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darkemeraldsI drove my ten-year-old niece to a birthday party yesterday. The parents were as-yet-unknown, the address was in a maybe-maybe-not part of the city, and the instructions said, "Bring your rollerblades. Our house is an old church with red graffiti on the outside." My sister, accordingly, asked me to go in with my niece and make sure it was okay before leaving her off.
The street face of the building was all crumbling stucco, flaking paint, padlocks, a sagging porch, and, sure enough, red graffiti.
Inside: 8900 square feet (I asked) of former Salvation Army mission, sometime locus of a satanic cult, and former crack house, a mere block of splendid little Queen Anne houses off the fastest-rising "bad" avenue of Portland.
The rollerblades, it turns out, were for skating around the sanctuary, now pewless. And there was a park swing suspended from the 20-foot ceiling, high enough that the dad could provide squee-causing "underdogs," while the giant black family mastiff ran around barking, slipping on the old hardwood floor, chasing frisbees.
It's not as if the place was all gentrified. The dad told me he'd had to have it "exorcised" more than once to clear the satanic (and presumably Salvation Army) vibes. It must have worked. They've gradually fixed up bits of it--drywall in the Big Room, a pretty yellow-and-blue kitchen, some creative linoleum in the entry hall.
The former choir loft is a sprawling, messy painting studio filled with canvases in various states of completion. In the basement, along with two complete apartments, there's a sprawling, messy pottery studio. A shelf of urns (yes, crematory urns), vases, and huge platters awaited firing.
There were several staircases and plenty of deep-silled windows featuring abstract sculptures by the family members. Lots of windows and glass doors, a courtyard garden, an urban view.
The recording studio across the street (I mentioned "up-and-coming neighborhood," right?) is urging the family to host musical performances in the Big Room. Funkily enough, Rickie Lee Jones is one of the studio's clients.
It was absolutely, bar none, the coolest living space I've ever seen. You could set a children's fantasy novel there.
In fact...
Hey...!
The street face of the building was all crumbling stucco, flaking paint, padlocks, a sagging porch, and, sure enough, red graffiti.
Inside: 8900 square feet (I asked) of former Salvation Army mission, sometime locus of a satanic cult, and former crack house, a mere block of splendid little Queen Anne houses off the fastest-rising "bad" avenue of Portland.
The rollerblades, it turns out, were for skating around the sanctuary, now pewless. And there was a park swing suspended from the 20-foot ceiling, high enough that the dad could provide squee-causing "underdogs," while the giant black family mastiff ran around barking, slipping on the old hardwood floor, chasing frisbees.
It's not as if the place was all gentrified. The dad told me he'd had to have it "exorcised" more than once to clear the satanic (and presumably Salvation Army) vibes. It must have worked. They've gradually fixed up bits of it--drywall in the Big Room, a pretty yellow-and-blue kitchen, some creative linoleum in the entry hall.
The former choir loft is a sprawling, messy painting studio filled with canvases in various states of completion. In the basement, along with two complete apartments, there's a sprawling, messy pottery studio. A shelf of urns (yes, crematory urns), vases, and huge platters awaited firing.
There were several staircases and plenty of deep-silled windows featuring abstract sculptures by the family members. Lots of windows and glass doors, a courtyard garden, an urban view.
The recording studio across the street (I mentioned "up-and-coming neighborhood," right?) is urging the family to host musical performances in the Big Room. Funkily enough, Rickie Lee Jones is one of the studio's clients.
It was absolutely, bar none, the coolest living space I've ever seen. You could set a children's fantasy novel there.
In fact...
Hey...!
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31/1/05 00:40 (UTC)(no subject)
31/1/05 02:45 (UTC)(no subject)
3/2/05 15:53 (UTC)