Objects in Space Must Always Exist on Some Level
The forces governing where and how we live are immense.
More than a decade ago, my then-girlfriend (now my wife) moved into a lofty apartment with two roommates in Long Island City, a post-industrial neighborhood on New York City’s East River. The apartment was 1,500 square feet, and her room occupied maybe a quarter of that. The roof drooled black water whenever it rained, and the stove had probably been installed the same week Nixon took the oath of office, but it was warm in the winter — and the kitchen included a washer-dryer, an appliance most New Yorkers would cheerfully sacrifice their second-born to have in-unit.
In that crumbling space, we partied and cooked and watched movies via a projector. When something broke late at night, we embarked on home-improvement projects based on questionable internet research. Paint fumes from the taxi garage next door threatened to suffocate us in our sleep. The Chinese restaurant below us never seemed to be open. But divided among three (sometimes four) roommates, the price was right.
It was a good space, despite its problems, and yet it always felt risky. The surrounding neighborhood was a wasteland, at least by New York City standards — a shuttered bank across the street, a series of vacant lots and warehouses extending down the…
