I stepped out of the passenger seat
of a small gray car into the sunny warm air. It was April 6th, 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.
