Profound I was riding up the elevator to get to the apartment, and an older gent was in alongside me. I noticed that he was going to the Penthouse floor, and was mildly puzzled for a moment, because earlier attempts to even explore the penthouse floor had failed miserably, albeit substance abuse may have been a factor in that. I asked him stupidly if he thus had an apartment up there, to which he answered yes, and I told him I had never been up there (that I'd tried, and for some reason, it hadn't worked). I decided I'd just go up to the PH with him to check it out, see if maybe I could see the pool or something, in all it's magnificant disrepair, and he told me about how different the PH suites were. We got off the elevator and sort of left it at that while I wandered around the corner to confront a doubly locked door and griped, assuming he'd gone his merry way to his own apartment to have crumpets and tea or something distinguished. Because he struck me as being such, somehow, and yet still very down to earth, as far as you can value first impressions anyways.

So I came back around the corner, and he stuck his head out his door and asked if I'd like to take a look, as I'd exclaimed over the possibility of floor length windows on the elevator, especially facing North. And of course, being the cautious paranoid girl that I was, I nervously accepted the offer and he ushered me into his apartment, quite non-threateningly. And what an apartment! It's (superficial, I know) absolutely gorgeous. I had wondered what the lighting situation on the north side of the building would be like, but these windows are incredible. It's great light, not too bright, not too dim, and the windows stretch the entire width of the living room (two
"leveled" living room). And his apartment was littered with art. Old African face masks, drawings, paintings, just the most extraordinary art. But it was terrific too, because it was just so humble. He had like a beautiful long chaise, but he also had four milk crates (black) underneath a set of wooden platters that served as a coffee table, and his draft desk was this sturdy yet makeshift thing in the corner...it turns out that he has two bedrooms by the way, as well as a kitchen and a laundry room (with all the amenities), AND a washer and dryer. Lucky guy. He told me that he pays about $1000 a month, and I can see that it is worth every penny, because that "space" is just incredible. I would take a space like that, and live in it forever, seriously. It's not too small, but it's small enough to be cosy. Granted, it is people that "make the space" though too. But all this long rant is neither here nor there.

I won't say his name, but this man is incredibly accomplished. He's a sculptist, and also a retired Epidemiology prof from a place that I have been to in Quebec. His sculpture is what figures predominantly in his life right now, and he actually has an unveiling coming up in November for a cement reproduction of one of his sculptures to go on Rice Howard Way, that now, I'm incredibly curious about. We ended up talking about art and the location of the apartment and stuff for quite a while actually, and ended up exchanging email addresses (because I have no phone) with the intent of having coffee one day. He seems like a very interesting person to know, and he's very art smart, I was really impressed. And the sculpture that he had lying around was really awesome too. Apparently he has a studio where he does most of his work, down by Rice Howard also, which is insane.

So...then I came home, and looked around my place...which is awesome but then I was like, "a classy gent like that, come over here for coffee? I will wait until we have pictures up." LOL.  ¶ 11:23 AM