Dear New York...

About a decade ago Heidi turned me onto Humans of New York. She bought the book of that title and had it on a table in her home. I started following the organization on Facebook. The group featured a photograph of an ordinary person, with a small story about them. I've since learned the photographer/author is named Brandon Stanton.

Brandon has expanded his project to include "humans" from 40 other cities (and growing). For a while he featured individuals in an in-depth series that unfolded on Facebook much as the serial novels of the turn of the last century ... an enticing bite at a time until the full story unfurled. 

This month he unveiled his most ambitious project yet: a two-week public art display at New York City's Grand Central Station. Originally intending to use proceeds from his book "Humans of New York," he ended up using most of his savings to pay for the space and to compensate for their loss of advertising revenue. He took over the train station. He bought the rights to fill every inch of Grand Central Station with art. There is not an ad to be found. Using a grand piano and people affiliated with Julliard, he filled the main concourse with music.

The exhibition only runs from October 6-19.

I read in an article this is the largest public art exhibit since The Gates by Christo and Jeanne-Claude, the saffron-colored banners that flooded Central Park in 2005. I have long regretted not going into NYC to see them in person, and was thrilled with The Shed had an exhibit earlier this year reminiscing about it.

Don and I go into New York on a fairly regular basis, especially now that we are not working full time. As we stood on Fifth Avenue waiting to cross 45th Avenue Don looked at me and said how glad he is that we go into the City as we do. It is something his father used to do, and something Don envisioned being part of his retirement. Last night the weather was perfect -- it was still in the 60s after dark and the rain from the weekend evaporated. It was so perfect we ended up walking to the PATH station at the World Trade Center rather than taking the one at 33rd Street like we normally do.

It was odd, yet soothing, to not see ANY ads. In place of advertisements there were pictures from his book, also called Dear New York.

Standing in the Main Concourse with the PA reminding us to be aware of our surroundings and not become a statistic, his images and quotes were projected on 50-foot walls and columns along with quotes making the experience immersive. I felt as if I was part of the story. Often the person would be projected on one column, a snippet of the person's story would appear on one or two columns, then turning around, another column might show an eye on a column on the wall behind us. Making it that much more personal, inviting us into their stories. Into their lives.

We stood reading their stories for about 45 minutes. At the twenty minute mark we asked the guide at the Information Booth if he knew how long the loop was. He said, "it is ten-minutes long." We knew that wasn't right since we had already been there twice as long. The stories were engaging, so we stayed and watched. I did a quick google search, but did not find the answer.

Through the tunnel, in Vanderbilt Hall is the second main part of the exhibit. To the left was a two-part exhibit. On the inside were panels representing photographs by 11 different professional artists. The one that moved me the most was work by Sara Bennett who photographed formerly incarcerated women in their bedrooms. Their panels identify the women, how long their prison term was to be, how long they served, and how long they have been out. Some are living in apartments. Others have a place in a homeless shelter. All are proud of the lives they are rebuilding. There is a description that says they all served time for heinous crimes, including homicide. It continues to say the United States has the longest prison sentences in the world. When I've heard about prison populations the focus is often on Black men. It was jarring to learn the problem exists for white women, too.

Don was drawn to the bright pictures of New York City's nightlife. Images shined with glitter and sequins.

Surrounding these panels were photographs taken by six hundred New York City students of someone who inspired them. They originally planned to include only 300 pictures, but were overwhelmed with the response and, using screens that flipped through multiple pictures could show more than originally planned. Each picture had a sign in font much too small to read and appreciate identifying the artist and how the subject inspired them. It was encouraging to see that these pieces of artwork were closely studied by a large crowd. These six hundred pictures could easily fill a book so you could sit and enjoy each story at your leisure. On the walls, surrounded by people pausing on their daily commute, it was overwhelming. I found it hard to concentrate on the images and stories as I needed to be up close to read the descriptions, and take a step back to enjoy the picture, meanwhile making sure I did not bump into people or be pickpocketed.

The Dear New York exhibit was turned into a 474-page book by Brandon Stanton that debuted on October 7th. The book was for sale in the Transportation Museum exhibit in Grand Central Station, at Amazon, IndieBound, and all major booksellers. We were able to borrow it from our library.

Meanwhile, the Transit Museum was hosting an exhibit on 100 years of the New Yorker Magazine, with a focus on transportation cartoons. It was brilliant, and free. This only runs through October. There is a separate exhibit taking place in the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue.

My favorite: Missed Connections
of two people reading
the same book in 
different trains

The one on the left is from 1978.
The one on the left is from March 2020.

  

Don and I walked around Ground Central Station trying to figure out what we should do for dinner. As we wandered, we saw in place of ads were giant posters of images we recognized from the walls of the Main Concourse. We also saw pictures we did not see. We crossed under the Grand Concourse and came into it from the other side.

As we walked up the stairs, I realized we never saw nor heard the Julliard pianist. Coming from a different angle, we did. We then walked over to our space on the other side of the information desk -- maybe twenty-five feet away (distances are swallowed up in a room that large), but with the desk and central clock blocking our view, and realized we could not hear the piano. Listening carefully, we did hear applause, but only because we were focused on it. Was someone playing when we were there the first time or not? According to the schedule the piano is not played during rush hour. We arrived at ten of six, so maybe it was silent at that point. The perfect arches in Grand Central Station act as a whispering gallery allowing you to whisper in one corner and having the sound travel up the arch to the other side and be heard perfectly well. The Grand Concourse seems to have the opposite where sound is absorbed.

The next day Lin-Manual Miranda had a turn at the piano. That would have been amazing to hear live!

I'm glad we were able to see this exhibit. I think it will be talked about for years reverently, just as the Gates Central Park exhibit of two decades ago.