The High Line was strangely not a New York experience as I mistakingly gave it the prime real estate of my time. The plants and proportions of the walkway were scaled in the most modest dimensions. It sounded perfect in my imagination but in reality, missed most of my expectations by several degrees. I lived through a fairly mediocre 2 hour walk with my sole highlight coming at the halfway point with a strawberry rose popsicle from the people’s pops. Even Olafur Eliasson’s piece reminded me of a kid’s activity center with the modernist’s absence of color but not of a significant public art piece. As for the other sculptural pieces, the scale and placement brought no drama or surprise, everything was canned.
The lowlands of Chelsea and the undramatic box skyline of Jersey were the two scenic viewpoints you could alternate from when not confronted with the close proximity of condo windows (as people point out provides the most entertainment on the High Line).
The expression on my friend’s flatmate’s face (a grossed out voyeur-by-circumstance look) should have changed my plans when I told her of my morning destination but I stuck to it. I felt released from the imprisonment of my plans when I exited the High Line at the Gansevoort and Washington Street exit. The streets heading toward the Chelsea Market and Google offices were all galleries, French clothing brands and chic restaurants…I had walked out into paradise.