Matthew Gallaway

Hudson Yards Is a Bracing Example of Late-Capitalism Despair (Architecture)

1. The park had grown lush after all the rain.

2. I turned to stone waiting for waters to recede.

3. Meanwhile, I went to Hudson Yards. Even though it was right in front of me, it felt inaccessible, a perfect monument for the internet era. We were all here, but we all wanted to be somewhere -- or someone -- else.

4. In the adjacent shopping mall, the glum women were covered in candy wrappers, flowers, and frosting. I remembered growing up in the suburbs, where shopping malls felt like a kaleidoscope offering views into a more interesting future, one that could be obtained with a little money. We went as tweens to immerse ourselves in the chaotic grid that replicated the urban one where we hoped to one day live, after we had escaped the boring towns in which we were trapped. Hudson Yards, however, offers something very similar and very different. Even more than the shopping mall at the Oculus or at Columbus Circle, Hudson Yards delivers a 'post-mall' experience in which, by virtue of being in a city, we are offered views of late-capitalism despair. To spend even a few seconds in Hudson Yards is to feel a sense of suffocation that triggers an instinctual desire to escape. It's like being in an airport except worse because it's the destination. There are two questions you constantly ask yourself at Hudson Yards: Why am I here? and How do I get out?

5. 'I thought this $25 million view would make me happier.'

6. Outside, the strong winds seemed to foreshadow or possibly deliver an escape.

7. Still in a state of shock, I took a 'selfie' on the High Line.

8. Like most New Yorkers, I had complained about the High Line -- tOo CrOwDEd -- but I felt better here. I was no longer in the Mall of Hell. The trees and flowers had grown so much over the years.

9. Everything glowed in the western sun. It was beautiful. I didn't care if this escape was illusory.

10. It felt good to believe that the trees might win.

Light and Fog Are the New Seasons

1. For a long time, there was fog.

2. Every morning, it rolled down the hills and covered the river.

3. The city and its problems felt very far away, even though we were in the city.

4. We saw the things people built but we never saw the people.

5. Eventually the sun returned.

6. There was relief and skepticism.

7. The moss covered the bricks.

8. The park was exuberant.

9. We fell into a kind of delirium.

10. The beauty was surreal.

11. But we also remembered the fog.

12. We turned to the silhouettes for relief.

13. Until we found the relief we wanted, and returned the color.

15. There was a spot in the dappled light.

16. A place to be still, to sit and watch.

17. It was a time of great migrations.

18. We thought that, like the fog, this new era would last forever, but eventually the flowers began to fade.

19. And the waters began to rise.

20. The light turned harsh and terrifying. (But it was still beautiful.)

21. When we thought of the past, it was not with regret for what we were, but for what we were not.

Notes on Azalea Season

1. This week, the azaleas are in bloom. When I was younger and stupider, I used to find them garish and 'suburban,' but now I love them. During the rest of the year, after the flowers have dropped off and the plants have faded into the background, I wonder if I imagined the pink and red and white clouds, because it doesn't seem possible that such things could exist.

2. And now here they are, offering their yearly display of unabashed exuberance, a kind of transformative power that's often downplayed or dismissed in our culture for being frivolous or unserious, at best a diversion before the 'real business' can begin. [This blog post is also about what ___ said about ____.]

3. Fortunately, plants are not impeded by our cultural inhibitions, which is why it's important for us to see them.

4. Walking through the azaleas was my version of 'livestreaming the Met Gala.'

5. The tree peonies are somewhat more restrained than the azaleas, but also more dignified and elegant. Not that it's a competition: there's room for everyone.

6. What dream is this?

7. And how can we bring it to the rest of the world?

8. These were the only questions that seemed worth asking.

9. But after a few seconds, I didn't feel like asking anything at all.

Trees and Fog (Special Edition)

1. It was a good week for fog, which made the flowering trees look like pink clouds.

2. The old apartment buildings on 135th Street became a rocky shoreline in the mists.

3. Every color vibrated.

4. These trees cling to the banks of the Hudson through the high winds and frigid cold of winter, but all of the work paid off.

5. In the fog, I could not only hear the flapping of wings, but I could also hear the wingtips brushing against the water.

6. Even the bridge seemed peaceful, despite transporting thousands of cars -- which are never peaceful -- across the river.

7. This tree was a late sleeper whose leaves were just beginning to show.

8. This one had suffered and persevered, and was all the more beautiful as a result.

9. The grass around the cemetery was lush.

10. I walked over the bridge and took the steps down into Harlem.

11.On a silver screen, every flower was a star.

Springtime in New York City (Bus Tours)

1. It's spring in the city, which is a magical time. Let's take a tour :)

2. Here are some stone steps that may have been featured in GoT.

3. This was the week of white flowers and green leaves.

4. Like certain flowers bending toward the light, I wanted to be hopeful but felt oppressed by the specter of political stagnation as _____ entered the race.

5. This tree is at least ten thousand years old. It has lived through much worse and much better times.

6. The ruins or possibly the foundations of civilization could be found everywhere.

7. After torrential rains, the wind was brisk and the sky blue.

8. An ancient grotto offered shelter.

9. Somehow the world, after a long sleep, was coming alive.

Life with Camellias

1. Every spring, the camellias bloom for about a week. Before the week arrives, we inspect the buds and speculate about the timing and quality of the blooms.

2. A few days ago, we went outside and found small, pink clouds hovering above the leaves and trembling in the wind. Even though we had been waiting for a long time, it still felt like a surprise. One day the buds are closed and the next they are open. What could be more miraculous?

