Meditation in Motion with Loryn Cook

Welcome back to AND THE SUN, a newsletter about creative, artistic, and inventive approaches to meditation. Thanks for riding along with us today and a Happy New Years to all!

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This week we catch the subway with Loryn Cook, an interior and architectural designer, artist, and creative extraordinaire, to talk about how the spaces we pass through everyday can (sometimes) bring us into contemplative moods.

Before we start, a quick AND THE SUN update:

We’ve been hard at work on several upcoming events in New York. These events will weave together breath technology, ideas about embodiment, and meditation. Part installation art, part meditation event, part interactive essay. We’ll share locations and dates soon.

An Interview on (Screeching) Wheels with Designer Extraordinaire Loryn Cook

Loryn:
A friend recently asked me where in the city I feel most meditative. That kicked off a fascinating conversation about the difference between voluntary and involuntary meditation—intentional versus unintentional.

Iván:
Like when you deliberately meditate versus just finding yourself in a contemplative state because of your surroundings?

Loryn:
Exactly. And what interests me most is how our surroundings can trigger that involuntary state, which ties directly into design—whether it’s sound, lighting, visual elements, or other sensory factors. Design has such a massive impact on creating that kind of space.

I started thinking about when I feel most naturally meditative, and surprisingly, it’s not in nature or buildings. It’s on the subway.

Iván:
The subway?

Loryn:
Yes! So I thought, why not explore that? Maybe we ride the subway all day, or visit some specific stations. It’s something every New Yorker experiences daily, and such a unique space for contemplation. We’ll see what comes up.

Avery:
I love that! Meditating on the subway is amazing because your surroundings pull you into a trance. My most magical subway experience was like that. On my left, a guy was on a wild rant talking about everything from AI to game design—and then across from me, this other guy was really earnestly practicing card tricks but having a hard time with it. A couple came and sat near him, and he began performing for them. They were so kind, giving him their full attention. The whole scene was surreal—chaotic yet magical. It put me in a trance.

Loryn:
That’s exactly it. Watching multiple things unfold at once, having to take it all in—that can be so meditative. You’re not just observing one thing; your attention is engaged with everything around you. That’s what makes the subway such a prime space for this.

The Plan

Loryn:
We’ll start by taking the Q train from here at Atlantic Barclays over the bridge, it doesn’t matter exactly where it’s going.

Avery:
Oh, do you want to catch that moment when you’re looking out over the river from the train?

Loryn:
That’s a beautiful moment, but no. I want us to see “Masstransiscope.” It’s one of my favorite art installations in New York City, and it blows my mind how few people know about it.

Then maybe we get off at Canal Street and we’ll make our way up to Midtown, and eventually end up at 34th - Hudson Yards, specifically to experience the escalators there. They’re fascinating because they almost force people to put down their phones—unless it’s to snap a photo. There’s something meditative about the movement and the strange perspective, maybe the balance you need on them.

I wish we could make it to the Oculus today, it’s interesting to consider the contrast between entering and exiting a place like Atlantic Barclays versus the Oculus. What’s the daily experience like for someone walking through those dramatically different environments?

Take a space like Atlantic Barclays—low ceilings, muted colors, no natural light. It feels like a tunnel, confined and functional. Now compare that to a place like the Oculus, which is open, bright, and almost cavernous. The contrasts are so striking.

For these next stations, I want us to pay attention to four main things:

1. Entering and exiting: How it feels to transition from the outside world into these designed spaces.

2. Signage and navigation: How the space guides you and how people interact with those guides—whether consciously or not.

3. Colors and art: The impact of public art, tiling, train seats, and other visual elements. For example, walking through Union Square, the sheer flux of people becomes almost meditative.

4. Remaining senses: Things like smells, sounds, and light. The way these subtle environmental factors shape our thoughts and focus, often subconsciously.

Moments of Presence

Avery:
How would you define intentional versus unintentional meditation?

Loryn:
For me, unintentional meditation is when you’re fully present but not actively controlling your focus. It’s when your thoughts are naturally drawn to something beautiful, emotional, or absorbing. Your mind isn’t jumping between topics; it’s locked into one thing without effort.

Avery:
Design plays such a big role in that. Contemporary art museums do this for me. For example, at the Art Institute of Chicago, the modern wing’s walls are designed with a slight lift at the base to create a feeling of lightness. Intentionally, walking through that space feels open and bright.

Loryn:
It’s the interplay between a blank canvas and a striking piece of art. Those contrasts engage your mind and can naturally push you into a meditative mindset.

Avery:
And it’s not just visual. Spaces can evoke physical sensations, like your body mirroring the environment.

Iván:
Have you guys read The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton? It’s essentially a picture book, but it’s also incredibly profound, exploring how even the smallest of design details define what type of conversations, actions, and feelings are possible and likely to arise in any given space. 

