue to watch in shock at the two buildings on fire…those long, first minutes when we knew for certain that this was intentional and not some horrific accident, I saw a man go running at full speed downtown in the middle of the street. He wasn’t a police officer or firefighter. He was laden down with cameras. He was a photographer, and he was also going to do his job.
And standing there last month, that memory came flooding back, because it was the very first time that I had ever heard with specificity that photographers were killed and injured that day.
I thought I had prepared myself for the emotion of revisiting the history of that day, a history that we’ve all lived through and seen so many times. But I wasn’t actually prepared for everything. And in the end, I’m grateful that I could still feel so deeply about it.
another ivy-covered loading dock in chelsea. also the not-so-subtly hidden studio of a fairly well known photographer.
now that I’ve gotten through the massive job of sorting through my iceland photos, I can go back to the daily (or semi-daily) routine of uploading my backlog of miscellaneous shots. I’ve finally made it to July! Taken down on 18th street in Chelsea, where even the loading docks are quaint, ivy-covered and well-appointed.
In 2009, I took this photo below of the Grace Building plaza. At the time it was an empty, windswept “public space” in name only, that lent itself to nice photographs but was otherwise just a drab, unwelcoming empty space. The very epitome of many of the “privately owned public spaces”* around the city, where the public got little-to-nothing in return for the rights that were ceded to building owners in exchange.
In the intervening six years, the explosion of ‘pop-up’ restaurants and other food truck-adjacent businesses have exploded around the city, and the owners of this plaza took notice. There are a few small shops, and actual seating now. Not just tables and chairs, but they replaces the sad planters along the right wall with trees that have surrounding benches. In addition, it even looks like they’ve replaced the ominous black glass on the building doors with something more open and inviting. A little worse for photographic aesthetics. Much better for humanity.
*Privately Owned Public Spaces, or “POPS”, are spaces that building owners agree to build for the public in exchange for various rights to construct buildings that don’t entirely conform to existing zoning regulations – so a building could be taller than its neighbors, if it has a plaza, or a public atrium, or some sort of park. There’s been some news about these recently because the lobby of Trump Tower is technically a POPS, but Trump had removed the benches and installed a ‘gift’ counter. After some press, the benches were returned.
Back in June (yes, I’m still on June pictures), I finally ventured up to the high bridge. I had been meaning to wander up there ever since it had re-opened, but my earlier attempts last summer had all been hijacked by heat waves or rainy days.
The high bridge is actually the oldest bridge in New York City, originally built in 1848 as part of the Croton aqueduct system. It connects upper manhattan and the bronx, and it fell into disrepair over the years, finally getting shut down over 40 years ago because it was considered too dangerous. Partially inspired by the restoration/renovation of the High Line in Manhattan, it was decided to bring it back from the dead, and it finally reopened last year to pedestrians.
Given the absence of overabundant gardening, it is obviously a different aesthetic than the high line, but it does connect two parks at either end, and proves quite exquisite views. Definitely worth at least one trip (on a day that’s not too hot. or rainy).
