Showing posts with label subway art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label subway art. Show all posts

10 August 2026

Subway Newsstand Art Project

 

A Special Installment of “A Helluva Town”   

[I’ve posted several reports on art in the New York City subways; see, for instance, “Tom Otterness & Life Underground” (27 April 2011), “A Helluva Town, Part 2” (18 August 2011), and “Can Art Be A Crime?” (9 July 2025).

[The article below is a little different.  The art installation here is sanctioned, but dynamic—it changes regularly—it’s multifarious, and it’s housed in a disused newsstand on a train platform.  The rest you’ll read for yourself.  Oh, and it’s called the W4 Newsstand Project (because it’s at the West 4th Street station on 6th Avenue in Greenwich Village for the Brooklyn-bound B, D, F and M trains).]

A SUBWAY DIVERSION THAT AIMS TO DELIGHT
by Winnie Hu 

[This article ran in the “Metropolitan” section of the New York Times on 2 August 2026; it’s on the paper’s website as “A Newsstand That Aims to Delight N.Y.C. Subway Riders,” dated 28 July 2026.]

Whimsy and freebies at a vacant newsstand in a West Village station.

Trading cards that highlight fun facts about retired subway conductors and operators. Key chains with a fake rat’s foot for “good train luck.” A bucket hat with a sliding veil that riders can borrow to cry in private.

These specialty items for straphangers, which they may not have even realized they need, or want, will be available for free starting this weekend [1-2 August] at a former newsstand inside the West 4th Street station in Manhattan.

The transit-themed newsstand will have no other purpose than to amuse and intrigue New Yorkers — or console them on a bad day — and make their commutes just a little better in the nation’s largest subway system.

It is the latest creation of Al Mullen, 37, a comedian and writer known for his humorous and upbeat takes on the transit world. The newsstand “snowballed” from his free zine, Public Transport Magazine, which he started in 2022 from his Brooklyn apartment and leaves on trains and in stations for riders to discover.

“Everyone’s on the subway,” Mr. Mullen said while fixing up the newsstand on a recent afternoon. “It’s a place where I can meet all kinds of people and see if they’ll be delighted.”

Mr. Mullen partnered with Art on the Ave NYC, a nonprofit that displays art in vacant storefronts, and the David Prize, a philanthropic initiative of the Walentas Foundation [aka: the Walentas Family Foundation; a New York-based private grantmaking organization founded in 2013 that supports civic institutions, the arts, public spaces, and education], to secure a one-year license for the shuttered newsstand from the Metropolitan Transportation Authority.

Then, Mr. Mullen enlisted the help of his friends and fellow transit enthusiasts to transform it into a place where busy New Yorkers would actually want to stop. Edward Steed, a cartoonist whose work has been featured in The New Yorker, designed a whimsical mural of trains, buses and people to wrap around the newsstand. Comedians, writers and artists are creating travel guides to the city’s 472 subway stations, which will be handed out at the newsstand.

Mr. Mullen also plans to offer live entertainment, including puppet shows that will run between train arrivals and departures. He is installing a photo booth with a subway pole that commuters can grab to find out “their inner train line.” The picture will show a colored circle around them, which corresponds to a particular subway line and reveals their “train aura.”

Even in its unfinished state, the newsstand on the downtown platform for the B, D, F and M trains has buzzed with activity. Riders have come over to ask directions to their trains. A group of teenagers on scooters zipped behind the counter and made themselves at home, pretending to hawk Newport cigarettes.

The other day, five big round clocks were behind the counter, all displaying the same exact time. Below each clock was a yellow sticky note with the name of one of the city’s five boroughs scrawled in red.

Markus Kusano, 35, a software engineer, stopped to tell Mr. Mullen how much he liked the clocks.

“I thought it was funny,” Mr. Kusano said afterward. “It’s kind of a New York or nowhere kind of thing — that’s all the time you need.”

Mr. Mullen grew up in the coastal town of Scituate, Mass., and later studied film at Occidental College in [Los Angeles,] California. He arrived in New York City in 2011 and worked as a film and video editor. In his free time, he wrote and performed stand-up comedy.

But by 2019, Mr. Mullen was ready for a change. While reporting for jury duty one day, he looked around at all the different people in a Brooklyn courthouse and realized how small his own world was. “I wanted to reach out to people in some way,” he said. “I realized the closest thing to jury duty was the subway.”

So Mr. Mullen made the subway his stage. He created Public Transport Magazine on a home printer and distributed it with guerrilla-style drops on trains. It looked like a school project but was packed with a slew of talented comedians, writers, cartoonists and illustrators, including Jack Handey, an author and former writer for “Saturday Night Live,” and David Cross, an actor and comedian.

As it gained a following, he met Erika Augustine, the executive director of the David Prize, in 2024. He applied for the prize, which awards a total of $1 million annually to five New Yorkers who are working to make the city a better place. Though Mr. Mullen did not win, he made an impression.

“His love for the transit system, I think, is so uniquely New York,” Ms. Augustine said, adding that Mr. Mullen has inspired other straphangers to look past the usual gripes about train delays and rats.

Last year, Mr. Mullen reached out to Ms. Augustine with his idea for a transit-focused newsstand. She connected him with Barbara Anderson, the executive director of Art on the Ave NYC and a 2025 finalist for the David Prize.

Ms. Anderson’s group has organized art exhibits in 106 vacant retail spaces around the city since 2020. Last year, the group converted a newsstand in the West 81st Street station in Manhattan into a sound booth [named Sound Boothwhere riders can drop by to sing, play the piano, D.J. and catch live performances.

On a Saturday in June, Mr. Mullen held up the keys to the newsstand for the first time outside the West 4th Street station. “It feels like I’m holding the smallest trophy,” he said, before heading down the stairs to see what he had gotten himself into.

A few minutes later, he unlocked the newsstand to find Us Weekly and Cosmopolitan magazines from 2016 still sitting on the shelves and an unplugged Coca-Cola refrigerator in a corner. There was graffiti on several display cases and a thick coating of grime over everything.

“I feel like there’s a lot of opportunity here, a lot of dirt and no rats that I can see,” he said.

Mr. Mullen returned with cleaning supplies and friends to scrub the newsstand. They found a quarter and placed it on the counter. A man ran up, grabbed the quarter and jumped onto a train. “It was a heist,” Mr. Mullen said. “He hopped on a getaway train.”

The former newsstand was licensed rent-free through an M.T.A. program [Vacant Unit Activation Program] started in 2023 to activate former retail spaces in the subway with public art exhibits. Currently, there are 17 sites, including the newsstand-turned-sound-booth and another former retail unit that became a bodega for dinosaurs [Rex’s Dino Store] at the Grand Army Plaza station in Brooklyn.

Mr. Mullen received $10,000 in initial funding from the David Prize to develop and open his newsstand. He spent $4,200 on the mural, which included getting it made on vinyl. He plans to pay $100 each to other contributing artists and writers, including those creating the station guides.

Mr. Mullen, who works as a writer for a game show app, has not paid himself. He said he saw the newsstand as a space where he could collaborate with more people. “The New York thing is being in company with people, being in community,” he said. “And this is definitely an extension.”

Mr. Mullen and his friends will take turns staffing the newsstand from Friday to Sunday [Gothamist says 1-4 p.m., Saturday and Sunday]. He hopes to raise more money to keep the newsstand running for the next year.

Lily Crandall, 28, a textile artist, volunteered to make the trading cards of subway workers and even has a personal connection — her great-grandfather was a construction worker on the 8th Avenue line. “I love all of his ideas,” she said of Mr. Mullen. “They’re really fun to be a part of.”

The other day, Harris Alterman, 34, and Dave Ross, 43, both comedians, were taking measurements at the newsstand. In June, they had made a video of themselves putting up fake (and temporary) tech ads in Brooklyn subway stations to spoof the real ads that they said were annoying and ugly [see We put up fake tech ads and We put more fake tech ads].

