For whatever reason, the protectors found this an unappealing idea: they didn’t want people in the park; it would damage the park; it would set some sort of precedent; the gates would clutter the view; they didn’t like the color; etc. Christo was roundly turned him away, time after time after time.
It’s funny how things change. Twenty years ago, the masters of the universe were plying their trade down on Wall Street; gorging on the fat of the Reagan landscape (it was morning in America after all, and according to Michael Douglas, greed was good). But the city was on edge, the Park wasn’t safe, the garbage wasn’t getting picked up, and the subways were a war zone.
Today New York most definitely has that “I’m back and I’m proud” swagger to it. It’s been three and a half years since 9.11.01. It was impossible not to feel the contrast on President’s Weekend 2005: There wasn’t a hotel room to be found in midtown; Central Park was overflowing with people perambulating beneath the Christo gates; Fifth Avenue was shoulder to shoulder with shoppers and strollers
from literally around the world. At any point, day or night, you could close your eyes and feel the hum of it all passing through your bones. Yes, the City is back in a way many thought it would never be.
Mayor B. is now credited with the vision to say “yes” to Christo’s slimmed down plans for gating the park. Judging from the results, the mayor should be canonized. Whatever you think of the color (saffron), routing, configuration, aesthetic, purpose, use of $21 million dollars (the total cost of the installation, none of which was borne by the city), or anything else, you simply have to regard it as a public triumph, or perhaps a triumphal march of the public.
The City, from what I could tell, poured itself into Central Park to see the gates. The Park, in turn, paid its visitor’s back with clear skies and sparkling vistas through the barren trees—at least until the snowfall on President’s day and thereafter. The three times we were in the Park—Friday night late, Saturday, and Sunday—it was between cold and bitter cold, but who cared? We were
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© Copyright 2008, Kevin Hoffberg
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