Learning how to "Meander"
Gelsey Bell's "Cairns" follow-up is slighter, but still draws out everyday beauty
“You may have noticed that you haven’t actually meandered yet,” Gelsey Bell admits near the close of Meander, her new soundwalk through Brooklyn Botanic Garden.
I had, in fact, meandered. But mostly because I did it wrong.
Meander is a follow-up to Cairns, Bell’s acclaimed soundwalk through Green-Wood Cemetery released last year. HERE Arts Center again produces; co-creator Joseph White shares narration duties with Bell.
My first attempt at Meander was not fully thought out. A friend and I adventured into the Garden following a heavy snowfall. We wore the right boots for some trudging. It seemed like a cute idea.
We quickly discovered that Meander takes listeners almost exclusively off the Garden’s shoveled paths. Which makes sense—why design a soundwalk around the beaten track? But the intended route was impassable (parts of it were roped off entirely) and attempts to approximate just got us confused. Eventually we just followed our own hearts, wandering in the direction that felt right.
This past Wednesday I Meander-ed again solo, and heard its final directive a bit differently. “You haven’t truly meandered yet,” Bell concludes. “This is just a warm-up to the real event. The one where you trace your own line, and meander following your own compass.” So, okay, did it backwards.
Meander does not reach the emotional or spiritual heights of Cairns. It’s not really trying to. Green-Wood is a historic spot that feels otherworldly even without Bell’s dulcet tones in your ear. Its residents offer endless fodder for deep-dives that tie the ground under your feet in with nearly two centuries of history.
The Botanic Garden has history too, of course. But Meander is a more chill affair. Historical context is not the focus, though one fascinating section does explain how the Garden’s boulders (or “glacial erratics”) date back to the melting sheets of ice which shaped New York’s geography.
Instead it’s an emotional journey and, more than Cairns, puts control in the hands of the listener. Bell and White encourage you to ‘pause’ them at will. They push you to truly focus on your surroundings, taking in minute details. Meander is a mechanism for grounding and presence.
At less than half the length of Cairns, Meander can feel slight. I found it harder to immerse myself in Bell’s zen-like mindset. The piece leaves out many of the Garden’s most popular spots, including the Japanese pond and the Shakespeare garden. A little more specificity to location might have led to something more powerful.
Then again, Bell and White are not out to make guided tours—you can learn about rocks and roses without their help. They want to get at the feel of a place. How does the Garden breathe? How can it most fully be taken in?
A stream runs through much of the Garden’s center. Meander hones in on it, guiding you alongside. White explains that pipes circulate the stream through to the Japanese pond, which then feeds back into the stream. This is where Bell and White excel: first drawing the eye to a natural beauty you might have missed, then connecting it to something larger that lives outside of your view.
Before Bell sets you off on your own, Meander ends with a short task. You pick a spot, then inch forward in tiny footsteps (“you might feel like a penguin, but that’s okay”), taking in every bit of your surroundings as you move glacially forward.
This part worked great in the snow, since shifting carefully to-and-fro upon eight inches is an especially focusing challenge. The careful balance required in keeping stable helped me to actually, truly focus on the ground beneath my feet.
Now, I could have been doing this anywhere. It is not very Botanic Garden specific. But that’s okay. Meander leaves much of the Garden untouched, but teaches you how to experience it more fully: how to truly meander. The rest still awaits you. “So,” Bell concludes, “where shall we turn our attention to now?”