After their video went viral, Mr. Ross posted on social media asking if anyone had access to a space in the subway. Mr. Mullen replied, “Weirdly I do.” Now, the newsstand will host a one-day installation of their fake tech ads on August 8.

“I love how much art and music is in the city — and how much isn’t in the zeitgeist but the city supports it anyway,” Mr. Ross said. “There’s a little scene for everything if you can find it.”

[You know from above that Al Mullen is originally from Scituate, Massachusetts, which is in the northwest corner of Plymouth County on Massachusetts Bay.  (Plymouth County is northwest of Barnstable County, which is Cape Cod.)  He went to college in Los Angeles and came to New York in 2011, when he was about 22.  Here, Mullen works as a freelance film and video editor and writes and performs stand-up comedy.

[Brooklyn-based, Mullen is heavily engaged in New York’s alternative comedy and live performance scenes.  He’s best known for his work with the sketch and performance group Channel 101 NY.

[His work explores the absurdities of daily life and corporate structures.  His satirical prose has been featured across prominent humor platforms, including McSweeney's Internet Tendency (a Patreon page), The New Yorker, and The Huffington Post.

[Beyond his solo writing, Mullen focuses heavily on collaborative and live performance formats.  With Max and Al, he performs alongside comedian Max Brand as half of this live musical-comedy duo.  Mullen manages the New York chapter of Channel 101, a monthly non-profit short film festival where creators submit short, episodic video pilots to be voted on by a live audience.  

[His comedic work and digital projects have earned him industry opportunities with the largest and most prestigious stand-up comedy festival in the world, Just For Laughs (Montreal, Canada), and the once wildly popular live, interactive game show app HQ Trivia.

[Winnie Hu is a New York Times reporter covering the people and neighborhoods of New York City.  She writes about demographics, immigration, public spaces, and socioeconomic trends that shape the urban landscape and help explain how people live, work, and move around the city. 

[She’s lived and worked in New York City for more than two decades and has written stories about nearly every aspect of urban life, including transportation, crowding, education, and city and state politics.  Hu joined the Times in 1999, having previously worked as a reporter for the Pensacola News Journal in Pensacola, Florida, and briefly for the Dallas Morning News.]


09 July 2025

Can Art Be A Crime?

 

[In December 2002, just as New York City was bracing for a transit strike that was called for four days hence, 37 black boxes labeled "FEAR" were found in the Union Square subway station.  The discovery caused significant concern and drew public attention—in a New York-sort of way: people were disturbed, suggested theories of the boxes’ origin, and went about their business—which, in a subway station, meant going someplace or coming back from someplace.

[Aside from the looming strike threat—New York City without public transportation is hell, believe me—we were just over a year past the 9/11 attack; it was fresh in everyone’s memory.

[Now, I live near Union Square and the station, which is under the park at 14th Street and 4th Avenue/Park Avenue South, is one of the city’s busiest.  It’s the station I use most of the four that are near my apartment—though I didn’t happen to have been in it that day.  I do remember the incident reported below, however.] 

37 BLACK BOXES LABELED ‘FEAR’
CAUSE COMMOTION IN THE SUBWAY
by Robert F. Worth and William K. Rashbaum 

[The article below was the first I read about the mysterious boxes in “my” subway station.  It ran in the New York Times on 12 December 2002 (Sec. B [“The Metro Section”]) while the story behind the discovery was still a puzzle.]

There were 37 cardboard boxes in all – some spray-painted black, some wrapped in black electrical tape, all of them inscribed in white block lettering with a single word: fear.

At some point yesterday morning [Wednesday, 11 December] the mysterious boxes were affixed to the walls and girders of the Union Square subway station in Lower Manhattan. Within minutes, in a city long on edge, there was concern that they contained bombs or presented other dangers. The police were alerted, the station and its surrounding area was evacuated, and passing trains were barred from stopping at Union Square, one of the city’s busiest stations.

After hours of investigation, and the delicate, ultimately uneventful opening of the boxes, the police said they believed that the episode was a stunt but did not know its origin or intent. One possible explanation, investigators said, was that transit workers, who have authorized a strike for 12:01 a.m. Monday [16 December], were somehow behind the prank.

A union spokesman denied that transit workers had had anything to do with the boxes.

Stunt or not, in a city with terror in the back of its mind and rumors of possible wildcat actions by the transit workers’ union, the bizarre boxes seemed to crystallize a host of anxieties, and generated panicky speculation among those who stood waiting above ground to hear what they contained.

“You have to wonder,” said Bob Lamb, 57, as he stood in a frigid rain and stared at the crowd of police officers guarding the subway entrance on the southwest corner of Union Square. “It seems suspicious so close to the strike date, but nowadays I guess this kind of thing is becoming routine.”

A police sergeant first noticed one of the boxes about 10:45 a.m., near a stairwell leading to a lower platform in the station, the authorities said. As he was examining it, a subway rider told him that there were others.

The boxes were about 16 by 20 inches, and about two inches high, the police said. Some were duct-taped to the station walls, some attached to pillars near the edge of the platforms and others scattered elsewhere, including under a bench.

The station was shut down, and subway riders and employees were evacuated. The police bomb squad and the Emergency Service Unit were called in, and they examined each of the boxes, swabbing them for hazardous materials and dusting them for fingerprints before the station was reopened in the early afternoon, the police said.

Police officials said they had no hard evidence indicating who was behind the event. One official said, however, that detectives thought there was “probably a pretty good chance that it’s strike-related.”

Another police official also pointed out that Union Square was the frequent site of antiwar protests and other acts of civil disobedience.

And a third official said a review of videotape recordings from a camera in the sprawling station failed to shed light on the incident.

A transit union official rejected any suggestion that workers were responsible. “Transit workers have never been involved in anything remotely like that, and for people to speculate on that is irresponsible,” said Ed Watt, the secretary-treasurer of Local 100 of the Transport Workers Union.

In Union Square, though, there was no shortage of people who said they suspected the transit workers.

“It’s probably the transit people,” said Amy Kalt, who was selling scarves and other clothing at one of the square’s market kiosks yesterday.

Others were more sanguine, observing that the city has its share of apolitical pranksters and attention-seekers. “It’s probably nothing,” one pedestrian, Jane Comfort, said as she hurried off toward another subway station. “I’m a good conspiracy theory person, but it didn’t occur to me that this was about the strike.”

And to some visitors from abroad, the incident said much about New York’s relative inexperience with mysterious threats, terrorist or otherwise.

“In Tel Aviv, we get these things all the time,” said Guy Grossman, a graduate student in philosophy who is spending a month in New York. “If it’s a bomb, the robot removes it in five minutes. You have a lot to learn here.”

[In December 2002, New York City averted a potentially crippling transit strike when the Transport Workers Union Local 100 and the Metropolitan Transportation Authority reached a tentative contract agreement.  The strike, which would have halted subway and bus service for millions of commuters, was averted after negotiators "stopped the clock" and continued talks.  An agreement was reached late on 16 December, avoiding the shutdown.

[Robert F. Worth became a New York Times reporter at the metropolitan desk in 2000. He was the Times correspondent in Baghdad from 2003 to 2006, and the Beirut bureau chief from 2007 until 2011.  He’s also contributed to the New York Review of Books and he’s the author of Rage for Order (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2016).

[William K. Rashbaum is a senior writer for the New York Times, covering municipal and political corruption, the courts, and broader law enforcement topics in New York.  He writes investigative stories and news articles.]

*  *  *  *
AN UNUSUALLY ARRESTING ART PROJECT
Melanie Lefkowitz 

[The following article, revealing the perpetrator of the Black Box Mystery, ran in the Queens edition of Newsday (Melville, Long Island, NY) on 17 December 2002 (Sec. A).]

Clinton Boisvert’s public-art assignment earned him an A.

A Class A misdemeanor charge, that is.

Boisvert, a freshman at the School [of] Visual Arts, turned himself in yesterday on charges he scattered 37 small black boxes stenciled with the word “fear” in the Union Square subway station Wednesday [11 December], just as worries about a transit workers’ strike were reaching a crescendo.

