Friday, February 26, 2010

That picture-covered-wall of mine at the Piano Factory apartment.

Earlier this week when really not succeeding at concentrating on homework, I decided to re-organize my desk a bit. Obviously. Let me tell you, there is nothing I like more when not-concentrating-on-homework than a good re-organizing of crap/spontaneous needless decorating. So when re-organizing my desk I found these artsy postcards we bought at Brookline Booksmith when we visited Boston way back last year: I had been planning on framing them and placing them on some conceptual still-yet-to-be-realized "Boston Wall" in our current Portland apartment. But of course the postcards turned out to be just larger than 4x6, some weird size they don't make frames for without some involved matting which I clearly wasn't prepared for, and so, hence they sat, buried for a year in my desk. When I re-discovered them, I returned to my previous, less sophisticated mode of decoration: I got out some Scotch tape and decided to stick them wherever there was room left. (This time it happened to be the bathroom door.) This in turn made me start to contemplate exactly how much Scotch tape I have probably wasted in my life, which then of course led me to thinking about that wall on my side of the room when Sam and I shared the loft at the Piano Factory.

If you didn't know me in the Piano Factory days, let me tell you about it: This was the nicest apartment I will ever live in. It was one of those old-factory-turned-into-hip-city-lofts places, downtown, huge ceilings, exposed brick, shiny shiny wooden floors. To be honest the fact that we somehow lived here is still somewhat miraculous to me. For quite awhile (before we moved there) the apartments were only available for artists, and for the most part they were still full of adult, artsy type people: every now and then I'd pass some apartment that had their door open and I'd sneak a look in and it would inevitably be like a dream: huge fancy art hanging from the walls, sophisticated-yet-funky furniture and kitchenware, exotic and expensive looking rugs: like all those unrealistic city apartments you see on TV. (Oh, Friends set, you delightful, colorful fantasy, you.) There was an art gallery on the first floor which we never went to, I think because we always felt too awkward about it, like people would look at us and wonder why we were there. The trademark "thing" about the building was that you could paint the front door to your apartment (they were big doors) and some people literally painted masterpieces on them. And then there was us: same beautiful apartment, we just filled it with college crap, because, well, we were college kids: an assortment of random, mismatched furniture, half bought at the Bed Bath and Beyond at Fenway, half stolen from the street. We had a Hawaii themed bathroom; in a random ledge which might have been a wonderful nook to display artwork or something, we displayed Sam's collection of rubber ducks. We strung multi-colored Christmas lights from the loft ladder. And in that loft Sam and I shared, I made a project of covering my wall--and it was a big wall--with a big-yet-organized collage of pictures. Pictures I took, ads from magazines I liked, polaroids, pictures other people took, postcards. Man, do I love me a good postcard. It was epic. It was awesome. It was a lot of Scotch tape.

I feel like with each apartment I live in, I attempt to get a little more grown up, buy a few nicer things, arrange things in a slightly more sophisticated way. But in the end I always throw a little college in there. 'Cause I like college. And I hope I always do.

1 comment:

  1. oh man! i had forgotten about the rubber duck ledge! epic!