Two cities

One city features extravagant mechanized spectacles this season; another offers a spectacle in itself.

I arrived in New York last night. The friends I'm staying with left for work just a little while ago; I'm looking out their window as I write this. Between the church to the left and the converted project tower to the right, there's a clear slice of view. The top half is sky with fast-moving clouds lit from underneath, framing a blue-grey row of buildings including the two iconic pointy ones from the zaniest days of American building; the middle third is the neighborhood: a school, a church, apartments, trees, pigeons flapping by, and the bright orange approach to the Williamsburg Bridge, with a stream of cars, trucks, buses, bicycles, and pedestrians heading over to Brooklyn. Peering directly down, there's a steady but unhurried paseo of people walking by with backpacks, baby strollers, shopping carts, wheelchairs, walkers, rollerblades, plastic bags from Macy's and Rite-Aid, and dogs. I can't help thinking about how cities themselves constitute spectacles of the highest order. I could sit and watch this for hours, if I didn't have to get out and find a few more things -- created with deliberate intent for our delight -- to note and tell you about.

Nevertheless, London is evidently gilding the lily this season, if that isn't too, well, floral an expression to use about enormous, galumphing, mechanized spectacles. Last month I mentioned Theo Jansen's Strandbeesten -- it'll be making an appearance in late June. Earlier this month, The Sultan's Elephant (featuring a giant wooden rocket shaped like a barrel, a sixteen-foot "little" girl, and a forty-two ton mechanized elephant) took over Waterloo Square, Trafalgar, and the Horse Guards Parade.

As always, I implore everyone to keep in touch and let me know about anything you'd like me to write about.