On the dawn following the first major snowfall of 2009, New Yorkers and I 'head to the hills' of Central Park, seeking to celebrate the 'official' arrival of Winter and Christmas. While curious as to how our southerly neighbours associate christmas with their environment, I feel a certain attachment to the changes in clime that evoke childhood memories, teenage experiences, and adult aspirations.
As I stroll, the caustic allure of the charcoal, burning while slowly roasting the proverbial chestnut, has a strangely nostalgic appeal not dissimilar to petrol. A gusting and swirling breeze is no match for the ear-to-ear grins of all that I pass on my way to Central Park. The sounds of laughter and playfulness are softened by the fresh blanketing of snow that has transformed the city's ground-plane. Runners, cross-country skiers, sledders, aspiring (snowman) architects all seem to be elevated, lightened in mood, as if it were the first day of spring.
Within the parks lowlands and hollows, there lurks a more animated life. Hills - large and small - are sought for the sleds and tubes of children and adults alike. A park landscape that appears, from the outside, so relatively flat exudes an immense variation in topography at the finer scale of the user. While scaled-down snowplows keep the grand-prix circuit of pathways clear for onlookers, racers glide on back, belly, and butt toward imaginary finish lines. The Parks Department - in its pursuit of health and safety - has even gone so far as to carefully and strategically locate hay bales around the bases of all 'course hazards'.
From the Belvedere Castle, one is afforded a tremendous view of the surrounding city - a backdrop against the sparse but strikingly sculptural landscape of Central Park. Gazing out across the Turtle Pond I'm struck by the power of this vernacular landscape. The City contrasts in form but integrates in colour; the apartments that line the park exhibiting their earthen tones complemented by the bark, and branches of the parks paysage. Unlike Vancouver which takes its cues from the outside world, New York's architecture peers inward. As a result, programming and activity is focused toward, and revolves around this natural gem at the city's core.
I return home refreshed and appreciative of the natural world, humanity, and our ability to shape it. Far from an anthropocentric endorsement, I merely take pride in association with a family of designers around the world that possess this learned talent and ability, but more importantly a visionary quality that eludes time. Time is where nature finishes the job in continuing to transform our experiences with landscape. Through a series of repetitions, rhythms, and sequences - over a duration of time - change is rendered, and we are brought to life just when we seek it most.
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