This guy is outside of MoMA on most days. He stands there reading a book or chatting with tourists as he paints their portraits. He was reluctant to let me take his photo, but he agreed when I promised to give him a print. (I just gave him a print yesterday.)
To pass through Grand Central Terminal, one of New York’s exalted public spaces, is an ennobling experience, a gift. To commute via the bowels of Penn Station, just a few blocks away, is a humiliation.
What is the value of architecture? It can be measured, culturally, humanely and historically, in the gulf between these two places.
I wholeheartedly agree with this, tear that sucker down:
The only way to fix Penn properly is to move Madison Square Garden.