Empire State Plaza Giornale

I stepped out of the passenger seat of a small gray car into the sunny warm air. It was April 6^th, a particularly warm day for being so early in spring in Upstate New York. I sheltered my eyes with my hands from the bright sun and looked around the almost empty parking lot behind the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, a large church on a busy, steep street. Our car waited as first the two professors emerged from their car and then the three other cars, full to the brim of students, slowly arrived one at a time. Instinctively, we all converged where the professors stood, waiting for directions on what to do next. Professor Curley passed out small black machines in which everyone injected their headphones. After some mistrials, we all were finally able to hear the voices of the professors directly in our brains.

Together we strolled out of the parking lot and into a small area dominated by a large fountain and surrounded by hedges. A large eagle, frozen in its flight of glory loomed above us and instantly I could feel that this was a place of memories. The fountain was shaped like two large pieces of American pie connected at the middle where the eagle flew. Events and dates beckoned me around the crust, each one accompanied by a distant memory of history class and the feeling of either loss or victory. At last, I reached the back where names of men were listed on the large granite block at the center. The names meshed together into one hero, the United States, but I could not help thinking that to someone out in the country, that name has meaning and is accompanied with the feelings of love, loss, and pride. The whole monument reminds us that we are stronger together as one country, but the group cannot accomplish anything if not for the work of individuals.

We left the hedges behind and crossed a large street, covered by the great cement building stretching over us that is the New York State Museum. We emerged on to the Empire State Plaza, a large area that is surrounded by cement buildings, brick pathways and at the very end, an out-of-place Classical style building that is grand even from yards away but makes the buildings around it seem dull and harsh. Light reflects off of the inner white marble walkways, and the pools that would be full of glittering water in a month was a sea of blue tarps. We climbed large gradual steps, leading to the side of the museum that we had walked under. It was brutal from up close, lacking color or styles other than the large dark windows and the gray cement that gave it a heavy, permanent feeling, as if nothing could move it from the ground. The steps were built into seats, looking down on to a small stage which any local theater group or band might be excited to perform upon, hinting at the cultural use of the space. We explored the area, walking down the brick paths and then the marble. All lined up on the side of the marble walkway were perfectly placed marble benches, with just enough space between them for a metal trashcan, far too many for anyone to need and going far beyond Walt Disney’s 30-step rule (link for reference). The trees were also lined up perfectly with the same amount of space between each one. This preciseness makes the space feel like it was designed by a robot, perfect and almost utopian, erasing feeling and leaving a monotonous tone. This perfect style of building demonstrates the desire to be efficient and create an ideal and pure world. Even the four agency buildings looming above one side of the plaza are all an exact copy of each, not even named after people but after their number in the line, represent the value of order and purity. Pieces of modern art seemed out of place with their color, autonomous designs, and asymmetry. As if straight out of a dystopian novel, the plaza makes one feel as if one is part of something, though not necessarily as an individual, but more of a cog.

We wandered separately around the square and I saw many people stop and take pictures on an open brick space with cement cylinders lined up in front of the capitol building. The beautiful building and the white and gray designs of the bricks made it an aesthetically pleasing place to take pictures for a wedding, a dance portfolio, or even just for Instagram. On a Sunday, there were not many people walking about, but there was a decent amount. Open public spaces draw people to them, especially families, dog walkers, bikers, and romantic partners. After all, public spaces, no matter how secretive or important the buildings around it, are meant for the public to use, a way of bringing the community together.

Together, we marched down a narrow, badly labelled staircase, into the ground, laughing at the overt sketchiness of the passageway. Underneath we entered the Concourse. It reminded me of a very large train station, like Penn Station, except cleaner and empty on this Sunday afternoon. This gave it the sort of rushed vibe of a station, wanting to go from one place to another as quickly as possible. Underground, there is a need to be back under the sky, adding to the efficient, rushed feeling of the space. Every couple of feet there were closed stores, waiting to be opened and used. I felt almost like I was trespassing through the emptiness. Metal columns lined the middle of the long hall, glimmering against the lights. Artwork lining the walls gave the gray atmosphere some color and creativity. We slowly walked down the building, pointing out the artwork and stores along the way, until we finally emerged again facing the busy street under the museum. The cross light blinked “7” and half the students ran across, wanting to get to the other side as quickly as possible. The rest of us stood and waited for the next light, staring down those that ran ahead and waited for us across the speeding cars. Finally, we all joined back together and strolled back to the parking lot on the sunny paved hill.