[SVA, a private for-profit art school, has facilities in both the Chelsea neighborhood on Manhattan's west side, and the ‘Gramercy Park neighborhood, on the east side.  The east side campus is less than a ten-block straight shot south to Union Square.  Chelsea’s a little farther, but only a one-mile/20-minute walk.]

The incident touched off jitters across the city, suspicion that disgruntled transit workers or even terrorists could have been involved, and the evacuation of the transit hub for more than five hours.

But Boisvert’s lawyer said the 25-year-old student only intended to observe the public’s reaction to his project, and wasn’t even aware of the potential transit strike when he planned it.

“It’s an innocent art project that went unfortunately awry, to say the least,” said Boisvert’s lawyer, William Stampur. “It was done in the morning rush hour in full view of hundreds if not thousands of people walking by – it wasn’t done in any surreptitious fashion.”

Boisvert was awaiting arraignment last night on charges of second-degree reckless endangerment and disorderly conduct, officials said.

Boisvert, who is from Michigan, has lived in New York for only three months. He allegedly taped the boxes to walls, pillars and benches throughout the station. A friend who was helping him carry the two bags of boxes will not face charges, police said.

The stunt was part of a class assignment to display art in a public place, police said. Stampur said that Boisvert hung up the boxes, went to class to make his presentation and was planning to return to the station to retrieve his work when he found out the subway stop had been evacuated.

“If it weren’t so serious it would be jocular,” Stampur said.

A spokesman for the school did not return a phone call seeking comment.

Police described Boisvert as “clueless,” not malicious.

“This was not a publicity-seeking stunt in any way, shape or form,” Stampur said.

[Before Melanie Lefkowitz left journalism to enter academia, she was a newspaper reporter for 20 years, and her work has been published in Newsday, the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times and the New York Post, among other publications.  She taught journalism at the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism and the Craig Newmark Graduate School of Journalism at the City University of New York.]

*  *  *  *
ART STUDENT’S PROJECT ON ‘FEAR’
BECOMES A LESSON IN THE LAW
by Kevin Flynn 

[Kevin Flynn’s report ran in the New York Times of 17 December 2002 (Sec. B [“The Metro Section”]).]

Clinton Boisvert’s assignment for his Foundation Sculpture class, according to the police, was to situate art in a specific place, not to create alarm in the subway system.

But Mr. Boisvert, a college student at the School of Visual Arts, succeeded in the latter, if not the former, last week when he taped 37 black cardboard boxes inscribed with the word “Fear” in the Union Square subway station, according to investigators.

After seeing the disruption his project had caused, Mr. Boisvert contacted a lawyer. And yesterday morning, he surrendered to the Manhattan district attorney’s office, which intends to prosecute him on a charge of reckless endangerment, a spokeswoman said.

[Formally, there’s no such office as the Manhattan district attorney.  Manhattan is the name of the borough, a city division.  The DA is a state job (which, by the way, is why it doesn’t have term limits, as all city positions do) and the incumbent’s jurisdiction is the County of New York—which covers the same ground as the Borough of Manhattan but is a state division.  (The other four boroughs are also counties, and two of them, like Manhattan, have two names.)]

“The kid is clueless, basically,” a police official said. “He did not seem to know the ramifications his art project would have.”

When the mysterious boxes showed up last Wednesday, taped to the girders and walls in the Lower Manhattan station, they raised the sort of wide-open questions that authorities in a city still anxious about terrorism do not enjoy answering. Were they some kind of bomb canisters? Or a threat from a union member contemplating a transit strike? Or simply an artsy stunt?

The station was shut for hours while the bomb squad examined each box, dusted for fingerprints and checked for hazardous materials. When the station reopened, many subway riders just shrugged. But the Transport Workers Union had to labor to dissociate itself from an incident that some riders mistook for a bit of intimidation.

“No one at the school understood that he was going to do something that was of that radical a nature,” said Adam Eisenstat, a spokesman for the college.

Mr. Boisvert, 25, in his first year at the school, had submitted a proposal to do a different project for the class, but apparently changed his mind, Mr. Eisenstat said. “He chose to make the city, the subway, the topical events, his canvas,” he said. But Mr. Boisvert was trying to mark the tension, not create it, Mr. Eisenstat said. “The tension is at a level that I think he never realized,” he said.

William Stampur, Mr. Boisvert’s lawyer, said his client had arrived in New York only three months ago from Michigan and had not even been aware that a transit strike was being contemplated. Mr. Stampur described the boxes as an innocent art project that had been erected during the morning rush when hundreds of people were passing by. “It was done methodically and in open view,” he said.

As a result, he said, Mr. Boisvert did not anticipate that others would view it as mysterious and frightening. “He feels so bad,” Mr. Stampur said.

Reckless endangerment is a misdemeanor that carries a maximum term of a year in jail upon conviction. A friend who helped Mr. Boisvert arrange the boxes is not likely to be charged because his role was minimal, the police said.

Mr. Boisvert was waiting in a Manhattan holding cell last night for arraignment, and missed one of his final exams, Mr. Stampur said. Mr. Eisenstat said it was unclear just how the subway project would be graded.

[Kevin Flynn is an editor with the New York Times and the co-author (with Jim Dwyer) of 102 Minutes: The Untold Story of the Fight to Survive Inside the Twin Towers New York (Times Books, 2005).  His work as an investigative editor helped earn the Times numerous awards, including a 2009 Pulitzer Prize.  He served as the police bureau chief of the newspaper from 1998 to 2002, when he became investigations editor for the newspaper’s Metro desk.  He’s currently investigations editor for the paper's Culture desk.  He’s also the editor of The New York Times Book of Crime: More Than 166 Years of Covering the Beat (Sterling Books, 2017).]

*  *  *  *
CRITIC’S NOTEBOOK:
IN NEW YORK, ART IS CRIME,
AND CRIME BECOMES ART
by Michael Kimmelman
 

[This news story was published in the New York Times on 18 December 2002 (Sec. E [“The Arts”]).]

By strange coincidence, New York City’s crime rate was reported yesterday to be the lowest among the 25 largest cities in the United States, New York ranking 197th among 216 cities with at least 100,000 residents. This puts the city below squeaky-clean Provo, Utah, but (thank goodness) still above Rancho Cucamonga, Calif.

At the same time it turned out that those 37 black boxes with the word “Fear” on them, which mysteriously turned up attached to girders and walls in the Union Square subway station last Wednesday, were, as you may have guessed from the start, an art project. The boxes, which spread panic and caused the police to shut the station for hours and call in the bomb squad, turn out to be the work of Clinton Boisvert, a 25-year-old freshman at the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan, who surrendered Monday [16 December] to the Manhattan district attorney’s office, which intends to prosecute him on charges of reckless endangerment.

So now it is left to hapless, fledgling art students, fresh from Michigan, to keep up the city’s gritty reputation for crime. At least New York can still take pride, as the nation’s cultural capital, that even our misdemeanors are works of art. Take that, Rancho Cucamonga.

First things first. Clinton, what an idiotic project. As the saying goes, art this bad ought to be a crime. “The kid is clueless, basically,” a police official said on Monday, demonstrating remarkable acumen as an art critic. The state of public and political art has now declined to the point that plenty of people who follow it simply presumed last week that what happened at Union Square must be a work of art, not a fake bomb by a terrorist or a threat by a union member contemplating a transit strike. In the 1960’s, people might have guessed it was a loony labor activist; in the Son of Sam 70’s, a loony loner. Yesterday’s loony loner is today’s Conceptual artist.

