Riverdale Station // Metro-North Railroad
Dennis Oppenheim: Rising and Setting, 2006
Perforated, painted steel sculptureSpring has sprung – why not take a trip to the Bronx for some color? Follow the Metro-North Railroad to Riverdale Station and check out Dennis Oppenheim’s permanent sculpture, Rising and Setting. The artist, who passed away in 2011, was known and commended by his peers for working with a broad range of media - from earthworks, to body art, to architecturally inclined public sculpture, like this one. His large-scale houses undulate to mimic the rising and setting of the sun, hence the title. Painted in bright, poppy colors and surrounded by budding foliage on the station grounds, it’s the perfect piece to seek out on a fine spring day.
While you’re there, pop over to Wave Hill to wander in the gardens, or check out this ‘cool’ event on April 1st: Alejandro Guzman collaborates with Okamoto Studio for an outdoor performance celebrating man’s relationship to nature. Dressed in his performance object made of mixed media, the artist will gradually emerge from a block of ice sculpted by Okamoto Studio. The act represents the rebirth and renewal of springtime and an embracing of the natural world at the Lower Lawn, 3:00pm. Wave Hill has a shuttle that meets at the Metro-North Railroad Riverdale Station at 45 minutes past the hour, from 9:45am to 4:45pm, and returns visitors to the Riverdale station, departing Wave Hill’s front gate at 20 minutes past the hour, from 12:20 to 5:20.
Happy weekend!
this is actually very relevant to sophomore year
i wanna cuddle with my boyfriend right now so bad.
You said it. I need to cuddle with my girlfriend.
^
“Please compose a poem of any nature regarding the topic of perceived time passage related to one’s instantaneous level of happiness.” - John M.
They say time flies,
But what happens
When God cries
In sadness?Time is a stone,
An immovable being.
But as I’ve grown that’s
Not what I’m seeing.With my best friend
I wish time will never end.
But when I am so sad
Sleep-time makes me glad.
But this is life,
The paradox of
Greatest strife
And immense love.
Well. Tonight was interesting, I promise. Otherwise I wouldn’t finish this post.
Got on the 6 train from the southern boulevard, hunts point, just before dark, thank you. 9:45 on the 7 to queensboro, call mom,
“coming home, ma”
retrieve voicemail, dad wants us to come to his place (N from queensboro). call dad,
“…”
…call dad again,
“…”
…
…call mom,
“call your father, I’m on the other line with him.”
“okay, ma.”
and THIS is where things get interesting. I send liam home, take the N to astoria and walk the mile to dad’s place in under 10 minutes. 30th ave is quite lovely at night. thank you zoe for keeping me company.
Annd the lights are on, doors open except for the front, and i spend a good 5 minutes mentally steeling myself to break into his apartment using the discarded recliners and desks that lie strewn over by the trash. Then here he comes down the block with his roommate/cousin, and we go inside. Clean up, drink water, roommate leaves. They’re moving out, going separate ways after a good 6 years. And I’m here because dad doesn’t want to admit aloud that he needs all the help he can get. I’m sweating, it’s 10:30, earliest. We mop the floors with abandoned t-shirts and hand soap, then the windows get the mr. clean treatment. multiple sweeps to check if we left anything behind, then outside we go with all the stuff. Dad puts all the glasses and mugs in one messenger bag, along with a caffeine-guarana vodka that his roommate/cousin sends as a gift to my aunt, who has just had a baby.
We call the car service, ask for the biggest trunk they can give us, and are greeted by a minivan. Load it up, drive away, yeehaw. To the new apartment. Unload the stuff on the sidewalk. It’s midnight on the dot.
I look down at the pile of clothes and bags and boxes and frown; a stain is spreading across the sidewalk. I follow it slowly with my eyes to its source: the messenger bag. Sure enough, I lift it, and the smell of caffeinated rubbing alcohol fills the air. Dad chucked the bag against the wall, and the bottle broke at the neck. Nothing else even scratched. The vodka continues to seep down the pavement while dad returns with gatorades. We take in the scene together, me too tired to anything, him unsure whether to fume or shrug. He starts bringing the things up the three-floor walkup, me keeping watch over the remainders.
I look down the block, a lady waddles towards me, with five small dogs in tow. When I saw her, I decided this was going to get written down.
…
Dad has woken his new roommate, who gives him a lecture about the locks on the door and which are enabled at what time and depending on who is in the apartment. He stands five inches taller than my father, who grits his teeth and uses every last ounce of his God-given humility to nod and thank him. He comes downstairs to say goodbye,
“I don’t think I can walk you home tonight.”
He thanks me without realizing it, promising that meaning will come tomorrow. I know. The walk home gives me plenty of time to cry, to dry, and to forget it in favor of a growing strain in my right leg. I limp to my building, to my apartment, and clean myself up.
Don’t let me forget this, writing.
…
I hope the dogs aren’t drunk.
“I thought you don’t have a license?”
“..yeah, I guess that’s a good point.
A video created to illustrate the journey to become a human fetus. It’s amazing!
LOOK HOW HAPPY IT IS. I bet it never gets spaghetti
Always reblog pasta hamster.
OH MY GOD. IT LOOKS SO HAPPY<3
/dies of cuteness overload
this is too precious <3
Oh dear god the smile at the end.
Too adorable to handle.
PASTA HAMSTER :D
ratatouille?!
WHAT?NO.
ASFGLDSH; TOO CUTE TO HANDLE DX
LYDIA, WE’RE DOING THIS FOR BEAR!!
i would totally do this for any pet =)
i think you could send some people to mars pluto and they’d still remember to hate the people they left behind.
