Hundreds of pieces of brilliantly colored tile merge in a
mosaic to recreate a scene from Newark’s
past.
Designed in Art Deco and neoclassical forms in 1935, Penn
Station is a historical landmark and may be considered a piece of art in
itself. In addition, several artworks, which in their own ways open windows
into Newark’s
history, accompany travelers as they pass through the station.
Despite the number of people who come into contact with it,
the art of Penn Station often goes unobserved and unappreciated.
“My husband is an artist,” said commuter Louise Eberhardt,
“and I haven’t noticed anything artistic about this station.”
Eberhardt, an organizational development consultant living
in Maryland,
has been taking the PATH train through Penn Station for the past five years.
“I hate coming here,” she said. “It’s really dirty and busy.
It’s not very customer-friendly.”
During Penn Station’s renovation in 1998, two mosaic pieces
were added in accordance with New
Jersey’s Art Inclusion Act, which requires public
buildings to allocate 1.5 percent of construction costs to art.
Sheila McKoy, manager for NJ Transit’s arts program, said,
“I think [the art] gives the surrounding community a sense of ownership.”
She explained that committees are formed from Newark citizens to
commission artists and to make decisions about the displays in the station. She
added, “It makes [the station] more enjoyable for passengers.”
“The New Spirit Ensemble” by artist Mel Edwards is a bright,
multicolored tile mosaic that commemorates Newark’s jazz history. Located in the hall
leading to the bus lanes, the mural depicts five jazz players resonating in
harmony with their instruments.
The other mosaic, “The View” by Hiroshi Murata, adorns the
wall in the subway area of the station and represents a passenger’s view
through the front window of an old streetcar.
Rodney Staton, a commuter of four years and a former Newark resident, said
that he is “not impressed” and has noted “nothing eye-catching” about the
station’s art or design.
“It looks like any other big bus station—a place for bums to
hang out,” he said. “I find Newark
to be very ‘blah’ because of the cloud of tragedy that floats over the city.”
Newark’s
violent reputation may contribute to the lack of appreciation for Penn
Station’s aesthetics.
“Newark
has a high rate of crime,” said commuter Marcus Chaves, Jr. as he stood in the
main hallway waiting for his friends. “There was a guy doing drugs in the
bathroom today. I saw the police escorting him out. I feel safer in New York
Penn Station than here. Maybe that’s just my concept of being in Newark.”
Inside the ticket area above the light rail tracks, six
bronze-colored statues are frozen in time, imitating commuters from 1935.
According to Star Ledger archives,
the statues, which are actually plaster casts from real life figures, were
created and donated in 1984 by a class from the Newark School of Fine and
Industrial Art. Sculpture teacher, artist and mime Grigory Gurevich designed
the project, and for more than 20 years, the historical scene has greeted light
rail passengers on their way to the tracks.
The statues mirror present-day Penn Station: a mother yells
at her child, a man walks with briefcase in hand, and a young woman clutches
her purse strap. Their clothing styles echo the ’30s and allow onlookers to
imagine what the station might have looked like when it first opened.
When asked his opinion of the plaster casts, Ilwa
Rashkovski, a light rail commuter of three years, responded, “I can’t even
think of what they look like.”
“Everyone’s always in a hurry, so it’s not a great place to
put art,” he said, as he sat in a light rail car from Penn Station to Washington Street.
Another commuter, Peija Zha, who sat across from Rashkovski,
said that the statues had also escaped her notice.
“Every time I just rush to buy my ticket,” she said.
Traversed by thousands of people every day, Penn Station
functions as its own teeming, little metropolis. According to Jane Jacobs in The Death and Life of Great American Cities,
“Cities are, by definition, full of strangers.” This could not be truer for the
city that is Penn Station. In its small geographic area, commuters rush through
the halls or grab a bite to eat or wait together on the tracks, breathing the
same air and rarely making eye contact. Some may take the same train day after
day and remain strangers.
At the same time, they remain strangers to their
surroundings—to Penn Station and to the city of Newark.
An elderly man leans against the wall and says: “I’ve been
here since Newark
has been here. And so have you.”
With his hands thrust in his pockets, he quietly observes
the flood of people scurrying toward Track One. On an occasional weekday
evening, he can be seen standing outside the corridor in Newark Penn Station
leading to the bus lanes.
He won’t give his name or say what he’s doing or why he’s
there. His only answer is: “I’m not concerned with where my flesh is at or
where it’s going.”
As he stands for half an hour, perhaps more, in the
well-trafficked hallway, he could melt right into the station’s Art Deco
fixtures or into the tile mosaic on the opposite wall. Hundreds of people surge
past him, and, just like the fixtures and the mosaics, he goes unnoticed.
As tile figures silently play jazz tunes in their mosaic
world and plaster casts tell the old station’s story, they seem apart from the
thousands who walk by them day after day.
Marlo Watanabe is a Rutgers-Newark student. Posted January 2008.
