Inspiration: Relics of the World's Fair
Posted: Sunday, March 25, 2012 As readers of this blog may recall, some months ago I acquired a guidebook for the 1964/1965 New York World's Fair, and since then have occasionally posted illustrations from that book of the wonderful pavilions and exhibits that were there. Little did I know that I would soon have an opportunity to visit the site of the fair and see some of its relics first-hand!
Fascinated as I am by the World Fair as a source of mid-century idealistic aesthetic, I had never put any thought into where, exactly, the fair was located, nor had it crossed my mind that architectural remnants of the exhibition might still exist. Until, that is, Brittany mentioned that a half-marathon she was running happened to take place at the very spot: Flushing Meadows-Corona Park in Queens. To say the least, it was a strange and unexpected intersection of our two sets of interests.
Of the hundreds of astounding structures erected for the second New York World's Fair, only a scant handful remain—among them the famous and iconic Unisphere and the New York State Pavilion, such as it is. The three towers of the latter attraction are visible here to Brittany's left. The top observation tower was the highest point in the World's Fair. On a clear day, according to the official guide, observers could see Connecticut, New Jersey, the Atlantic Ocean, much of Long Island and, of course, a dazzling view of the fair itself.
Perhaps the most surprising realization for me was the sheer enormity of the Unisphere monument. The 12-story structure was visible from nearly every point in the park. Thanks to renovation efforts undertaken by New York in the 1990s, the Unisphere is in good condition and glittered magnificently in the morning light. While the fountains that surround the monument were restored to functionality several years ago, they weren't in operation when I visited. A shame, but it did allow me to examine the Unisphere more closely during the course of the day.
Positioned dramatically at the end of a set of long rectangular fountains in the fair's main mall was The Rocket Thrower, a 43-foot high bronze Olympian ode to human ingenuity. Once glittering bronze, the statue is now an oxidized green, though still impressive. Visually, it serves as an intriguing counterbalance to the Unisphere, against which it is often superimposed. The fountains are now empty basins of aquamarine concrete, grimy and corroding. It's possible that in rainy seasons they become artificial lakes of a sort—or perhaps not. I would be interested to know if the fountains are still in operation during warmer months despite the cost of maintaining such a thing.
By far the most bittersweet element of the visit was my time spent wandering around the empty husk of the New York State Pavilion—one of two remaining pavilions out of 45 at the fair. The structure consisted of three components: The "Tent of Tomorrow," Three Towers and the Theaterama. The latter is now home to the Queens Theater, while the former two are abandoned and dilapidated, despite being listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Fenced off and gated, the structure is rendered inaccessible—and halfheartedly hidden as well except for the higher points. I was tempted to sneak inside anyway, but opted not to risk ruining Brittany's marathon with a daylight trespassing incident...however, a hole in the fence provided me with an opportunity for some pictures of the towers' base, including the rusting hulk of an elevator pod. On these pods, fair visitors would be whisked to the first and second towers for commanding views of the landscape and other diversions, while visiting dignitaries would find a private reception waiting in the third. Now it is home to birds and squirrels. The Tent of Tomorrow was left to dissolve immediately after the fair closed, and the crumbling fiberglass mosaic of its roof was dismantled entirely in the 1970s, condemning the floor—on which was rendered a massive copy of a Texaco highway map—to a slow and steady death. The design is no longer visible through the padlocked gates. Tomorrow has come, and only the skeleton of the tent remains to see it.
The second remaining pavilion is The Queens Museum of Art, which was constructed for the 1939 Worlds' Fair and used again as the New York City Pavilion in 1964. It was undergoing renovation at the time of my visit.
Soaring in front of Kennedy Circle is the strange but fascinating sculpture, "Freedom of the Human Spirit." Its modernist forms depict a man, woman and three geese floating upward. The man and geese gaze at the sky, but the woman looks down at the observer with empty eyes and the faintest hint of a cold smile. Though it once stood directly in front of the United States Federal Pavilion, even more than the Rocket Thrower, this statue strikes me with a sense of modern humanism particular to communist ideals. The oddly proportioned, grime-covered figures are simultaneously captivating and unsettling. The effect of time and ill care make them look as if they burrowed out of the ground just prior to their ascent.
Brittany did a fantastic job in the marathon, beating her personal record and apparently smiling throughout the entire ordeal—which would have killed me, I assume. The visit to Flushing Meadows made me marvel all the more at the scope and ambition of the World Fair, it's sprawling size and capitalistic enterprise. While it was fascinating to experience in person some small aspect of the event about which I've so often wondered, it's a sobering reminder of the transience of most human endeavors. This World's Fair was the concentrated embodiment of an era of limitless ambition and faith in a better tomorrow. It was a time in which we still, as a society, looked up and outward—in fact, not only looking, like the Sumerians and Egyptians and Mayans before us, but reaching for them. And as these last few monuments disappear beneath the ivy, having lasted only a breath compared to the greatest endeavors of our ancient forebears, we generally pass them by as relics of an outdated and naive worldview—hardly worth a passing glance from the screen of our smartphone.
