Category: home

courage, home

Step 164: Hanging Art

Christa Avampato

Art makes a home. For several months, I’ve had my art framed tucked away against one wall of my apartment, wrapped meticulously in brown paper. I made every excuse not to hang it: I need a hammer; I need a picture hanging kit; I don’t have time; I don’t know where I want the pieces to go. This is the same art that I had in my apartment building that caught fire. Thankfully the pieces I really cared about survived; the frames did not. I tried to hang up these re-framed pieces several times back in January. I would get out the ladder, climb up to the top, and tear up. I just couldn’t get myself to make this apartment a home.

And then today, something shifted. Last night I went out with friends of mine to Apotheke, a bar I used to love that I went to with a guy I used to date. It was a truly horrible experience. It’s become yet another stuck-on-itself nightspot in NYC with a jerk working the door, donning a too-big ego, a fake British accent, and a cheap Blackberry that he checks incessantly. I was so disgusted and upset about the evening that it made me reconsider New York altogether. Was this a sign that nothing is the same here anymore? That I just don’t belong anymore? Maybe I’ve outgrown NYC, or maybe its outgrown me. Maybe I just don’t fit here anymore. Maybe 3 years has been enough time, and now I better get on to the next place.

I woke up this morning, looked at that art in brown paper, and realized why I’ve felt a little out-of-place in my life for the past few weeks. I’ve got this great shell of a life and I fill it up and empty it out, fill it up and empty it out. What if rather than running, I just painted the walls? What if I finally got out the art, hung it up (all excuses aside), and just began to really only take into my life the people, activities, and experiences I truly want. No sense of “I must do”, and only a sense of “this is right for me, today”.

Maybe the path to real liberation begins by climbing the ladder, tear and fears and regrets, and just putting the hammer to the nail. The walls may not be perfect, and they may never be like they were before, but at least they can show us how far we’ve come.

The image above is my favorite piece of art that I own. It’s a hand-painted canvas that I bought from a street artist in Soweto, South Africa in 2007. I am glad it’s back on my walls.

future, home

Step 128: Finding Home

Christa Avampato

“We are born into this world and all we’re really trying to do is find our way home.” ~ Lauren, my yoga teacher

This weekend has been another set of hours in yoga teacher training that has provided me with a lifetime of learning. The idea of finding home that my teacher, Lauren, said struck me so deeply. We struggle to find the right job, relationship, place to live, friends, purpose, and what it boils down to is very simply wanting to be at home in our lives.

Certainly, the idea of the purpose of our lives being to find home could take on a religious bent, though it could just as easily mean just finding our way. Not someone else’s way. Our way. We’ve got this life full of days and we’re all trying to sort out what the heck to do with our time here. How can we be most useful? How should we connect and with whom? Where are we needed and wanted and loved? Simple questions that can be so tough to answer.

Sometimes, I really wish life was a game of hot and cold: as we move closer to where we should be we hear a tiny whisper that says “warmer” and when we move too far away from our true purpose we should hear a tiny whisper that says “colder”. And maybe we can make that happen. I’d like to believe that as I move closer to where I should be in any given moment that I’ll feel a warmth from knowing that says “yes, this is exactly where I needed to be right now.” On occasion that’s happened; I just wish I felt it with more regularity. I wish I had a giant compass that always pointed to home.

In class with Lauren, I started to think about how I might do this, tune my inner compass. Here’s what I came up with:

1.) Check in. Often. I sit in meditation for 18 minutes a day. I make myself do it, even if I’m tired and busy. Afterward I am always able to think a little more clearly.

2.) Record powerful dreams. It sounds cliche, but our minds do make connections when we are sleeping that our conscious minds cannot make. There are a number of scientific studies that support this idea. So I’m taking notes and seeing where that leads.

3.) Use past experience. There are definitely times in my life when I feel I’m on to something, that I am in the flow, and that everything is swimming along perfectly. I try to find the patterns that are common among those times. I’ve found that when I stop worrying about money and trust myself implicitly, somehow the world catches me when I leap. I don’t know how this happens; it just does. So I’m trying to look around for just a moment, make a decision from my gut, and leap more often.

I’d love to hear the ways you’re finding home, wherever that may be.

home, religion, yoga

Step 114: Little Altars Everywhere

Christa Avampato

After a few months of thinking about creating an altar, I finally made one. It’s simple: no extra furniture required, a colorful cloth dish towel, 2 tea lights and holders, 2 small Chinese Buddha statues, a Nataraj statue, a Ganesha statue, some sage leaves, incense matches, a tiny bowl ceramic bowl from Japan that my friend, Rob, gave to me, a mala bracelet, and a set of Tibetan prayer beads that were given to me by a Buddhist priest in Salt Lake City. S small blue bindi from my teacher, Tracy, sits in the center.

