Waldorf Diaries--Lynchian

There is something inherently cinematic about living here at the Waldorf Hotel—last night as I was watching the burlesque show in the cabaret the scene had a dreamlike element to it—the theatrical qualities of the costumes along with the music and the timeless design of the space itself, with its bamboo and glossy black laminate surfaces, created complete and unique images—a series of perfectly framed stills that evoked an emotional reaction—

My friend standing me beside said, “I always feel like I’m in a David Lynch movie when I’m here.”

She’s right—like a David Lynch movie what we were watching had no set time frame historically—it was impossible to tell what year it was—the performers and the audience both were choreographed and costumed without a designated period to place them—no generational anchor—it had a Lynchian darkness to it as well—a feeling that it had the capacity to tip into something more sinister—a sensual and potentially dangerous place where the appearance of dwarves, monkeys, and clowns wouldn’t have seemed out of place—

Barbarella Metropolis

Due to the recent development of sunny days in this city photographing this cityscape window display I built proved to be difficult--I can only suggest you go check it out yourself at Barbarella Hair Salon (click for link) on Main Street--

Waldorf Diaries--Keys

I can usually gauge how complicated my life is by the number of keys I’m hauling around—it’s also a barometer to tell how settled I am—the more keys I have correlates directly to the amount of responsibility I’m shouldering—the more rent I’m paying, the more gas I’m using, the more utility bills I get in the mail, the more insurance I should have—I carry heavy noisy metal symbols of this around constantly in my pocket—

When I moved into the Waldorf that weight was diminished considerably—upon leaving the Lee Building I took six keys off my ring—there was the front door key, the garbage key, my mail key, the laundry room key, and two keys to the deadbolts on my apartment door—they allowed me entrance into my life—my home—

There have been periods in my life when I’ve carried no keys and these were always periods when I either felt the most free or alternatively the most restricted—these were also times of great transition and change—there can be a sense of opportunity with the absence of keys and the ability to choose what new keys to accept—on the other end of the spectrum (when it comes to keys I’ve found there is no middle ground) there can be an intense feeling of loneliness—even desperation—

Today, despite my present transitional state, I still seem to have a lot of keys on my ring—along with my hotel key, there’s my car key, three keys for the shop, and two keys to the apartment I was housesitting in June—this morning I saw them and thought to look at my bank balance to see if my shop rent and car insurance checks had gone through—responsibilities I am grateful for—I like the weight of metal keys because it acts as not only a reminder signifying responsibility but also of security—their bulk also helps me check if they’re in my pocket and not still in the ignition as I’m closing my car door or on the table saw when I'm leaving the shop—

In my life I’ve locked myself out of a lot of places--

Waldorf Diaries--Patterns and Purpose

When I look at the carpet on the floor of Room 103 or the tile in my bathroom I’m certain this room was not designed for long term tenancy—the kinetic nature in the designs force the idea of movement and it’s difficult for me to sit for any long period of time—I find my eyes are constantly drawn to and following the vines that intertwine across the green polypropylene fabric that stretches from wall to wall—I’ve actually come to like the pattern and I think if it was merely a detail in a much larger room it would act well as a propellant—moving people cheerfully through a room—here as a dominant feature, however, it makes me wish I’d never tried hallucinogenics in my youth—

The bathroom floor tile is a pink and white basket weave pattern—again I’ve come appreciate its almost Moorish qualities and if it was within complimentary features it would work as a cheerful and interesting place to put a bathmat—instead I stand at the bathroom door for longer than I should as my brain tries to reconcile the three dimensional aspect of the crosshatching—

Then there’s the truth—I will find any reason not to write—if I let myself I would get my tools from the shop and begin renovations to this space within an hour—I have to remind myself constantly that I‘m not here for that reason—I’m not here for the long term—a transient with a singular purpose--

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—