a color story: the astilbe

Thursday Evening. Next, Chelsea Market. The individual day adventures converged for a simple goal: food. My brother suggested a scenic route through West Manhattan. Hmmm. Unfamiliar territory. I noticed all my Google Maps saved pinpoints bunched on the east side of town.

I didn’t recall how we got to the Vessel, the eye-catching structure. It was memorable not for its ornamental beauty but it has an uncanny resemblance to a pinecone. With the Jeff Koons-like tint, the structure also served as a series of stairs. My “ooohs and aaahs” stopped as I heard about the grapevine of its temporary closing.

The bass thumps loomed over from the courtyards. Was it techno or deep house? Regardless, the four-on-the-floor beat first welcomed into the space and now I found it as noise. The grand mall was a convenient escape - my brother needed some Kiehl’s anyways. From big names and designers right at the entrance, it was the proper distraction. The polished floors and reflective walls shined at a clean supreme. One couldn’t help but notice their own vanity. Although the stores slowly closed, window shopping or seeing yourself with a certain product or image pierced through a fake façade. This human conditioning of possibly hitting our potential was reinformed by materialism.

We re-entered the thumping area at a different angle. A large screen stood beside the shiny monument and the NBA first-overall pick was the anticipation. Although we were fans of the league, we never invested time in watching the announcement live. At most, it was an update, not a moment of celebration. The welcoming beach seats allured us to the grand event.

Okay. Okay. Woah was I this heavy? I sunk inches into the fabric. It was my self-deprecating nature that protected me from possibly ripping through the chair. The comfort eased me into the buzz, the hype, or what have you. Okay okay. Who was this new name? Who will be first overall? Could they be a generational player or forgettable? The Orlando Magic had the first overall pick and they had quite the track record of discovering big centers like Shaq and Dwight. Will they find the next 5 talent? The virtual buzz didn’t translate with our crowd- we were just a bunch of pedestrians finding a place to relax.

After the announcement, we left our beach chairs because who cared about number 2. We entered a familiar T-intersection and a young group asked us for a quick favor. “Could you help us out with our Scavenger hunt?” Puzzled and confused. My brother stepped in because he went through a similar process. The challenges were the ultimate ice breaker. Improvising on the assignment, we collaborated on the video which had to depict a business cycle with a live performance. Brainstorming on the topic, I suggested micro, or macro. By my appearances, some faces were shocked by those finance street words coming out of my mouth. But, one of the young participants mentioned personal debt. To cool off the “over-reveal” or Freudian slip, I suggested the recent Crypto winter. We went ahead with that. The visual part was easy as we all walked up the fancy benches and jumped off the edge depicting a cycle. Looking back, I hoped the video editing was put in a GIF loop. After we said our small goodbyes, we discovered that the young faces were Hedgefund Summer Interns. “Until next time” I cheered.

The sun started to set and I turned my attention to the garden beds on the elevated fancy deck. I spotted a variety of Astilbes, a perennial that I grew familiar with. The humiliation of not being able to grow the seeds into full fledge green foliage stamped a certain fascination towards them. I awed at their colored feathered flowers. Two seasons. Two winter attempts growing indoors with the hopes of transforming the seeds into the pictured Mckenzie package. From seed to seedling was easy. But, seedling to foliage was always the mystery- it got too leggy and shriveled.

Now, I saw groups of Astilbes thriving in these Manhattan elevated streets. I felt inspired or rather motivated to keep trying with my Astilbe project. If it could thrive here, then it could thrive anywhere right? Maybe, next time more damp soil, and less lighting. As we walked ahead, my brother mentioned that this was the beginning of the infamous High Line.