Author: Emely Contreras Zendejas

I planned to center my collage around urban tree planning in New York City, but it seems as though as I was working on it, it shifted to nature preservation. I’m not really a creative person, I always just have to plan everything out before doing anything. Although I had prepared beforehand with an article, I wasn’t sure how my collage would turn out. From the piles, I was just looking for anything green, anything resembling nature. I ripped up the pages I found because I liked the look of the imperfections— collages to me lean closer to chaotic and spontaneous than clean-cut.

My intention with my collage was to have the trees and animals be the foundation and then include “interruptions” to its simplicity: humans. I think the two newspaper articles that loom above the rest encapsulated the deeper, unintended meaning of the collage; the secrecy yet audacity of humanity to make decisions that tamper the natural world. Quiet decisions still produce consequences that don’t remain silent, and it is these unfolding decisions that carry the bulk of environmental ruin. I’m sure Adams isn’t the first, nor the last politician to choose to cut funding and staff from environmental initiatives.

It’s no secret that we are on the verge of permanently passing the 1.5°C threshold. Corporations have been poisoning the Earth with their greenhouse gas emissions for decades. All their burning, manufacturing, and electricity production play major roles in the climate crisis. And now, with the domination of artificial intelligence, data centers are further contributing to the problem with their energy consumption and fresh water cooling systems. Humanity keeps setting itself back when we are supposed to be moving forward.

When I was little, all I’d see were hope-inspiring videos and awareness on TV- people talking about how the new generation will be the ones to break the cycle and protect the environment. Now, we have GenZers who live and breathe artificial intelligence. It seems efforts to fight against the system are futile, so the least we can do now is work with what we have. By preserving our city’s canopy cover, and expanding it with even more trees, we can protect ourselves from drastic overheating. We cool, the air cools, and the buildings cool. In turn, there doesn’t have to be a reliance on air conditioning. Electricity use cools, emission cools. This is wishful thinking, but it appears to be the most plausible solution that can’t be overtaken by greed. If we just focus efforts into maintenance across all neighborhoods, not just the wealthy ones, we are one step closer to proving that we can make meaningful change.

In the mornings at around 5:30-6AM, I love to go on walks when there aren’t many people out. The air always smells wonderful in the mornings, and even thought it’s the summertime, there is still a cool breeze early in the day. When I go on these walks, I refrain from using my phone and listening to music. I’d much rather immerse myself in my surroundings. I usually encounter squirrels running up trees, rats scurrying along the streets, pigeons walking idly by. This Friday, I witnessed something completely out of the ordinary. The sun was starting to rise and I was headed back home when I stumbled upon a man painting one of the buildings near my house. I’ve never seen someone painting publicly in my neighborhood before. It was such a shocker that I pulled out my phone as quickly as possible and took a picture.

(24 Fort Washington Avenue)

My first thought was, who in the world was this artist, and why would he be painting something here? Is he someone who’s always lived on this block? Perhaps he is part of the influx of characters that have started to move in. How come he woke up so early in the morning to come paint? It’s such an odd thing to see around here in Washington Heights compared to other neighborhoods in lower Manhattan where you see artists on the streets, parks, everywhere. Perhaps he wanted to encapsulate the beauty of our architecture onto a canvas. I understand the man on that part. On my walks, the thing I do most is just look at the structure of the buildings, the details carved in, the moldings, garlands, everything. Most of the buildings around here were built in the 1900s, and it’s so interesting to examine the investment placed on making these apartments beautiful. I love architecture so much. His artwork is incredibly detailed as well. Although the photo I took wasn’t focused, you can see how amazing the painting is. I went deeper and found an archive on New York City’s 1940s tax department photographs. Amazingly enough, I found the same building.

I question where his art will go. When I think of public art, part of me thinks public performance. Someone is putting on a show, a live experience for others. But he’s painting at a time when there is nobody really outside. Is this still considered public if there is no audience around? If he was outside at around 2pm, then my brain would’ve thought he was doing this so that others could notice, look at the source material, and appreciate the building itself. But he’s not— it’s quiet outside save for the chirping of the birds. There aren’t people walking around to appreciate the appreciation of the everyday visuals around our neighborhood. But who is to say the people here don’t appreciate it all the same? I take notice of the buildings, but I’m not outside on the street painting them. Appreciation isn’t always expressed through creation. I don’t know whether everyone here acknowledges the buildings, whether they just give them a passing glance before continuing on with their busy days, not afforded the leisure to stop. He chose to externalize appreciation, leaving behind a physical record.

