windy lines

Making its way from Gansevoort up to 34th Street in the Meatpacking District, the High Line is a repurposed railway that used to carry freight trains but now, lives on as a public park.

These photos were taken on a particularly windy day, giving the flowers and tall grasses an appearance of rippling waves. What I love most is still being able to see the old rails, to feel the original jungle slowly overtaking our urban one. The High Line is truly a much-needed breath of fresh wilderness splashing through Manhattan's side. It reminds me of Terry Tempest Williams who said: "Why not designate wilderness as an installation of art? ...I cannot live without art. I cannot live without wilderness.” 

Although this "nature as art" concept certainly reflects the High Line, I tend to agree with Anne Matthews, author of Wild Nights: Nature Returns to the City; for her the wilderness is more than a figment of human imagination. Human New Yorkers stare at the skyline and see the full swell of human ingenuity and convenience for “the city is truly home: time spent anywhere else is camping, or exile." In many ways, it is true that mankind has dominated over nature; the city is the ultimate testament to man’s marvel and meddling. For many of us, New York is our fortress. And yet, there is a return of falcons and even coyotes and beneath the city resides estuary, salt marsh, woodland, beach, freshwater river, and prairie--six natural habitats that truly define the city of New York. For me, this attests to the constant struggle and interchangeability between the natural and urban worlds. So when I visit the High Line, I still like to think that its well-groomed "natural elements" are creeping, invading, and engulfing. 

“The natural world [will] redefine a city with guerrilla persistence, reaching and twining in the night, leaf by tendril by thorn…nature exploited every edge, every niche.”