By Arlene McKanic
“The line to get in to see Jackie O's duds at the Met wasn't this long,” the writer thought as she stood in a very, very long line, waiting to get in to see Warm Up 2001, the fourth annual such, at P.S. 1 last Saturday. “And this on top of no elevators working at 74 Street and Broadway and the Queens trains being all messed up in general.”
“Oh my God!” groaned the gen-Xers as they suddenly realized the line went down Jackson Avenue, around the corner to 46th Road, up 21st Street, and jumped the street to regroup in front of the post office. There was the non-sound of a hundred cell phones being flipped open to warn friends on the way. “Like, I've never seen a line like this in my life….!” In the meantime the Amoco station across 46th street did brisk business as the parched and overheated kids ducked out of the line to buy bottles of Dasani water.
After standing on another line to buy a ticket and then on another line for her ticket to be taken and her hand to be stamped by gentlemen in long white shirts, she walked into a gravel -floored courtyard packed wall to wall with mostly twentysomethings drinking from cups of beer from the Brooklyn Brewery, eating Haagen Dazs ice cream and smoking like chimneys. Weird sounds blared from strategically placed speakers courtesy of Los Amigos Invisibles Nortec Collective, featuring Fussible, Plankton Man & Terrestre, with DJ Saskai (The Echolounge). You know what this music sounds like, all electronic howlings and burbles, but with enough of a beat to get the kids in the other courtyard gyrating to it.
The crowd was cooled down a bit by tubing stretched overhead that sprayed such a fine mist that it didn't quite get one wet, an endlessly pouring showerhead, two wading pools, tents made out of flimsy fabric, and the famous wall of electric fans.
This installation was called subWave, and was created by architect Lindy Roy and her group. Scads of people sprawled and sat on low, blue canvas chairs or in hammocks or simply plunked themselves on the stone steps near the building's entrance or against the cement wall on bare gravel. Nearly every square inch of space was taken up by either a standing, sitting or prone human body.
In all fairness, had there been only a few people milling around, subWave would have been interesting and even calming. But there were just too many people for the experience to be very restful.
Eventually the writer squeezed her way into another courtyard where the music originated. The floor here was filled with sand, and the kids were dancing on a sand-dusted wood platform. A rare group of children made sand castles while their parents lolled in canvas chairs. The writer then realized what P.S. 1's Senior Curator Klaus Biesenback and Director Alanna Heiss were trying to do; they were attempting to recreate a beach.
“Why don't people just go to the real beach if they want to go to the beach?” the writer thought. “You can get on the D or F or A train and go to a real beach just as easily as you can get on the 7 and go to a fake one.”
She finally found a bare patch of sand and plopped down into it after taking off her sandals. She must admit this was a bit pleasant, but she was soon paid the ultimate compliment when someone spilled beer all over her. Nothing that handfuls of sand couldn't sop up, but she did get interesting looks on the subway home, being full of sand and reeking of beer.
The event continues at P.S. 1, 22-25 Jackson Ave. at 46th Street every Saturday, 3 p.m. to 9 p.m., through Labor Day.