-e
Of the hundreds of astounding structures erected for the second New York World's Fair, only a scant handful remain—among them the famous and iconic Unisphere and the New York State Pavilion, such as it is. The three towers of the latter attraction are visible here to Brittany's left. The top observation tower was the highest point in the World's Fair. On a clear day, according to the official guide, observers could see Connecticut, New Jersey, the Atlantic Ocean, much of Long Island and, of course, a dazzling view of the fair itself.
Perhaps the most surprising realization for me was the sheer enormity of the Unisphere monument. The 12-story structure was visible from nearly every point in the park. Thanks to renovation efforts undertaken by New York in the 1990s, the Unisphere is in good condition and glittered magnificently in the morning light. While the fountains that surround the monument were restored to functionality several years ago, they weren't in operation when I visited. A shame, but it did allow me to examine the Unisphere more closely during the course of the day.
Positioned dramatically at the end of a set of long rectangular fountains in the fair's main mall was The Rocket Thrower, a 43-foot high bronze Olympian ode to human ingenuity. Once glittering bronze, the statue is now an oxidized green, though still impressive. Visually, it serves as an intriguing counterbalance to the Unisphere, against which it is often superimposed. The fountains are now empty basins of aquamarine concrete, grimy and corroding. It's possible that in rainy seasons they become artificial lakes of a sort—or perhaps not. I would be interested to know if the fountains are still in operation during warmer months despite the cost of maintaining such a thing.
By far the most bittersweet element of the visit was my time spent wandering around the empty husk of the New York State Pavilion—one of two remaining pavilions out of 45 at the fair. The structure consisted of three components: The "Tent of Tomorrow," Three Towers and the Theaterama. The latter is now home to the Queens Theater, while the former two are abandoned and dilapidated, despite being listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Fenced off and gated, the structure is rendered inaccessible—and halfheartedly hidden as well except for the higher points. I was tempted to sneak inside anyway, but opted not to risk ruining Brittany's marathon with a daylight trespassing incident...however, a hole in the fence provided me with an opportunity for some pictures of the towers' base, including the rusting hulk of an elevator pod. On these pods, fair visitors would be whisked to the first and second towers for commanding views of the landscape and other diversions, while visiting dignitaries would find a private reception waiting in the third. Now it is home to birds and squirrels. The Tent of Tomorrow was left to dissolve immediately after the fair closed, and the crumbling fiberglass mosaic of its roof was dismantled entirely in the 1970s, condemning the floor—on which was rendered a massive copy of a Texaco highway map—to a slow and steady death. The design is no longer visible through the padlocked gates. Tomorrow has come, and only the skeleton of the tent remains to see it.
The second remaining pavilion is The Queens Museum of Art, which was constructed for the 1939 Worlds' Fair and used again as the New York City Pavilion in 1964. It was undergoing renovation at the time of my visit.
Soaring in front of Kennedy Circle is the strange but fascinating sculpture, "Freedom of the Human Spirit." Its modernist forms depict a man, woman and three geese floating upward. The man and geese gaze at the sky, but the woman looks down at the observer with empty eyes and the faintest hint of a cold smile. Though it once stood directly in front of the United States Federal Pavilion, even more than the Rocket Thrower, this statue strikes me with a sense of modern humanism particular to communist ideals. The oddly proportioned, grime-covered figures are simultaneously captivating and unsettling. The effect of time and ill care make them look as if they burrowed out of the ground just prior to their ascent.
Brittany did a fantastic job in the marathon, beating her personal record and apparently smiling throughout the entire ordeal—which would have killed me, I assume. The visit to Flushing Meadows made me marvel all the more at the scope and ambition of the World Fair, it's sprawling size and capitalistic enterprise. While it was fascinating to experience in person some small aspect of the event about which I've so often wondered, it's a sobering reminder of the transience of most human endeavors. This World's Fair was the concentrated embodiment of an era of limitless ambition and faith in a better tomorrow. It was a time in which we still, as a society, looked up and outward—in fact, not only looking, like the Sumerians and Egyptians and Mayans before us, but reaching for them. And as these last few monuments disappear beneath the ivy, having lasted only a breath compared to the greatest endeavors of our ancient forebears, we generally pass them by as relics of an outdated and naive worldview—hardly worth a passing glance from the screen of our smartphone.
-e