For the first time in over five decades, the city of New York is suspended in a state of collective euphoria. After a grueling 53-year wait, the Knicks have finally secured an NBA championship, prompting the city to ready the ticker tape for a massive parade through lower Manhattan. It’s a moment that feels less like a sports victory and more like a long-overdue exhale for a fanbase that has weathered generations of heartbreak, near-misses, and agonizing losses. For those fortunate enough to be on the ground, Thursday morning represents a historic homecoming—a chance to stand in the streets and soak in the chaotic, joyful energy that can only exist when a city’s pulse finally synchronizes with its dreams.
However, the reality of life in a metropolis like New York means that for every person cheering in the streets, another is trapped behind a desk or living thousands of miles away, missing the magic in real-time. Enter artist Morry Kolman, a lifelong New Yorker who decided that if people couldn’t be at the epicenter of the celebration, he would bring the epicentre to them. Through a project aptly titled “GardenCam,” Kolman has been capturing the city’s spirit by livestreaming and archiving static traffic camera feeds along the parade route and around City Hall. It is a digital window into the soul of a city that is finally, mercifully, allowed to celebrate.
Kolman’s journey to this project is as deeply human as the fans he observes. As a lifelong supporter, he knows the specific, bruising sting of following the Knicks, and the idea for GardenCam was born from the raw need to capture a shifting mood. After a thrilling Game 2 victory, Kolman felt a kinetic shift in the city’s atmosphere—a “bigger energy” that he desperately wanted to preserve. Prompted by a friend to start tapping into the traffic feeds near Madison Square Garden, he began his experiment, framing his practice as a blend of tech-savvy observation and what he cheekily calls “high-effort shitposting.” It was an attempt to provide a bird’s-eye view of the fandom, offering a perspective that couldn’t be found in the carefully curated angles of traditional television broadcasts.
The experience hasn’t always been about pure, unadulterated joy, however. Kolman’s journey with these cameras took a jarring, introspective turn during Game 3, which coincided with an appearance by former President Donald Trump at the Garden. What was meant to be a celebration of sports fandom shifted into a cold commentary on urban surveillance. Instead of capturing spontaneous street parties, the feeds became a chilling study of a “police state” in action, showing the rigid imposition of perimeters and the heavy hand of security. It was a jarring reminder that the same cameras meant to monitor our daily commutes can suddenly be redeployed to track our movements, turning a public space into a theater of control.
This isn’t Kolman’s first run-in—or run with—the city’s extensive camera network. His previous project, “Traffic Cam Photobooth,” which invited New Yorkers to take selfies using the city’s infrastructure, earned him a stern cease-and-desist letter from the New York City Department of Transportation. The agency argued that the project was “inherently unsafe” and unauthorized, leading to a clash between institutional gatekeeping and artistic freedom. In true defiant artist form, Kolman photographed the cease-and-desist letter using a traffic camera and later exhibited the entire ordeal at Art Basel, proving that when you try to police the creative use of public data, you often end up becoming part of the work itself.
Today, the tone from the city seems to have softened significantly. While the DOT remains quiet on why they have no objection to the current iteration of GardenCam, the parade itself offers a natural buffer, with streets and subways closed to accommodate the throngs of people. Kolman views the agency’s newfound silence as a form of begrudging acceptance, noting that they have learned to “let him have his fun.” Ultimately, GardenCam isn’t just a technical exercise; it’s a love letter to the grit, surveillance, and communal spirit of New York. As the parade winds its way toward City Hall, these quiet, unflinching cameras offer an honest record of a city that refused to give up, proving that even from the lens of a traffic light, New York always finds a way to shine.
