If everything in New York’s Big Modernizing plan looks the same, what does that mean for our future as dwellers in this city? The bar set by MSG Penn was low. People may be instantaneously appeased by literally any access to light and air in a station after years of rat tunneling, and understandably so. I think of FLW’s tactic of squeezing visitors through the darkest, lowest, and most hidden of entrances, just to elevate them next into a lofted light-filled great room, and how successful it was, and is. But a project of this scale and ambition, and within a city revered for art and cultural excellence, deserves a place representative of these legacies as well as the current energies. Two-dimensional, shiny, wipeable surfaces and more Glassy Facades definitely doesn’t support architectural theories about placemaking in cities. Much of contemporary architecture, new Penn included, makes visitors feel as if they could be anywhere in the world, a homogeneity that springs from developers seeking low-risk, high-reward design concepts that have already been tried and true. Innovation and risk do not mix. But New York needs, and deserves, innovation. 

But how can we grasp with any hope of achieving a showstopper “signature project” goal, to use Cuomo’s words, if we’re recycling old design ideas? If we’re held up at gunpoint by private partnerships that aren’t interested in innovation, only square footage? In other words, where is there room for art and a process for bespoke placemaking? Surely there should be, in the heart of Manhattan. This myth is written in its DNA, and a large reason people still move here, come here, and find themselves looking around not in awe, but in confusion. I don’t think the design soul of Manhattan, or even more locally, of the West Side, lies in the iconographies of LGA’s Terminal B. I think it lies in the majesty of the Hudson River, for example. Or the legacy of the Garment District, the Depression-defying construction of the Empire State Building just blocks away. This melange offers possibilities to address the design of the working class, the natural elements that shape this island, and the long-lasting legacy of the Art Deco in American skyscrapers. But I digress.  

Cuomo’s title for his State of the State address, where he rolled out this ambitious plan, was “Reimagine | Rebuild | Renew.” Even in the wake of COVID, and despite calls for a Green New Deal and cuts in almost every sector, our systemic handicap is that capitalist institutions and governments cannot recognize progress without Shiny, New, Taller, Bigger. Those in decision-making positions still have no conception of de-growth, reuse, or adaptability as markers of intelligent design evolution. Developers build for the simple reason that if they don’t, they don’t get paid. But what New York may really need, particularly in the wake of the COVID pandemic, is an architectural strategy akin to Vally’s. Projects, particularly the flawed God-logic of city masterplans, take years of planning and execution, so the founding idea or principle must be sound, relevant, and valuable far past its origin date. 

New York clearly isn’t going to need more office space for a while. What we need is a human-centric plan, steeped in research and analysis of the post-pandemic city dweller, their body, and their economic and emotional needs that look much, much different than they did in 2019. While we used to collectively lament the pains of a crowded 6 train, I still have yet to see a subway with no empty seats. However, now I walk every day, and have gone to the park for picnics more than I did in 2016-2019 combined. There’s been a major shift in urban values, and architecture informed by the needs and potentialities of space, movement, and inclusion is urgent. Our cities deserve innovative, prideful design that goes beyond the developer’s toolkit of glass boxes. But while we’re at it, no one will lament Madison Square Garden, really.