An ongoing description of my two years living in an art studio warehouse 2001-2003
The barred security door to my unit, and my own heavy exterior door, were orange-the color of ambition. And I was ambitious. Where others would see a rudimentary living space plunked down in the ghetto, I saw the fulfillment of a dream to dedicate my whole lifestyle to painting and art.
The scary local populace, primitive facilities and seasonal discomforts meant nothing compared to the excitement of have 2/3 of my home as studio space.
In the final 1/3 of the room is where I crammed all my non-art possessions, discretely separated from the studio by a partition assembled from bookshelves and cabinets.
In time in my back room I obtained a loft bed and installed my computer table beneath it. I had a double burner hot plate to cook on. I had a coffee pot and an electric kettle for endless cups of tea. I even ended up getting a 5′ refrigerator/freezer, which enabled more home cooking.
I had a TV on a rolling rack, a VCR, and one big chair for lounging purposes. The stereo was out in the studio. The uncomfortable futon I had arrived with devolved from serving as the bed to a couch, then to an outside couch, then to the dumpster.
to be continued