All of a sudden, it all came together. I finally just decided it needed to be done, and the pieces fell into place with practically no effort on my part. A friend of mine in my teacher training told me about a store called Scent Elate in Hell’s kitchen. There I found two of the statues of Nataraj and Ganesha, as well as the matches and the sage (which were a gift from Mo, the owner of Scent Elate). I bought the mala bracelet in Whole Foods on a recent grocery shopping trip. The two Buddhas I bought in San Francisco’s Chinatown a long time ago. Along with the Tibetan prayer beads, those two Buddha statues survived my apartment building fire. In many ways I felt that they protected my life. Despite that they were out in the open, surrounded by smoke, there was never a speck on them and they didn’t ever smell of smoke. I found the tea lights, tea light holders, and towel at Crate and Barrel while redeeming a $15 gift card.

I love this altar in my home and it reminds me that everywhere out in the world, we can find little altars, places where we have tiny, holy moments that show us the way to enormous learnings. Ella’s community lemonade stand. Each of those gorgeous flowering tress in Riverside Park. The tables of restaurants where I share meals and laughs with friends. My tiny cafe table where I do most of my writing. The flower bed that used to be in my grandmother’s backyard. My niece’s high chair where I’ve fed her meals. These are little places where the universal divine rose up to the surface to show me the way. My way.

If you’re out in the world finding places that provide you with little glimmers of truth, I’d love to hear about them.

change, home

Step 106: Away We Go or Do We Stay?

Christa Avampato

This week I’ve been thinking about home. Not just the physical place where we live, but the place that becomes part of our identity. The place where we belong and the place that belongs to us.

I watched the movie Away We Go on my friend, Rob’s, recommendation. It was his favorite movie of 2009 so I dropped it into my Netflix queue. It’s a sweet story about two people who are about to start a family and want to find the perfect place to live. They trek across the country and up to Montreal. Eventually they end up in a place that neither of them ever imagined being the perfect place because they’d been there before. And there it was. Perfect, and so easy.

This week was the series finale of Ugly Betty. I became a fan late in the series, and really ended up loving the kitschy, wink-wink-nudge-nudge humor. What I really loved was Betty’s desire to try to do the right thing, work hard, and follow her heart. In the end of the series, her heart lead her to a tough decision to make a new home, even when staying where she’d always been was a good deal, too.

In Real Simple Magazine this month, I read a story about a couple whose newly renovated home caught fire. They considered moving to Bali, rebuilding the house they had lost, and everything in-between. Eventually, they stayed on their property and developed a very unique new home from two structures that they had never considered turning into a house. It was in the same place, but an entirely new idea of home.

I guess sometimes we can go home again, sometimes we’re better off making our own way, far away, and other times, we can stay where we are and make it new again. I traveled a lot in my 20’s and moved around all the time. Now I’m nearly 3 years in to my 3rd return to New York. I haven’t lived in any one city for this long since I was 18 years old. I’m glad to be making a little nest of my own, and I have to admit that from time to time I wonder if there will be another home chapter after NYC or if I’m really here to stay.

I’d love to hear your perspectives on the idea home.

The image above is not my own. It can be found here.

economy, finance, home, housing, New York City, real estate

My Year of Hopefulness – A Room (or Two) of My Own, Eventually

Christa Avampato

Tonight I went to a session offered by Mindy Diane Feldman, a Penn alum and SVP at Halstead Realty, on the ins and outs of buying an apartment in Manhattan. It is a complicated, cumbersome process and the current economic downtown has heightened the complexity considerably. The session lasted almost 3 hours and we just barely scratched the surface. It is not an undertaking for the faint of heart! While many of the other alums left feeling a little dejected and depressed how complicated the process is, I felt lifted up. I felt like I was armed with a little information that would help me to move in the right direction of finding a room (or two, or three) of my own on this tiny little island that I love so much.

Some of my friends are surprised by my desire to stay in New York after this September. I can understand the confusion. I had the opportunity to just pick up and go somewhere new after losing my last apartment and most of my belongings. Realizing how much I don’t need in the way of material belongings, why would I ever want to be tied down and own my own tiny place?

