New York City
Hurricane Sandy: An Artist’s Story
by Leon Reid IV
As Hurricane Sandy moved up the East Coast, Mayor Michael Bloomberg ordered an evacuation of all New York City flood zones, just as he had done before the arrival of Hurricane Irene last year. Because Irene swept through after so much hype and left the city in decent shape, it seemed we were preparing for another false catastrophe.
My art studio overlooks Newtown Creek, a serene but highly polluted channel separating Brooklyn from Queens. It also happens to be in Flood Zone A — the zone with the highest risk of inundation. Walking around the building, you can see why. The elevation drop in the courtyard is like a cobblestone stairway down to the water. My studio was always considered prime space because it's relatively high on the incline. Hurricane Irene poured only a quarter inch of water on parts of the floor.
In the months before Sandy, I was working on a sculpture called "American Debt." It is of a human under the crushing weight of a credit card. I splurged on the materials, purchasing 23-karat gold leaf to gild the casts of my own credit card. By late October, the human figure was cast, the steel display plates were cut and the gold leaf was blinging. All that was left to do was attach the elements together.
As Sandy raged through New York, I saw images on the news of the Lower East Side with cars submerged in water. I sat in Brooklyn with my wife and newborn baby, refreshing CNN's homepage and listening to The Brian Lehrer show on WNYC. Someone called in and said they saw police and firemen rescuing someone from Newtown Creek. Thoughts of the destruction kept me up most of the night.
When I arrived at my studio the next morning, the superintendent said, "Damn Leon, you got it bad. Everybody did." He pointed to a faint dark line running halfway up the doorway. "That's how high it got." He hurried away to tell someone else the bad news.
I unlocked the door and opened it about an inch. A wood box that had been in the back corner of the studio now jammed the doorway. I finally forced the door open and entered into a dank, foul-smelling nightmare. The floodwater had risen over four feet high. The few untouched objects were trivial: spare wood stored in an overhead rack and some shelving units with ear plugs and bathroom cleaning supplies.
"American Debt" was waterlogged and scattered among everything else that mattered. I found four of the five cast figures and three of the five gilded credit cards. The gold leaf sat wrinkled in a puddle. The steel display plates fared even worse. Heavy rust had developed on all five, and they looked like they'd been recently uncovered at an archaeological site. Fortunately, all the sculptures were salvageable, but not without considerable cost. Some works, including "The Hundred Story House," didn't survive.
A relative from New Orleans called and suggested applying to FEMA for disaster relief. My wife researched the agency and found that they offer loans for businesses affected by natural disasters. But, having spent so much time on a piece about debt, I wasn't keen on incurring any more than I have already. There had to be another way.
Today you can walk into my studio and never know it had been flooded. Thanks to the support of friends, family and several art groups, I was able to complete "American Debt" and recover from Sandy without resorting to credit. This distinguishes my story from those of so many others across America who've survived disaster only to face a rising tide of debt.
Leon Reid IV is a Brooklyn-based public artist. He is currently working on a project called "A Spider Lurks In Brooklyn."
+ share
As Hurricane Sandy moved up the East Coast, Mayor Michael Bloomberg ordered an evacuation of all New York City flood zones, just as he had done before the arrival of Hurricane Irene last year. Because Irene swept through after so much hype and left the city in decent shape, it seemed we were preparing for another false catastrophe.
My art studio overlooks Newtown Creek, a serene but highly polluted channel separating Brooklyn from Queens. It also happens to be in Flood Zone A — the zone with the highest risk of inundation. Walking around the building, you can see why. The elevation drop in the courtyard is like a cobblestone stairway down to the water. My studio was always considered prime space because it's relatively high on the incline. Hurricane Irene poured only a quarter inch of water on parts of the floor.
In the months before Sandy, I was working on a sculpture called "American Debt." It is of a human under the crushing weight of a credit card. I splurged on the materials, purchasing 23-karat gold leaf to gild the casts of my own credit card. By late October, the human figure was cast, the steel display plates were cut and the gold leaf was blinging. All that was left to do was attach the elements together.
As Sandy raged through New York, I saw images on the news of the Lower East Side with cars submerged in water. I sat in Brooklyn with my wife and newborn baby, refreshing CNN's homepage and listening to The Brian Lehrer show on WNYC. Someone called in and said they saw police and firemen rescuing someone from Newtown Creek. Thoughts of the destruction kept me up most of the night.
When I arrived at my studio the next morning, the superintendent said, "Damn Leon, you got it bad. Everybody did." He pointed to a faint dark line running halfway up the doorway. "That's how high it got." He hurried away to tell someone else the bad news.
I unlocked the door and opened it about an inch. A wood box that had been in the back corner of the studio now jammed the doorway. I finally forced the door open and entered into a dank, foul-smelling nightmare. The floodwater had risen over four feet high. The few untouched objects were trivial: spare wood stored in an overhead rack and some shelving units with ear plugs and bathroom cleaning supplies.
"American Debt" was waterlogged and scattered among everything else that mattered. I found four of the five cast figures and three of the five gilded credit cards. The gold leaf sat wrinkled in a puddle. The steel display plates fared even worse. Heavy rust had developed on all five, and they looked like they'd been recently uncovered at an archaeological site. Fortunately, all the sculptures were salvageable, but not without considerable cost. Some works, including "The Hundred Story House," didn't survive.
A relative from New Orleans called and suggested applying to FEMA for disaster relief. My wife researched the agency and found that they offer loans for businesses affected by natural disasters. But, having spent so much time on a piece about debt, I wasn't keen on incurring any more than I have already. There had to be another way.
