The furniture has been arranged a number of ways, but the most recent iteration took shape when a downstairs neighbor sold him the large ebony table (more visible in this post). The blinds are from a garbage pile, and the curtains are from Utility Canvas, which once did business at 146 Sullivan.
Below, M. Gunnison in the mirror, the first item bought specifically for the apartment. He found it at the old antique fair on 26th Street. Perhaps he's reflecting on the state of the water stain. "It's steadily gotten worse over the years. I'm on the top floor, so it means there's a failure in the roof-membrane somewhere on the surface," he says (remember, he's in the field of architecture.) "But these things track a long distance and finding the source is impossible." Now this is the right attitude: "I kind of like it, anyway, because it marks the passage of my stay here, so I don't bother painting over it."
The tiles are from the U.S. Custom House in San Francisco. They're mementos from when they earthquake-proofed the building "in the early aughts," he says. The hibachi grill was there when he moved in. He's never used it. As for the windows, that's as clean as they get. "The seal has leaked and moisture penetrated the double glazing." Don't hold it against him.
To the right of the entrance is the kitchen. The lantern is there to keep him from hitting his head on pots and pans that hang nearby.
A pair of black wings from his 2007 Halloween costume are tucked into the corner between the living area and the kitchen. "I went as the zeitgeist from Hermann Hesse's Demian. It was a dark year." Nearby are pen-and-ink drawings of ships rendered by an artist friend of his grandfather's, 1941.