fingers like sausages
i’m sure you’ve seen the pictures, but nothing compares to walking under the gates themselves. speaking as someone who isn’t easily impressed with modern art and whose least favorite color is orange, i thought they were fantastic. somehow the industrial hugeness, sameness, and proliferation through the park contrasted perfectly with the park itself, and the gently billowing curtains contrasted perfectly with the hard-edged arches. walking under one after another, i felt a bit like i was in wonderland.
it made me cry, a little. something about it. the scale, maybe. or just the success of it as an endeavor. there’s something about human achievement, success, that makes me cry, i guess because i want that so badly. i’m a sucker for those applause, or “slow clapping,” scenes in movies — the prototype is, imo, Mr. Holland’s Opus. you know what i mean: often it’s one person who starts the applause, shooting up bravely like a flower among weeds, until he’s joined by others, slowly, always slowly, and then at last the whole courtroom/auditorium/sports arena is alive with the recognition of the hero’s achievement and general awesomeness. i hate it as a movie cliche, and i really really really want it in my own life.
my travels today cut a nifty shape of the map of manhattan: east village to central village, up all the way to 181st around washington heights, back to the upper west side, over to the upper east side, back down to the village and over again back home. phew!