Today you can walk into my studio and never know it had been flooded. Thanks to the support of friends, family and several art groups, I was able to complete "American Debt" and recover from Sandy without resorting to credit. This distinguishes my story from those of so many others across America who've survived disaster only to face a rising tide of debt.
Leon Reid IV is a Brooklyn-based public artist. He is currently working on a project called "A Spider Lurks In Brooklyn."
+ share
Simplifying New York Parking Signs
by Min Li Chan
In part five of our series on urban typography, we turn our attention to the universal problem of complicated parking signs. With their convoluted restrictions and temporal conditions meted out in uppercase authority, they almost seem designed to guarantee a constant stream of revenue from parking tickets.
In part five of our series on urban typography, we turn our attention to the universal problem of complicated parking signs. With their convoluted restrictions and temporal conditions meted out in uppercase authority, they almost seem designed to guarantee a constant stream of revenue from parking tickets.
New York's transportation commissioner Janette Sadik-Khan recently observed that the city's parking signs "can sometimes be a five-foot-high totem pole of confusing information."
Source: Park It! Guides
The design firm Pentagram recently worked with New York's transportation department to redesign the city's parking signs. The new versions are left-aligned for readability, consistently color-coded and clearly spaced. They are also streamlined to two flavors: one for commercial vehicles, one for all other vehicles. A logical and consistent information hierarchy conveys the most important parts first, matching the cognitive flow of a motorist trying to determine whether she is parked legally.
Source: Pentagram
Each sign begins with the type of parking available, followed by important notices and the period of enforcement. The previous signs counterintuitively displayed the time before the day of the week. By comparison, the simplified signs are a breath of fresh air.
Polis readers, if you have examples of what delights or frustrates you about parking signs in your city, we'd love to hear about them!
+ share
Source: Park It! Guides
The design firm Pentagram recently worked with New York's transportation department to redesign the city's parking signs. The new versions are left-aligned for readability, consistently color-coded and clearly spaced. They are also streamlined to two flavors: one for commercial vehicles, one for all other vehicles. A logical and consistent information hierarchy conveys the most important parts first, matching the cognitive flow of a motorist trying to determine whether she is parked legally.
Source: Pentagram
Each sign begins with the type of parking available, followed by important notices and the period of enforcement. The previous signs counterintuitively displayed the time before the day of the week. By comparison, the simplified signs are a breath of fresh air.
Polis readers, if you have examples of what delights or frustrates you about parking signs in your city, we'd love to hear about them!
+ share
Poverty Below the High Line
by Sahra Mirbabaee
The High Line. Photo by Iwan Baan for James Corner Field Operations. Source: Elitism
Of all the factors that contribute to urban livability — including public health, education and infrastructure — policy is often focused disproportionately on economic growth. In pursuit of this assumed prerequisite for prosperity, municipal governments around the world are investing in urban design. At the same time, this investment is fueling inequality and displacement. The allocation of public funds to places of high economic potential favors the rich, creating an unfair playing field for all tax-payers. One of the most striking examples of this trend is the High Line in New York City.
Built on an elevated former railway, the High Line park runs 1.45 miles along Manhattan's West Side. Since the 1990s, the surrounding neighborhoods have changed from a downtrodden post-industrial area to a hot spot in the city's social and cultural scenes. They're now home to many bars, galleries, restaurants and shops like Barneys, Alexander McQueen and Stella McCartney. Past neglect created the conditions for profitable redevelopment, as evident in "Alphabet City" and many other Manhattan districts over the past 20 years.
Since its opening in 2009, the High Line has been hailed as an inspiring use of architecture for urban renewal. It has a large fan-base, including the municipal government. In fact, the High Line has thrived "within the confines of the community of money" because of strong government support. The first two installments cost a reported $152.3 million, and the third is projected to cost $86.2 million. Funding sources comprise $112 million from the city government, $20.3 million from the federal government, $400,000 from the state and $44 million from private donations. Operating costs are estimated at $2-4 million per year. With over half the High Line's budget coming from public funds, concerns over the return on this investment are more than justified.
Government investment in the High Line has created problems for longtime residents who can't afford the increasing cost of living. According to the American Community Survey (ACS) conducted by the U.S. Census Bureau, there were 15,000-25,000 people living in poverty in the neighborhoods around the abandoned railway in 2005. More recent census data shows that the poverty rate in New York City rose for the third straight year in 2011, representing 20.9 percent of the total population. For a single person, this means earning less than $11,500 a year; for a family, less than $23,021. These numbers are especially alarming because the average rent for a one-bedroom apartment around the High Line when it opened was already over $1,200 a month. It's possible that poverty rates have dropped since then as low-income residents are priced out of the neighborhoods. This raises important questions as to who is actually benefiting from the city's investment.
The High Line has been a catalyst for gentrification that, according to Neil Smith, "is no longer about a narrow and quixotic oddity in the housing market but has become the leading residential edge of a much larger endeavor: the class remake of the central urban landscape." The project exudes a "cool" image of feigned neglect, despite the troubling irony in this aesthetic. Commodifying ostensibly lower-class spaces for supposedly higher classes is both patronizing and divisive. Liz Diller, one of the lead architects for the High Line, joked that "the great success [of the project] has been introducing New Yorkers to doing nothing." This comment rests on a key oversight: Not everyone earns enough from their work to afford even a few hours of "doing nothing" at the High Line. And would crowds of people without disposable income be welcome in a neighborhood increasingly structured around spending money? Some experience a sense of not belonging there, as one visitor remarked: "I felt like I was in the home of a neatnik with expensive tastes, afraid I would soil the furnishings."
