The New York High Line

PHOTOS TAKEN AND EDITED BY AZAM HOSTETLER

Instagram: photography_from_azam

The neck of a yellow excavator foots the bottom of a scene located in the Meat-Packing district of a bustling Manhattan, the smells of Chelsea Market wafting over. Shadows consume the urban landscape, lining every automobile and defining every storefront. Bright, vibrant colors contrast the darkness, fighting for their time with the viewer’s eye.

For once, the horizon of moving people is quiet and still, and we can’t quite see everything in focus. It would be more satisfactory to observe this scene with further clarity, yet the denying of this luxury gives birth to a photograph akin to an oil painting, a renaissance of spring beauty that isn’t just yet ripe. We’re almost there, but not quite there yet. 

Broad brush strokes make up the tapestry that is woven into this first image, itself just a tiny frame in Manhattan, the five boroughs themselves accumulating to over eight million people. Just a tiny fraction of people, the Earth itself heavy under the weight of so many individuals. This image, heavy under the weight of so much scrutiny. Why aren’t we in focus? The real question is, do we need all the details to see what’s important?

Let’s look upwards. Maybe the answer lies in the sky above, yet all we are confronted with are the tangled canopy of manufactured steel bridges, columns, and support piping. Moving from the yellow temperatures of the oil painting, we are now able to see in clarity, tainted by a blue hue that infiltrates every windowpane and every inch of concrete. We struggle to see the answer as the cerulean ceiling is plastered with wire and glass.

Towering above our possible reach, these iron overpasses threaten to blot out the sunlight. Nature did not intend for its forests to be made of fortified skyscrapers, interconnected beams and cold metal hearts. Maybe the answer lies in the sheer elevation of such concrete creatures, are we meant to ascend til the sun scorches our wings? The cool colors are broken by a singular beam of light, breaking through the shaded walkway. How high are we meant to climb? Is the sky really the limit? 

Moving back to bright yellow temperatures, we finally see some glimpse of plant life. Air conditioners feed into flat brick windows, shrublike branches stretch and struggle to grow. No buds of spring just yet, sunlight bleeds into ornate window sills, a nonexistent courtyard. A secluded stone corner, whispering to someone who won’t answer. 

Is there an answer in between the lines between where Mother Nature and the city meet? The warm hues bring life to the otherwise isolated dead end. There is nowhere to go from here, no realism in the abstract shadowed city landscape, no escape upwards through the suffocating clouds and eye-widening skyscrapers. It’s just a corner, this trapped energy forced to recycle itself, reinvent and evolve. All things have a beginning and an end. It’s what is in between that matters, it’s how we make the most of it.

So far we’ve taken a glimpse into the city, into skyscrapers, and into corners. What’s the most unlikely thing to see in the middle of Manhattan? A tree! We’re miles from Central Park and rather far downtown, on this elevated walkway we see many trees, shrubs, and grass, still dead and waiting for the electricity of spring to zap them into a world of green.

This tree bears no fruit, no leaves, and is as stark in its color as it is in its feeling and emotion. A million different branches break off into a million different directions, Mother Nature's guiding gaze illuminating the path forwards towards germination into new trees. An unfamiliar stranger in Manhattan, this tree does not know the subway systems, the rude manners of the street, nor the responsibility of finances. Its wisdom is untouched, unmatched, and unspoken.

In many ways, as I absorbed the lack of clarity of the first image needed to see what was really important, as I pondered the ability to reach the heights of my own life in the second image, and as I felt trapped and bewildered in the third, a new feeling emerged in the fourth.

Deep into the soil roots grow. In a lot of ways we are all as out of place as a tree in a world of skyscrapers, but it’s our uniqueness that makes us all special. Our flaws. Our differences. What makes us individuals? Should this have been just a walk on an elevated walkway for me? Or was it some sort of spiritual rebirth? I don’t pretend to know all the answers. But I do know it’s not so much the roots in the land that resonate, but the roots in the person. Be yourself.