[The term “Son of Sam” refers to David Berkowitz (b. 1953), a serial killer who terrorized New York City between 1975 and 1977, leading to possibly the biggest manhunt in the city’s history. His crimes involved the shooting or stabbing of six individuals and the wounding of eleven others. He also became known as the “.44 Caliber Killer” due to his weapon of choice, a .44 Special caliber Bulldog revolver. Berkowitz also sent letters to the press and police, taunting them and signing them as “Son of Sam,” a name derived from his claim that he was taking orders from a demon that resided in his neighbor’s dog, named 

[Berkowitz appeared calm in court on 8 May 1978, and pleaded guilty to all of the shootings. On 12 June 1978, he was sentenced to a 25-years-to-life term in prison for each murder, to be served consecutively. Berkowitz became eligible for parole in 2003, but remains incarcerated in upstate New York’s Attica Correctional Facility. His next parole hearing is scheduled for May 2026.]

Mr. Boisvert couldn’t be reached for comment yesterday. His lawyer has told him not to talk to the press for a while. Trying to imagine what he intended, I can only guess that he might say the boxes bearing “fear” were meant to make tangible, as sculpture, what New Yorkers have felt since 9/11 – to give physical form to prevalent emotion. But that’s art mumbo jumbo. By provoking fear, the work trafficked in emotional violence. Carried to an extreme, violence as art leads to the composer Karlheinz Stockhausen’s notorious remark, which he tried desperately to retract, that the attack on the World Trade Center was “the greatest work of art that is possible in the whole cosmos.”

[Karlheinz Stockhausen (1928-2007) was a German composer, acknowledged as one of the most important, but also controversial, composers of the 20th and early 21st centuries. He’s known for his work in electronic music, for introducing controlled chance (aleatory techniques) into serial composition, and for musical spatialization.]

Mr. Boisvert’s inspiration was evidently Keith Haring [1958-90; pop artist who emerged from the New York City graffiti subculture; studied at SVA], who made his reputation in the 1980’s drawing happy, cartoonish dancing figures and barking dogs in chalk on the black paper pasted on unused advertising spaces in subway stations [including, coincidentally, Union Square Station]. He was a graffiti artist, which made him a harmless, beloved petty criminal. He did not leave dangerous-looking black boxes in crowded public places. Mr. Boisvert is an admirer of his, Barbara Schwartz, one of his teachers, told me yesterday. She stressed that his project wasn’t meant to be a prank. She insisted that he was a very serious young man. The work was intended to get people talking, she said.

Well, it did. She said she had no idea he was planning it. Her assignment for the freshman foundation sculpture class was to make a site-specific work, part of the curriculum for years. A couple of students in the class shot films on subways. Mr. Boisvert had said he was going to paint Fed Ex boxes black and arrange them in a room in the school. Ms. Schwartz had reserved a room for him, she said, but he mentioned nothing about “fear.” He said he wanted a dance floor. She thought he was planning a performance.

Clearly, he changed his mind after he spoke with her. “It was my last class of the semester and everyone was presenting what they had done, and his was the last project before the break at 2 o’clock that afternoon,” Ms. Schwartz said. “He put out snapshots he had taken around the subway station. He said he had taken the boxes to Union Square that morning and placed them in plain view of everyone. He said he had painted the word ‘Fear’ on them.

“We were all saying, ‘Wow, how interesting,’ but I looked at him when it dawned on me. I said, ‘Clinton, you didn’t leave them there, did you?’ One of the other students then said the trains were no longer stopping at Union Square and two others said there was a bomb threat. I said, ‘Oh my God, do you think this has something to do with your project?’ He looked stricken. He never imagined what would happen.”

Ms. Schwartz consulted her superiors at the school. Mr. Boisvert consulted a lawyer.

He spent a night waiting in a holding cell for arraignment. His work thereby became performance art. The history of modernism is littered with artists whose outrageous provocations have made headlines; only an elite few have made it into jail. Mr. Boisvert joins that company.

A night in the slammer probably caused him at least as much fear as he caused straphangers.

[Michael Kimmelman is the architecture critic for the New York Times and has written about public housing and homelessness, public space, landscape architecture, community development and equity, infrastructure, and urban design.  He’s reported from more than 40 countries and twice been a Pulitzer Prize finalist.]

*  *  *  *
LETTERS: TEACHERS SHARE BLAME
by Louis Torres 

[The letter below pertaining to the guerrilla artist, Clinton Boisvert, was printed in the Queens edition of Newsday (Merrick, Long Island, NY) on 21 December 2002 (Sec. A).]

Clinton Boisvert is the hapless student who planted 37 black boxes stenciled with the word “fear” at the Union Square subway station. If he is found guilty of the misdemeanor of reckless endangerment and disorderly conduct [“An Unusually Arresting Art Project,” News, Dec. 17], his teachers at the School of Visual Arts should certainly be held responsible for brainwashing him into thinking that something like stenciled boxes displayed in a public place would be considered “art.” He probably thought they would give him an A for originality for the place he picked! They still might.

Louis Torres
Manhattan

*  *  *  *
WARNING: ART AHEAD
by Lenore Skenazy 

[Lenore Skenazy’s column in the Daily News (New York City) ran on 22 December 2002.]

Whatever happened to the plain old pursuit of beauty?

The artist had a great idea: He would put some suspicious packages in the subway to get people thinking about bombs, terrorism and maybe even deeper stuff, like a change in the balance of power. Cool!

But this was not 11 days ago here in New York. This was 1994, in the London tube. And the artist, Brooklynite Gregory Green, took one crucial precaution: He put up plaques to explain his project, which had been approved in advance by the subway authorities.

[Gregory Green (b. 1959) is active in New York, where he also lives. Green is known for sculptor-assemblage. He creates conceptual pieces that suggest explosive devices, such as pipe bombs neatly packed into briefcases or hollowed out books with nuclear warheads. His purpose is to stimulate creative thought about freedom and personal responsibility. As for the installation connected to the London Underground, it may be related to a work called Suitcase Bomb #10 (London) (1994) which was part of a series that seems to have been exhibited in London, but I was unable to connect it specifically to the Underground.]

That way, nobody had to shut the station for five hours.

Here in New York, Clinton Boisvert would have done well to follow that model. Instead, he placed 38 black boxes [sic; all other reports said there were 37 boxes] labeled “FEAR” around the Union Square subway station Dec. 11. After the cops dismantled the packages, they set out to find a suspect described as “artsy” by a commuter who’d seen him.

The profiling worked. Even as police were seeking, presumably, a guy with a goatee, black clothes and a tattoo, they got lucky when School of Visual Arts freshman Boisvert – goatee and black coat, yes, tattoo status unknown – turned himself in.

Apparently he had no idea his boxes would cause such a commotion. “He’d have to live in a black box to be that dumb,” opined a colleague.

Whether or not he intended to create havoc, I leave to the judge. But clearly he did intend to create art, and that is just as disturbing.

His sculpture class assignment had been to put a piece of art in a specific place and watch the public’s reaction.

That’s pretty broad. If he had placed 38 wads of gum on the subway floor, would that have been any different? How about 38 papier-maché rats? Or condoms?

My guess is, all would have been equally acceptable in class, because almost anything gets to call itself art today.

Beautiful pictures and stunning sculptures? Those are so old hat that sometimes it seems artists are running in the opposite direction, just to be considered legit.

Why can’t they go back to the simple pursuit of beauty? “I don’t think you can go back to anything,” says Dave Tourje [b. 1960], an artist in Southern California. “The only thing you can do is keep moving forward.”

Forward to “FEAR” boxes. Great. “One of the functions of art is to be on the edge of what is permissible,” says James Yood, a professor of art theory at Northwestern University. Provoking the middle class, he explains, is a time-honored artistic pursuit.

That pursuit has lead [sic] to such gross attention grabbers as Andres Serrano’s [b. 1950] “Piss Christ” [1987] – a crucifix hung in a jar of pee – and the infamous dung-covered Madonna [The Holy Virgin Mary (1996) by Chris Ofili (b. 1968)] at the Brooklyn Museum of Art’s “Sensation” show [2 October 1999-9 January 2000].

[Both Piss Christ and The Holy Virgin Mary are mentioned prominently in my posts “The First Amendment & The Arts” (8 May 2010) and “The Return of HIDE/SEEK” (4 January 2012).

