“Room with a sky”
Last year, I closed the door of my “singlehood life” apartment
for the last time. I made closure to 12
years of living in a tiny 6 floor walk-up apartment in SoHo New York. For the last time I heard the squeaking hinges
and the faint “ding” of the bell when the door would close on the jamb. For the
last time, I walked down the ironwork staircase that I had climbed up and down,
often with bags of groceries, all these years.
The 3 rooms were cleared out and, except for the kitchen cabinets,
fridge and stove, the apartment was empty. I left behind a decade of memories
with friends, roommates and family; memories of glorious cooking in the tiny
kitchen and of numerous sleepless nights wrapping up schoolwork. Even though, this
tenement apartment was loaded with stories to tell from tenants of previous
generations, I was grateful for the many memories it had brought to me.
Nestled in lower Manhattan, the apartment had never really been
renovated and the cracks on the walls and the ceilings betrayed the age of the one-hundred
year old low-rise building. The whitewashed exposed bricks, original moldings, doors
and electric wirings were reminiscent of an earlier era that belonged to New
York history. Perched on the corner of Broom Street and 6th Avenue, and
despite the persistent ongoing traffic, I had made it an oasis of calm and
plenitude. Six floors up, I was sheltered, away from the bustle of the city’s
streets. It was my home, my retreat, my hideaway. It felt safe here.
Potted flowers on the kitchen window sill were my pretend
garden. Every spring I would choose different plants and color themes. The
windows were facing south and throughout the day, the abundant sunshine would
immerse the space in a soothing glow.
The sun would pierce from above the top of the buildings across the
street, warming up the rooms instantly. In
the morning when sitting at the kitchen table, the sun would cast on the floor
and I could feel the warm tiles under my feet.
At other times of the day, the linen fabric shades would filter the rays
and create an effect of light and shadow.
The pillows on the low slouchy sofa always invited me to curl
up with a good book and unwind. The tactile textures of the contrasting soft silk
velvets, slubbed linen and knitted wool teamed with soft hues would imbue the
den with a casual and comforting atmosphere. With a limited almost monochrome
palette, simple lighting and clean lines, the whole apartment was designed to
be a calming haven. I made sure to keep it spare. The three tiny rooms and no closets called
for great organization and while everything had its place, no clutter was permitted.
I had kept the décor humble so that the focus would fall on the restful hues of
the furnishings. Wall to wall open shelves were only for cherished pieces and
favorite books. The display of the scarce treasured possessions would change
according to my moods and would turn the space into a dwelling where I could
enjoy every moment.
Living away from home, France, I would amass family photos
and plop them across the apartment where they would liven up the walls and create
a mini gallery giving a sense of culture and belonging.
With its homely atmosphere for cooking and entertaining, the
apartment did serve as a place to welcome friends. At night, the rooftop often
became an extension of the flat. I would invite friends over and we would bring
up lounge chairs, lean back and stare at the still yet very lively panoramic
view of midtown Manhattan skyline. It provided the perfect backdrop for an evening
brainstorming while sipping on a glass of wine or setting up an impromptu
dining room for friends’ gatherings. Occasionally
we would bring up glasses and plates and arrange chairs, table, sofa, pillows
and rugs. We would run extension cords and bring up floor lamps to light the
improvised “room with a sky”. My singlehood life apartment would be whimsically
recreated on the roof much the same way it was inside. Dinner would be served and we all felt that life
could not get better than that.
