Louise, the maid in "Being There"
Dallas is plagued with a perpetual inferiority complex. It wants the jet set glamour of New York, the cosmopolite aura of an international city, while both embracing and rejecting its cowboy image it can never fully shake. Problem is, she keeps working this from the outside in. "Let's have all the signs of success to prove we're a success!" It's the bane of all conservative thinking.
Thus we have the Klyde Warren Park, which describes itself as:
Klyde Warren Park creates green space “out of thin air” that connects the vibrant Uptown neighborhood with the Dallas Arts District and downtown.
Somehow, Dallas got the memo a great city needs great parks and viola! One great park coming up. Named after the 9-year-old son of billionaire Kelcy Warren, CEO of Energy Transfers Partners, it seems dear old dad wanted junior to begin to feel the weight of civic responsibility and has stipulated in the contract for the park that Klyde help clean it up once a month. What an asshole.
Since there's no real space available downtown a space was "created" by building decks over the freeway just north of downtown. Two years and $110,000,000 later we have paradise found and another certifiable landmark - in the minds of our civic leaders anyway. After hearing all the buzz about it, I decided to head out there to see for myself the latest Dallas concoction of its idea of greatness. I doubt I'll ever be back.
Check out that list of prohibitions! No smelly homeless people or godawful Occupy movements in this park! It's all about sanctuary, life in the bubble, whitewashing the world into one giant plantation. It was just plain weird walking around that place. It was like an awkward family reunion where "you better be happy or else!" I'll admit on one hand it was really cool to see so many people availing themselves of the place and what it has to offer but it came off as so surreal to me. Who are these people? No one I will ever know in my lifetime.
Like some weepy chick flick, the designers of this park knew their target audience if you can judge by the reaction of its visitors. Ping pong, putting greens, chess tables, magazines and other manufactured devices are to be had in this oh so cloistered environment. I felt like I was walking through some sort of social experiment done with all the blind enthusiasm of an eight grader. I kept wondering to myself what's going to happen in a couple of years when the new wears off.
It's hard to exactly put my finger on what was wrong with this picture. So many people having fun. But it's sort of like people who will dance to anything regardless of how hideous the song may be. They just never connect the dots. But I felt something lurking below the surface, something unnatural and artificial. I wanted to believe in the picture I was seeing but it came off more like a voyage on the Titanic before the iceberg.
A holiday performance was even being staged on the day I visited. Precious little girls (some training 20 hours a week!) performed as orchids in a greenhouse, carefully protected and cultivated for the desired results. The vibes in the place were so strong I don't think I saw one person who'd for one second ever feared to be in the 47%. Such like-mindedness! Must have been like the old KKK meetings back in the day.
It was seeing this beaten down reindeer that really got to me. A poor animal put on display for the unfeeling pleasure of others. The world tilted for me at that point. After taking my picture I bent down and made eye contact with the sad creature and she seemed to appreciate the gesture, lifting her head in response. All I could do was convey my sympathy.
So do I believe the pretty picture painted before my eyes like an impressionist painting?
Or was there really a dark underbelly?
Plasticine porters with looking glass ties. Champagne and caviar while we drone neighboring children to pieces. I never got my sea legs here, any rest would be an uneasy rest, one with a timer.
I never did get comfortable while I was there. Too much like visiting a museum with its implied sense of required orderliness. Maybe I was channeling Klyde picking up trash wondering why "responsibility" means cleaning up someone else's mess. Regardless, I was only a few yards away at any point in time of returning back to the grimy world of reality. True, it sucks there but I began to feel more comfortable on my way out. This is a more honest place.
Click here to view the entire photo set.
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