[I also recommend having a look at “Susanne Langer: Art, Beauty, & Theater” (4 and 8 January 2010)—I think Skenazy should have as well—which discuss the art philosopher’s ideas about beauty. Langer’s theories are also discussed in Jackson Pollock: A Collection Survey: 1924-1954 (MoMA)” (2 October 2017). The ideas of Langer (1895-1985) crop up many times in posts on this blog.]

But Yood points out that even Michelangelo [1475-1564; Italian Renaissance sculptor and painter] provoked the public in his day: His “Last Judgment” in the Sistine Chapel was criticized for too much nudity, and parts were soon painted over.

[The reference to Yood didn’t connect. I assume Skenazy means the Israeli rock band, but I couldn’t find any reference associated with them concerning Michelangelo.]

“The first person who did a painting about something that wasn’t a religious subject was considered bizarre,” adds Carol Oster, a Manhattan sculptor. So were such groundbreakers as the now-loved Impressionists, and the wacky Dadaists, whose claim to fame was placing a urinal in an art gallery. After that, it was anything goes [see my report on Dada (20 February 2010), the 2006 exhibit I saw at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., and the Museum of Modern Art in New York City].

Some of that anything is disturbing, but, indeed, does make a point. Those “Suspicious Looking Objects” in London, for instance, were part of Green’s 10-year exploration of power. His bomb-centric art was trying to make people aware of how easily our world could change if a person or group embraced terrorism. Rather prescient.

The difference between Green and the “FEAR” boxes is that Green identified his work as art. He wanted people to think about issues, not about dying on the way home.

Setting out to simply upset people is not art. It’s self-indulgence. The art world has too much of that already.

[Lenore Skenazy is an author, speaker, and syndicated columnist.  She’s known for her advocacy of free-range parenting and her work with the organization Let Grow.  She was a columnist for the New York Daily News for 14 years.  Skenazy has written for various publications, including the Wall Street Journal, Mad Magazine, and the New York Sun, and has given lectures at venues like Microsoft Headquarters and the Sydney Opera House.]

*  *  *  *
METRO BRIEFING: NEW YORK: MANHATTAN:
ARREST IN SUBWAY INCIDENT”
Al Baker
 

[This short notice was part of a regular column in the New York Times on 31 December 2002 (Sec. B [“The Metro Section”]).]

Under heightened alert to inspect unidentified packages that may conceal bombs, the police arrested a woman yesterday for placing four cardboard boxes in the Union Square subway station. The incident follows a similar one on Dec. 11, when the same station was evacuated after 37 boxes labeled “Fear” were placed there. The black boxes taped inside the station yesterday were labeled “Fear Art.” Cleaners in the station reported seeing the woman, Ani Weinstein, 26, of East Chatham, N.Y., placing the boxes there. When she was arrested, she had 10 more boxes, the police said. Ms. Weinstein was accused of reckless endangerment and other violations. The police said there was no evidence that the incidents were linked.

[Al Baker was a reporter on the Metro staff of the New York Times for close to 20 years beginning in 2000.  He was a police reporter and the police bureau chief, covered education, Long Island and Westchester County, and was the Albany Statehouse correspondent, among other roles.  Baker also wrote for Newsday and the New York Daily News.

[Clinton Boisvert was initially charged with reckless endangerment, but Lawyer Stampur got that dismissed, leaving only a charge of disorderly conduct.  He was given a ticket, fined, and ordered to fulfill six days of community service and write a letter of apology to the bomb squad.

[He got up early and did manual labor from the back of a dump truck.  Boisvert thus paid his debt to society.]


18 August 2011

A Helluva Town, Part 2


[Here’s the second part of my coverage of oddities, curiosities, and idiosyncrasies in the town so nice they named it twice. In this section, you’ll find some New York City sights you can actually go see, some small and endearing, others large and majestic. I start again, though, with another factoid about the city, one about which I imagine some readers may have wondered.]

Let’s get to one of the most curious facts about The City. (If you live here or anywhere nearby, New York is just “The City.” To many, that means specifically Manhattan, and some New Yorkers from the other four boroughs speak of going “to the city” when they mean Manhattan.) I’m thinking of the city’s world-renowned nickname, The Big Apple. 

People worldwide recognize the name, but there are lots of stories about where the moniker comes from. Many are apocryphal, and even the fact that the origin’s unknown or uncertain is no longer true. (One false account that was popularly circulated had it that the name referred to an early-19th-century New York City brothel whose madam was named Eve. The girls were “Eve’s Apples.”) 

There are many interesting details about the nickname, but the basic story is fairly simple. It started to show up in a column by John J. FitzGerald (1872-1952) in the New York Morning Telegraph in the 1920s; his use spread the name around the country. 

It was at first a term used in horseracing circles—New York was a big racing town in the early and mid-20th century, as Damon Runyon (1880-1946) would affirm (consider “Fugue for Tinhorns” from Guys and Dolls (1950): “I got the horse right here”)—particularly among the African-American stable hands. 

The moniker meant that New York was the center of the racing business, where the crowds were large and knowledgeable and the bettors well-healed and avid. Running in the Big Apple was the horseracing equivalent of playing the Palace!

By the ’30s, the name had been appropriated by the jazz world, who had the same relationship with New York City as the horseracing world did—it was the best place to have a gig. Heading for the Big Apple was climbing to the top of the jazz pyramid. (In 1937, a song called “The Big Apple,” recorded by Tommy Dorsey (1905-56) among others, became a hit.) 

From that usage, continuing into the ’40s and ’50s, the nickname spread and became permanent. In the 1970s, New York City’s official tourist and marketing bureau began promoting the city as “the Big Apple,” marking it as the semi-official name for the city, and in 1997, Mayor Rudolph Giuliani (b. 1944; Mayor of New York City: 1994-2001) approved the designation of the southwest corner of 54th Street and Broadway, near where FitzGerald lived his last years, as “Big Apple Corner.” 

So, the Big Apple we are, and the Big Apple we shall ever be! Now, go buy a T-shirt.

(By the way, the town of Manhattan, Kansas, population 52,000, likes to call itself “The Little Apple.” Minneapolis, Minnesota, has apparently taken to calling itself “The Mini-Apple.” A coupla fellow-travelers, if ya ask me!)

If nothing else, the Big Apple is a city of tall buildings. To be sure, there are some small structures—the Village is still a low-rise neighborhood—and some of them have histories or other noteworthy aspects, but New York City is famous for its skyscrapers. 

From the Woolworth Building (opened 1913; 57 stories at 792 feet) to the Chrysler (1930; 77 stories at 925 feet) and the Empire State Building (1931; 102 stories at 1,250 feet) to the ill-fated World Trade Center towers (1973; 110 stories at 1,368/1,362 feet), there are many world-renowned high-rises in the city. 

One of the city’s most beloved buildings, however, isn’t even considered especially tall by today’s standards. Across from the south end of Madison Square, on a triangle of land formed by the intersection of Broadway, 5th Avenue, and East 23rd Street, with East 22nd Street forming the southern, flat end, stands the Flatiron Building, for a few years one of the tallest buildings in the city. 

It was one of the first skyscrapers and the first in New York City north of 14th Street. Completed in 1902, the beaux-arts Flatiron stands only 22 stories and 285 feet tall. (The top floor, built as artists’ studios, was added after the building was completed.) 

Originally named the Fuller Building after its builder, George A. Fuller (“the father of the skyscraper,” 1851-1900), the nickname “Flatiron” stuck because of the unique shape: it comes to a 25-degree point at the northern end (because Broadway crosses 5th Avenue at 23rd Street at a diagonal as it runs from the Upper West Side to the Lower East Side) and unquestionably resembles the household appliance for which it was nicknamed: a flatiron. 

The location of the building was a particularly windy spot, in part because of the building itself, blowing women's long skirts enough to show a little ankle occasionally. Girl-watchers gathered to catch a glimpse and were often shooed away by the traffic cops in the intersection, hence, supposedly, the origin of the phrase, "23 skidoo!"—the phrase the cops would shout to warn away the gawkers. True or not, it's an amusing anecdote.