Mayor Michael Bloomberg, one of the High Line's most steadfast supporters, proposed cutting $170 million in funding from childcare services in the city. This would make life much harder for low-income parents who rely on these programs to get by. In weighing the value of playgrounds for well-off New Yorkers and tourists versus assistance for people struggling to afford food and rent, the mayor appears to favor of the former.
As disproportionate public investment in real estate development becomes the norm, low-income residents are finding it more and more difficult to escape poverty. Reversing this misappropriation of funds would allow us all to build more vibrant neighborhoods than the High Line's designers could ever have imagined.
Sahra Mirbabaee is a student in the Urban Studies Program at U.C. Berkeley.
+ share
The High Line. Photo by Iwan Baan for James Corner Field Operations. Source: Elitism
Of all the factors that contribute to urban livability — including public health, education and infrastructure — policy is often focused disproportionately on economic growth. In pursuit of this assumed prerequisite for prosperity, municipal governments around the world are investing in urban design. At the same time, this investment is fueling inequality and displacement. The allocation of public funds to places of high economic potential favors the rich, creating an unfair playing field for all tax-payers. One of the most striking examples of this trend is the High Line in New York City.
Built on an elevated former railway, the High Line park runs 1.45 miles along Manhattan's West Side. Since the 1990s, the surrounding neighborhoods have changed from a downtrodden post-industrial area to a hot spot in the city's social and cultural scenes. They're now home to many bars, galleries, restaurants and shops like Barneys, Alexander McQueen and Stella McCartney. Past neglect created the conditions for profitable redevelopment, as evident in "Alphabet City" and many other Manhattan districts over the past 20 years.
Since its opening in 2009, the High Line has been hailed as an inspiring use of architecture for urban renewal. It has a large fan-base, including the municipal government. In fact, the High Line has thrived "within the confines of the community of money" because of strong government support. The first two installments cost a reported $152.3 million, and the third is projected to cost $86.2 million. Funding sources comprise $112 million from the city government, $20.3 million from the federal government, $400,000 from the state and $44 million from private donations. Operating costs are estimated at $2-4 million per year. With over half the High Line's budget coming from public funds, concerns over the return on this investment are more than justified.
Government investment in the High Line has created problems for longtime residents who can't afford the increasing cost of living. According to the American Community Survey (ACS) conducted by the U.S. Census Bureau, there were 15,000-25,000 people living in poverty in the neighborhoods around the abandoned railway in 2005. More recent census data shows that the poverty rate in New York City rose for the third straight year in 2011, representing 20.9 percent of the total population. For a single person, this means earning less than $11,500 a year; for a family, less than $23,021. These numbers are especially alarming because the average rent for a one-bedroom apartment around the High Line when it opened was already over $1,200 a month. It's possible that poverty rates have dropped since then as low-income residents are priced out of the neighborhoods. This raises important questions as to who is actually benefiting from the city's investment.
The High Line has been a catalyst for gentrification that, according to Neil Smith, "is no longer about a narrow and quixotic oddity in the housing market but has become the leading residential edge of a much larger endeavor: the class remake of the central urban landscape." The project exudes a "cool" image of feigned neglect, despite the troubling irony in this aesthetic. Commodifying ostensibly lower-class spaces for supposedly higher classes is both patronizing and divisive. Liz Diller, one of the lead architects for the High Line, joked that "the great success [of the project] has been introducing New Yorkers to doing nothing." This comment rests on a key oversight: Not everyone earns enough from their work to afford even a few hours of "doing nothing" at the High Line. And would crowds of people without disposable income be welcome in a neighborhood increasingly structured around spending money? Some experience a sense of not belonging there, as one visitor remarked: "I felt like I was in the home of a neatnik with expensive tastes, afraid I would soil the furnishings."
Mayor Michael Bloomberg, one of the High Line's most steadfast supporters, proposed cutting $170 million in funding from childcare services in the city. This would make life much harder for low-income parents who rely on these programs to get by. In weighing the value of playgrounds for well-off New Yorkers and tourists versus assistance for people struggling to afford food and rent, the mayor appears to favor of the former.
As disproportionate public investment in real estate development becomes the norm, low-income residents are finding it more and more difficult to escape poverty. Reversing this misappropriation of funds would allow us all to build more vibrant neighborhoods than the High Line's designers could ever have imagined.
Sahra Mirbabaee is a student in the Urban Studies Program at U.C. Berkeley.
+ share
Open Letter to Mayor Bloomberg on Making History in the Bronx
by Alex Schafran
Rendering of the Sheridan Community Plan. Source: Pratt Center
Dear Mayor Michael Bloomberg,
I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that your time as mayor of the greatest city in the world is coming to an end. You've formed your Super PAC, and I'm curious to see what you'll do next. There's still much unfinished business in La Gran Manzana, and I don't underestimate your ability to successfully manage post-Sandy recovery while taking bold steps for the future during your final months in office.
It seems clear from your actions and statements over the past decade that you have a keen sense of history — including how to make it. You seem to recognize that in a 21st-century world of dynamic global cities, the business of New York is to build and rebuild. Few mayors will leave as large a physical imprint as you have with the transformation of the West Side, the new Cornell tech center on Roosevelt Island, the Brooklyn waterfront, multiple stadiums and a largely reconstructed lower Manhattan.
Yet with the exception of rebuilding Ground Zero, none of your efforts, whether good or bad, rise to the level of true historic urbanism. In extending the 7 train and densifying the West Side, you are doing something that Singapore, Vancouver and numerous other cities have done before. Same with the stadiums, the upzonings and downzonings, the waterfront access, the new luxury towers. These efforts may change the fabric of the city but they do not make history. Even the fabulous High Line is cribbed from your Parisian counterparts.
