Showing posts with label / M. Gunnison. Show all posts
Showing posts with label / M. Gunnison. Show all posts

Friday, July 2

The walk-in closet/bedroom

The bedroom at the home of M. Gunnison doubles as a walk-in closet--or is the walk-in closet. It's the only closet in the apartment. The black pipe is from a pipe fitter on Great Jones. The hole in the wall serves to exhaust the steamy air from the bathroom, which is on the other side of this room. Below, the view into the main area. "Between the cramped quarters and sloped floors," says M., "it feels vaguely like living on a ship."
 

Below, the lamp and fan were hand-me-downs from a friend who lived around the corner but moved away. This is the kind of lamp I expected Papa to have in his writing studio.
M. got the Star Wars pillowcase when he was a boy. He found in recently in his trunk from summer camp. (My little brother had the same pillow case!) "I was never such a big Star Wars fan until college when I came to understand the influence that Joseph Campbell had over the early three films," he says. "That and Boba Fett was a badass."

Tuesday, June 29

M. Gunnison's Classical Lair

 
"I'm not a Minimalist," said M. Gunnison when I remarked on the amount of furniture and decor that fits in the apartment. It's kind of amazing how large-scale items, and lots of them, work in the small space. He's been here for ten years. It was the original wide-plank floors that sold him. After viewing about 40 apartments, "I knew I'd found a keeper." On the top floor, it gets good light. One wall was painted white when he moved in; he painted the others red.

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.
 

Monday, June 28

M. Gunnison, Soho

 
On Easter, I was visiting my local cafe, Local, and hanging out with some of the, well, locals, including M. Gunnison. He practices classical architecture and lives nearby. I wasn't doing much. Neither was he. He was in a suit and a pink tie and his Easter socks, coming from Easter brunch. "Wanna be on my blog?" "OK." We took our iced coffees and headed out, though I only had my iPhone to photograph. I followed him, above, to the top floor. He says the paint job in the stairwell reminds him of run-down naval barracks you might find out in Sandy Hook. Below, the living area when you open the door...