The building became a New York City Landmark in 1966 and a National Historic Landmark in 1989. The area from 23rd Street south, bordered by Chelsea on the west, Greenwich Village on the south and west and the East Village and Gramercy Park on the east—a region that includes my apartment building—has now become known as the Flatiron District after about 1985 when the district shifted from mostly commercial to heavily residential. 

The neighborhood includes Union Square which, contrary to some popular theories, wasn’t named for the labor unions that used to surround it—the last Tammany Hall is on Union Square East and 17th Street—nor the Federal Union, despite the presence of an equestrian statue of George Washington (1732-99; First President of the United States: 1789-97) at the south end of the park and a standing statue of Abraham Lincoln (1809-65; 16th President of the United States: 1861-65) near the north end, but the “union” of Broadway and Bowery Road (now 4th Avenue/Park Avenue South), two important city thoroughfares. 

(Union Square today, the site of occasional concerts and many political rallies for various causes, is the location four days a week of the city’s largest and most popular Greenmarket farmers’ market where I can get farm-fresh produce and other seasonal, locally grown products in the country’s biggest city more easily than I could when I lived in small-town Oneonta in the upstate dairy-farm region. Just about now, I’ll be getting the best corn, peaches, and Jersey beefsteak tomatoes anyone can find anywhere! Eat your hearts out, people!)

The intersection of Broadway/Union Square West and East 14th Street, at the southwest corner of the square, used to be known as “Dead Man’s Curve” at the turn of the 19th Century—not because of accidents between motor vehicles or between cars and people, or even horses and people, but because of frequent fatal encounters between pedestrians and the cable cars plying along Broadway as they swerved around the corner of the square. The spot today is its own little park—a large garden really—with a small statue of Mahatma Gandhi (Mohandas K. Gandhi; 1869-1948) installed there in 1986.

While other famous buildings have distinctive silhouettes when seen from a distance, the Flatiron is immediately recognizable at ground level. It has become one of the most iconic sights in New York City and appears in films and on TV as a frequent symbol of the city. 

The building appears, for instance, in the opening montage of city images for The Late Show With David Letterman. Today the Flatiron houses offices of several publishing firms, but in 2009, an Italian real estate company bought the building and plans to convert it into a luxury hotel when all the current leases expire—no earlier than 2019.

There are many objects that have become visual symbols of New York City over the years, like some of the buildings I named above, or Times Square, the Guggenheim Museum, the statue of Atlas at Rockefeller Center, Washington Square Arch, the Statue of Liberty, or the Brooklyn Bridge—some more familiar to New Yorkers and others to out-of-towners. 

One that may be more-often recognized by those who live here was originally a symbol of an international exhibition, the 1964 New York World’s Fair. The Unisphere, located in what is now Flushing Meadows-Corona Park in Queens, the site of both the ’39 and the ’64 World’s Fairs, is a 12-story-high, stainless steel representation of the Earth intended to commemorate the beginning of the age of space exploration. 

The theme of the fair was “Peace Through Understanding” and the Unisphere was dedicated to "Man's Achievements on a Shrinking Globe in an Expanding Universe." Three stainless steel rings circle the Unisphere, commonly believed to represent the orbits of Yuri Gagarin (1934-68), the first man in space (1961); John Glenn (1921-2016), the first American to orbit the Earth (1962); and Telstar, the first active communications satellite (active: 1962-63; still in orbit). 

In truth, the original design included rings for all the satellites in orbit at the time of the fair but that wasn’t practical so the symbolic number of three was chosen for aesthetic reasons.

Designed by landscape architect Gilmore D. Clarke (1892-1982), the Unisphere was donated by the U. S. Steel Corporation. The world's largest globe, with a diameter of 120 feet, it stands 140 feet tall and weighs 350 tons; its base, an upside-down tripod, adds another 100 tons. 

The Unisphere’s built on the foundation of the Perisphere, half of the Trylon and Perisphere, the iconic symbol of the ’39 World’s Fair, which the Unisphere replaced. The Unisphere, like the Flatiron Building, has become so recognizable as a New York landmark that it figures in many films, TV shows, and videos. It is especially dramatic when floodlit at night. 

The ledge surrounding the Unisphere is a popular spot for skateboarders. It was officially landmarked in 1995.

One of New York City’s least-well-known holdings is probably one of the world’s most famous bears. I’m not talking about Smokey or Yogi, but Winnie-the-Pooh, the leader of A. A. Milne’s (1882-1956) little band of animal characters, beloved of children (and not a few adults) everywhere. 

Few people know that the original toys, including Winnie, Eeyore, Piglet, Kanga, and Tigger, all reside at the Children’s Center in the New York Public Library’s main building at 42nd Street and 5th Avenue in Manhattan. 

(Roo, the baby kangaroo, was lost in an English apple orchard during the 1930s, long before the toys found a home at NYPL, and never recovered.  The original toys used to live at the Donnell Library on East 53rd Street, which housed the largest NYPL children’s collection, but that building was demolished in 2011, so the dolls moved in 2008.  

(To commemorate the 100th anniversary of Winnie-the-Pooh, Queen Camilla commissioned a custom replica.  The new Roo was formally delivered by the Queen on 29 April 2026, during a royal visit to the United States.)

You can buy replicas of Pooh, but the ones in the glass case are Christopher Robin Milne’s (1920-96) actual childhood playthings, starting when his father bought the bear for his first birthday in 1921. (The stuffed bear’s original name was Edward Bear; Christopher changed it to Winnie-the-Pooh later.) 

The rest of the stuffed animals came later during the ’20s. (The first Pooh book was published in 1926.) In 1956, the year A. A. Milne (b. 1882) died, the original toys were put on display at E. P. Dutton, Milne’s U.S. publishers, and though they made several visits back to England for promotional events over the years, they remained at the publishers until they were donated to NYPL in 1987. 

They’re a little ragged now, obviously well-loved and much-handled—the family dog was apparently also drawn to the dolls—but thousands of children visit them weekly in the library, which is open to all during its regular operating hours.

The library itself is a wonder, of course, with the famous lions, Patience and Fortitude, guarding the expansive, block-long front entrance plaza. It is the largest research library in the world that is open to the public without special arrangements or restrictions. 

In fact, the entire New York Public Library system, which covers Manhattan, Staten Island, and the Bronx (Queens and Brooklyn each have their own library systems), is terrific, despite draw-downs due to budget cuts over recent years. 

My own branch, the Jefferson Market Library at 10th Street and 6th Avenue in Greenwich Village, is one of my favorite buildings. (I think it’s one of Woody Allen’s favorites, too. He featured it in Hanna and Her Sisters.) 

Originally a courthouse erected (with an adjacent prison which now is the site of the library's garden) during the years 1875-1877, the building was converted into the Jefferson Market Library in the early 1960s and opened for use in 1967. 

The red-brick building, designated a New York City landmark in 1969 and a New York State Landmark in 1980, has a wonderful clock tower that’s visible (and audible) all over the Village and lower Chelsea and houses the New York Collection of old and interesting books on the history of New York City. 

(Jefferson Market Courthouse was the site in 1906 of Harry K. Thaw’s [1871-1947] trial for the murder of architect Stanford White [1853-1906], known as the Girl in the Red Velvet Swing case because the motive had been White’s affair with Thaw’s wife, the actress Evelyn Nesbit [1884-1967].  

(The late Ellen Stewart [1919-2011], founder of La MaMa E.T.C. [1961] in the East Village, was incarcerated in the women's jail early in her New York days, and it is the setting for scenes in Melvin Van Peebles's [1932-2021] 1971 musical play, Ain't Supposed to Die a Natural Death.)

There are wonderful library facilities, both for their architecture and for their holdings, all over the city, but one particularly curious branch is the Terence Cardinal Cooke-Cathedral Library, located down a flight of stairs, just outside the turnstile entrance to the No. 6 IRT train on the northwest corner of Lexington Avenue and 50th Street, halfway down the entrance steps. 

