Living inside a Shanghai Night Club

Have I told you kids about the (almost) all black bedroom I'm planning for myself.  Ok, there's lots of white too, and some other yet to be determined color.  But there's still LOTS of black, alright?  Anyway, I was so excited to find this defunct YMCA locker room turned NY loft that is completely black:

While the client only had one request:  "at night, i want to feel like i'm in a shanghai nightclub..." her design team, the apartment, gave her so much more.  Ahem, did you notice the ART?

(yes that is a $3,500 Peter Gronquist Gucci chainsaw on her coffee table)

((but what is up with that coffee table, why the random throw, is the under table, like, super ugly or something?)

Anyway. I am IN. LOVE. WITH. these paintings over the owner's shoe collection (which is prominently displayed in the main living space)

I'm not loving these chairs and think that there is 1 lamp too many but, yes!  yes!  that pope painting is fab!

(who am I kidding, you know I'd probably be just fine with the chairs and lights if it meant that I could live here)

The designers suggested curtains rather than walls, keeping the dark space open.  (How do you feel about that rug there?)

The only light wall I found, a far cry from the subway tile that undoubtedly filled this joint when it was the country's first YMCA.

Did you want a conclusion paragraph?  Really.  No, no you don't.  You'll be fine with it ending here.

Holy Moly That's a Lot of Beds

As you all know, my anniversary was last week and rather than exchanging the obligatory paper-themed prezies, the hubs and I chose to gift ourselves with a brand new king size mattress.  And thank god because we're both just under a million feet tall and our bedroom is ginormous. Now that we're experiencing the kind of sleep generally reserved for celebrities and diplomats, our bed frame situation is giving us nightmares:  we look like a bunch of college kids sleeping on the dang floor.   Because we have yet to find our own personal Miss Havisham, we're going to be building the frame ourselves (read: matt will construct, I, of course, will art direct).  I've rounded up a few beds to provide inspiration for our latest project.  

You best believe that if I could find a piece of exotic wood so lovely I would knock off this John Houshmand bed so fast your head would spin.

Since my spalted maple supply is running painfully low, I think I'll go with plan B:  Tufting.  Who doesn't love a little a lot of tufting?

clockwise from top left: Fox Nahemdesign; Image scanned from Dwell Magazine; Image taken from Domino Magazine; Green Bed available at Room Service

Ahh, yes, pure luxury, without being too fussy.  Of course, If I wanted fussy tufting, I would certainly go this route:

Bedroom design by Birgit Amadori for the Fox Hotel

I love, love, love the bed / wallpaper combo, but would much rather wake up every morning next to this dream headboard:

(unknown source)

I'm not a big fan of the upholstered bedframe, I'm sure my cats would make it mission #1 to destroy it within hours of installation, but that headboard is to. die. for.

Just because I'm feeling punchy, I'm going to digress into tacky headboard land for a minute, enjoy:

Images taken from Jennifer Perkins's flickr photostream  view even more insanity here

Even though these rooms look like a bad acid trip, I just don't really like canopy beds in general.  Again, no fuss, please:

(unknown source)

So pretty, but not for me.  Well, except those sexy black walls.  I'll take four of those.

(oh snap!  another unknown source)

Speaking of fussy canopies, I certainly couldn't live with this contraption, and neither should you.  

I could probably suck it up and spend a night or two under these 2 four poster beds:

 jonathan adler 

Ok, I actually really really like this bed, which is funny because pink is banned from my home, I think it's the reflective surface....mmmmmmm.  oh, and stop buggin, the picture is from my new favorite magazine, Living Etc. 

I'm really not crazy about this bed, but I feel obligated to show you:

bird's nest of death (my title) by Shawn Lovell Metalworks.

It's pretty, but it scares me a little.  And then there's that fuss again.

I really like rooms that are simple and then filled with pops of color, so a nice, clean, retreating bed frame is more my style:

image by ngoc minh ngo

Oh, I just want to eat those pillows!!!  Love.

where did I find you?

This is actually one of my favorite frames.  The shape is sooo simple yet the bends in just the right spot give it the ideal amount of interest.  And LOOK!  Gray!  Pop of Color!  Perfect!

marie claire mason

So maybe this bed frame doesn't visually recede, but that bolt of (klein?) blue is stellar.  Plus, bonus for placing the bed in the center of the room.