Source: Museum of the City of New York
In some ways, this is good. There is too much unhealthy competition among cities, and "making history" is often overrated. The Cross Bronx Expressway made history but was a social disaster. The Zoning Resolution of 1961 changed urban zoning norms across the country, but ended up killing parts of the cities it was meant to protect. The Westway and the Lower Manhattan Expressway are infamous symbols of the hubris of an earlier era, and shining examples of planning gone astray. But there will always be a place for bold innovation in urban development.
The community plan to tear down the Sheridan Expressway in the Bronx is a once-in-a-generation opportunity. This is a neighborhood devastated by the Cross Bronx Expressway — a historic casualty of Robert Moses's proverbial meat-axe. The plan would become one of the first truly grassroots megaprojects in any major city, driven by organizations and activists who have been working for many years to repair the South Bronx.
This would be one of the first highway teardowns designed not to open up prime central real estate, but to benefit an extremely low-income congressional district. It would bring a sorely needed infusion of affordable housing, commerce, light industry, community space and economic activity. It is a project that gained not only community support but also praise from former New York Times architecture critic Nicolai Ouroussoff and Congress for the New Urbanism president John Norquist. People are watching because they recognize that this is an unprecedented opportunity.
Yet instead of seizing the moment, your administration has thrown up roadblocks. You allowed the Economic Development Commission to pressure the Department of Transportation to remove teardown as an option in a federally funded traffic study, placing Janette Sadik-Khan in the position of having to defend that decision. This feeds into the perception that your seemingly progressive actions like remaking the city for biking are really more like new-school gentrification.
Source: Sheridan Community Plan
Nobody is arguing that this development would be easy, or that maintaining traffic flow and delivery to Hunts Point Produce Market wouldn't require serious attention. But challenges haven't stopped you elsewhere in the city, and you've made it a point not to cave in to old political divides and tired planning logics.
As you gaze out on these remaining months, I hope you see how profound an opportunity you have in the Bronx. With a little of your customary independent thinking, you can support the efforts of a community on the other side of the income divide, reminding the world that New York City is not afraid to make history.
Sincerely,
Alex Schafran
+ share
Rendering of the Sheridan Community Plan. Source: Pratt Center
Dear Mayor Michael Bloomberg,
I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that your time as mayor of the greatest city in the world is coming to an end. You've formed your Super PAC, and I'm curious to see what you'll do next. There's still much unfinished business in La Gran Manzana, and I don't underestimate your ability to successfully manage post-Sandy recovery while taking bold steps for the future during your final months in office.
One of many Bloomberg-era projects that are remaking the city without truly breaking new ground. Source: Alex Schafran
It seems clear from your actions and statements over the past decade that you have a keen sense of history — including how to make it. You seem to recognize that in a 21st-century world of dynamic global cities, the business of New York is to build and rebuild. Few mayors will leave as large a physical imprint as you have with the transformation of the West Side, the new Cornell tech center on Roosevelt Island, the Brooklyn waterfront, multiple stadiums and a largely reconstructed lower Manhattan.
Yet with the exception of rebuilding Ground Zero, none of your efforts, whether good or bad, rise to the level of true historic urbanism. In extending the 7 train and densifying the West Side, you are doing something that Singapore, Vancouver and numerous other cities have done before. Same with the stadiums, the upzonings and downzonings, the waterfront access, the new luxury towers. These efforts may change the fabric of the city but they do not make history. Even the fabulous High Line is cribbed from your Parisian counterparts.
Source: Museum of the City of New York
In some ways, this is good. There is too much unhealthy competition among cities, and "making history" is often overrated. The Cross Bronx Expressway made history but was a social disaster. The Zoning Resolution of 1961 changed urban zoning norms across the country, but ended up killing parts of the cities it was meant to protect. The Westway and the Lower Manhattan Expressway are infamous symbols of the hubris of an earlier era, and shining examples of planning gone astray. But there will always be a place for bold innovation in urban development.
 |
| Source: Pratt Center |
This would be one of the first highway teardowns designed not to open up prime central real estate, but to benefit an extremely low-income congressional district. It would bring a sorely needed infusion of affordable housing, commerce, light industry, community space and economic activity. It is a project that gained not only community support but also praise from former New York Times architecture critic Nicolai Ouroussoff and Congress for the New Urbanism president John Norquist. People are watching because they recognize that this is an unprecedented opportunity.
Yet instead of seizing the moment, your administration has thrown up roadblocks. You allowed the Economic Development Commission to pressure the Department of Transportation to remove teardown as an option in a federally funded traffic study, placing Janette Sadik-Khan in the position of having to defend that decision. This feeds into the perception that your seemingly progressive actions like remaking the city for biking are really more like new-school gentrification.
Source: Sheridan Community Plan
Nobody is arguing that this development would be easy, or that maintaining traffic flow and delivery to Hunts Point Produce Market wouldn't require serious attention. But challenges haven't stopped you elsewhere in the city, and you've made it a point not to cave in to old political divides and tired planning logics.
As you gaze out on these remaining months, I hope you see how profound an opportunity you have in the Bronx. With a little of your customary independent thinking, you can support the efforts of a community on the other side of the income divide, reminding the world that New York City is not afraid to make history.
Sincerely,
Alex Schafran
+ share
Farming Cities
by George Carothers
Urban farming has existed in one form or another since cities first came into existence. More recently, people have been embracing it in record numbers in response to economic and ecological concerns.