Loryn:
Exactly. Once you dive into this world, you see every detail differently. It’s not just about where a wall goes or how a building is oriented on a street. It’s about everything—from large-scale planning to the minutiae, like where outlets are placed or what materials are used.

And bringing it back to the subway, if you live in the city, you’re constantly exposed to these minute design decisions at every station and on every ride, even if you don’t consciously notice them. Colors, lighting, materials—they all have a huge impact on your mood.

Iván:
For sure. Even just passing by stations, you feel the atmosphere shift without stepping off the train.

Train Hopping

Loryn:
So older subway stations are built shallower, which is why they often have more columns and less open space. The newer stations are deeper underground, allowing for those big, cavernous volumes.

Avery:
That’s interesting. Someone consciously decided to use pink tiles here, chose the pattern, and decided how they’d stack. You don’t notice these things when you pass by every day, but even the signage is interesting. 

Loryn:
Historically, they used tiles sourced from local producers. It gives it a nostalgic charm. There’s one station uptown with beaver motifs because the tile maker’s last name was Beaver, and he chose to leave his mark that way. It’s those quirky details that can make a moment contemplative in its own way.

Iván:
And the sightlines are so deliberate. The lines of unbroken tile guide your vision and focus towards your next connection or exit. Ideally, I mean sometimes it’s less clear where you’re supposed to go on the platform. 

Avery:
When I step off a train and look down a platform, the presence or absence of a visible endpoint changes the feeling entirely.

Loryn:
This older train has such a different vibe. The warm lighting feels calmer than the sterile white-blue lights of the newer trains.

Iván:
I think the bright white light is meant to evoke cleanliness and safety, but it’s pretty harsh and anxiety-inducing too.

Loryn:
Exactly. Warm lighting feels more inviting.

Iván:
It’s also about continuity. Riding an older train connects you to the past—it feels nostalgic, like stepping into history. Newer trains feel futuristic, but less homey.

Loryn:
Do you think people let their guard down more on older trains like this, compared to the newer ones? I feel like some women riding alone might prefer the newer trains because they’re brighter. Personally, as a woman who often rides alone, I actually prefer the older ones.

On the Train

Iván:
Have you guys ever noticed how meditative the train’s motion is as it’s approaching?

Avery:
Yeah— the sheer scale of it, moving so fast and so close, it’s humbling.

Iván:
You know, the sound of the train itself is incredible. The low rumbles and high screeches are so distinct. I think it would be great to ride the subway at night when it’s empty, just recording the sound. You could probably get millions of views on YouTube with that. 

Loryn:
Totally. It’s like the rhythmic motion of the train can lull you into that meditative state. And the flickering lights on the subway—it feels cinematic when it happens.

Iván:
It’s that feeling of being rocked to sleep in a car as a kid. There’s this heightened awareness—with all the movement around you and all this implicit risk, like the possibility of a shark while swimming, or, in city biking, the danger of cars and trucks. But that heightened state is also meditative. You find the flow and just let go.

Loryn:
I actually find it harder to focus in a quiet space. A single sound in a silent room bothers me more than constant noise in a loud café.

Avery:
Or like meditating at a club. Sitting in a club with the music in the background, people talking, vibrations all around—it’s like a sea of undifferentiated sound. When there’s an overwhelming amount of stimuli, you can stop trying to make sense and just open into it. It’s invigorating. 

And when the power cuts off briefly on the subway, and the car stops shaking. It makes you realize how much movement you’ve been taking for granted.

Loryn:
The design of escalators at 34th - Hudson Yards is another example. Being still while moving creates sensory disorientation, like floating.

Iván:
Let’s ride this up and down a few times and see where it takes us.

Avery:
Going up feels like falling forward to me. Going down like falling backward.

Loryn:
It is interesting thinking about the design choices—specifically how they kept things very symmetrical or orderly. There’s not really a natural feeling; it’s very continuous and man-made.

Avery:
I think it would be less vertigo-inducing if the line on the wall that runs alongside the escalator – the line that guides your eye – looked more like a staircase as opposed to a straight line.

Loryn:
Yeah, and if the lines were going diagonal instead of straight. Because the lines focus your eyes on a specific point, and if that point is 90 feet below you, it’s a little anxiety-inducing. If the design directed people to look out in front instead, it would feel completely different.

It feels very similar to driving, being still while moving. I get in the same kind of trance where I’m tuned into my surroundings, but my mind is in this open state of consciousness that I’d consider meditation.

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Meditating on the Subway

The subway is a great place to meditate. The cacophony of stimulation makes it easy to open up – there is sensation anywhere you could possibly sense, helping to keep the gates of perception open – and at the same time, there’s so much aliveness to tune into.

See you in 2025!

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