The public aspect isn’t having commuters stop to stand around, it’s the location. It’s a documentation of a piece of the neighborhood that may or may not be seen by everyone, but it will exist forever as a conversation between the artist and the place. And perhaps in the future, if this building were to someday changed in some way, there will be living proof of its existence, not just in the mind. This man could be just like a Steve Zabel through another medium. Zabel is a photographer I recently discovered who, along with capturing images of the subway station back in the day, also documented the streetscapes of Washington Heights in the 1980s. I’ve included a photo taken of one of those streets that I see every single day and how it’s changed since then. The structure is intact, but so much has transformed. It’s my normal now, but the image captured in 1983 was their normal too. What could’ve just been an ordinary photograph decades ago is now a historical record. The painter’s work might someday be the same.

How much of our city’s history has survived simply because someone thought it was beautiful enough to stop and look? I’ve realized public art doesn’t have to be loud, it can be as quiet as a pin drop. We all hold private connections with the places we inhabit. This painting isn’t special because he “cared” more than anyone else. It’s special because he turned this personal moment of appreciation into something that could be scared with others, both now and years onward.

 

It was a bit hard for me to decide which conversation I wanted to reflect on since I identify with both demographics. Looking back, I believe the visit from Julio Anta last week had more of an impact on me. Even though I am part of the community, I couldn’t find myself relating too much to the creators or the art of Queer Van Kult. They have the amazing privilege to freely showcase their art, and it’s so lucky that for the most part, they haven’t received intense backlash for their installations. They are surrounded by people who enjoy their artistry. The creators can support themselves with their jobs, and Queer Van Kult can be a fun project. The entire time they were presenting, I was just thinking of how sad it was that heteronormativity is still systematically enforced today.

I heavily enjoyed the conversation had with Julio Anta. I didn’t ask any questions, but his answers were deeply moving— had constant thoughts flowing in my head. I didn’t really understand before how important representation is, which sounds really silly, right? As a girl, I didn’t look for movies, shows, or book that featured Mexican characters. And even if they did, it was just the stereotypical dialogue that doesn’t reflect how I actually speak. I was content with watching things solely for their stories, not because they had some personal connection to my Latino culture. Why should I, when I had all the representation I needed in my neighborhood? When I was younger, every person spoke Spanish. The kids in my elementary classes were either Latino or Black, nothing else. I never felt out of place here, it just felt like home, where everyone mutually understands that speaking Spanish was normal, we just had to speak English in the classroom.

It wasn’t until I went to high school at a PWI that it dawned on me how much I missed being surrounded by people like me, who spoke any sort of Spanish. Every time attendance was called, my last name would be pronounced wrong. Even though we looked nothing alike, I was confused with the one other Mexican girl and called her name. In total, there were only 3 Mexicans in my year, 8 latinos overall. I just accepted it for how it was. It wasn’t until a woman had come to the school during my sophomore year to do mandatory covid testing that I felt that click, that, oh, I actually do want to be recognized. I was called for testing and told her my first name. I told her the “Americanized” pronunciation of my first name, not the way it’s actually said. She was finding me in her records, and once she did, asked, “Contreras?” with a perfect Spanish accent. It was such a shock to me. After that, I was just so happy the entire time. Something so small as pronouncing my name right made my entire day.

Looking back at that now, I realize that was representation. It wasn’t something on some movie screen, it was just a real person who understood me. Listening to the answers given by Julio Anta made me understand why exactly you need to have stories about your culture even if you feel you don’t need it. It is essential for us to be able to see someone who at the very least looks like us, speaks our language, and knows about our lives from an inside perspective instead of going through the trouble of translating and explaining everything piece by piece.

Also, side note, I absolutely love how outspoken Anta was about his beliefs, it’s been rare to see that in an classroom setting.

During the workshop, I was having fun taking photos mirroring Austen’s when I noticed a large blimp in the distance. It reminded me of the photograph she took of her grandfather on a bench with ships in the bay. We each captured modes of transportation, except hers was of ships crossing across the harbor in 1888 and mine was of an advertising shuttle in 2026.

As I look at the “I.” photograph in the workshop booklet, I can’t help but wonder whether she planned to take it like this, or it was just an in-the-moment thing. Her grandfather appears to be facing sideways, but I’m not sure whether he notices Austen’s presence. There are also the beautiful ships in the background, are they the focus of the photo, or is grandpa? Either way, it seems to me like she is just capturing what an ordinary day looks like for her. She is documenting what she sees, and because of this personal touch, it feels like it was taken to preserve a memory of herself and her family— the foundation of her community.

The blimp sort of feels the same way, though not as sentimental. It’s just a photo of what is present at the moment, nothing staged or planned. Just as the ships in the background were a regular occurrence for Austen, the buildings that span the coastline are custom to me. What stays the same is the waterfront. From 1888 to 2026, the water still symbolizes the continuity of community across generations.

