Views from the new Whitney Museum, Meatpacking District, Manhattan
When I was young, I would imagine myselt in various occupations and, based on my knowledge about each, I would construct a scenerio of my life say, as an employee of the American Embassy working in Paris or a teacher in a classroom full of students wanting to learn. I could see myself as an assistant to a US Senator working in Washington or a high powered employee of Wall Street firm. One occupation I entertained off-and-on for quite a while was a Park Ranger. I saw myself as the keeper of beauty always alert to threats and being an expert in averting them in order to maintain what remained of the wild, natural world. There was something enticing about life in the forest, climbing to the top of towers to search the panorama for signs of fire, hearing only the sound of water flowing in streams and birds calling to each other.
In college, my love of the arts took over my imagination. Living and working in a natural environment seemed quaint,much less desirable and very, very lonely. Cities were magnets for art, dance, theater and museums. New York became the place for me to be. My old dreams were relegated to the recesses of my mind. Front and center was the pull of Manhattan with its sophistication and savvy people who were successful enough to make that island of bricks and cement, highrises, and dark streets their home. I didn’t want to acknowledge then just how much the part of me who felt at home in nature would be lost in my new environment and I wasn’t alone. Why are all the apartments that have views of the Hudson River or the East River or the lush green trees of Central Park so coveted, so expensive?
(To be continued)