Urban farming differs from city to city, just as agriculture varies from climate to climate. Tokyo residents have experimented with rooftops and underground sites, finding that interesting locations can inspire those who spend long hours at office desks. Other cities have shown that neighborhood farming — as seen in the parks, community centers and playgrounds of Middlesbrough, England — can yield enough produce to provide 2,500 people with locally grown food.
In the short film "New York Farm City" (above), Petrina Engelke and Raul Mandru wander through several neighborhoods in the Big Apple to showcase creative ways people grow their own food. Moving from East Harlem to Brooklyn, and from Greenwich Village to City Hall, they uncover the work of fascinating groups who are reestablishing visible links between urban sustenance and its source.
+ share
Urban farming has existed in one form or another since cities first came into existence. More recently, people have been embracing it in record numbers in response to economic and ecological concerns.
Urban farming differs from city to city, just as agriculture varies from climate to climate. Tokyo residents have experimented with rooftops and underground sites, finding that interesting locations can inspire those who spend long hours at office desks. Other cities have shown that neighborhood farming — as seen in the parks, community centers and playgrounds of Middlesbrough, England — can yield enough produce to provide 2,500 people with locally grown food.
In the short film "New York Farm City" (above), Petrina Engelke and Raul Mandru wander through several neighborhoods in the Big Apple to showcase creative ways people grow their own food. Moving from East Harlem to Brooklyn, and from Greenwich Village to City Hall, they uncover the work of fascinating groups who are reestablishing visible links between urban sustenance and its source.
+ share
Rebuilding Community Heritage
by Anna Fogel
47th Street in Sunnyside Gardens, Queens. Source: QueensNYC
Emily Goldman is a preservationist and doctoral student in historic preservation at Cornell University. After completing her undergraduate studies in history at Harvard University, Emily pursued a master's in preservation planning at Cornell, working intensively on post-Katrina recovery in New Orleans. Her thesis focused on Sunnyside Gardens, a housing community (once home to Lewis Mumford) in Queens designed by Clarence Stein during the 1920s. Emily then worked for the Landmarks Preservation Commission in New York City, where she helped with Sunnyside's transition to a local historic district. Her current research is centered on Hillside Homes, a Stein community in the Bronx. She's exploring its cultural significance for the people who live there, along with lessons this holds for urban housing and preservation in other parts of the world. We're very grateful that she made time for an interview.
A Sunnyside community garden in 1926. Source: Astoria History
What sparked your interest in historic preservation?
I've always been drawn to history through hands-on contact with the built environment. Two international experiences in high school stand out: an archaeological dig in Greece and a masonry restoration project for a medieval church in France. During college I took part in two trips to the American South with a great professor, Tim McCarthy, to help rebuild churches damaged in racially motivated arson attacks. This experience highlighted the value of buildings in community resilience.
Rebuilding the Hayneville Church of Christ after an arson attack. Source: Harvard Gazette
How do you see the preservation of cultural heritage benefiting cities?
Although once considered almost a luxury, historic preservation has gained a lot of influence over the years and is now generally recognized as integral to urban governance. Many cities have preservation commissions that regulate all local landmarks, preventing demolition, overdevelopment and significant exterior changes. While this can seem like minutia, the larger concept is vital.
A historic brownstone in Brooklyn's Park Slope neighborhood. Source: New York Times
Historic buildings give local communities and visitors a quiet sense of history and continuity. In our rapidly changing world, especially in urban areas, it can be comforting to find structures that have endured for centuries. The beauty that comes with age and craftsmanship cannot be replicated.
Can you share some examples of impressive work in historic preservation?
Ann Arbor's Historic District Commission has approved the installation of cobalt blue solar panels covering the gabled roof of a Victorian house. This is a great indicator of preservationists becoming more flexible when it comes to the greater public and environmental good. New Orleans residents have been working hard to restore and preserve the city's heritage after Katrina. When a historic section of Mid-City was selected as the site for a new V.A. hospital, the New Orleans Historic District Landmarks Commission along with New Orleans Area Habitat for Humanity and other supporters were able to save most of the significant architectural elements from hundreds of houses slated for demolition; now some can be rebuilt and parts reused elsewhere. Important preservation initiatives are happening all over the world, and for so many different reasons.
A building reconstructed after an earthquake in Bhadli, India. Source: ArchNet
Are there any international initiatives that particularly stand out?
Mary Norman Woods recently collaborated with Brinda Somaya, an inspiring architect from Mumbai, in helping the village of Bhadli rebuild after an earthquake. They worked directly with the villagers to reconstruct buildings, including original decorations, and Somaya donated materials like clay, paint, lime and mirror shards. This strikes me as a good example of international partnership. I'm also impressed with He Shuzhong and the Beijing Cultural Heritage Protection Center, as it's especially challenging to preserve the built environment in China's current political and economic climate.
Preservationist He Shuzhong (left) with a resident of Menglian, China. Source: The Beijinger
What are you most excited about working on at the moment?
I'm working on a project at Hillside Homes, the third garden community designed by Clarence Stein in New York City (the other two — Sunnyside and Phipps Garden — are next to each other in Queens).
Phipps Garden Apartments in Queens. Source: A. Richard Miller
A model of Hillside Homes in the Bronx. Source: "Toward New Towns for America"
Hillside was built in 1934 as low-income housing with durable brick architecture, built-in community amenities and interior courtyards. It has been revitalized by management and residents since its days as a haven for drug dealers in the 1980s. At the same time, there is room for improvements based on the original design that could make the development more comfortable and attractive. I'll be talking with residents in detail to understand how the place is working for them today. It's currently not a designated landmark but there's a good chance that it will be some day. I'd like to help ensure that, if formal preservation occurs, it is a positive change for the people who live there.
