Ethereal Apple Logo at 59th and 5th
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| Let us worship it ... [Apple Insider] |
I don't know why I'm remembering this now, but when I was approaching the southeast corner of Central Park on the morning of the New York AIDS Walk this year, I saw something near the corner of 59th and 5th Avenue that gave me the creeps yet filled me with a sense of materialistic wonder.
There is a house-sized glass cube parked in front of a building there, inside of which seems to float an enormous, white, glowing Apple logo.
Like the glass-pyramid entrance to the Louvre, I have learned, this is (or will be) the entrance to a flagship Apple Store in Manhattan. A glass box in 21st century Manhattan is not quite as incongruous as a glass pyramid in the garden of a 12th century French palace. It follows more closely Apple's current design aesthetic. (They haven't tried a pyramidal shape for any of their hardward yet, have they? Not yet, anyway.)
It's very minimalistic. (Can minimalism be expressed in terms of quantity if it is meant to be an expression of the littlest possible? This reminds me of the impossible "very unique.") But the implied worshipfulness seems spooky to me. I don't deny the existence of the Cult of Mac. I am a proud member. Treating this logo as an object to showcase in itself turns it from a simple storefront sign into something exalted. It's like a golden calf, raised high so we may gaze up at it, like the star that led the Magi to Bethlehem.
Labels: New York
posted by Eric @ 11:44 PM
3 Comments:
Apple as always prioritized simplicity over complexity: their formerly rainbow-logo is now monotone--essentially a line drawing. The line, the simplest element of design. White, perceived as the lack of color.
Even their products evoke this aesthetic by providing end users with the simplest interface, uncluttered.
Darlin', all the buildings on 5th Avenue are golden calves. Have you checked the Prada window?
I like how the Apple store stands out in that neighborhood ... it's both calmer and grander in its minimalism than, say, Barneys.
A very astute observation, my dear.
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