West Side Canvas: Back in the Park Again

Painting and Essay by Robert Beck

I had a couple of hours to myself yesterday, so I went into Central Park to find some roasted cashews. There is a vendor at the south end of Literary Walk that I can usually count on to have them.

I began my Spring-day trek at the 66th entrance. The path leads through a small, accessible triangle that is popular for morning dog runs, martial arts and exercise groups, low-budget birthday celebrations, and summer kids’ classes. The stone walls and foliage on one side serve as a private rest area for both the homeless and homeful who need a place to take their immediate concerns.

My route to the cashews takes me around the ballfields, where I always enjoy watching snatches of the games in progress. That awakened the geezer in me, and I decided to come back that way and watch a few innings.

I cut past the carousel, which on this day was closed to the public. I know from conversations with people who run it that the 1907 merry-go-round and the 52 Key-Less A. Ruth & Son Model 33 Band Organ receive periodic inspection and maintenance. It was running, just not open. The calliope music is a perfect soundtrack to a day in the park.

You see all kinds in Central Park. Many are having a conversation with some unseen correspondent. A portion of them are using earbuds, while some really are talking to no one.  A lot of people are taking photos of themselves and others in picturesque locations. You have to keep your eyes open for the odd renegade bicycle or scooter on the paths, so you can’t just stroll a carefree stroll.

I passed a wide range of dog breeds being walked: low and long, tiny and white, labs and retrievers; but also an increased population of designer dogs, especially the ones that look like large sock-puppets.

The park gives you space and fresh air. It demands far less than walking down one of the avenues. The natural landscape is therapeutic. Even cutting through it to avoid the edge and cacophony of the surrounding city is significantly restorative. I did pass a scary guy who was selling low-brow art and yelling at people. It didn’t look like he did much business.

When I looped back to the ballfields, I took a spot on a bench in the sunshine and watched the SAG-AFTRA-shirted fast-pitch softball team get beat by an unidentified team that was playing crisp defense and taking advantage of SAG’s soft center alley.  SAG’s pitcher stood strong as line drives whizzed past on all sides. He reminded me of a knife-thrower’s assistant.

I munched my cashews and zoned on the game. The sun felt good. It was an afternoon rich with the DINK of the bats and the flurry of action on the field. Eventually, the last out was called, and the teams shook hands and melted off the field and into the park with their gloves and bats. I walked back to the apartment with a smile on my face and the two extra bags of nuts I bought for the doormen in my jacket pocket.

See more of Robert Beck’s work and visit his UWS studio at www.robertbeck.net. Listen to an interview with him on Rag Radio — Here. If you have a connection to an archetypical UWS place or event that would make a good West Side Canvas subject, let him know at info@westsiderag.com. Thank you!

Note: Before Robert Beck started West Side Canvas, his essays and paintings were featured in Weekend Column. See Robert Beck’s earlier columns here and here.

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