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A Slice of Nature?



Greeted by an entry passage experience that is reminiscient of a clash between Frank Gehry and Tadao Ando - lacking the level of craftsmanship one might expect to find on either of their works - I make my through the concrete gauntlet more eloquently known as 'the vessel'. The vessel is one of many 'tip-of-the-hat' nuances referencing the industry that once hung precariously to the edges of the Newtown creek bulkheads. The paved drainage channel highlights a more contemporary approach to the conveyance of water and finds irony in its adjacency to New York's primary wastewater treatment facility - the spectacle of which is best seen under the thoughtful lighting of L'Observatoire Internationale.




("Entry Gate and Fence")


("The Vessel")


("Industrial Scenes")


Designed by George Trakas and implemented with the aid of Quesnell Rothschild, the entrance to this 'nature walk' is best described as brutal and somewhat contradictory. Bleak concrete paths are thoughtfully softened with crushed granular materials. However, accompanied by the randomly placed groupings of native plantings the surfaces do little to buffer this sinuous sliver of land standing its post between the sewage treatment facility and the creek - a living layer that seeks to make peace with the heavy contamination once contributed between Greenpoint, Brooklyn and Long Island City, Queens.



("Seven Stone Circles")



("Granite Steps")

The name Newtown Creek Nature Walk conjures up connotations of natural beauty. However, instead of the historic tidal marshes that once swept the front steps of Manhattan's forests, the nature here is, again - like many parts of Manhattan's environs - a stark dose of 'human nature's' voracious appetite for consumption. Gracious steps and timber mooring points provide seamless access to the waters edge where urban anglers and brave paddlers may pass their days gazing across at the byproducts of human development. 



("Granite Steps")


In the distance large billboards loom over the LIE like the majestic trees typical of Manhattan's great streets. Barges creep back and forth moving piles of recycled metal waste - floating graveyards whose destination is unknown but will likely be reborn into that which sustains human 'nature'. The rise and fall of the Manhattan skyline, as well as the new architecture that stands silhouetted against the background that is Long Island City is a 'natural' journey that speaks to what sustains the City.



("Watershed Bollard")


Despite the sparse planting and the obvious lack of grasses, the layers of history - both abstract and didactic - provide an optional and, arguably, more educational narrative for its visitors. The native American words that adorn much of the site's surfaces and furnishings, however, endure a muted existence much like the current 'natura' of this place. 



("Whale Creek Path")


Currently, with only one entrance that also serves as the walk's exit, the number of emergency phone boxes does little to enhance the comfort or experience of this honest place where one can immerse themselves in the realities and contradictions of this industrial wilderness. Metaphors abound as one contemplates the 'Nature Walk' as a byproduct of the industrial processes that continue to support us. It is an iconic symbol of that which we are and which we have created. Arguably, to experience light one needs darkness. Mutually supportive, the cultural environments we have created that seek to sustain life also have a darker side that serves as a toxic reminder of the harm that we may cause in their pursuit.





Great expense is often the result of attempts to provide an illusory foil to the ills of our 'natural' habits. The Newtown Creek Nature Walk, however, does not claim to make amends for such actions but, I believe, succeeds in its attempts to educate, and to provide us a place for reflection and contemplation on where we have come from and where we wish to get to. Public art funded and waterfront access planned: post-apocalyptic backdrop of Newtown Creek incidental.