From Water-Lots to Made Lands: NYC Waterfronts

Every day, as I climb the stoop of a beautiful old Brooklyn brownstone, open the door, and enter my sublet apartment, I come across an impressive map of Manhattan Island from the eighteenth century (Figure 1). Part of my everyday landscape in New York City, this map serves a purpose: it reminds me of the backstory of the made lands, intricately interwoven with water, wetlands, and marshlands—features that are no longer easily recognizable in the city today, at least in Manhattan.

When I first encountered Eric Sanderson's book Mannahatta—which means “island of hills” in Lenape, the Indigenous language of this region—I felt a deep sense of excitement.  Prior to European incursion, Manhatta was home to 55 different ecological communities within a space of only 52 square kilometers, a greater density than Yellowstone and Amboseli, demonstrating the region’s extraordinary biological diversity (Sanderson,2009). This number represents a greater variety of distinct assemblages of life than those found in an average coral reef or even in the densest rain forests of comparable size.

Granting water-lots around Manhattan Island to private individuals was the first attempt at coastal land reclamation.  Dating back to 1686, this process led to the creation of new land along New York’s waterfronts. This approach stemmed from the idea that the 'improvement' of land and the construction of maritime infrastructure were not merely government duties, but a civic responsibility that private owners, as citizens, were expected to fulfill. Over time, the city’s original aim of developing maritime infrastructure through water-lot grants to private individuals evolved, giving rise to real estate development along Manhattan’s waterfronts within the framework of capitalist relations (Schlichting, 2018).

Figure 1. Map depicts the buried streams, historic wetlands and made-lands of Manhattan. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Much of this development in the eighteenth and nineteenth century was devoted to the construction of quays, docks, jetties, and piers in support of a rapidly growing port city.  In addition to import and export trade, waterfront spaces were increasingly given over to industrial operations, particularly those that required access to water transportation for bulk goods.  Refineries, lumber yards, grain silos, stone and gravel storage facilities jostled for docking rights alongside textile factories and machine shops, shipyards and warehouses.  This interlocking system of industrial-waterfront land use persisted as long as the rail networks provided connections and the ships themselves did not grow too large to navigate the harbor.

Figure 2. Domino Park, Photograph by Esra Sert, September 2025.

Figure 3. Hunter’s Point South Park,

Photograph by Esra Sert, October 2025.

During the second half of the twentieth century, however, all of this changed.  The technology brought about by deep water container shipping and the interstate highway system significantly transformed the industrial landscape along New York City’s waterfront. The intricate coastal infrastructures that once intertwined the industrial realm with the harbor, along with the systems of day labor and everyday life they sustained, rapidly declined into obsolescence. As a result, the abandoned piers along the Hudson and East River waterfronts fell into silence and disuse during by the 1970s.

Beginning in the 1990s, after decades of decline, portions of these waterfronts were incrementally converted into parkland and green recreational spaces. Even today, while New York’s waterfronts are given over to prominent architectural offices for redesign, and gentrified under narrative cover of climate resilience — particularly after Hurricane Sandy in 2012 — the historical socio-ecological memory of the shoreline reminds us of the continued efforts, care, and struggles of New Yorkers.

The Domino Park in Williamsburg, Brooklyn designed by James Corner Field Operations and SHoP Architects (Figure 2), Hunter’s Point South Waterfront Park in Long Island City, Queens (Figure 3) by SWA/ Balsley, The East Side Coastal Resiliency (ESCR) Project by Bjarke Ingels Group (BIG), and Riverside Park South Open Space Master Plan (Figure 4), offer compelling illustrations of these dynamics.

Figure 4. The Riverside Park South, Photograph by Esra Sert, September 2025.

To be honest, when I walk through waterfront parks and experience them with my body, I often feel a quiet unease. Over time, many of these parks begin to resemble one another, feeling overly designed, disciplined and controlled, as though they leave little room for chance, accident, or unexpected encounters. Campo (2016) helps articulate this discomfort by emphasizing the importance of vacant or marginal spaces along New York City’s waterfronts that invite engagement with basic human impulses, everyday needs, and an unexpected kind of wild nature.

In his discussion of Hunter’s Point South Park in 2015, Campo (2016) notes that crushed concrete and demolition debris supported hearty, surprisingly varied plant life and even accidental beach experiences that newly emerging waterfront parks simply cannot provide. This line of thinking resonates with Gandy’s argument in the Marginalia chapter of his 2022 book Natura urbana, where he proposes new ways of regarding nature by foregrounding the value of brownfields, wastelands, and ruin landscapes within an “ecological pluriverse.”

Meanwhile, groups and communities such as the Newtown Creek Alliance, Bronx River Alliance, Hudson River Foundation, Riverside Park Conservancy, various community land trusts, the Waterfront Coalition, and Community Boards bring multiple programs and public uses to activate waterfronts. They are engaged in a wide range of educational workshops, bird and plant observations, conservation and cleanup efforts, information sessions, children’s programs and other creative pedagogies. These initiatives prompt citizen science and civic participation, including projects that combine water-quality monitoring with art to raise environmental awareness. Yet, despite this diversity of people and activities in the 21st century, why do we still find ourselves in spatial environments that feel so similar—and what is their impact on urban shoreline ecologies?

It is precisely these questions that I am currently pursuit throughout my postdoctoral research at the Urban Space Lab here in New York City. Approaching the city’s waterfronts through the lens of climate gentrification, I will focus on Hunter’s Point South Park, Riverside Park South, Soundview Park, and Gansevoort Peninsula, drawing on user experiences as well as the perspectives of multiple stakeholders.

Works Cited

Campo, D. (2016). A new postindustrial nature: Remembering the wild waterfront of Hunters Point. Streetnotes, 25, https://doi.org/10.5070/S5251030458

Sanderson, E. W. (2009). Mannahatta: A natural history of New York City. Harry N. Abrams.

Gandy, M. (2022). Natura urbana: Ecological constellations in urban space. MIT Press.

Schlichting, K. (2018). Waterfront Manhattan: From Henry Hudson to the High Line. Johns Hopkins University Press.

Esra Sert is Assistant Professor of Architecture in the Faculty of Art and Design, MEF University, Istanbul and a Visiting Scholar at the Urban Space Lab.