Just heard on New York 1, former parks commish Henry Stern, an old Jewish man with a bemused look on his face, commenting on The Gates: “I like to call it the Seven Thousand Shmattes, but if they’re not hurting anyone, I say it’s fine.”
Ann & I are going tomorrow — we’re gonna enter at the Harlem Meer, then make our way down the west side, cut across at the baseball fields, then make our way down to Grand Army Plaza. Unless it gets cold, at which point we’ll take some short cuts. I plan to go back multiple times and, yes, take many photographs. I promise to edit before I put them all up on the blog.
Checked this out over the weekend. You know what the real artistry is here? That this clown could raise $21M privately to throw up a bunch of posts with tarps that look like some special promotion Walmart has going for Halloween. Amazing — I tip my cap. No shit — I truly am in awe.
If prescription meds had a smell, like pot at a rock concert, it would have hovered over Central Park yesterday like a storm cloud. Well-to-do families from all over the tristate area — either on their way or coming from the usual suburban art fest at Lincoln Center — stumbled through the Park trails like herds of K Mart shoppers sniffing out a Blue Light Special. My favorite comment: “I wish I’d worn my orange parka to be at one with the art.”
I also heard a teenage kid comment that it would be really cool, at night, if they lit these things on fire. And I have to agree — that would be cool. Otherwise, afraid I’m drawing a blank here as to the artistic merit of this endeavor. Maybe you need a Paxil prescription and a few months of scream therapy to figure it out?
I heard one similarly chardonnay-soaked woman remark to her boyfriend: would I find this so cool if I weren’t a New Yorker? Still trying to figure that out.