3. When the camellias are in bloom, a week is too short, and the rest of the year too long. I remind myself to 'enjoy it while it lasts,' but I can't completely escape the dread I feel as I envision a return to life without camellias in bloom, which, no small thing, is fifty-one weeks of the year. It was a familiar question, reconciling something good with the end of something good. And not just a potential end; it was definite. There was no way these camellias were going to last for more than a week. It began to seem preferable not to have the camellias at all.

4. But then I saw the flowers and realized that these pangs of desire and regret, whether fulfilled or not, reveal something about our condition.

5. Everyone, it seems, is waiting for something.

Notes on Spring and Denial

1. I had forgotten what spring felt like until this week, when the tiny, resurrected leaves of the native phlox began crawling through the rocks.

2. And the new leaves of the Japanese maple, not yet unfurled, shimmered in the light.

3. I had forgotten how the hydrangea glows.

4. It occurred to me that everything I had been reading about the end of the world must be wrong.

5. I had seen the footage: continents of ice calving into the sea, majestic birds and animals looking for food and shelter. I could understand how and why these changes were happening but the scale of this change, like the planet itself, was beyond my ability to comprehend.

6. In the garden, surrounded by new flowers, I was oblivious to the planet and its problems, which felt far away and unlikely, a conspiracy.

7. This dissonance -- between the knowledge of an existential threat and the inability to acknowledge (must less respond to) it -- has infected society in ways that we are only beginning to describe but have yet to comprehend.

Forsythia and Fog

1. Every April, the forsythias cascade down the rock face and float like clouds above the curving path.

2. This year there was also fog.

3. To see, I had to wait for the mist to clear.

4. I was reminded that I had often dreamed of seeing Kyoto in the spring. But I feared the crowds.

5. Here, except for the daffodils marching across the fields, it was empty.

6. Or mostly empty, because the heather was also on the march.

7. And the hellebores, except they weren't on the march. They can live for centuries without going anywhere. Heads down, they knew what was coming.

8. Beyond the park, the fog was closing in.

That Pete Buttigieg Is Openly Gay is a Beautiful Thing (Politics)

1. It's time to step back from 'politics as usual' and remember something important: Pete Buttigieg is openly gay and it's a beautiful thing.

2. It doesn't mean he's a 'perfect gay' or that he couldn't be 'more gay.' Yes, he says things like being gay 'shouldn't make a difference' and that some people 'don't even notice' etc. He sounds like someone who's not been 'out' for very long, which is probably because he hasn't (been out for very long).

3. For those of us who *have* been out for more than a minute and who understand that being gay is the best thing that could have happened to us (via fear of belonging to straight society) and that being gay *always* makes a difference, it can be disappointing to hear Mayor Pete rank his sexual orientation somewhere around the color of his socks.

4. But that disappointment should be a flickering shadow in comparison to the bright sun that is the viable candidacy of an openly gay Democrat running for president. If you want gay futurism (and you should), read #gods. (And give it five stars on Amazon.) But if you want tangible signs of progress in a very bleak time in our country's history, focus on the fact that Pete Buttigieg will be appearing with the rest of the Democratic candidates in the primary debates. (Or at least the first one.)

5. Whatever he wants to say about being gay is irrelevant, because he already *is* (gay). Which means (and this is the part that nobody in the popular press wants to talk about) that he's a man who likes to ____ and _____. Nothing could be more important when much of the hatred aimed at gays is rooted in the notion that the sex we have is deserving, at best, of constant ridicule (the United States circa 2019) and, at worst, punishment by death (many countries around the world). Pete Buttigieg is representing, and he's doing it without apology or shame. That's already miraculous.

6. I'm not saying it's wrong to criticize Mayor Pete. Scrutinize his positions. Ask whether he can 'beat Trump.'

7. Maybe he's not progressive enough or maybe he lacks the right kind of experience.

8. But stop saying that he's not 'gay enough,' because that's wrong, or that he has the same institutional advantages as his straight peers, because that's wrong, too. Being openly gay -- even in 2019 - is still a beautiful thing for (almost) anyone, but especially for a Democratic candidate.

9. If you disagree with Mayor Pete about something, be considerate: before you try to shout him down, take a second to stand back and -- for the sake of all of us -- let his light shine.

The Magic of Florida

1. I flew to Orlando, where I met two of my older brothers at the airport. Having adult children, they both expressed relief as we drove east, out of range of the Florida theme parks. (I did not need to have children to feel a related form of relief.)

2. As kids, we had spent a lot of time in Florida, visiting our grandparents. We remembered deep-sea fishing, waterskiing on the canals, snorkeling for sea urchins and sand dollars, playing 'sharks and minnows' in the motel pool, and walking up and down the pier in Fort Lauderdale.

3. Being much younger than my siblings, I was sometimes 'too little' to participate in every activity; I remembered spending time in the weeds, trying to catch lizards that we called 'chameleons,' but that I recently learned are in fact called something else.

4. On this trip, we were visiting our parents. It was strange but undeniable: thanks to the passage of time, we were older than our parents had been, just as they were now older than their parents had been. The one constant, it seemed, was shuffleboard, which we had played as kids and were again playing, decades later. (Somehow, I was still constantly ending up 'in the kitchen'.)

5. The alligator watched from the pond.

6. The vast Florida sky darkened with an approaching storm.

7. After the rains, we walked to the bridge, where the sun illuminated the water, which seemed to stretch infinitely into the future and the past.