I don’t have a clean answer. All I can say is that the thought of leaving New York never crossed my mind. In fact, I feel it’s even more important now for me to know my neighbors and my building and my neighborhood by owning an apartment. I am so tired of starting over. I’ve done it every year since I was 18 years old. I’ve had enough moving and transience in my life. A temporary dwelling is no longer appealing to me. And while I’d love to work abroad on an assignment and travel extensively, I finally found the city where I feel most at home. After so much looking and so much loss, the comfort of calling someplace a real home brings me a tremendous sense of peace.

I won’t even attempt to cover the 3 hour session in this blog post. I can’t even list all of the highlights in a reasonable amount of space. Here are the top 5 pieces I found most useful in my decision to begin working toward buying my own place:

1.) There are huge differences between co-ops, condos, and “condops”. Each has its positives and negatives and determining which one is the right one for us takes extensive research and soul-searching.

2.) Unlike with rentals where I find most brokers to be a little tough to handle, when we buy a place, particularly in New York City, our real estate broker is our very best ally, resource, and champion. Interview them. Ask A LOT of questions, and go exclusively with 1 broker (and tell them that you’re doing so.) If they know that you’ve committed to them, they will be committed to you. They are the lynch pin to helping you go from being a renter to an owner.

3.) There is actually a triumvirate of allies that are critical to buying an apartment in Manhattan: the real estate broker, an established, private residence real estate attorney, and a financial broker. The real estate broker is the pilot of the entire transaction and the other two are the co-pilots.

4.) The savings process and the purchase process are long affairs. Mindy opened the session by asking who was interested in buying an apartment in the next 3 years. That was the shortest time horizon she asked about. With today’s climate and for the foreseeable future it takes much more money than it ever has before to buy an apartment. It is a serious investment of time and money. At first I thought it was foolish for me to go to this session because I am several years away from being able to purchase an apartment. Mindy helped me realize that planning now, years out, is the best thing I could possibly do!

5.) I’m one of those people who is always out in the world looking for opportunity. With the economic downturn and the real estate crash, I’ve been wondering if I should buy now, even if I’m not really ready. Deals abound so shouldn’t I take advantage of them? Mindy’s answer was an emphatic “no”. A home is not our retirement or our 401K. It is an investment on a very different level. There is a psychological, emotional, and financial investment wrapped up in one and it needs to be treated with greater care than any other investment we make. To buy when we aren’t ready, financially or emotionally, is a huge mistake. Gaming the economic situation is not a good idea. Buy when you’re personally ready.

Given the value of this session, I highly recommend getting in touch with Mindy should you be interested in learning about the apartment buying process in Manhattan and determining if it’s the right thing for you. She can be reached at 212.317.7887 or mfeldman@halstead.com.

art, history, home, New York City, retail, shopping

My Year of Hopefulness – Demolition Depot

Christa Avampato

On Saturday I took the bus up to East 125th Street to a place that’s fascinated me for some time. About 6 months ago, I was coming back from LaGuardia Airport on the M60 bus and went by a store with a strange looking sign that read “Demolition Depot”. At first I thought it may be a construction (or rather destruction) company. I imagined backhoes and front-loaders and items like that inside. But the shape of the building didn’t seem to fit that kind of business. I went home and Googled it to find that it is a place that houses dismantled building treasures from 5 continents. It is the dream house of many a film art director, or a writer like me. This is where old New York (and every other major city for that matter) finds a home for what remains. Inside its wall are thousands of stories waiting to be told.

I went up there today on a little writing adventure. I’ve been working on a fiction piece and thought that a trip to Demolition Depot may help jog some kind of inspiration. It did not disappoint. It reminded me of an old, 4-story barn. The smell of the place brought a smile to my face – musty and oddly comforting. I picked up a clipboard with an inventory form just in case I found some artifact that I wanted to take back with me.
My favorite spot of all was the garden, an area out back that houses giant gates and doors and wrought-iron screens – exterior pieces that on the street we would have to admire from afar. Here I could get up close and examine their details, every twist, turn, and adornment. Gargoyles and ornamentation and stained glass windows that took my breathe away. Who lived among these items? Where did they go? What did they do? What did they learn?
I felt as if I was walking through someone’s house, as if I was trespassing and wasn’t supposed to be there. I just loved it so much that I couldn’t turn away. I just spent hours weaving through the four floors and the garden. Taking pictures, making notes, even sitting at some of the table settings, two of which I immediately loved and wanted for my home.
The trip accomplished exactly what I had hoped. I walked away with images and ideas that will be cropping up in my writing for many months to come. I understand that material items are of little value when compared to the value of personal relationships in our lives. What I appreciate about the one of a kind items housed at Demolition Depot is that they have borne witness to extraordinary and ordinary events of the lives of thousands of people. People passed through those doors, looked out from those windows, told time by those great giant clocks that now lay in wait for some lucky new owner. A majestic treasure trove of history just waiting to be remembered and re-told.
history, home, New York City, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – The History of Where We Live

Christa Avampato

I crunched along on the few fallen leaves on Columbia’s campus walk yesterday and smiled wide. A perfect fall day took me back to being a student in Philadelphia, the tall, impressive buildings lined with names like Sophocles, Vergil, and Plato reminded me of the joy of academia.