Because I am constrained by the bounds of reality, my new bed will probably most closely resemble one of these:

Images 1 & 2: unknown.  bottom left: marie claire maison; bottom right: room service store

Were I suddenly to arrive in a world in which the laws of physics (and commerce) did not apply to me, I would throw caution to the wind and insist on waking up in one of these 2 spots:

Left image: Custom Design by Friends with You for the Fox Hotel; Right Image via If the Lamp Shade Fits

So, there you have it.  Now you know where I'm spending my nights.  What about you?  Where are you spending yours?

Shangri La in the City

For weeks I've been filing away little bits of this 'n' that for an ultra mega multi post on industrial style. Perhaps because there's a cloud of impending financial ruin hanging over the head of almost every person nationwide, sorting through my tangled web of ideas is somehow more than my distracted brain can currently handle. Then I can across photographer Jay Maisel's UNBELIEVABLE apartment entire building that he owns in New York City, featured in New York Magazine. Not only is it possibly the greatest real estate score in the history of the universe, the 1898 building retains an aura of industrial optimism, of hope for the future in a time when The Captains of Industry had not yet evolved into first class Robber Barons. Read on.

Maisel purchased the entire 35,000 square foot ex-Bank of Germania 42 years ago for $102,000. No, I did not leave off a zero or two. If that seems like a financial windfall -- it is. Real estate experts estimate 190 Bowery to be worth at least $30 million, and there are rumors that Maisel was once offered $70 million for it.

He didn't sell, and currently only he, his wife and daughter live there. That's 3 people living in a 35,000 sq ft building in the middle of New York City (!). But it's also 3 people to upkeep an enormous piece of property, and graffiti is but one of the many hurdles they face. There are minor issues such as air conditioning, heating, window repair and so forth. Since the building is on the Historic Register, apparently getting building permits is nigh impossible. That means it's DIY or die.

What makes this place a magical wonderland (besides the sheer fantastic lunacy of it all) may be the aesthetic decisions cobbled from relatively limited resources. Necessity is the mother of invention, and I love the exposed fixtures, back to basics chrome bars, sleek finishes and natural materials. Everything is functional and harmonious.

There is an agelessness in the melange, the mix, of turn of the 20th century industrial and the simplicity of newly added necessities. Nothing is overdone because it can't be. There's too much to do.

A painted wall becomes an exercise in luxury in a space where daily endeavors run more towards maintenance than decor. All of the recycled furnishing -- the flat file tables, the laboratory stools, the old and beautiful stove -- are charmingly zany but right at home. Not a Saarinen table in sight. It's so utilitarian that it's almost shocking in today's culture of adornment.

He even built his daughter a platform for her bed so that she could watch the skyline at night. And as this image from a student at one of Maisel's photographic workshops shows, what a skyline it is:

Many people thought that 190 Bowery was vacant because of its exterior neglect relative to the shiny new shops springing up like mushrooms on Bowery. Photos of graffiti from nizno's Flickr stream document an everchanging panorama scrawled upon the sides of Maisel's home.

But I feel like there is beauty in a place that just is and doesn't have to be perfectly new and sanitized for our hyper-consumerist culture. The interior speaks to the same philosophy of respectful dilapidation.

This tiny portion of Maisel's work space shows greenhouse-like ducts overhead that carry cool air across the room. And the original elevator that continually runs up and down 12 flights of stairs is still intact -- and has only broken down once or twice.

I love that so much effort went into making a functional grate so beautiful. There's a sense of pride and respect that has -- for the most part -- been replaced by cheap materials and stylized muzak. Neither of those things are welcome industrial improvements, aesthetically speaking.

And of course, there is the sheer magnitude of space, unfathomable in a nation where most of us think that a tenth of the square footage would be enormous. Population density has driven the dream of owning one's own personal frontier to the brink of extinction.

NY Magazine says that the basement bank vault alone -- where Maisel secures his completed works -- could easily serve as a spacious studio apartment. And in fact, parts of the building have been rented before and may be rented again. Most notably, Roy Lichtenstein once kept a floor as an art studio, and the bottom floor, which houses an indoor basketball court, may be rented out again.

Part of me might feel resentful about breaking up my kingdom and sharing it with strangers, but the pragmatic part knows that Maisel should do whatever he must to pay his taxes and keep 190 Bowery livable.

Whatever you do, Mr. Maisel, please don't ever sell it. Not for all the money left in our dreary, washed up economy. Alhough it may be tempting to take the money and run, that would be like selling a piece of the American dream, and now -- more than ever -- we need it.