All cities have parks. In fact, they're such a familiar sight that we usually walk by them without appreciating how peculiar they are. A little piece of forest, of unspoiled nature, deposited in an urban jungle? I see two tensions that the city park evokes: firstly, the tension between its artificiality and its naturalness. Does a park try to present itself as a strip of virgin forest dropped into a city block - does it try to hide the fact that it was built with bulldozers and jackhammers, that its streams are fed by pumps and a sprinkler system runs throughout? The second tension comes from the inherent contrast between its own natural environment and the urban environment around it. Does it isolate itself and its visitors from the city or accept itself as just another feature on the urban landscape?
The High Line takes the opportunity afforded by its unique origins to play with these tensions. Before it was made into a park, the High Line was in a state of decay. It was overrun with tough grasses and bushes. That vegetation is still mostly there, in a perpetual state of contest with the concrete around it. The tension between artificiality and naturalness is released in the form of simulated decay. Playful decrepitude is the theme that creates transition. I found transition to be a common theme even in the benches and their materials, which seem to take the wood and steel of the High Line and rise up from its surface. The park also toys with its identity as both an urban and natural space: at times its concrete paths are constricted and confined by the wild areas around them while later the concrete isolates and contains the park's natural elements. Truly, the High Line resolves many of the conflicts inherent in a city park.
The High Line Study 1
The High Line Study 2
The High Line Study 3
The High Line Study 4
The High Line Study 5
The High Line Study 6
The High Line Study 7
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