STATIONARY

For Upper East Side residents, the opening of the first phase of the Second Avenue Subway line this month is nothing short of a miracle. Decades in the works, it’s an improvement that East Siders have dreamt about, to alleviate crowding and delays on the 4, 5 and 6 platforms during rush hour.

What can one say about the design of the three new stations that were unveiled on New Years Day, at 72nd Street, 86th Street and 96th Street? All have a similar parti: entrances with escalators from street level, generous mezzanine levels that run the entire length of the platform, and platforms that are far wider and brighter (and, right now, cleaner) than existing stations. These stations were planned pragmatically, with more waiting room, improved circulation spaces, a greater number of entrances. And they seem to have been designed empirically, after studying new transit stations in Asia and Europe. All three have the same bland, vaguely futurist, late modern palette of soft grey granite, polished concrete and brushed metal. Their mezzanines have vaulted ceilings, expressed with curved concrete ribs and accented with linear LED light coves. There are surprising moments of boldness. For example, at the mezzanine of the 86th Street station, the ceiling has been constructed with a triangulated grid of deep, dramatically-lit concrete coffers. But the stations, while intelligently planned, have no deep architectural character. They’ve been built in Inoffensive Public Works Modern.

And where is the subway tile? This simple, iconic white 3x6 ceramic tile, which would have tied the new stations indelibly to the older lines to which they’re connected, is nowhere to be seen. Instead, interior passages at all three stations have been finished in a 1′x2′ white porcelain tile with a dull, mottled finish that seems to absorb natural light. Rather then grout, these tiles have been installed with with plastic filler strips, about 1/8″ wide. And these strips have been installed so carelessly, out of plumb with the tiles and out of alignment with tile edges, that they feel as if they are going to pop out. This tile might have been a cost- and time- saving measure. But it’s a sloppy, dispiriting finish, that covers acres of the interiors at these three new stations. One can’t help feeling that, instead, for each one, constructing a simple, brightly-lit shed, finished in neatly-laid subway tile, and graced with original artwork, would have worked just fine.

January 28, 2017 by Nalina Moses

January 19, 2012 by Nalina Moses

Last week, after lunch at a purposefully disheveled Brooklyn restaurant serving artisanal junk food (mac-and-cheese sandwiches pan-fried in butter, deep-fried chicken topped with coleslaw and hot sauce, collards stewed in maple syrup), I walked back home over the Williamsburg Bridge. The Williamsburg Bridge is an ugly stepsister to the city’s historic interborough bridges. A pragmatic, unadorned structure, it lacks the romantic grandeur of the Brooklyn Bridge and the surreal grace of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. It’s a workhorse, carrying cars, subways, bikers and pedestrians between the hippest hipster precincts of the Lower East Side and Brooklyn. Its walkways are paved in asphalt and its steelwork is painted a flat red, as if it were treated with a primer coat and then abandoned. The bridge is a splendid walk at night. The walkway is close to the subway tracks, so every few minutes there’s a thundering train to one side and, to the other, the serene spread of water below. And when you arrive at the midway point a dreamy, twinkling, panorama of Manhattan takes shape. It’s a gritty, glamorous image.

My friend, an architect-turned-photographer who lives on the Lower East Side and walks the bridge frequently, laments that the city hasn’t made more of the structure. There could be gorgeous arcades at the long, sloping on and off pedestrian and bike ramps. There could be lighting that flatters the structure and made the walk feel more secure at night. And there could be uniquely crafted railings, gratings, paving and signage. At both ends of the bridge there are communities bristling with bohemian energy, and with artists and designers. Why doesn’t the city get some federal infrastructure improvement funds, get some community artists on board, and give the bridge a more artful appearance.

November 02, 2011 by Nalina Moses

Sometimes I think that New York City is becoming a Third World country. There’s litter in the streets, bad driving, tribal allegiances, a riot of dialects, and piercing odors. And there are pedicabs. It’s barbaric for a man to peddle visitors around Beijing or Bombay, and it’s barbaric around Manhattan too. New York City pedicab drivers certainly don’t seem oppressed. They smile brightly and have the confident, healthy glow of college athletes. Although pedicabs have been praised as fuel-efficient transportation, they’re still almost exclusively patronized by tourists. But they point to a big gap in the city’s transportation system. There’s a real need for private transportation that’s more informal and less expensive than a cab.

I vote for the auto rickshaw, just like the ones that swarm Indian streets. They’re basically motorcycles with a seat in back and a shell above. They’re open to weather but but give a sense of freedom, and leave passengers open to interaction with other city characters. (This video, moralizing aside, gives a sense of what the ride is like.) There was a failed effort recently to bring them into the country from Asia. With Mayor Bloomberg hell-bent on eliminating cars (as well as smokers and trans-fats) from the city, the auto rickshaw could be one solution.

October 25, 2011 by Nalina Moses

Seeing a photograph of a building is, really, seeing a fantasy. This hit home last week when I heard Charles Kramer, an architect at Beyer Blinder Belle, speak about the rehabilitation of Eero Saarinen’s TWA Terminal at JFK Airport in New York City. Kramer explained that the interior of the building has been refurbished with the original white penny tile. The only surfaces inside the central space that aren’t finished in tile are the counter and flight board at the information station, shown above. I had always thought the interior was white-tinted concrete. The notion of penny tile – just that word penny – takes some wind out of the storied, soaring structure.

It’s the famous photos of the Terminal by Ezra Stoller that, to a large part, shape that fantasy. They’re richly textured, and brilliantly composed to dramatize the building’s gentle asymmetries. Here the sweeping forms look like they’re made of some magical, immaculate material, not like they’re covered in cheap tile. Kramer explained that three sizes of penny tile were used, each smaller than a penny. The largest tiles were laid out over the surfaces in sheets and then loose, smaller tiles were set in between to accommodate the complex, curving geometries. I haven’t been inside the building yet, but imagine that a great deal of the fantasy survives.