Once again, I'm finding myself in a New York state of mind. Last night I had a dream that I was there, walking along 5th Avenue en route to Central Park, and I remember thinking "Hmmm, I haven't been to the Guggenheim yet. I would love to take pictures of that building and perhaps even go inside!!!" And then I was reminded that along the edge of the park, there are apparently several fine museums in which to get lost. Although I am a bit of an art history buff, I haven't felt the urge to venture up there, mainly because the limited hours in one of my quick darts into the city would be quickly eaten up by walking through the doors of any gallery. Of course what I should do is plan an excursion specifically for that reason, perhaps a dreaded summer trip when it's too damn hot to pound the pavement behind a camera lens. Surely, museums are air conditioned?
This one wasn't taken in the heat. It was taken at the end of November last year, crossing off one of the things I wanted to do in NYC: become entranced by the ingenuity and artistry of seasonal window displays along Fifth Avenue. Well as it turned out, nothing on Fifth caught my attention as much as the arrangements we saw right off the bus at Macy's. They were magical and animated and creative. So much so that I found my eyes welling up as I imagined that these gorgeous depictions of childhood wonder had at one time resided only in someone's imagination. And now there they were brought to life.
Somebody conjured up the idea of a little boy watching a shooting star against the Northern Lights, of a boy lying in bed with images of his dreams dancing over his head, of snowflakes cajoling above a pair of reindeer on a hillside, and of delicate fairies fluttering overhead carrying bubbles between their fingers. Fabulous ideas that would have become sketches. Then that person had to present these drawings to someone else and hope to hear that person say: "Those are some fine ideas. Now how can we transfer them to our window boxes?" Then someone else said: "I know how we could make that happen." And then someone else said: "I know how to build it the way you engineered it / designed it / approved it / imagined it." And because of all that, the original dreamer could stand before crystal clear windows and gaze at an actual rendition of the imagery that once only existed behind his or her own eyes. That's magical!
And speaking of which, I should mention that not only were the characters in each lavish window display realistically animated, they were motion-activated! For example, those of us standing before the display could wave our arms and watch as the snowflakes blowing along the window flew at the same speed and in the same direction as our arms! Never mind getting lost in MOMA, I could have spent a whole morning standing spellbound outside of Macy's!!
It was about 10am on a Saturday when I took this picture, and most of the viewers were young families with children who were just as wide-eyed as the adults, and even more animated upon discovering they could make things happen just by waving their arms! But I think the person who intrigued me the most was a stylish man in leather pants with a black turtleneck under a pinstriped jacket, peering out from behind thick-framed glasses, aiming his smartphone camera at just one of the windows. Then I noticed a red Macy's store pin clinging to his lapel. He didn't appear to be affected by the exquisite production behind the glass, but I couldn't help but wonder about him: Was this a recently installed display and he was seeing it for the first time himself? Was he a seasonal sales person or a resident marketing guru? Or could it be that he was one of the original dreamers who was absolutely bursting inside but insisted on exuding professionalism and nonchalance about his ingenuity? Either way, he just paused before the window just long enough to capture a couple of shots, and then he turned around and went back into the store. I've said it before and I'll say it again: people-watching could be a vocation in New York City!!
