The Rise of the Storm King



Thor is back in the theaters swinging his big hammer and his L'Oreal locks around but that's got nothing to do with the bizarrely named Storm King Art Center. The idea is novel: take 500 acres of stunning Hudson Valley farmland and convert it into an outdoor sculpture garden where monumental contemporary installations are juxtaposed against the vastness of the landscape.



 

The Storm King is in da house!

Actually it turns out the name isn't so weird after all, Storm King is the name of a nearby mountain that's the highest point in this part of the valley. What is weird though is that spaceship that's just landed over yonder. Close encounters of an artistic kind.

Did you remember to bring you 5 iron?

That's why they call it a fairway.

Nothing keeps the rain off like a giant Zippo lighter.

A searching examination into the circular paradox of the subconscious void, or three toilet bowls stacked on top of each other? You be the judge.

The sculptures have some tough competition from the blazing autumn landscape. Where are those impressionists when you need them? Oh that's right, getting their ears sewn back on.

 

You never know what kind of weird contraption is lurking in the woods. The only sure thing is that it's going to be big. Or, in art-speak, monumental.

Forget about that quaint artist's studio in Tuscany, Airbus might have a spare hanger you can borrow instead.

Is it a turkey?

 

Or a giraffe?

Or a whale? Whatever it is, it seems fine arts has moved beyond the lowly paintbrush and turps. Try an industrial rivet gun and welding torch instead.

A bridge between the real and the imagined, the permanent and the transitory. Writing about art is really easy since you can make up anything you want, so long as it makes no sense whatsoever.

Maybe the Storm King really does roam these lands.

The Storm King casts a baleful eye over his domain. Now would be a good time to cower in supplication, or at least get your umbrella ready.

The epic scale is hammered home by the brooding autumn sky. This is art at its very best.

This is the road to take if you want to end up living on instant noodles in a decaying warehouse on the bad side of Bushwick surrounded by easels laden with the unsold remnants of a liberal arts education.

Got the spoon, now where's the ice cream?


 

 

An Upstate of Mind

Manhattanites, when asked where they're from, tend to say New York and then revert to a well-practiced haughty stare when it's followed by the inevitable next question: which part? As if there's any other part. Other than the honorary borough of Brooklyn, and certain satellite territories surrounding hipster beer gardens in Queens, New York is Manhattan and Manhattan is New York.

 

However, every year when the trees upstate explode into a riotous array of color and the headless horseman of Sleepy Hollow is on the prowl, even those for whom Central Park is more than enough wilderness are willing to venture north.

A perfect day for a wedding in the historic Tappan Hill Mansion, perched above the fertile Hudson Valley on the former estate of Mark Twain.

The new husband and wife are escorted out into the crisp autumn night under the sizzling light of a hundred sparklers waved by the guests. Hope the veil isn't flammable.

First stop on a whirlwind Hudson Valley mini road trip: the Walkway over the Hudson. In case you didn't guess, it's a walkway over... wait for it... the Hudson.

Actually, that doesn't quite do it justice. It's more like the High Line on steroids. An old railway bridge over the Hudson has been converted into a spectacular pedestrian-only walkway suspended high above the mighty river.

All rivers lead to Manhattan.

There's an ordinary car bridge over there. Boring. They don't sell t-shirts about a car bridge.

Minnewaska State Park is one of the gems of upstate New York, especially during the brief but stunning fall leaf-watching season. It's only an hour and a half from the Big Apple, but it feels a world away.

You know it's a good spot when it's being compared to Central Park, and not in the usual dripping with sarcasm "it's not exactly Central Park" kind of way.

 

One of the advantages of apartment living is that acres of leaves are something to be enjoyed instead of raked into piles.

Believe it or not, the rest of the state isn't the giant leech the tabloids would have you believe, gorging itself on the grudging largess of Manhattan's long-suffering taxpayers.

The fact we've been walking the wrong way for the last hour has got to have something to do with the fact the trail is hidden under the leaves, and nothing to do with Rock's navigation skills.

One of these rocks is left over from the Permian Era around 270 million years ago, and one of them might as well be that old given his gimpy knees.

There's nothing quite like autumn in the Northeast. Jack O'Lanterns flickering merrily on the stoop of Upper East Side townhouses, the procession of weirdos that is the annual Halloween parade winds its way though the Village, and every tree does its best to outshine its neighbor. How very New York.

The hike to Lake Minnewaska offers epic views over the flaming valley floor out to the Catskills in the distance.

Lake Minnewaska on a chilly autumn day. There's definitely more than a hint of winter on the wind sweeping in over the lake.

New Platz, the little village at the base of the park, turns out to be a surprisingly pumping dinner destination thanks to the SUNY campus up the road. In fact, Main Street wouldn't be out of place in the East Village, with its eclectic mix of cafes that double as guitar shops and farm-to-table bistros.

Your one-stop-shop for guitar restringing and cold brew pour-overs.