* This article was originally posted on the Design Trust for Public Space blog, "I Heart Public Space" in February, 2009.
Back in 2007, I wrote about my commuting adventures as a resident of Greenpoint, battling traffic and banding together with my fellow 9 to 5ers to stop traffic in LIC every 7 minutes. The rest of my morning travels do not get any less interesting or adventurous after I cross under the East River.
Getting off the train at Times Square on a daily basis presents a multitude of opportunities for becoming annoyed/frustrated/saddened/disgusted by tourists/other impatient New Yorkers/homeless people at Port Authority/an onslaught of unidentifiable and offensive aromas (especially in the summer -- steer clear of the Red Lobster service entrance). However, there are three things that make my walk from the 7 train in Times Square to my office on 39th & 9th a rich and enjoyable experience, almost every day.
The New York Times Building.
I can't say enough how much I love this building, and how I wish that Mr. Piano would come to Greenpoint and design some of the new buildings going up on the waterfront. As I walk west on 41st Street, the building presents me with so many opportunities to interact with it on the street level. I can weave between the columns that weightlessly extend beyond the walls of the glass facade; I can cut through the lobby to 40th Street, down the stairs and past the birch tree atrium; I can duck under the glass awnings and stay dry on a rainy day; or I suppose I could utilize the ceramic pole facade to climb up the exterior of building, if I were an adventurous Frenchman.
The New York Times building "comes to life when it hits the ground. All of Mr. Piano’s best qualities are in evidence here — the fine sense of proportion, the love of structural detail, the healthy sense of civic responsibility." - Nicolai Ouroussoff
Piano's ability to create an interactive space (which the climbers took too far, sadly resulting in crude and unsightly wooden boxes being constructed over the Meccano/Erector Set style posts) stands in stark contrast to the monolithic Port Authority bus terminal across the street. Although both buildings employ awnings, exterior columns and a steel exoskeleton in an attempt to extend the life of the building onto the street, the Port Authority fails miserably and instead it feels like a weighty fortress/evil villain's lair, imposing itself upon the 200,000 commuters traveling through it's halls each day. Further, the concrete planters/bomb proof bollards along the sidewalk impede the flow of pedestrians moving in criss-crossing paths, all in a hurry to catch their bus and the maintenance of the building is nothing to aspire to. Despite all this, I've grown to appreciate the contrast and diversity -- somehow the Port Authority facing off against the Times Building across Eighth Avenue reminds me that it takes both grand and hideous buildings to make a city interesting.
The Little Lady in the Red Coat.
I don't know who this woman is, where she's from or why she's here, but almost every day she warms my heart and puts a smile on my face. She is the perfect example of a New Yorker with a New York routine, creating her own little version of the city through her daily travels, carving out her own map, creating her own personal geography. Several days a week, she can be found standing just off of 8th Ave on 39th Street, juggling the tasks of eating a bagel, drinking a coffee, and holding a Rosary. As she says her Rosary and observes the activities of the street, she adds a splash of color to the landscape with her red coat and blue hat. Perhaps it's because I spent a couple of years working with a lot of nuns, but to me this woman is a sort of guardian angel for this corner, bringing me back down to earth from the hustle bustle of my commute to work, reminding me to appreciate the simple things in life.
The Dance of the Garment District
If you've ever worked in the Garment District, particularly west of 8th Ave between 35th and 39th, you know this obstacle course well, and it's one that has remained unchanged for decades. This area is a throw-back to the old New York, when industry spilt out of buildings and onto sidewalks. Malcolm Gladwell talked about changes to New York street culture and industry at our Design Trust Council event a couple of years ago, and Stephanie blogged about the level of sidewalk industry that exists in Hanoi just last month.
Walking down 39th street is a daily dance of dodging obstacles to arrive at the Design Trust office: the sidewalks are not level, they are not wide, and they are often covered in unidentifiable liquid. I have terrible visions of scaffolding collapsing one day as a car turning into one of the many parking garages narrowly misses a post. Then there are the carts of rolls of fabric piled 8 feet high, steered haphazardly, zigzagging across the uneven pavement, bouncing off the rickety scaffolding and splashing through the murky puddles. At times the carts smash into racks of dresses being wheeled out of a loading bay onto the street a waiting truck headed towards Macy's or Bloomingdale's. Add to this scene the smell of 20lbs of chicken schwarma being prepped by the street vendors who set up their carts on the side of the road here, then somehow (still a mystery to me) navigate their mobile kitchens down the street, against traffic to a corner where they set up on for lunch. The always friendly UPS guy is tossing boxes out of the back of his truck, the traffic headed towards the Lincoln tunnel is honking, and a bike messenger whizzes by on the sidewalk. As I approach my office, I duck under some long steel poles being carried by two men into the metal shop on the first floor. Oh, and did I mention the construction?
