This lovely band of leaflike curves is part of the lower facade of the Chanin Building, a 56-story office tower on Lexington and 42nd Street.
It’s a little bit of Art Deco across from the Beaux-Arts Grand Central Terminal, which was built just a decade and a half earlier but feels like it’s from an entirely different era.
Unpaved and demapped, little Sylvan Court is a half-block blind alley off 121st Street between Lexington and Third Avenues. It’s an extension of equally obscure Sylvan Place, which runs from 120th to 121st.
The two-story houses on Sylvan Court were probably used as stables in the late 1800s, when Harlem was more of a sleepy village than the expansive urban neighborhood it would become by the early 20th century.
The homes aren’t in the greatest shape; the alleys of the West Village and Brooklyn Heights feature similar carriage houses that have been lovingly restored, not left to the elements. But they sure are charming. Unlike other alleys and mews in the five boroughs, they don’t have landmark protection.
Sylvan Court shouldn’t be confused with Sylvan Terrace—a better-restored mews dozens of blocks northwest.
Greeting passersby and residents for more than 100 years, these legless (and partially armless) figures show modest, slightly troubled expressions on their faces.
I wonder what they have witnessed over the years.
The Chelsea Hotel’s aesthetic appeal is pretty obvious: This 1883 structure—originally one of the city’s first apartment houses—has gothic-Victorian turrets, short corinthian columns, and a deep red brick facade.
It’s all the more striking considering how unremarkable the rest of the stretch of 23rd Street between 7th and 8th Avenues is.
But have you ever really noticed the balconies, with their wrought-iron flowers, stems, and leaves all woven together? They’re really lovely, and easy to miss amid the hotel’s other beautiful design touches.
Near the Central Park carousel is a child-size wood post featuring carvings of merry-go-round horses. They look like miniature versions of the hand-carved, painted horses on the circa-1908 carousel itself.
It’s an enchanting little post, a marker letting adults know that they’re about to enter the park’s kid territory.
But near the bottom of the post is this somber plaque:
Michelle Bernstein
March 25, 1984 – June 19, 1987
The Carousel Landscape
was restored in 1991
in honour of Michelle
who loved
all the pretty little horses
Central Park is enchanting on a lush summer afternoon. One of the most magical spots is at The Falconer statue, on the south side of 72nd Street drive.
Situated on top of a large rock formation, The Falconer is a sweet place to stop for a bit and view the park. Because it’s high up, passersby won’t always realize you’re there.
The bronze statue itself is pretty captivating. Designed by British sculptor (and falconer) George Blackall Simonds, it’s a replica of the original, which was on display in Italy in the 19th century.
An Irish merchant who later lived in New York admired it and commissioned a copy for his adopted city. It was dedicated in 1875.
The statue seems so fitting, considering the peregrine falcons known to make the park their hunting ground.
Every borough has at least a few subway stations that feature stained glass. But the Bronx seems to have more than any other, especially in the little stations at local stops for the 2 and 5 trains.
From “Latin American Stories” by George Crespo at the Jackson Avenue station:
One of several panels from the Prospect Street’s “Bronx, Four Seasons,” by Marina Tsesarskaya:
Part of Daniel Hauben’s The El, at the Freeman Street stop:
Inside Central Park’s beautiful Conservatory Garden, at 104th Street and Fifth Avenue, is this sweet depiction of the two main characters from Frances Hodgson Burnett’s 1909 children’s classic The Secret Garden.
The fountain and sculpture, by Bessie Potter Vonnoh, were designed as the centerpiece of a storytelling area in the Conservatory’s south garden, ringed by flowers, shrubs, and other blooms. It’s meant to memorialize Burnett, who died in 1924.
These little cherubs have been stationed outside this tenement in Lower Manhattan for probably a century at least. They’re a very sweet sight on an otherwise rundown city block.
No wonder they’re covered in grime: the building they’re carved into is just feet away from elevated subway tracks.
New York City experienced a major building boom in the early years of the 20th century. The New York Public Library main branch, the Manhattan Municipal Building, and the Customs House at Bowling Green, among other Beaux-Arts jewels, were all built just after the turn of the century.
And all are decorated with statues based on the face and figure of Audrey Munson, the most sought-after artists’ model at the time.
Audrey came to the city from upstate New York in 1906 with her mother after her parents divorced. She was discovered by a photographer while walking down the street and soon found herself posing for prominent sculptors and achieving the kind of fame not unlike what today’s supermodels experience.
Between 1906 and World War I, Audrey was the inspiration for several public sculptures in Manhattan, among them the woman in the fountain across the street from the Plaza Hotel and the figure on the Isidor Straus Memorial in Straus Mark on 106th Street and Broadway. She also inspired dozens of pieces in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
After trying to break in to movies and theater in the late teens, Audrey’s star began falling. Broke and alone, she moved back to her upstate hometown and sold kitchen utensils. In 1922 she tried to commit suicide and was ordered into St. Lawrence State Hospital for the Insane.
She lived there until 1996, when she died at the age of 104.
Audrey Munson, inspiration for this statue at Straus Park in Morningside Heights.