There is no street-level sign announcing its existence and the NYPL webpage for the branch just states that it’s on “the lower level.” The NYPL website describes the library as “one of the more compact branches” in the system, though at 2,100 square feet, the Cooke library is only the second-smallest in the NYPL system--the 700-square-foot Macombs Bridge Library in Harlem is the smallest of all 90 branches. 

Closed on Saturdays and Sundays, the Cooke branch is a full-service library, however, substituting laptop computers for desktops because of space but offering all the services of larger branches to both local residents and regular subway commuters (plus a little traveler and tourist assistance to confused drop-ins).

Perhaps a more well-known sight in Manhattan stands outside the front entrance to the Port Authority Bus Terminal (42nd Street and 8th Avenue). An eight-foot bronze statue of Jackie Gleason
(1916-87) in his Honeymooner's bus driver's uniform, his lunchbox in his hand, looks out over the passers-by. Commissioned by the cable network TV Land, the Raph Kramden statue is only one of three public statues I can think of that depict actors in roles they made world-famous like that. 

The others are the statue of Sylvester Stallone (b. 1946) as Rocky Balboa in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art and one of Mary Tyler Moore (1936-2017) as Mary Richards throwing her beret in the air in downtown Minneapolis. 

(There’s a famous statue of 19th-century actor Edwin Booth (1833-93), elder brother of John Wilkes (1838-65), as Hamlet in Gramercy Park—but Booth hardly made that role famous; rather, his portrayal of the Prince of Denmark made Booth famous. He was the first American-born actor to achieve an international reputation—and he essentially invented the character of Hamlet the way we think of him today: the melancholy, morose, black-clad brooder.)

You may not consider statues of Gleason or Booth as art, but they are part of the public-art landscape of New York City, arguably one of the most diverse and extensive in the country if not the world. Even New York’s subway system, the largest in the world and the only one to operate 24/7 for 365 days a year, has art. 

Along with the musical performers, there are works of visual art in the stations as well. There are small, almost inconspicuous pieces by nearly anonymous artists around the system, and some large pieces by significant American artists, too. 

There are mosaics on the walls of many recently renovated stations like the performing arts images at Lincoln Center on the 7th Avenue IRT (Artemis, Acrobats, Divas and Dancers by Nancy Spero [1926-2009], 2004) and the Alice in Wonderland figures at 50th Street on the same route (Alice: The Way Out by Liliana Porter [b. 1941], 1994). 

Then there’s the Jacob Lawrence (1917-2000) glass mosaic (New York in Transit, 2001), his last commission before his death, and the Roy Lichtenstein (1923-97) panels (Times Square Mural, 1994) in the Times Square station at 7th Avenue and 42nd Street; the Maya Lin (b. 1959) clock sculpture (Eclipsed Time, 1994) on the ceiling of Penn Station; the Sam Gilliam (1933-2022) sculpture (Jamaica Center Station Riders, Blue, 1991) at Jamaica Center/Parsons-Archer in Queens; and the Romare Bearden (1911-88) stained-glass triptych (City of Light, 1993) at Westchester Square/East Tremont Avenue in the Bronx.  

I’ve already written an article for ROT (27 April 2011) on the imaginative bronze sculpture installation by Tom Otterness (b. 1952), Life Underground (2000), all over the 8th Avenue/14th Street station, and across town on the L line at Union Square/14th Street, artist Mary Miss (b. 1944) created Framing Union Square (1998), stand-alone panels made out of the original architectural elements, including six "14" eagles, that had been elements of the 1904 station, salvaged from the renovation of the station complex, one of the largest and once the most confusing in the system. 

Additionally, there are red frames in the station walls at 115 locations highlighting a fragment of the station's initial construction such as old mosaics, rivets, steelwork, and wiring. 

At the Coney Island/Stillwell Avenue station on the BMT line in Brooklyn, famed theater director Robert Wilson (1941-2025), also a sculptor, has My Coney Island Baby (2004), a glass-brick wall featuring silk-screened images of the characters and entertainments of the historic Coney Island amusement parks. 

At Herald Square, located along the platforms of the BMT Broadway line at the 34th Street station on the BMT and IND lines, is REACH New York, An Urban Musical Instrument (1996) by Christopher Janney (b. 1950). This piece consists of a rack of sensors hanging along the length of each platform. Waving your hand in front of a sensor creates a corresponding sound from the rack—on the opposite platforms where passengers can respond by using the instrument. 

In addition to these and other visual art works are some occasional examples of different kinds of art—if you look out for them—like the Burma Shave-like poem, Commuter's Lament, or A Close Shave (1991) by Norman B. Colp (1944-2007), mounted on the ceiling of the corridor that connects the 7th Avenue subway station at Times Square with the 8th Avenue station and the P. A. Bus Terminal. The verse—"Overslept / So tired / If late / Get fired. / Why bother? / Why the pain? / Just go home / Do it again"—is partly hidden among the ceiling beams until you actually come upon each line (and you’re looking up).

Not all the art in subway stations is sanctioned. Keith Haring (1958-90) became famous as a graffiti artist by chalking his dancing stick figures on the black panels of unused advertising spaces in stations all over Manhattan. Occasionally, the guerrilla art in the subways is more complex and difficult than that. 

In the fall of 2010, for instance, a group of 103 international street artists, many of them well-known in the world of street art, created or installed works in an abandoned subway tunnel, the exact location of which was kept closely guarded (because what they were doing was illegal). 

Almost no one aside from the artists saw the installation, known as the Underbelly Project, and it closed the night it opened. One New York Times reporter was invited, on the condition that he not reveal any details that would locate the exhibit, to tour the improvised underground gallery. (A London Sunday Times Magazine writer was also invited.) The artists were identified only by their street-art monikers. 

Two artists, known only as Workhouse and PAC, organized the show after Workhouse had been shown the space by an urban spelunker. Because the only way to enter the unfinished station was to jump off the platform of a functioning one and run along the tracks, the artists had to be careful about how often and when they accessed the space, so they restricted contributors to only one four-hour visit and they had to bring all the necessary materials with them—there would be no running out for resupply: if an artist ran out, improvisation was the only remedy. Lighting was provided by battery-powered camp lanterns, which had to be dowsed if MTA workers were detected on nearby tracks. 

In November 2010, police arrested 20 people for trying to get into the guerrilla gallery after its existence had been revealed. While neither the originators of the exhibit nor the police specified the location of the clandestine art site, accounts pointed to an abandoned 1930s station built above the Broadway IND stop on the G line, near South 4th Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. 

Though the exhibit has been abandoned by the artists, New York Transit officials said they had no plans to dismantle it (principally for budget reasons, I gather), but vandals and souvenir-seekers had begun to take away or destroy the art, not to mention the dampness and other environmental forces below ground.

Another asset of the MTA in New York City is the New York Transit Museum in downtown Brooklyn. Like the subway itself, the museum is underground! 

Located in a historic 1936 IND subway station in Brooklyn Heights, it features 19 restored subway cars and other exhibits. (The Transit Museum also operates an annex in Grand Central Terminal.) 

But that’s just one of the unusual museums in the city.  Along with our many world-class art collections, New York City has several . . . shall we say “idiosyncratic” museums.  In that last category is the National Museum of Mathematics (the subject of a ROT post on 31 July 2011); known as MoMath, its address is 635 Sixth Avenue (in the Flatiron District along the former Ladies’ Mile), where it moved in February 2026, after opening in 2012.  

Near Madison Square is the Museum of Sex—which, while it’s just what you think, is a serious, not to say scholarly, endeavor.  (Not for the kids, however, unless you’re especially progressive in your child-rearing.  Visitors must be at least 18 years old.)  Located at 233 Fifth Avenue, near 27th Street, MoSex is the brainchild of NYC businessman Daniel Gluck (b. 1968) and self-styled artist Alison Maddex (b. mid-to-late 1960s).  Described as "a sacred place to study" by Maddex and as "high brow" by Gluck, the museum opened in 2002

At another museum, the Queens Museum of Art in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park (where the Unisphere is), is one of the neatest sights in New York City: the Panorama of the City of New York. (QMA occupies the former New York City Pavilion of both the 1939 and 1964 World’s Fairs.) 

