The Gates

I went to see the Gates with my friend Rachel on Saturday. People who complain that they aren't moved by them or don't understand them are missing the point, I think: The Gates aren't meant to be inherently emotional or hugely complex and intellectual. Rather they just are, like a mountain or a tree, and the meaning of them comes through interacting with them: walking underneath the frames, watching the material flap in the wind, admiring their curve along a pathway, taking pictures, smiling at strangers, experiencing the ebb and flow of park life through their steady lines. The meaning is also in the miracle of their sudden appearance in the park and the brevity of their duration. . . . For me they were like a visual representation of happiness or joy: a flame in the dark, a flower in the snow, pointless, untouchable, but deeply warm and gladdening. Thank you, Christo.

After Rachel and I walked through the park from Cherry Hill to 86th St., we had afternoon tea at the justly renowned Sarabeth's. And then I got a laugh out of this New York Times article: With $3.50 and a Dream, the 'Anti-Christo' Is Born. \