As a child, I was driven by a sense of rebellion. That led me to climbing, because to climb is to exempt yourself from society and look at the world from a different perspective. I was a climber from three or four years old – I climbed rocks and trees; my parents could not stop me – and then I discovered wire walking.
I moved to New York specifically – and in a hurry – to catch the Twin Towers before they were finished in the 1970s. One way to sneak into a building, to take pictures and spy on it, is to disguise yourself as a construction worker. So I rushed over from Paris and spent eight months juggling on the street to put food on the table while I spied on the towers. I was there almost every day in a different disguise.
Like a Swiss-Frenchman before me – Le Corbusier, who discovered New York and said, “What a beautiful disaster” – I landed here during a garbage strike. There was no gasoline, there were all kinds of restrictions and crime: I loved it. There is a slice of the world here: every kind of person, every way of life. Today, of course, New York has changed: it has become even more unbearable. Still, I love it.
What attracted me to the Twin Towers was not the fact that they were the highest towers in the world. It was the idea of using the negative space between them. At the time they were frowned upon: they were ugly, not human. But to me they were beautiful in daring to grace the clouds. I was not – and I never will be – trying to break records. It was intimate. Afterwards my friends would say, “Philippe, when are we going to visit your towers?” Now they are gone, I say our towers.
The Lincoln Centre, Grand Central Station, the Museum of the City of New York and Central Park are all places I have walked and remember with love here. For my walk at Grand Central Station, they said, “You cannot walk in the lobby – we are a train terminal”. My producer at the time asked to look at the schedule, found six minutes between two trains and I did a performance. I have a picture where you can see people elbow to elbow across the entire floor.
In 1980, I did an illegal walk at the cathedral Saint John the Divine because I’d fallen in love with its structure. But instead of calling the police, the dean welcomed me with open arms. He made me an artist in residence, meaning I had a roof to put over my archives and an office. In 44 years I have done something like 20 appearances inside and outside of the church, and next month it’s where I’ll honour the 50th anniversary of my Twin Towers walk with a performance surrounded by wonderful actors, dancers and musicians including Sting.
A timeline of Petit’s greatest New York walks
1974
The World Trade Center, where Petit performed for 45 minutes, 1,350 feet above ground
1980
His first walk at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine
1984
A highwire performance to celebrate the opening of the Daring New York exhibit at the Museum of the City of New York
1986
A performance for the reopening of the Statue of Liberty a the Lincoln Center
1987
Grand Central Terminal
1999
The Rose Center for Earth and Space
2002
The Hammerstein Ballroom
I’m 75 now – a very old man – but I will never retire. Most people walk and look at their silly little electronic devices. I look up and rediscover the beauty of New York! When you look around, it’s amazing – they’re still building. So I keep looking up and having ideas: I always carry a red cord to put in my field of vision and imagine a wire between two buildings. I’ve always wanted to surprise New York by putting a wire on the Brooklyn Bridge: today that is inconceivable. And I like the Oculus in Lower Manhattan, not only because it breathes so close to the site of my beloved Twin Towers, but because my best friend, Santiago Calatrava, built it.
Sometimes when the telephone rings, I am not interested. They say, “Could you walk there?” I look and think, “That’s not majestic or inspiring – that’s boring.” I don’t comprehend the designs of those thin needle buildings because, even though they are solid, they look fragile – childish almost. Why go so thin and so high?
I started my life as a rebellious kid and I end it as a rebellious old man, although I don’t believe in age. On the ground I am clumsy: I break my glass; I sprain my ankle. I don’t look at the bus about to kill me. But on the high wire, I have created a word of solidity. It’s a fragile, terrifying and dangerous world – but not for me. I carry my life across the wire. And there is a great joy in doing that.