Billed as the world's largest scale model, the Panorama covers 9,335 square feet and recreates in miniature 895,000 New York City buildings—every building constructed in all five boroughs before 1992, built to a scale of one inch to 100 feet. Updated in 2005, it took 100 craftsmen more than three years to construct, timing the completion for the opening of the 1964 fair. (Originally, visitors viewed the Panorama from small cars running on tracks above the model, simulating a helicopter tour.) 

The model, conceived by New York City master builder Robert Moses (1888-1981), is filled with little details, like the miniature Roosevelt Island tram going across the East River just north of the Queensboro Bridge (recently renamed in honor of former mayor Ed Koch). There are also tiny airplanes at LaGuardia Airport that take off and land on wires!

Returning to the subject of sex—well, sort of—how many cities can boast a famous Naked Cowboy? I’m tempted to say, ‘Only in New York.’ Robert John Burck (b. 1970), aka: The Naked Cowboy, is actually from Cincinnati and first started his busking routine in Venice Beach, California, in 1997, but he’s a New Yorker now! 

He came here in 1999 and started hanging out in Times Square, all year ‘round in snow and rain and bright sunshine, dressed only in a white cowboy hat, white cowboy boots, and tighty-whitey briefs—with a guitar slung strategically in front to cover not his near-nakedness, but to perpetuate the illusion of nudity. (Okay, so he’s not actually naked. You gonna sue?) 

Burck’s trademarked his “stage” name—he’s sued over infringements of his trademark—which he has inscribed on his briefs across his glutes. He’s even franchised his gig—for $5,000 a year! (You can buy Naked Cowboy merch on his website.) 

Burck’s principal occupation is pursuing world-wide fame, toward which end he will appear at weddings—as of 2008, he can even perform your marriage in New York State—and has made appearances in commercials; in music videos; in Austin, Nashville, in his hometown of Cincy, and at Mardi Gras in New Orleans. He’s such a fixture that tour-bus guides point him out and he claims to make as much as $1,000 in tips a day. 

Burck’s recorded country albums (including an X-rated one) and, just to mix things up, ran for mayor of New York City in 2009 (that’s the race when Bloomberg won his third term), announcing in July 2009: "No one knows how to do more with less than yours truly.” He withdrew in September, but in October 2010, he announced his 2012 candidacy for President of the United States as a Tea Partier. 

For his presidential declaration, Burck cut his shoulder-length dark blond hair and wore a suit for the press conference. According to his own bio, the New York State tourist bureau had declared him "more recognizable than The Statue of Liberty" and he had by 2007 “officially became the most photographed person in the world.” Who knows? Could be true.

Since ROT is supposed to be a theater blog, I’ll end with a little theater fact. 

New York City, of course, is the theater capital of the United States and, arguably, the world. (Almost every actor and company wants to play here; nearly every playwright wants the cachet of having his work produced here. Further, we see more of the world’s great theater, from London to Johannesburg to Tokyo, than any other single city I can think of.) 

Many of New York’s theaters and performance spaces have gained international renown and have colorful histories that are fun to learn. I want to consider one historic theater that’s more out of the way than most you might think of: the BAM Harvey. 

Located on Fulton Street in the Fort Greene section of Brooklyn, near its now-parent institution, the Brooklyn Academy of Music on Lafayette Street, the Harvey is the last of Brooklyn’s legit playhouses. 

BAM, as it’s universally known, began in 1861, the oldest performing arts center in the U.S., and opened in its current location, in a huge beaux-arts building, now called the Peter Jay Sharp Building, that houses the Howard Gilman Opera House and other BAM facilities, in 1908. 

The impresario Harvey Lichtenstein (whose brother was the artist Roy Lichtenstein, 1923-97) was named president of the organization in 1967 and remained until 1999. During Lichtenstein’s tenure, BAM became the site of many international performances by the famous and the not-so-famous from around the world, including Ingmar Bergman’s Royal Dramatic Theatre of Sweden, Pina Bausch’s Tanztheater Wuppertal, Philip Glass, and the Moscow Art Theater, as well as companies from around the U.S. and North America. 

The stunning Next Wave Festival, which presents two seasons a year of music, dance, opera, and theater from all over the globe, began in 1983 (two years after being introduced as a series).

The Harvey, renamed for Lichtenstein (1929-2017) in 1999, was opened as the Majestic Theatre in 1904 (with a staging of The Wizard of Oz), one of the many legit theaters outside Manhattan—Brooklyn had quite a number then—where shows played before moving to Broadway, after playing there, or were revived in star-led productions. 

Along with its classics, musicals, and contemporary plays, the Majestic soon began presenting vaudeville revues to which was eventually added the novelty of the age, moving pictures. In the 1930s, the WPA theater program presented many productions there. In 1942, the Majestic was converted into a movie theater until it was closed in 1968 and essentially abandoned to deteriorate. 

In 1987, BAM purchased the 874-seat Majestic as the venue for Peter Brook’s 9-hour adaptation of the Indian epic The Mahabharata. According to Brook’s wishes, the theater was renovated and cleaned up, but left intentionally distressed, a “modern ruin,” in reflection of the Théâtre des Bouffes du Nord, the home theater of the Centre International de Créations Théâtrales, Brook’s Paris-based company. 

After The Mahabharata played there during the 1987 Next Wave Festival, the theater remained in its deliberately ruined state, winning the Architectural Theater Award in 1988. With its crumbling columns and water-stained ceilings, the distressed interior of the Harvey, as it’s now known, lends a unique element to every performance on its circular stage, resembling an old Greco-Roman amphitheater as reconceived during the Renaissance and then left to go to seed.

[When I’ve been working outside New York City, I often get the same question from colleagues, students, and parents: Isn’t New York a dangerous place to live. (This was especially common in the bad ol’ ’70s.) 

[Of course, there’s crime in New York City, but I’ve always maintained that its reputation as a hazardous place is unearned; the impression outsiders get is probably because of the spotlight that’s always on New York and the fact that as the country’s largest metropolis, there’s more of pretty much everything here than anywhere else. 

[There aren’t actually more crimes committed in New York City per capita than in, say, San Francisco, or even Springfield, Illinois—but because there are dozens of times more people here than there, it seems as if you’re more likely to be a victim here. 

[In fact, FBI statistic show that the Big Apple is the safest big city in the U.S. by a large margin. I’ve lived in New York for over 35 years and I’ve been out and about at all hours of the day and night, in all parts of the city, on foot and on the subway—and I’ve not only never been the victim of a crime, I’ve never even witnessed one. Bad ol’ New York is a myth.

[The other common question I get when I’m away from home is whether I miss New York. 
Of course, I do, and I always explain that I mostly miss my own surroundings, like my apartment and my kitchen—just like anyone else away from home. 

[But I also explain that when I’m in another town for any time, I do miss some specific New York amenities: I miss the great selection of theater fare and restaurants, of course, and the museums and I miss the special resources I rely on like the New York Public Library, especially the Library for the Performing Arts. 

[Most of all, I think, I miss the neighborhood restaurants of nearly every kind of cuisine that are all in walking distance and which almost all deliver or do carry-out when I don’t feel like cooking for myself. No other city I’ve ever visited offers that convenience and I sometimes wonder how I’d ever live without it!

[New York City’s unquestionably a curious place. It’s part of the imaginary landscape of many people who don’t live here and perhaps haven’t even ever visited. It’s the setting of countless TV shows and movies and not a few plays—and has been for decades, even centuries now. 

[Vilified by some and beloved by others, New York City has a symbolic existence quite outside the quotidian life of its eight million residents and two million daily visitors. 

[One statistic I’ve never been able to verify is whether, as I believe, there have been more songs written about New York (not even counting “The Big Apple”) than about any other city in the world. I wonder if anybody knows?]