Venturing Adventure

The stars stretch northward from my gaze as I lay on my back beneath them. Consumed by their expanse on this straggling last day of summer the green metal bench is only slightly chilled under my back. To the south are the frilly borders of the slowly burning treetops that build the natural wall between the fresh air park and the highway. East of me is the Inst Center, home sweet home at the moment, and wast is the top of the tall wire fence surrounding the yard. The others are still strolling slowly, pacing the perimeter, but I feel like I have walked enough today. Its finally a time that I can kick off from all the bustle and open up to reflection. I am here, now, and this is what I see. With so much going on its rare to get a clear view in the city.

Its been a long day but a good one. Abound with adventure things didn’t entirely pan out as I had expected but the time had was no less exciting and new. To start there was the very first makeshift art therapy group. If you go by the true bare bones definitive it was actually more of a themed art collective since I had to leave before any therapy really came into play. The project I had come up with involved glue, large heavy paper, scissors, and the immense amount of old magazines we have piling up everywhere. Because of the scissors we had to request the watchful eye of a staff member but Victoria was happy to do it. The instructions were self-interpretive and basically called for the creation of words and pictures to create a self-portrait.

Not everyone on the unit participated but the six who did later reflected on how much they enjoyed it. I had to leave at 11:00 to begin the day’s pass outing but they were all still working diligently even as I stepped out the door. I would have liked to look at everyone’s creations in the end but it just didn’t happen this morning. Actually, that sort of brings up a wall for me. O one hand I would love to hear how people would interpret their self-portraits but, on the other, even though I was asked to lead this group, I don’t want anyone to feel like I am overstepping my bounds by acting like a teacher. I don’t want to be resented. All in all though I have been told by each who attended that it was an enjoyable success. I have been assigned to head up the same alloted time with a new project next week.

As the morning wore on our pre-lunch departure time gained bearing. First things first, upon leaving the building Benji, Amy, and I happily pardoned the Starbucks that had successfully positioned itself kitty corner to the subway entrance. As good as Starbucks coffee is though I am truly seeing its money-consuming potential. I will have to remember to ask Molly which sidewalk cart she frequents in the mornings. Apparently, whatever shes getting as her coffee fix is just as good, if not better, than Starbucks and its only costs the same $.75 as it does in our regular 6th floor cafe.

After we had armed ourselves with caffeine and ice water the three of us trek towards the underground. The subway station’s lower platform has the heat of a snake pit but we are lucky. The train that is meant to carry us to the Washington Square Park Soho area of Manhattan pulls within a minute of our descent into the dank. We board the A-train express and begin to 40 minute bullet shot to the day’s unfolding agenda.

The Cloisters

Holy hand-stitched intricacy!

The hard seat is chilly beneath me, its orange plastic not yet warmed by previous human bodies on this commuter-sparse Sunday morning. We are on the A train, Nurse Greta, Diane, Molly, and myself riding just a few stops to avoid the uphill trek to the Cloisters Museum and Gardens. We get off almost as soon as we sit down and exit the station into a world that could be countries away from the Manhattan I have come to know in these last few weeks. The stone stairs, as we emerge from the city’s underground, unfold and climb through more foliage than I have yet seen in New York.

We pop out into the daylight of Fort Tryon Park. It is astounding. The multi-level layout with its granite walkways, walls, tunnels, occasional short sets of stairs. It provides a beautiful view of the Hudson from almost all of the different paths and trails and apparently we are not alone in thinking its weather-perfect day to be out here. If it wasn’t for Greta there is a good chance I would have done my time in the city without ever knowing that any of this existed.

The paths through Tryon Park weave gracefully along as we pass people with dogs, babies in strollers, yoga on the lawn, and a weekend game of ultimate frisbee before opening up to the base of the museum. A cloister itself is an integral part of a monastery. The name was given to a square or open-air courtyard surrounded by covered passageways. It was basically a sheltered, sunny place where the monks or nuns living there could enjoy nature without leaving the confines of their home and place of worship. The Cloisters Museum contains 4 different cloister gardens, each with its own theme, time period reference, and sculpted fountain designating the center. They are placed throughout the two floors of the structure. Medieval art of all different times and origins, collected in bits and pieces all over the world, grace the rooms and hallways throughout. As a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art it has been open to the public since 1938 and teems with architectural fragments of antiquital beauty incorporated into the fabric of the building itself. As we wander through, our allotted 50 minutesof touring time flying by almost unnoticed, I am nothing less than bombarded with jaw-dropping works of art. Here there is everything from ceramics, metalworks, stone carvings, wood sculpture, stained glass, immense hand-woven tapestries, and much much more.

Going in I know instantly why Greta has said several times that she wishes we didn’t have to be back so soon. Its not a huge museum but, with such a magnificent and well-kept collection, it deserves more of our attention than we can give it today. Sooner than I would have thought possible its time to scuttle outside and catch the bus back home…

But I’ll be back. I can guarantee that.