Outside of the activity, there was a photo I took of Alice Austen’s “Street Types of New York.” Originally, my thought process was thinking about the evolution of work— the messenger boy, the shoelace peddler, the newsboy. When getting examples of these workers, I took one zoomed in photo of the street sweeper. All these professions have transformed in one way or another, but the role of this street sweeper has remained the same. The exact same job is being done today, by the NYC Department of Sanitation.

I noticed that these photographs were taken in 1896, so it prompted me to look up when the sanitation department was formed. It turns out, it was established in 1881. However, it wasn’t until 1895 when veteran George Waring was appointed Commissioner that real charge began to be made.

Waring dressed his workers in white, which explains the white uniform the street sweeper adorns in the photo. He mandated this dress code to associate them with the “notions of hygiene,” since high status health professionals regularly wore white. It shifted the perspective of immigrant workers being mere laborers to respectable people who took care of the city.

Although the community was skeptical of seeing local government coming into their neighborhoods, they eventually welcomed and appreciated them for their hard work. There were even Juvenile Leagues founded, having school children be the “eyes on the ground” for sanitation workers. As the kids were often first generation, they were able to help instill the practice of keeping garbage off the streets.

These men were heroes in the community because they cleaned the city, and ever since, the department has maintained the exact same mission: to sweep the streets.

The topic ties back in to appreciation. Back then, citizens were grateful for the work being done because it created such a stark difference in their neighborhoods. The work of the Department has improved so much that it almost feels invisible— I suppose that goes to show how profoundly their job has been woven into our community.

This Saturday, I went to the Museum of the City of New York. It was my first time visiting, and actually, the first time I had ever heard of the museum. I decided to go based on the name alone, I wanted to see what exhibits would be on display, whether they would touch on topics I’ve learned before on New York City’s history. The website itself is welcoming and simple, and I love the fact that they have a translation button at the top for 7 different languages. The design of the website is beautiful, well organized. I went with my friend since I don’t really like visiting museums alone. We arrived at 10:50 AM and left at around 2:05 PM.

One thing I did absolutely love about this museum are the items on display. This sounds really dumb, but when I was looking at the pieces of paper from the Port City section, it just amazed me how they were used regularly, daily, without any thought of where the paper might end up in the future, or who might be seeing it. I saw a note written by a mother from 1869, entrusting her child to nuns because she didn’t have the resources to care for her child. She left the note at the New York Foundling Asylum. The overall display explains the poor conditions many New Yorkers had to endure living in the slums. There must have been countless families who felt they had to give up their children, like this mother, because they didn’t have enough to give. Though, I don’t really remember reading anything aside from this note about the children who were orphaned and raised in facilities due to the living conditions in the city. It’s making me remember a final project I had to do a year ago for my APAAS class in high school— the topic was centered around how racial inequities shaped the child welfare system in the United States. I used New York City as a prime example of how disproportionate child welfare systems and disparities in the treatments of Black orphans are demonstrated through substandard care, exploitation, and mistreatment— such seen by The Colored Orphans Asylum of New York. It would have been interesting to see the museum mention anything more regarding orphanages/asylums in New York City. It likely would have just been about the first orphanage founded by Elizabeth Hamilton. They could have even just briefly mentioned the Orphan Train movement that occurred around the same time. But then again, there is so much history that has to be condensed for their timeline. I did notice a lot of empty space in the 1609-1894 section. Perhaps in the future, they could expand to introduce all kinds of forgotten details.

Actually, right now I’m remembering a question my friend had asked me while we were walking around the 1898-2020 portion of the exhibit: “Why are all (a majority) trains in the Bronx above ground?” Unfortunately I didn’t really know the answer to this, my guess was that there was just more space in the Bronx to build, but I didn’t have anything to back that up. However, later, while reading an interactive portion, I came across a story about a man who aided in the expansion of transportation in the Bronx. It had photos of the Bronx from around the late nineteenth century; there was still so much more room to create. I pieces together that since Manhattan was where all of the early city’s development was done, by the time the subway system expanded into the Bronx, the borough didn’t have those same dense neighborhoods and occupied land. It was a lot easier and cost-saving to build the train lines above ground compared to digging below. It’s a simple answer to a simple question, and even though I could’ve just Googled what the answer was, the museum helped me make the connection on my own.

I heavily enjoyed visiting this museum yesterday. Although I didn’t mention it, my favorite section was the 3rd floor. There wasn’t enough time for us to explore it thoroughly, but I did love the antiques on display and the lighting. I also loved the Songs of New York exhibit. The City of Movement film moved me. I would definitely return again with family, and recommend it to any one else thinking of going.