Christo Takes Manhattan

Christo's Running Fence ran for 24 miles through Sonoma County in 1976.

I think the first time I was vaguely aware of the artist Christo was when I was a young teenager growing up in the Bay Area.  One of his early, site specific pieces - entitled Running Fence - was installed in Sonoma County in 1976.

More than twenty miles of white, billowing fence - made of white nylon fabric - streaming through the fields and farms of Sonoma County, until it dove right into the Pacific Ocean.  I remember seeing reports on the news and pictures in the paper and being immediately captivated.  This guy was working on one helluva of a big canvas.

I had no idea if Christo was making any sort of comment on Sonoma, California, farmers or American life.  I couldn't conceive of the bureaucratic hoops he must have jumped through to get the installation up and "running," as it were.  All I knew is that it was simple, pointless and cool.

Christo's Running Fence dips into the Pacific Ocean in Sonoma County.

My parents never took me up to Sonoma County to see Christo's Running Fence.  I don't recall my parents ever taking me to an Art museum, gallery or exhibit of any kind, although they must have at some point.  I have no idea where I developed my love of paintings and Art museums, but it certainly wasn't actively nurtured by my parents - even though my mother went through her oil painting phase and my Dad's sister was a painter who once had a picture that hung in the White House during the Kennedy administration.

I would keep an eye out for this Christo guy and his latest Art adventures when his projects were shown or discussed in the Media.  He started to wrap things for a while.  Big things.  Buildings and bridges.  He wrapped the Pont Neuf in Paris.  He surrounded islands in South Florida with miles and miles of bright fabric.  Colorful, pointless and cool.

Christo finally returned to California in 1991.  He was going to install 1,340 large, yellow umbrellas (each umbrella was 20 feet high and 26 feet in diameter) along the hillsides of the Tejon Pass - the mountain range 60 miles north of Los Angeles you traverse on the drive between the Bay Area and Southern California.  I have driven on Interstate 5 over the Tejon Pass -  in weather ranging from scorching heat to falling snow - more times than I'd care to count.  Dozens, at least.  So I figured this was my opportunity, at long last, to see this Christo fella's work up close.

Christo's The Umbrellas in the Tejon Pass, just north of Los Angeles.

As a flight attendant, one perk I did have at my disposable was the ability to fly for free - if there was an open seat available - on any route my airline flew.  There were dozens of flights a day between San Francisco and Southern California, so catching a flight down there on a day off during the week would be easy. 

The arid valley where The Umbrellas were on display was over an hour north of the nearest airport, so I reserved a rental car at Burbank.  I figured I would fly down on a Wednesday morning and pick up the rental car, drive the hour north to Christo's Umbrellas, check it out for a couple of hours and then head back to Burbank, return the rental car and catch a flight back up to SFO the same day.  Piece of cake.  I did this kind of stuff all the time back then.

But Christo and me were just not to be.  A couple of days later - just before I was scheduled to head down to L.A. for the day - a freak windstorm swept through the mountain pass, dislodging one of the 500 pound umbrellas and throwing it through the air - killing a spectator.  It was understandable that Christo's Umbrellas were quickly closed to the public and removed.

Christo's The Gates in New York's Central Park. ©2005, V.W. Cleary.

Over a decade a later, having missed Christo's work twice in California, I would finally have my date with an actual Christo installation.  He built The Gates piece in New York's Central Park in February, 2005.  I wasn't going to miss this one.

The Gates flow by the ice rink in Central Park. ©2005 V.W. Cleary

I worked a trip that finished up early in the morning in Philadelphia - only 100 miles from New York City.  I hopped a commuter plane for the short flight to LaGuardia, took a shuttle bus into Manhattan, and finally, FINALLY - nearly 30 years after Running Fence - had a few hours to stroll through a Christo piece.  It was colorful, pointless and cool.  And cold.  It was mid-February in New York and the temperatures were in single digits.   

The Gates were a series of thousands of metal gates that were each 16 feet tall and held bright orange (Christo called it "saffron") fabric banners that dropped down 9 feet from the gates.  They were winding and streaming all over the pathways of Central Park.  I loved it.  It had taken Christo over 26 years of fighting through the various agencies and commissions in New York before he could final realize his conception of The Gates.

Even on a frigid, midweek Winter's day, thousands and thousands of tourists and New Yorkers were out and strolling all over Central Park, through and under thousands of Christo's "gates."  Families with young children were out, couples walked through the Park and skaters were taking advantage of the clear, cold day to skate on the ice rink in the Park.

Christo's The Gates brightens Central Park during February. ©2005 V.W. Cleary

I walked through the Park for an hour or so by myself, met an old friend for lunch, and then he walked through The Gates in Central Park with me.  My friend, who had lived in New York for nearly twenty years, loved them and tried to walk through the Park every day while they were up.   

The Gates in New York's Central Park. ©2005 V.W. Cleary.

The day had flown by and it was time to head back home to California.  I made my way back to the airport and boarded my flight.  On the climb out of LaGuardia, I had a gorgeous view of the Park and the billowing banners of The Gates in Central Park.

Like all of Christo's work, The Gates were temporary and removed from the Park after two weeks.  They live on now only in the memories of people like me who were lucky enough to see them in person in that Winter of 2005.  Colorful, pointless and cool.