Waldorf Diaries--"Hell is in the Hallway"

A friend of mine once said to me, “it’s hell in the hallway.”

I remember as he was telling me this I was visualizing myself in a hallway kicking at locked doors—noticing suddenly the hallway was on fire I panicked and saw myself running towards a window at the end of the hall—it was painted shut and I had to break the panes and mullions with my elbow then crawl through cutting my hands on the glass—I felt myself falling two stories into an alley where it was raining and there was a pack of rabid dogs—

I was being a little dramatic

He was referring to the in between period—the space that separates those “doors of life”—fact is when one door closes another one doesn’t always immediately swing magically open allowing entrance to a new and wonderful opportunity—I’ve often found myself locked out of a room trying to find my keys—pacing in the hallway trying to figure out how to break into the room I just exited—searching for my wallet so I can try the credit card trick on the latch but it’s usually locked in the room I’m trying to get back into—I’ve slept in a lot of hallways—spent what must add up to years waiting—it generally takes me a long time to abandon hope and try a different door or head for the elevator—

City Blocks

With my transient lifestyle lately I haven’t been able to spend much time in my shop but today I got in there early to finish up a window display project  for Barbarella hair salon on Main Street—it’s a cityscape made of different sized blocks to display product on—I like the simplicity and the amazing versatility inherent in blocks—when I was kid I had a large box full of maple building blocks and these were easily my favorite toys—when Lego arrived on the scene I would attack my maple cities with multicolored spaceships made out of the Danish plastic components—

I have to get these guys painted and delivered

Waldorf Diaries--Waiting for Goodman

A friend came to visit me at my Waldorf residency yesterday and noted that it felt like being Los Angeles—a 1950’s hotel in an industrial landscape—the vibe is Chateau Marmont meets The Hotel Earle from the movie Barton Fink—The Waldorf lacks the Marmont’s pool and international celebrities—it doesn’t have the Earle’s peeling wallpaper and Art Deco decay but it does meet the two with a sense of its history and lineage—I feel like I’m visiting this hotel like I would visit a person—

In Sophia Coppola’s movie Somewhere the Chateau Marmont plays the role of purgatory for its main character, an actor who has lost his sense of self—this is also true for Barton Fink, an intellectual playwright, who gets housed in The Earle and suffers from writer’s block trying to write a banal wrestling picture—both characters are trapped within buildings—both struggle with lost identity—both sit in spiritual netherworlds needing a catalyst to force their transition—

So where exactly does this place me?

I keep waiting for John Goodman to show up at my door with a box…

Waldorf Diaries--June 28, 2011

Yesterday I took up residency in room 103 of the Waldorf Hotel, the hippest multifaceted cultural destination in the city—Room 103 is one of the rooms that has yet to be renovated—it still has green carpet with a pink and blue vine pattern snaking through it that keeps the floor in constant motion and the curtain appears to be nailed to bulkhead above the window—compared to the other rooms with their platform beds, bamboo walls, and slick black counters 103 seems rather sad and neglected—

I moved in the sparse furnishings I’ve been carrying around (my life can now fit in two carloads) and hung some art on existing nails—then, well, I sat in quiet contemplation trying figure out just what I had done—I think it’s probably a little unconventional for a man in his forties to give up his beautiful turn of the century apartment and move into a 150 square foot hotel room—to do this by choice and actually plan it out carefully—to turn down well paying work and opt for a dramatic turn to austerity—but I’ve never shied away from extremes and generally I’m the type of person who needs to be forced into action—this time the force is internal rather than external—

Room 103, the hotel, and the hip clientele who frequent the Waldorf’s restaurants, lounges, galleries, and cabaret are inconsequential—I’m here for one sole purpose and that’s to make some headway on the book I’m writing—it’s not something I even really want to do but I’ve put myself in a position where there’s not much of an alternative—I’m here so I’d better write—

Bedside at the Waldorf

Closure

I feel I finally have closure with my old apartment—yesterday I installed the bathroom cabinets, put the sexy Italian hardware on the doors, replaced the temporary screws with brass screws, and finished the walnut crown moulding on the top--the electrician came and dealt with the fixtures and I got the textured glass in the bathroom door--

I handed over my keys and now I feel like I can move on--there was a weight in knowing that space was incomplete and I suddenly feel unburdened knowing it's complete--now someone new is moving in today and they can fill it up with all their stuff--

Heavy Metal

Steel is a nonabsorbent material—there’s just no give—it’s interesting to be in a home where steel is so prevalent—exposed trusses covered in corrugated roofing—that, mirrored with the concrete floors, and there’s no cushioning to be had—it feels raw, unforgiving, and simple—basic and elemental with an honesty that says, “I’ve got absolutely nothing to hide.” This space is angles intersecting angles without a curve to be found—there are no tricks—

I like that but I’m not sure I could live in a space like this full time—I like the organic softness of wood floors and the depth of plaster and paint—absorption rather than deflection—I like layers that can either be added to or stripped away alternatively—

Still I’m enjoying the change—this loft feels new and clean which is quite different from the hundred year old apartment I just moved out of—it’s sort of like visiting a foreign country where there are no ghosts—

Neighborhoods

It’s surprisingly quiet over here in the industrial area where I’m loft and cat sitting for the month until I take up residency at the Waldorf Hotel—compared to the neighborhood up the hill it’s absolutely peaceful--I was cleaning my old apartment today and took a photo out the window of the young hipster mob filling bags full of clothes at the alley sale—the shopping frenzy, indie hip hop, trucks honking, and the constant roar of traffic on Broadway—these are the sounds of the city I’ve become accustom to—the aural fabric that blankets my day to day life—

This area is primarily industrial and though there is traffic noise it’s muted and more than twenty feet away—quiet really does create space—right now that space is welcome—