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Friday night Aaron and I went to the Flux Factory's beginning of the end party. It's a typical tale: artist colony faces displacement at the hands of Eminent Domain. In order to make the most of a normally sad situation, they've decided to throw a series of apocalyptic parties in the month running up to their demise.
I have a personal history with the Flux Factory. It's strange how it sort of made its way into my life: When I was in the emergency room at Bellveue this past summer, the girl in the bed next to me had been brought to the emergency room by her flat mate after falling from a ladder and hitting her head. I could hear her talking to the doctor about the fact that she lived in an artist warehouse in Queens, and that she was removing insulation from her room when she fell. Though I couldn't see her because of the curtains between our beds, I felt like I was sort of eavesdropping on her whole life story.
A few months later, a friend of Aaron's ended up moving to an artist warehouse in Queens and invited us for an art exhibit they were having on a Friday night. At one point I was in the communal kitchen, and noticed a list of free hospitals and clinics noted on a freehand map of New York someone had drawn on the wall. One of the hospitals circled was Bellveue. When I mentioned my emergency room story to Aaron's friend, she introduced me to her flat mate who turned out to be the girl I was next to in the emergency room. Surviving a trip to Bellveue is enough to make compatriots out of strangers, so we ended up talking for the rest of the night.
The first trip to Flux Factory was a sensory overload. Everything was customized, and had a theme. Everything that could be made into an art exhibit, had been. The kitchen reminded me of a tropical rain forest, with vines creeping over the pot rack, and planters hanging from the windows. The library was two storeys, with a hidden room behind a moving bookcase. The bathrooms had been turned into micro parties in and of themselves. There was a gallery, a wood shop, a practice space, and a huge rooftop terrace overlooking all of Manhattan.
The feeling at this latest party reminded me of Mardi Gras. When you know it will all come to an end soon, so you decide you might as well make the most of it and party like you have no regrets. Every wall was covered in graffiti. Not street graffiti, more like art graffiti. People made exhibits encouraging visitors to 'take their own piece of the Flux Factory home with them.' They turned the two storey library into a two storey slide. The rooftop terrace had 10ft tall wood letters with light bulbs on them spelling out FORGET IT. They were standing up directly in front of the view of the city. The whole thing had a "fuck it, we're going down in flames" feeling. It was great.
Saturday night we went out again and did a little bar hop in Williamsburg. Larry Lawrence (a hidden bar, but not quite a speakeasy) on Grand, Iona on Grand, and Rose (the wine cellar in the basement) on... Grand. Can you tell I like Grand St? One day I was walking down the street (when I used to work on Grand) and saw a torn out page of a magazine in Japanese with an article all about the boutiques, bars and cafes on Grand St. It was adorable to think that somewhere in Tokyo, a Japanese magazine editor was weighing the cultural cachet of Williamsburg, and somehow decided to send its readers down Grand rather than Bedford. Quite an editorial leap of faith.
Today I listed one of my Eames pieces on Craiglist. A pastel yellow leather Aluminum Group lounge and ottoman for $4000. I got two e-mails inquiring whether it was still available, and haven't heard back since I responded earlier in the day. There was a great flea market down the street on Lafayette. The first of a soon to be weekly Fort Greene Flea Market, put on by Brownstoner.com, which is a blog about brownstones, and the cultural goings on of Brownstone Brooklyn. I met my friend Caroline there, since she lives just a few blocks into Clinton Hill, and we browsed the flea for a bit. She bought a scarf, I bought some Corning Ware coffee mugs and bowls with the same brown flower print my Grandmother used to own.
After the flea we stopped in at Smooch for a late lunch. Every time I eat there, I'm reminded just how good the food is. It's about 95% organic, including the wine and beer (the few dishes that aren't organic are listed). I had a chicken and turkey sausage sandwich with mixed greens, and Caroline had a salad with chicken and avocado called the Sassy Lassy. We had a few glasses of organic Malbec, and talked about the neighbourhood. After lunch (which extended into dinner by that time) Caroline had to walk to Target, and I had to go buy quarters for my laundry. There's a change machine in a laundromat near by, and I always feel guilty for using it but then taking the quarters back to my own apartment. No one's ever said anything but I know one day they will and then I'll have to start planning ahead and buying quarters from the bank like everyone else.