By the time I step through the front doors of our office building I'm energized and uplifted by the buzz of the activity on the street and I've almost forgotten that tourist that stopped at the top of the subway stairs in Times Square. I wait for the slowest elevator in midtown and finally sit down at my desk, look out the window at my favorite building and start my day.
Note: This is the second in a weekly series that we'll be writing about our commutes, and how we relate to the public spaces that we travel through each day. Chris posted last week about his commute through DC on January 2oth, and there'll be more to come in the upcoming weeks.
I can't say enough how much I love this building, and how I wish that Mr. Piano would come to Greenpoint and design some of the new buildings going up on the waterfront. As I walk west on 41st Street, the building presents me with so many opportunities to interact with it on the street level. I can weave between the columns that weightlessly extend beyond the walls of the glass facade; I can cut through the lobby to 40th Street, down the stairs and past the birch tree atrium; I can duck under the glass awnings and stay dry on a rainy day; or I suppose I could utilize the ceramic pole facade to climb up the exterior of building, if I were an adventurous Frenchman.
The New York Times building "comes to life when it hits the ground. All of Mr. Piano’s best qualities are in evidence here — the fine sense of proportion, the love of structural detail, the healthy sense of civic responsibility." - Nicolai Ouroussoff
Piano's ability to create an interactive space (which the climbers took too far, sadly resulting in crude and unsightly wooden boxes being constructed over the Meccano/Erector Set style posts) stands in stark contrast to the monolithic Port Authority bus terminal across the street. Although both buildings employ awnings, exterior columns and a steel exoskeleton in an attempt to extend the life of the building onto the street, the Port Authority fails miserably and instead it feels like a weighty fortress/evil villain's lair, imposing itself upon the 200,000 commuters traveling through it's halls each day. Further, the concrete planters/bomb proof bollards along the sidewalk impede the flow of pedestrians moving in criss-crossing paths, all in a hurry to catch their bus and the maintenance of the building is nothing to aspire to. Despite all this, I've grown to appreciate the contrast and diversity -- somehow the Port Authority facing off against the Times Building across Eighth Avenue reminds me that it takes both grand and hideous buildings to make a city interesting.
The Little Lady in the Red Coat.
I don't know who this woman is, where she's from or why she's here, but almost every day she warms my heart and puts a smile on my face. She is the perfect example of a New Yorker with a New York routine, creating her own little version of the city through her daily travels, carving out her own map, creating her own personal geography. Several days a week, she can be found standing just off of 8th Ave on 39th Street, juggling the tasks of eating a bagel, drinking a coffee, and holding a Rosary. As she says her Rosary and observes the activities of the street, she adds a splash of color to the landscape with her red coat and blue hat. Perhaps it's because I spent a couple of years working with a lot of nuns, but to me this woman is a sort of guardian angel for this corner, bringing me back down to earth from the hustle bustle of my commute to work, reminding me to appreciate the simple things in life.
The Dance of the Garment District
If you've ever worked in the Garment District, particularly west of 8th Ave between 35th and 39th, you know this obstacle course well, and it's one that has remained unchanged for decades. This area is a throw-back to the old New York, when industry spilt out of buildings and onto sidewalks. Malcolm Gladwell talked about changes to New York street culture and industry at our Design Trust Council event a couple of years ago, and Stephanie blogged about the level of sidewalk industry that exists in Hanoi just last month.
Walking down 39th street is a daily dance of dodging obstacles to arrive at the Design Trust office: the sidewalks are not level, they are not wide, and they are often covered in unidentifiable liquid. I have terrible visions of scaffolding collapsing one day as a car turning into one of the many parking garages narrowly misses a post. Then there are the carts of rolls of fabric piled 8 feet high, steered haphazardly, zigzagging across the uneven pavement, bouncing off the rickety scaffolding and splashing through the murky puddles. At times the carts smash into racks of dresses being wheeled out of a loading bay onto the street a waiting truck headed towards Macy's or Bloomingdale's. Add to this scene the smell of 20lbs of chicken schwarma being prepped by the street vendors who set up their carts on the side of the road here, then somehow (still a mystery to me) navigate their mobile kitchens down the street, against traffic to a corner where they set up on for lunch. The always friendly UPS guy is tossing boxes out of the back of his truck, the traffic headed towards the Lincoln tunnel is honking, and a bike messenger whizzes by on the sidewalk. As I approach my office, I duck under some long steel poles being carried by two men into the metal shop on the first floor. Oh, and did I mention the construction?
By the time I step through the front doors of our office building I'm energized and uplifted by the buzz of the activity on the street and I've almost forgotten that tourist that stopped at the top of the subway stairs in Times Square. I wait for the slowest elevator in midtown and finally sit down at my desk, look out the window at my favorite building and start my day.
Note: This is the second in a weekly series that we'll be writing about our commutes, and how we relate to the public spaces that we travel through each day. Chris posted last week about his commute through DC on January 2oth, and there'll be more to come in the upcoming weeks.