+ share
47th Street in Sunnyside Gardens, Queens. Source: QueensNYC
Emily Goldman is a preservationist and doctoral student in historic preservation at Cornell University. After completing her undergraduate studies in history at Harvard University, Emily pursued a master's in preservation planning at Cornell, working intensively on post-Katrina recovery in New Orleans. Her thesis focused on Sunnyside Gardens, a housing community (once home to Lewis Mumford) in Queens designed by Clarence Stein during the 1920s. Emily then worked for the Landmarks Preservation Commission in New York City, where she helped with Sunnyside's transition to a local historic district. Her current research is centered on Hillside Homes, a Stein community in the Bronx. She's exploring its cultural significance for the people who live there, along with lessons this holds for urban housing and preservation in other parts of the world. We're very grateful that she made time for an interview.
A Sunnyside community garden in 1926. Source: Astoria History
What sparked your interest in historic preservation?
I've always been drawn to history through hands-on contact with the built environment. Two international experiences in high school stand out: an archaeological dig in Greece and a masonry restoration project for a medieval church in France. During college I took part in two trips to the American South with a great professor, Tim McCarthy, to help rebuild churches damaged in racially motivated arson attacks. This experience highlighted the value of buildings in community resilience.
Rebuilding the Hayneville Church of Christ after an arson attack. Source: Harvard Gazette
How do you see the preservation of cultural heritage benefiting cities?
Although once considered almost a luxury, historic preservation has gained a lot of influence over the years and is now generally recognized as integral to urban governance. Many cities have preservation commissions that regulate all local landmarks, preventing demolition, overdevelopment and significant exterior changes. While this can seem like minutia, the larger concept is vital.
A historic brownstone in Brooklyn's Park Slope neighborhood. Source: New York Times
Historic buildings give local communities and visitors a quiet sense of history and continuity. In our rapidly changing world, especially in urban areas, it can be comforting to find structures that have endured for centuries. The beauty that comes with age and craftsmanship cannot be replicated.
Can you share some examples of impressive work in historic preservation?
 |
| Source: Treehugger |
A building reconstructed after an earthquake in Bhadli, India. Source: ArchNet
Are there any international initiatives that particularly stand out?
Mary Norman Woods recently collaborated with Brinda Somaya, an inspiring architect from Mumbai, in helping the village of Bhadli rebuild after an earthquake. They worked directly with the villagers to reconstruct buildings, including original decorations, and Somaya donated materials like clay, paint, lime and mirror shards. This strikes me as a good example of international partnership. I'm also impressed with He Shuzhong and the Beijing Cultural Heritage Protection Center, as it's especially challenging to preserve the built environment in China's current political and economic climate.
Preservationist He Shuzhong (left) with a resident of Menglian, China. Source: The Beijinger
What are you most excited about working on at the moment?
I'm working on a project at Hillside Homes, the third garden community designed by Clarence Stein in New York City (the other two — Sunnyside and Phipps Garden — are next to each other in Queens).
Phipps Garden Apartments in Queens. Source: A. Richard Miller
A model of Hillside Homes in the Bronx. Source: "Toward New Towns for America"
Hillside was built in 1934 as low-income housing with durable brick architecture, built-in community amenities and interior courtyards. It has been revitalized by management and residents since its days as a haven for drug dealers in the 1980s. At the same time, there is room for improvements based on the original design that could make the development more comfortable and attractive. I'll be talking with residents in detail to understand how the place is working for them today. It's currently not a designated landmark but there's a good chance that it will be some day. I'd like to help ensure that, if formal preservation occurs, it is a positive change for the people who live there.
+ share
A Scopitone, New York and Two Frenchmen
by Min Li Chan
In the foreword to his 1929 book, "The City of To-Morrow and its Planning," architect Le Corbusier recalls a conversation with the editor of New York Magazine, in which the latter declared: "In two hundred years Americans will be coming over to Europe to admire the logical productions of modern France, while the French will be standing in astonishment before the romantic sky-scrapers of New York."
Thirty-five years later, singer-songwriter Serge Gainsbourg appears to reinforce this notion in a 16mm jukebox film, or Scopitone (a fascinating, now-obsolete format predating the contemporary music video). In the song "New York USA," Gainsbourg is perhaps not as much standing in astonishment at the towers before him than hanging nonchalantly on ledges, musing oratorically at dizzying heights.
Le Corbusier was a prolific theorist and champion of the vertical ascension of cities, believing that it would liberate residents from congestion and squalor on the ground. As Gainsbourg invokes the names of then-iconic skyscrapers, one can't help but imagine the architect's delight at this vision of a radiant modern city lifting its inhabitants skyward, even if he purportedly called New York a beautiful catastrophe.
+ share
In the foreword to his 1929 book, "The City of To-Morrow and its Planning," architect Le Corbusier recalls a conversation with the editor of New York Magazine, in which the latter declared: "In two hundred years Americans will be coming over to Europe to admire the logical productions of modern France, while the French will be standing in astonishment before the romantic sky-scrapers of New York."
Thirty-five years later, singer-songwriter Serge Gainsbourg appears to reinforce this notion in a 16mm jukebox film, or Scopitone (a fascinating, now-obsolete format predating the contemporary music video). In the song "New York USA," Gainsbourg is perhaps not as much standing in astonishment at the towers before him than hanging nonchalantly on ledges, musing oratorically at dizzying heights.
