New Yorkers jealously resent any territorial encroachment on Central Park. Even the august Metropolitan Museum of Art encountered hostile resistance to its large expansion several decades ago, doubly so because the new galleries’ exteriors were bare slabs of concrete. With the passage of time, however, a (somewhat) compensating beauty has ripened there.

Their porous surface offers toehold for leafy vines, sculpted yearly by means of shearing along disciplined lines. The new delicate growth splays differently, colors differently, and plays against the solid blocks of tough old green like an enormous live, abstract painting folded over the turns of the gallery walls and tower.

Have a look at the portfolio of snapshots cited below. Note how the beautiful rock outcroppings Olmstead left exposed when he constructed the Park a hundred years ago add voluptuous compositional depth to the leafy walls, and how the Park’s trees extend twiggy patterns from two dimensions to three. The Park paths and drive nearby serve as a giant conveyer belts, sweeping viewers along the lovely display.