As civic spectacles go, Olafur Eliasson’s New York City Waterfalls don’t quite deliver the awesomeness promised by the renderings that have been circulating since—well, since seemingly forever. But then, the same could be said of any number of recent—and more permanent—additions to the skyline (Times building, anyone?).
As for how they do as artworks, from most vantage points, the scaffolding and risers used to create the Waterfalls are far too visible to allow the project to resolve into anything truly sublime, though that is intentional on Eliasson’s part; his brand of showmanship depends on revealing the man behind the curtain. Unfortunately, deconstruction on this scale just doesn’t fly: Instead of a critique of the “experience industry,” as Eliasson once described his approach, we get a feat of hydrological engineering that’s more dry than wet.
More than anything else, however, the Waterfalls are an unintentional reminder that once upon a time, the city would routinely witness all manner of weird and wonderful things that seemed to spontaneously transpire—think for instance of Philippe Petit walking the tightrope between the Twin Towers. Nowadays, such events, when they do happen, are ordered from the top down.
Last night (a few hours after my colleagues took the morning tour), I boarded the New York Water Taxi’s “unofficial” tour of the four cascades (the "official" honor goes to Circle Line Downtown), and got to see up close what the hullabaloo was all about.
Not much.
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Despite a bit of misty weather this morning, Danish artist Olafur Eliasson’s The New York City Waterfalls turned on today without a hitch. So Team Around Town—myself and first mate/writer Erin Clements—set sail aboard Classic Harbor Line’s 80-foot yacht, the Manhattan, to see the aquatic art installation for ourselves. As we settled into our berth, I suddenly realized the excitement of seeing four man-made waterfalls made me forget I get seasick on the Staten Island Ferry. Fortunately, crew member Sarah filled me in on an age-old sailor’s cure: pinch your wrists. I think it worked, although it could’ve just been the complimentary champagne.
It actually takes a while to get from Chelsea Piers to lower Manhattan, so when we encountered our first fall, splashing down at the tip of Governors Island, it was like happening upon Shangri-La after being lost in the Himalayas. It had a certain beauty to it, but more cute than majestic. Isolated from the iron, grit and steel of Manhattan, it kind of reminds you of a giant waterslide.
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