||[May. 21st, 2014|09:17 am]
|||||the one where you see potential||]|
|||||vnv nation: nova||]|
We've got a friend living with us now. Our house goes through cycles like that. I'd suggested the Rock Star Hotel would be a good place for someone to live, trillian_stars said it's a bit rough down there since our last visitor and suggested that my office would be a more suitable place, which means my office got packed up and moved into the Rock Start Hotel where I'm currently settling, thinking that it's a bit rough since our last visitor. It's nice to be here, I've always thought this place was fraught with possibilities but I think when it's not bands crashing here this space tends to be the place where people work through things, not where they live so it's potential has been recently unexplored. I'm looking forward to the challenge of building it up, but it's also a busy time and the distractions of picking out curtains and making bookshelves are all too welcome while I'm on procrastination deadline for so many things.
The Rock Star Hotel in 2011
These rooms have become the space into which things go that no one wants to deal with anymore. It's become a repository for broken lamps, half-empty cans of paint (I counted sixty), a seemingly limitless stream of broken fans of all varieties, things that came down from the walls, things that we saw on the street and thought we might want if only we got the time to fix them up. It's the place where projects get started and not finished, there's half a recording studio down here, there's a bunch of my back-stock of books and art projects, props from photo shoots, old windows, boxes of toy soldiers, old cameras.... There's a darkroom that I haven't printed a photo in since 2003 that ever since I read, and loved, The Not So Big House: A Blueprint for the Way We Live I've always thought would make a cool reading room, or at least a place where nerds gather and play Dungeons and Dragons.
My last week has been spent rounding up these things and hauling them out to the trash in an official gesture that some things will never get done. In a way I like the release, and I like the newness the place is experiencing.
In December of 2009 we lived in the Rock Start Hotel for three days when the
heat went out. We brought the Victrola downstairs and had an epic party.
There's been some water damage over the years, we had at least three floods, two quick one during a hurricane, one quick when the feed line to the fridge broke and leaked for a weekend, and the other slow as a drain leaked in the sink above for years. So there's that. There's the damp, there's the lingering ferret, but there's the other thing, the important thing, this is my Room of One's Own, which I think is a key to any long term relationship. I think whether a space is depressing or full of potential depends on your headspace when you walk into it. And for me it's like that dream where you discover that your house has a whole apartment in it that you'd forgotten about, because I have.
One thing's for sure, if you forget about a thing and stop loving it, that thing will die.
I've always thought "here's this space, you can take it an love it," but I don't know that anybody's ever loved it and I'm realizing that if someone's ever going to do that, it should be me.
This is my space. It has a shower, and a fridge and a chess board. I might invite you over for a painting party.
Add me: [LiveJournal] [Facebook] [Twitter] [Google+] [Tumblr]
Was picturing 60 shades of grey, gray, beige, and ivory as a party!
Now you have ME thinking about projects in MY house.
I don't think I've ever been in that room: in fact, I spent five minutes looking at the photo and wondering how the filthy basement where we shot Josh Hitchens as Dahmer could look as good as it does above. Ah, Brian eventually realized, that's not the same space.
My own place doesn't have the parade of Cool Guests, but there are two spaces that have possibilities. The basement, which has a substantial-but-underused wood shop, and a room on the second floor that's a catch-all. I could rent it out. Or, tear down the walls and make an open-floor library. Or... well, you know. All I need's money and time. I have time.
(I've written about my own forgotten-apartment dream. It just occurred to me that it may tie in with the while bohemia-gentrification thing, and the desire to live in places where such forgotten places exist, and which may be rediscovered.)
Hopefully, at some point, I'll actually be able to see the Rock Star Hotel in person. Wiscon was a priority this year, and I still haven't received my tax refund (three months since the return was accepted) for other fun travels.
"Lingering Ferret" is totally going to be the name of my Amanda Palmer cover band.
Every time I see the picture of your basement all I can think of is being tied up with an extension cord by Mistress D'arcy wearing a Hello Kittie beanie.
I'm curious about 60 cans of paint. Were some of them there when you moved in? Are they all from projects of yours?
most of them were there when i moved in. there's a paint shelf that may go back to the 1960's.
From the pictures, it looks as if there are (shudder) no windows. Can this be true, or are they just out of view? A basement can be made damp-free and water-tight, but if there are no windows at all, it might not be the happiest place to work, especially for those folks who like at least a little natural light and ventilation. I'm sure you can turn it into something wonderful, though! If I lived closer, I'd certainly show up for a painting party.
The Rock Star Hotel has six windows, more than any other room in the house.
Cool! I think you'll have a splendid space.
Oooh, I love remodeling projects! Before 'n' after photoblogging, pls?