To Fall

...& other protagonists of a wonderful Sunday outside of New York

Dear Stranger,

The heat of the city finally gives into the embrace of Fall. Sunday arrives with a blissful blue sky and strips 10 degrees off the precious New York weekend. At the same time 4 girls in the need of escape and some Nature, embark on a road trip and head Upstate in the early hours of the day.

We meet in a coffee shop on 86th and Broadway, which seems like the only place with a heartbeat at 9 am on a Sunday. I’m waking my brain gradually by pouring cinnamon tea into my body. My 3 trip companions gather from various corners, arriving one by one all the way from Brooklyn, Financial District and New Jersey, all 3 of them bundled to the bone, prepared for some outdoor action away from the concrete hug of the city. We fill the blue vehicle (of course, as a cliche woman, that’s the only characteristic of the car that I can recollect) squishing bodies, jackets, bags and unnecessary amount of reading materials into its interiors. I’m amused by our roadtrip accessories. Mine include also a kilo of apples and a change of yoga clothes, cause why not? Like every yoga junkie, I’ve programmed myself to look for any opportunity to shoot a leg up the sky.

4 girls, 4 countries

The car zooms through George Washington bridge, crossing Hudson’s murky face like a lightning. Just 10 minutes into our trip, Fall unfolds its colourful grace. Trees have engaged into a dazzling stritease - losing attire in a vibrant dance. I’m following their frames, hissing pass our car, till I lose them from my sight. My head is swiping from left to right, like a dog following a tennis ball. I’m realizing I’ve been staring at a whole lot of buildings in the last few months. This tree show is relaxing for both my eyes and my brain.

The girls are chatting cheerfully. The 4 of us represent four different countries of the former Eastern Block. A Romanian, a Bulgarian, a Moldovan and a Russian somehow have ended up across the ocean, into one tiny car together, thousands of miles away from their birth spot. I like how different and how alike we are. We don’t speak the same language or have the profession, nor do we have the same interests. Yet, we speak of similar past and somehow their childhood memories seem to be mine as well. This inexplicable closeness makes me feel so at ease, and so far away from anything familiar, it gives me a sense of home.

The Storm King Art Center

Our trip has a destination. We high five the Storm King Art Center sign in recognition of our arrival. A long string of cars checks in with the ticket booth, which looks like a dwarf house in a middle of vast open field. The first sculptures are in sight. They look like giants, lying carelessly amidst a valley of grass and wheat. In the Art Center’s own words, it is:

“Widely celebrated as one of the world’s leading sculpture parks, Storm King Art Center has welcomed visitors from across the globe for fifty years. It is located only one hour north of New York City, in the lower Hudson Valley, where its pristine 500-acre landscape of fields, hills, and woodlands provides the setting for a collection of more than 100 carefully sited sculptures created by some of the most acclaimed artists of our time.”

...and indeed it is. 

Dancer pose with the Pyramidian 

We wander around the specimen scattered at comfortable distance from each other. Each one of them occupies a space at least 3 times the size of my apartment. We are gazing profoundly at their ambiguous names, exclaiming at the age proof (some are dated back to 1969). They astonish us with their ahead-of-time ideas, as well as with the length of their creation period. The “Pyramidian” says it took about 10 years to emerge.

 "Created from four steel beams, Pyramidium points to earth and sky, west and east, north and south—the six Chinese directions. Its geometric lines and moving center form a Zen koan: more transparent than the ancient pyramids yet just as secretive."

I dig the sculpture and take my “Dancer Pose” in front of it, coming back to those unlimited yoga opportunities.

We move onto a forest, which is sheltering the exhibition of an artist called Zhang Huan. That’s my zen moment of today. Buddhist statues and symbols are dispersed around, all in pieces. The walk through them is highly meditative, not because of the spiritually inspired art, simply because it’s freaking awesome to walk through a park, in the first cold yet sunny day of Fall and stare at giant statues. 

Three legged Buddha, Zhang Huan

“Three legged Buddha” has gathered a fan club, which is selfie-ing it away. The decomposition, which the artist has achieved is striking, underlined by the size of the achievement. Buddha has stepped on his head. The interpretation of this act is left to the spectators.

I’m the self-proclaimed tour guide of our group and I’ve taken ownership of the map. The girls are stamping through the uneven grounds, while I’m chasing the paper every time the wind decide to snatch it off my hands. He’s been our frenemy today. He has definitely managed to clear our head of any unnecessary thoughts, but the unexpected intensity is sweeping right through the clothing and into the bones.

View of The Storm King Art Center

After 2 hours of chills & thrills we decide to call it a day, congratulating ourselves for the efforts to feast on some art as we head off to Cornwall-on-the-Hudson to feed the flesh as well. We follow the recommendations of locals and end up in a quaint restaurant that hasn’t forgone the gluten-free mania, nor the choice of eggs preparation styles. There’s hardly anything else that can add to this wonderful day out of the Metropolitan zoo. We are 4 happy wild hens returning back to the premises of our luxurious coop.

As we part, I roll out of the car followed by a collection of leaves that I’ve stashed into my bag. They carry the scent of a wet cow, but I don’t mind it. I want a recollection of today to follow me home so I can share the sweet Fall melancholy with a glass of whiskey and a jazz song.

To Fall

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