New York (IV) -- The Gates

The Gates. The publicity machine says they're "Saffron". The reality is that they are "Orange". A common fruit instead of a rare and expensive spice.
I like the "Gates". Underwhelming at first (what is the point of just one gate?) but one by one, slowly, the effect gets to you. A bit like a "Mille-feuilles", this French pastry that is made of many alternated layers of dough and cream. Or like a book by Proust. The sentences adding seemingly innocuous and long descriptions of the people and the places. Details about the napkins, the menu, the light, the food. Irrelevant until they get you there and you suddenly feel at home, warm under these layers of details as it they were that many blankets.
Christo and Jeanne, though, are no Proust and the effect of their work is not as strong. It is still there though and no one complains.

The day is magnificent and Central Park is gorgeous, crowded and noisy. I am all ear.

The woman who told me (when I asked her what she thought about the art): "It's alright. I saw all the money it cost. I sure could use some of that money but it's alright!"
Her voice has a strong southern accent that makes me want to ask her to say it again.
She is right about the art though. It's alright.

The large telescope pointed toward a building on the East side of the park. They're no paparazzi, they're bird watchers, longing to see the hawks that have nested under the roof of one of the most expensive building in Manhattan.

The man wearing Christmas lights that made him look like a decorated tree.

The woman on her cell phone talking about being single and her latest blind dates. She seemed oblivious to the fact that everybody around her was listening.