I have a personal history with the Flux Factory. It's strange how it sort of made its way into my life: When I was in the emergency room at Bellveue this past summer, the girl in the bed next to me had been brought to the emergency room by her flat mate after falling from a ladder and hitting her head. I could hear her talking to the doctor about the fact that she lived in an artist warehouse in Queens, and that she was removing insulation from her room when she fell. Though I couldn't see her because of the curtains between our beds, I felt like I was sort of eavesdropping on her whole life story.
A few months later, a friend of Aaron's ended up moving to an artist warehouse in Queens and invited us for an art exhibit they were having on a Friday night. At one point I was in the communal kitchen, and noticed a list of free hospitals and clinics noted on a freehand map of New York someone had drawn on the wall. One of the hospitals circled was Bellveue. When I mentioned my emergency room story to Aaron's friend, she introduced me to her flat mate who turned out to be the girl I was next to in the emergency room. Surviving a trip to Bellveue is enough to make compatriots out of strangers, so we ended up talking for the rest of the night.
The first trip to Flux Factory was a sensory overload. Everything was customized, and had a theme. Everything that could be made into an art exhibit, had been. The kitchen reminded me of a tropical rain forest, with vines creeping over the pot rack, and planters hanging from the windows. The library was two storeys, with a hidden room behind a moving bookcase. The bathrooms had been turned into micro parties in and of themselves. There was a gallery, a wood shop, a practice space, and a huge rooftop terrace overlooking all of Manhattan.
The feeling at this latest party reminded me of Mardi Gras. When you know it will all come to an end soon, so you decide you might as well make the most of it and party like you have no regrets. Every wall was covered in graffiti. Not street graffiti, more like art graffiti. People made exhibits encouraging visitors to 'take their own piece of the Flux Factory home with them.' They turned the two storey library into a two storey slide. The rooftop terrace had 10ft tall wood letters with light bulbs on them spelling out FORGET IT. They were standing up directly in front of the view of the city. The whole thing had a "fuck it, we're going down in flames" feeling. It was great.
Saturday night we went out again and did a little bar hop in Williamsburg. Larry Lawrence (a hidden bar, but not quite a speakeasy) on Grand, Iona on Grand, and Rose (the wine cellar in the basement) on... Grand. Can you tell I like Grand St? One day I was walking down the street (when I used to work on Grand) and saw a torn out page of a magazine in Japanese with an article all about the boutiques, bars and cafes on Grand St. It was adorable to think that somewhere in Tokyo, a Japanese magazine editor was weighing the cultural cachet of Williamsburg, and somehow decided to send its readers down Grand rather than Bedford. Quite an editorial leap of faith.
Today I listed one of my Eames pieces on Craiglist. A pastel yellow leather Aluminum Group lounge and ottoman for $4000. I got two e-mails inquiring whether it was still available, and haven't heard back since I responded earlier in the day. There was a great flea market down the street on Lafayette. The first of a soon to be weekly Fort Greene Flea Market, put on by Brownstoner.com, which is a blog about brownstones, and the cultural goings on of Brownstone Brooklyn. I met my friend Caroline there, since she lives just a few blocks into Clinton Hill, and we browsed the flea for a bit. She bought a scarf, I bought some Corning Ware coffee mugs and bowls with the same brown flower print my Grandmother used to own.
After the flea we stopped in at Smooch for a late lunch. Every time I eat there, I'm reminded just how good the food is. It's about 95% organic, including the wine and beer (the few dishes that aren't organic are listed). I had a chicken and turkey sausage sandwich with mixed greens, and Caroline had a salad with chicken and avocado called the Sassy Lassy. We had a few glasses of organic Malbec, and talked about the neighbourhood. After lunch (which extended into dinner by that time) Caroline had to walk to Target, and I had to go buy quarters for my laundry. There's a change machine in a laundromat near by, and I always feel guilty for using it but then taking the quarters back to my own apartment. No one's ever said anything but I know one day they will and then I'll have to start planning ahead and buying quarters from the bank like everyone else.