Le Corbusier was a prolific theorist and champion of the vertical ascension of cities, believing that it would liberate residents from congestion and squalor on the ground. As Gainsbourg invokes the names of then-iconic skyscrapers, one can't help but imagine the architect's delight at this vision of a radiant modern city lifting its inhabitants skyward, even if he purportedly called New York a beautiful catastrophe.
+ share
Return to Jackson Heights
by Melanie Friedrichs
From Providence
Every few months, the gravity of New York City sucks me in and pounds my feet madly to the pavement until I escape, exhausted, on an outbound bus. Last Saturday, it pulled me to a place I had visited only once before. It was an assignment for "Cities in the 21st Century," a comparative study-abroad program that whisks American students around the world to experience urban forms in other countries, beginning with two weeks at home. The assignment was simple: Go to Jackson Heights. Riding the subway to Queens last weekend brought back my impressions and discoveries from that day.
From Providence
Every few months, the gravity of New York City sucks me in and pounds my feet madly to the pavement until I escape, exhausted, on an outbound bus. Last Saturday, it pulled me to a place I had visited only once before. It was an assignment for "Cities in the 21st Century," a comparative study-abroad program that whisks American students around the world to experience urban forms in other countries, beginning with two weeks at home. The assignment was simple: Go to Jackson Heights. Riding the subway to Queens last weekend brought back my impressions and discoveries from that day.
In Parts of Manhattan, It’s Back to Normal after Sandy
by Katia Savchuk
In parts of Manhattan lucky enough to avoid flooding and power outages during Superstorm Sandy, things started getting back to normal Tuesday morning. Many businesses were open in the Hamilton Heights neighborhood in Upper Manhattan. Residents swept the streets, walked dogs and ventured out for a peek at the aftermath — or just to run errands.
Subway service may resume in four or five days, but it could be longer, Mayor Michael Bloomberg said at a press conference Tuesday morning. All subway tunnels that run under rivers were flooded, he said.
The New York Daily News published Sandy updates from a newsroom without power, but papers didn't make it to racks.
Buckets of concrete and thick chains helped keep a chair, shopping cart and metal rack from flying away in the storm.
Joggers and dog-walkers were out in full force at Riverbank State Park near the Hudson River, where there was no flooding.
Credits: Photos by Katia Savchuk.
+ share
In parts of Manhattan lucky enough to avoid flooding and power outages during Superstorm Sandy, things started getting back to normal Tuesday morning. Many businesses were open in the Hamilton Heights neighborhood in Upper Manhattan. Residents swept the streets, walked dogs and ventured out for a peek at the aftermath — or just to run errands.
Subway service may resume in four or five days, but it could be longer, Mayor Michael Bloomberg said at a press conference Tuesday morning. All subway tunnels that run under rivers were flooded, he said.
The New York Daily News published Sandy updates from a newsroom without power, but papers didn't make it to racks.
Buckets of concrete and thick chains helped keep a chair, shopping cart and metal rack from flying away in the storm.
Joggers and dog-walkers were out in full force at Riverbank State Park near the Hudson River, where there was no flooding.
Credits: Photos by Katia Savchuk.
+ share
Preparing for Hurricane Sandy
by Katia Savchuk
Stores across New York City were packed Sunday as residents stocked up on water, batteries and canned goods to weather Hurricane Sandy, expected to make landfall on Monday. Transit systems were shut down Sunday, only the second time ever that services were suspended citywide. The other shutdown was during last year's Tropical Storm Irene, which had a more modest impact than expected. Mayor Michael Bloomberg has ordered 370,000 residents to evacuate, and schools will be closed Monday. The New York Times has a live feed of the skyline as the storm approaches.
Business was booming at a liquor store on 145th and Broadway.
Members of a Pentecostal church handed out fliers on a street corner. They called the storm a warning from God.
A woman gazed out on the Hudson River from Riverbank State Park. Water levels may surge up to 11 feet, officials say.
Travelers caught the last trains before subways shut down at 7 p.m. Transit officials said no one would be allowed to camp out in subway stations because of the risk of electrocution and other dangers.
Credits: Photos by Katia Savchuk.
+ share
Stores across New York City were packed Sunday as residents stocked up on water, batteries and canned goods to weather Hurricane Sandy, expected to make landfall on Monday. Transit systems were shut down Sunday, only the second time ever that services were suspended citywide. The other shutdown was during last year's Tropical Storm Irene, which had a more modest impact than expected. Mayor Michael Bloomberg has ordered 370,000 residents to evacuate, and schools will be closed Monday. The New York Times has a live feed of the skyline as the storm approaches.
Business was booming at a liquor store on 145th and Broadway.
Members of a Pentecostal church handed out fliers on a street corner. They called the storm a warning from God.
A woman gazed out on the Hudson River from Riverbank State Park. Water levels may surge up to 11 feet, officials say.
Travelers caught the last trains before subways shut down at 7 p.m. Transit officials said no one would be allowed to camp out in subway stations because of the risk of electrocution and other dangers.
Credits: Photos by Katia Savchuk.
+ share
Quiet Moments in a Manhattan Subway Station
by Katia Savchuk
During the rush-hour crush, New York's subway stations are as lonely as they are crowded. I recently caught some quiet moments in the tide of humanity at the 42nd Street station in Manhattan ...
During the rush-hour crush, New York's subway stations are as lonely as they are crowded. I recently caught some quiet moments in the tide of humanity at the 42nd Street station in Manhattan ...
A Festival of Dredge
by Tim Maly
We're putting on a conference about dredge.
Dredging is the mechanized uplift of soil, silt, sand and sediment from rivers and coastal areas, and it often causes accelerated erosion.
