Gates of the West

photo: Wolfgang Volz ©2005 Christo

Upon entering New York City's Central Park this week, one is bound to run into a most fascinating process. All over the park, groups of cheerful men and women are erecting large arches of international orange over almost every pedestrian path. On Saturday the 12th, swaths of saffron fabric will unfurl from the top of these arches all creating a massive...well, I don't know what it will cause but the result ought to be interesting anyway.

This work of laborious art is being called The Gates Project. The project is the self-described child of the husband and wife team of Christo Vladimirov Javacheff and Jeanne-Claude Denat de Guillebon, who have completed other similar works around the world. They conceived the notion as long ago as 1979, and have been rebuffed at every turn by the various City administrations since then. Considering that their plan involves 23 miles of pathways, 7,500 gates made of 15,000 structural supports (strong enough for February bluster) coming in at a total weight of 5,290 tons of steel, it is no great surprise that it has taken 25 years to get this done.

But apparently Michael Bloomberg is a big fan and pushed through all good and necessary permissions.

Working in the artists' favor is the fact that all the funding from this project comes out of their own pockets. To date they have spent $21 Million USD of their own money on this project alone. I imagine their pockets are built on a similar scale to their art, and so this is no great hardship to them.

Before I continue with my own personal tale of the Gates, a word here is needed about the work crews setting up this gargantuan project. They have come from all over the world, and like their mentors, have paid from their own pockets to be here in Central Park in February working with steel beams. They are, however, recompensed at the rate of $5.40 an hour for their labors, at the insistence of Christo and Jeanne-Claude. Apparently this is a hard and fast rule of all their projects, everyone gets paid. Points in their favor, as far as I’m concerned. [Correction 2.11.05: As of January 1, 2005 New York State minimum wage has been raised to $6.00 per hour. It is Christo and Jeanne Claudes' policy to pay $.25 over the minimum wage, so the Gate people are earning $6.25 an hour. The Flaneur File regrets this error. -C.C.]

The eager workers are divided into little work gangs dressed in matching grey vests. In fact, one could easily mistake them for a prison work gang if it were not for the blinding aura of happy cheerfulness that emanates from them. That and the fact that all the workers I have seen have been white. Very very very white.

A correspondent of mine who traverses the Park twice daily has referred to them as the “Gate Moonies” - likening them to the groups of bright-eyed adherents to the Corpora-Unification Church of the reverend Sun Young Moon. I was skeptical of his judgement, and thought his assessment to simply be a manifestation of native New Yorkness. That is until I directly encountered one of these work gangs.

I was just passing by, making my way around their work area so as not to disrupt their mission. Suddenly I was being waved to, and greeted heartily, with wide-open smiles that made me feel as if I was a long-lost family member newly returned to the homeland. Like any good New Yorker, I immediately looked over my shoulder to see who they were addressing, then slowly turned back and really trying not to sound like Travis Bickle said "uh, you talking to me?!"

We stood for a time discussing the process of erecting these Gates, and I must admit their enthusiasm was contagious. Another work crew was following along behind them and someone called out for a bolt, of which they were apparently missing one. One of the workers near me reached into a bucket and with a brilliant grin seemed ready to float through the air like some twisted gate-making fairy and deliver the precious bit of hardware.

Dear readers, I cannot communicate adequately the uncharacteristic compassion for these odd souls that overtook me in that moment. I reached out and took the bolt from the self-appointed bolt fairy and mumbled something about going that direction anyway. As I walked the ten or so yards down the path, precious bolt in my hand, all work stopped. The grey-vested ones all turned to watch my deliberate progress, all still smiling inanely. I felt part of some grotesque initiation, and as I handed over the bolt to the crew in need, I swore I would then be incorporated into their twisted family and would spend the rest of my mortal days building structures of no apparent utility or function. They instead just thanked me, cheerfully of course, and returned to their work.

I didn't even get a damned vest for my efforts. Ingrates.

So I continued on my way, of a mind to explore the northern areas of Central Park which I sadly do not have much occasion to visit these days. Somewhere up around 106th street, I passed another work gang. This time I gave them a wide berth, lest I be mysteriously compelled to be helpful again. I avoided eye contact too, as I was learning the wiles of these Gate people. A bit further on I saw a small camera crew, an elderly man, an older woman with bright red clown hair, and a waiting sedan and driver. I knew without a doubt that I had stumbled upon the religiously private and reclusive Christo and Jeanne-Claude.

Christo was watching the work, chewing his bottom lip pensively. He stood a fair distance apart from the work crew, not wanting to give the appearance of supervision, for which I give him due credit. Jeanne-Claude stood at his elbow, looking like she wished she had something to do with her hands. The camera crew was quietly discussing lighting, frame rates or some other obscure aspect of their craft.

My path led directly to them, and there was no way I was going to veer off and change my own vector. I needed to see them up close. To try and understand at a glimpse what might compel two well-educated adults with no financial concerns to do the things they have done. As I neared, I focused on Christo and the palpable tension that emanated from him. I imagined myself in his position. It is one thing to conceive of and perform the grandly absurd, it is quite another to try to perform the grandly absurd and have it fail grandly. Now filled with a newfound empathy for the man, I stepped up to him and spoke.

"Christo," I said, punching him lightly on his old arm in a gesture of hearty companionship, "I have been watching. You have good people doing good work. Don't worry Christo, its all going to come off without a hitch on Saturday, it’s going to be fantastic."

He turned and blinked at me through his heavy rimmed glasses and said, "Sank you very much" in what I assume was a Bulgarian accent. I don't know many Bulgarians, so I can't be sure. My work done, I smiled and started off. Suddenly Jeanne-Claude was at my side, having stepped quickly over. She smiled hugely and thanked me three times consecutively in her own unmistakably French accent, her implication to me being that I had said the right thing to the right man at the right time. And that she was sincerely grateful for it.

As I walked on I pondered my own role in these affairs, and the mysteries of causality. Perhaps if I had not been there to prop up his confidence, the good Christo might have despaired, and fearing failure, might have despondently hung himself and his charming clown-red-headed wife right there on one of those gates so lovingly constructed by his own admiring throng.

Probably not, I chided myself. But either way, my position on the Gates Project has changed. I now hope for the best possible result, and will be on hand early Saturday Morning to watch the Gates unfurl their fabric.

Maybe they'll give me a grey vest if I get there early enough.

Coming up next in The Flaneur File: We will encounter St. John the Divine, Jerry Seinfeld, and Captain Clark's sainted grandmother. Not necessarily in that order.

Oh, and we'll meet Christo and Jeanne-Claude again, in a vivid moment of synchronicity.