Olafur Eliasson's Waterfalls and Statues of Limitations

A kinda grand tour of the city's new, giant public art. And speaking of dips, look in the East River.

At this point, I'm so exhausted that I just want to collapse in the air-conditioned belly of the boat, but no! I'm a reporter! So I go and stand at the prow—until the boat turns around and I realize this can't be the prow—and am almost overcome by the nauseating aroma of diesel fuel.

Then the voice of the artist, Olafur Eliasson himself, comes over the speaker system. He thanks us all for coming, and adds, "We should talk about how it is to experience this in a group . . . how do we see things as a collective?" Hey, buddy, I want to scream, the only reason I'm experiencing this in a group is because I don't have a private yacht, forcing me to share the experience with the usual fun slice of New Yorkers: pierced teenagers speaking an unidentifiable foreign language, babies spitting up their own waterfalls, and one very prosperous- looking family, the wife with a rock on her finger that will sink her for sure if we capsize.

The falls are OK, but water is water, and I'm not exactly dropping dead with excitement. They're actually better seen from the shore—say, outside the Express store or a few feet from the temporary tattoo stall on Pier 16. Plus, one of the four falls isn't even working, which would make me demand my money back if I had paid to begin with. Actually, the most electrifying part of the ride is that green person rising out of the sea: Lady Liberty herself, far more majestic and thrilling than any waterfall. And minus the white socks.

Summer campy: Koons's dog and heart
The Metropolitan Museum of Art/Anna Marie Kellen
Summer campy: Koons's dog and heart

lyaeger@villagevoice.com

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