Dredging and the galaxy of weird technologies that surround human-accelerated erosion and erosion control constitute a vast oeuvre of landscape architecture, and it's time designers and theorists took it seriously.
"DredgeFest NYC" by Ben Mendelsohn.
The dredge galaxy includes institutions like the Environmental Protection Agency and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (perhaps the world's most prolific landscape architects); companies like Tencate and Arcadis, which make bizarre tools like robotic dredging barges and geotextile smart nets; activist groups that seek to protect habitats and shorelines; the global shipping industry, which demands clear channels to keep the economy flowing; and developers and property owners who wish to maintain their waterfront land.
New York is a city built on dredge.
Its waterfront is made up of miles of in-fill shore and deepened channels, all products of moving thousands of tons of silt, sand and clay against the forces of nature and the consequences of human activity.
Diagram of the dredge cycle. Click on the image to view a larger version.
As you read this, toxic landscapes in New Jersey are being capped and remediated using soil dredged in the New York Harbor, and islands in Jamaica Bay, which have nearly disappeared as a result of human-accelerated erosion, are being rebuilt in an effort to restore endangered ecosystems. Meanwhile, farmers struggle as fertile topsoil is washed out to sea, and coastal disaster planners nervously eye rising sea levels.
In New York on Sept. 28, speakers from companies and institutions associated with dredging will stand alongside historians and theorists to consider the impacts of this rarely acknowledged massive endeavor of ongoing landscape architecture. The event is free and open to the public. You can click here to learn more.
On Sept. 29, a boat will tour of New York's dredge landscapes, from Manhattan's radically extended shores to Jamaica Bay's artificial islands. You can click here to reserve a place on the boat.
Tim Maly is the project coordinator for Upper Toronto, founder of Quiet Babylon and Border Town, and co-organizer of DredgeFest NYC.
+ share
We're putting on a conference about dredge.
Dredging is the mechanized uplift of soil, silt, sand and sediment from rivers and coastal areas, and it often causes accelerated erosion.
Dredging and the galaxy of weird technologies that surround human-accelerated erosion and erosion control constitute a vast oeuvre of landscape architecture, and it's time designers and theorists took it seriously.
"DredgeFest NYC" by Ben Mendelsohn.
The dredge galaxy includes institutions like the Environmental Protection Agency and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (perhaps the world's most prolific landscape architects); companies like Tencate and Arcadis, which make bizarre tools like robotic dredging barges and geotextile smart nets; activist groups that seek to protect habitats and shorelines; the global shipping industry, which demands clear channels to keep the economy flowing; and developers and property owners who wish to maintain their waterfront land.
New York is a city built on dredge.
Its waterfront is made up of miles of in-fill shore and deepened channels, all products of moving thousands of tons of silt, sand and clay against the forces of nature and the consequences of human activity.
Diagram of the dredge cycle. Click on the image to view a larger version.
As you read this, toxic landscapes in New Jersey are being capped and remediated using soil dredged in the New York Harbor, and islands in Jamaica Bay, which have nearly disappeared as a result of human-accelerated erosion, are being rebuilt in an effort to restore endangered ecosystems. Meanwhile, farmers struggle as fertile topsoil is washed out to sea, and coastal disaster planners nervously eye rising sea levels.
In New York on Sept. 28, speakers from companies and institutions associated with dredging will stand alongside historians and theorists to consider the impacts of this rarely acknowledged massive endeavor of ongoing landscape architecture. The event is free and open to the public. You can click here to learn more.
On Sept. 29, a boat will tour of New York's dredge landscapes, from Manhattan's radically extended shores to Jamaica Bay's artificial islands. You can click here to reserve a place on the boat.
Tim Maly is the project coordinator for Upper Toronto, founder of Quiet Babylon and Border Town, and co-organizer of DredgeFest NYC.
+ share
Creative Urban Gardening
by Anna Fogel
Adam Kron and Kate Rosenberg's fire escape in Washington, D.C. Source: Adam Kron
Having always lived in cities, and moving frequently, gardening never quite seemed possible. But I've been struck by the urban gardening phenomenon and the creative ways that city residents grow things. Inspired by my neighbor’s fire escape, which includes 50 plants ranging from peppers to mint to orchids (above), I recently planted my own sage and tomato plants — not exactly the aquaponic "Farm Fountain" pictured below, but a start.
Source: Vertical Theory
Polis has written about community gardens in New York and London, which provide “sustainable food sources and community spaces” that “reestablish a subconscious link between what we eat in cities and where that food comes from.”
In addition to offering green space and fresh local produce, urban gardens allow us to shape our space and make a statement about life in the city — even if it means growing a garden on the fire escape or up a wall inside the apartment.
+ share
Adam Kron and Kate Rosenberg's fire escape in Washington, D.C. Source: Adam Kron
Having always lived in cities, and moving frequently, gardening never quite seemed possible. But I've been struck by the urban gardening phenomenon and the creative ways that city residents grow things. Inspired by my neighbor’s fire escape, which includes 50 plants ranging from peppers to mint to orchids (above), I recently planted my own sage and tomato plants — not exactly the aquaponic "Farm Fountain" pictured below, but a start.
Source: Vertical Theory
Polis has written about community gardens in New York and London, which provide “sustainable food sources and community spaces” that “reestablish a subconscious link between what we eat in cities and where that food comes from.”
In addition to offering green space and fresh local produce, urban gardens allow us to shape our space and make a statement about life in the city — even if it means growing a garden on the fire escape or up a wall inside the apartment.
+ share
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
