→ Continued from “Culture Class: Art, Creativity, Urbanism, Part II: Creativity and Its Discontents” in issue 23 and “Culture Class: Art, Creativity, Urbanism, Part I: Art and Urbanism” in issue 21.
In the not-so-distant New York past, tenement roofs, and even those of lower-middle-class apartment buildings—ones without doormen, say—were where women went with their washing and their children, in good or just tolerable weather, to hang the damp laundry on the line, thus joining a larger community of women in performing the necessary and normal, good and useful, labor of reproduction and maintenance of family life. (The clothes themselves, and the hanging of the laundry, were signals easily interpretable by other women as to wealth, status, moral character, and even marital harmony.) For men, many an apartment roof held the lofts of racing pigeons, the raising of which is an intergenerational hobby. Before air conditioning, you went to the roof for solitude, and for some prized “fresh air,” and if you were lucky you could catch sight of the nearest body of water. The roofs of loft buildings, of course, served no familial functions. Roofs with gardens were pleasant idylls for luxury penthouse spaces, absent of the gloss of use value attached to urban farming or green roofs.
The new, and newly relaxed, attitude to the (apparently) natural world in New York—in contradistinction to a city like Helsinki, where wildness is not appreciated[footnote In the course of designing a city garden in Helsinki, I learned that city planners
worried I would fail to distinguish the urban from the rural via the forms and
types of planting. Finland has too much countryside for their liking, it
appears.]—is reflected in the resurrection of the city’s High Line, a disused elevated industrial rail line in lower Manhattan’s far-west former industrial zone.[footnote Advanced societies in the twentieth century saw the apparent conquest of
diseases associated with dirt and soil through improved sanitation and
germ-fighting technologies. Fresh air movements against disease were important
elements of urban reform, opening the way for renewed efforts to enlarge the playground
already provided to the middle class and extended to the working class in the
early part of the century.] Its salvage and conversion into a Chelsea park, with its (re)importation of frank wild(er)ness into the city, began as a quixotic effort by a couple of architects but soon became a patrician project, and then a municipal one.[footnote Paris already had such a repurposed industrial rail
line, the Promenade Plantée, whose transformation into a park began in the late
1980s.] It marks a further step in the long transformation of urban waterfronts, formerly the filthy and perilous haunts of poor, often transient and foreign-born, workers servicing the ports into recreational and residential zones beckoning the mostly young and decidedly upper middle class. The water’s edge, which once figured as the dangerous divide between this-world and underworld, between safety and the unknown, now promises pleasurable adventures in travel or beach-going.
In another register, the city has now decided to embrace neighborhood community gardens, especially in places where the working class has been effectively priced out, a contrast to the 1990s when hard-line suburbanite mayor Rudy Giuliani tried to destroy many of these oases (which he considered “socialistic”), often painstakingly reclaimed from trash-strewn wastelands that had fallen off the city’s tax rolls and into public receivership, by selling off the plots to developers at bargain rates. The city now also permits the formerly banned keeping of chickens (but never roosters) and bees anywhere in the city.[footnote Poultry keeping was banned in New York City in an
effort to extirpate the remnants of the farms and farm-like practices that survived
in far-flung corners of the city, such as Gravesend, Brooklyn, or Staten Island.
New York City, like virtually every municipality, has detailed laws on the
keeping of animals, whether classed as pets, companions, or livestock,
including those held for slaughter. Pets were a matter of contention, banned
from middle- and working-class apartment buildings, until the 1960s. Animals
classified as wild are banned—the category “wild animals” defines the uncivilized
zošsphere; ergo, people who keep them are not “virtuous” but decadent or
“sick.” New Yorkers may recall the incident a decade ago in which Mayor
Giuliani, a suburbanite longing to join the ranks of the cosmopolitan, hurled personal
insults (prominently and repeatedly, mentioning “an excessive
concern with little weasels”) at a caller
to his weekly radio program who wanted ferrets to be legalized as household pets.
The call, from David Guthartz of the New York Ferrets’ Rights
Advocacy, prompted a famous three-minute tirade in which Giuliani opined, “There’s
something deranged about you. The excessive concern that you have for ferrets
is something you should examine with a therapist, not with me.” See →
and →.] In my neighborhood, the still-slightly-gritty-but-on-the-way-to-becoming-hipsterland Greenpoint, in Brooklyn, some enterprising young women have started a well-publicized commercial rooftop “farm.”[footnote See
→.] Other incipient hipster neighborhoods are poised to copy. Please try not to think of Marie Antoinette’s Petite Hameau, her little farm on the grounds of Versailles, for creatives are not aristocrats, and poor people too are finally allowed to keep such animals and grow cash mini-crops.
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