‘Plasticated Poppycock’

Re: “The Orange Is Leaving the Park,” Christina Rogers, New York, February 25, 2005.

We were walking in the park today
Underneath the orange flag display
With an attitude of come what may
But soon left sighing “oy-vay.”

What passes for environmental art
By critics we deem so smart
Have played us like a siren’s harp
What might be hanging in any Wal-Mart.

From the far off Buddhist East
Fashioned from Gates of Peace
Has morphed into a synthetic beast
As nourishing as an empty feast.

What could have been a meditative stroll
And fed the public soul
Has the meaning of an empty hole
The experience vacuous but droll.

It really is a shame to mock
A hungry public who like lemmings flock
For beauty, enlightenment, or shock,
Instead get plasticated poppycock.

ANNA RUTH HENRIQUES, ED KRITZLER
Manhattan

Gates Gazing

Re: “The Orange Is Leaving the Park,” Christina Rogers, New York, February 25, 2005. What a healthy switch to focus our attention on “The Gates,” an art exhibit. How refreshing to realize that it is an art exhibit – not a war, not a natural disaster, not a sex scandal, which continues to capture headlines, continues to provoke discussions which cross social, economic, political, and aesthetic boundaries.

GAIL S. BERMAN
Manhattan

Christo had more purpose to his art back in Bulgaria where he painted and fixed up buildings that lined the international rail lines that ran through communist Bulgaria. To be fair it must be said in his favor that he will save the trees of Central Park from the dogs for two weeks.

TOM MCGONIGLE
Manhattan

I think that I shall never see a gate as lovely as a tree.

PHIL SCHULTZ
Manhattan

I most strongly disagree with Howard Wolfson [“Christo’s ‘Gates’ Emerges as Political Issue,” Meghan Clyne, Page 1, February 16, 2005] who calls “The Gates” exhibition “orange shmattas hanging from sticks” and Myron Magnet [“The Road to Serfdom,” Opinion, February 16, 2005] who implies that they are neo-oppressionist, or ange fascistic banners being used to herd people into the soulless 21st century (to paraphrase).

When I walked beneath the billowing waves of radiant saffron textile, I felt calmed and energized. Everyone seemed likewise. The Sun’s critics could lighten up, and consider that there is a touch of artistic envy at work in their pronouncements.

FREDA LANGBERT
Manhattan

‘Hunter S. Thompson, R.I.P.’

Re: “Hunter S. Thompson, R.I.P.,” John P. Avlon, Opinion, February 22, 2005. When I was in college, Hunter S. Thompson accepted a large fee to speak at an annual event on campus.

He showed up stumbling drunk, unable to speak a coherent sentence and spent most of the time on stage playing with a fishing rod and muttering under his breath. So it was difficult to read John P. Avlon’s homage to Thompson without smirking. Thompson spent a lot of time pontificating about our corrupt society and failed political leaders, but it didn’t stop him from collecting checks he had not earned.

Aside from the juvenile nature of Thompson’s analysis (were the quotes Mr. Avlon included intended to burnish his reputation or destroy it?), his holier-than-thou perspective on politics and American life provided far less insight than Mr. Avalon seems to think.

The 9 to 5 world Thompson decried was as unfamiliar to him as the world of collecting large speaker fees, and then stiffing the audience, who paid them, is to most Americans. And Thompson’s brief foray into politics was typically highhanded: Rather than crafting a serious message to the electorate, he had such disdain for, he treated it as one big joke.

Mr. Avlon may write off Thompson’s critics as “uptight, self-righteous patriots” but it was Thompson’s commentary that oozed a contempt fueled by a mighty sense of self-righteousness.

KEVIN KANE
Manhattan

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