There is just something about New York. The city that is. I grew up on the East Coast and my family still lives upstate. Maybe that has something to do with it. I don't quite know what it is-the light, the feel, the energy. Whatever it is it translates very well to photos and I can normally tell instantly if a home I'm looking at is in the city (The light, I really think it's the light. It is really like nowhere else on Earth.). Despite being from the state I have actually only been to NYC a fistful of times. I lived there, in the tiniest apartment you could imagine, with friends after Hurricane Katrina. Worked and subwayed and felt the pure exhaustion that comes from the constant movement required to be a hustler in the big city. I don't know if I was made to live that life but something about it is always calling me back. It feels like home. The East Coast I think will always feel that way for me (remember here, here and here?). So I get a little pitter patter whenever I see that old familiar soft New York light. It was the first thing I noticed about this house and, most likely, what drew me most to it. The interior design here needs to go STAT. Those white floors and mantles are so wrong it's frightening. It looks like shabby chic heaven which is a big no-no in my book. But the bones of this house? My Jesus. What I could do. So, yes please, pack me up and move me in. But move out all of that furniture and redo the floors first. Wide plank oak #thankyouverymuch.
16 West 12th Street, NYC, NY