Late in the afternoon I was on my way to see Inna Guzenfeld, an archivist at the Avery Architectural and Fine Art Library at Columbia. The papers and drawings of Emery Roth, the architect who designed and lived in my apartment building, are housed there. During the 1920’s Roth was the busiest architect in New York City, and many regard him as one of the founding fathers of the art deco movement. Until I moved into my building two weeks ago, I’d never heard of him and now I think of him and thank him every day.
“No bags, pens, no flash on your camera, touch the plans only on the edges, and we close at 5:00 sharp,” said Inna. She had everything laid out for me in perfect order, and all of the materials exactly as I had asked for him. She is the hallmark of efficiency.
There was an architect there doing research. Maybe in his 40’s, Elvis Costello glasses, lean, and intense. He looked up at me with some interest.
“Are you an architect?”
“No,” I fumbled. “I’m a writer.”
“Why are you interested in that building?”
“I moved into it two weeks ago.”
“Who’s the architect?”
“Emery Roth.”
“You live in an Emery Roth building?”
“Yes.”
“What floor?”
“Top floor.”
“Really?” he said as he quickly removed his glasses. “You know those buildings are stunning. I’ve had the chance to work in a few of them. Are they doing work on your building?” he asked.
“No, it’s actually perfect,” I said.
“I’m not surprised,” he continued. “That man was a genius.”
And then I knew I was on to something.
I have been having architecture dreams, dreams where I feel my way along passages in my building, curling around dark corners to find some secret way through to the light. I’ve found myself waking up in the middle of the night with complete clarity and scribbling down notes as fast as I can before the images fade from my mind. So it was with great excitement that I learned that the actual building plans, made on linen, were preserved just 15 blocks north of my building by Inna and the team at Avery.
The Archives were freezing, a preventative measure to preserve their contents as well as possible. I peeled back the plans one at a time, pouring over dimensions and lines and descriptions of the very walls I wake up in every morning now. Their pungent, historical smell reminded me of the Fischer Fine Arts Library at Penn where I spent many hours studying and reading as a student. To this day, Fischer is still one of my favorite places on Earth. The floor on my side of the building remains exactly as it was then, in 1924. These were the maids’ quarters.
Inna also provided me with the autobiography of Roth, which I quickly devoured, and a book about his work entitled Mansions in the Clouds. Closing time was fast approaching so I was running through the text as fast as I could, continually fascinated that Emery Roth and I share some striking similarities, from the tone of our writing to our family lives as children. His writing style is so relaxed that I felt like he was reading to me, telling me the story of his life. I wondered why an architect committed such personal thoughts and feelings to paper while I also wondered if it was possible to fall in love with someone through his writing, someone I’ve never met who passed on decades before I was even an inkling in my mother’s eye. And then I was reminded of Thomas Jefferson and my affection for him as I read everything he ever committed to paper. Yes, love through writing is possible.
In the final 5 minutes of my time at Avery I found the gems I was looking for. A “Tower Room” was designed for my building, though I have yet to find it. What could someone house in a Tower Room? My mind is reeling with possibilities. Roth lived on the very floor where my current apartment is, on the other side. I found the plans and photographs of it. I believe it’s still in existence, exactly as he had designed it for himself. There are numerous references in his autobiography and in his drawings about his desire to build fire-proof buildings – it was of critical importance to him to protect his work from going up in flames. Chills ran down my spine.
What’s more, the building where I live provided the pinnacle of happiness for his wife. He designed the penthouse specifically for her. It was the living space she dreamed of, and then a sad set of circumstances set in for her in that very space, and she was never quite the same. The writer in me has been working overtime since leaving Avery. The fact that there were so many photos and that Roth wrote personally about the space in my building where he lived left me with a feeling that there is a story here that can and should be spun out and told.
As I packed up, Inna asked “did you find everything you needed?” “Absolutely,” I said, “thank you.” The architect next to me looked up and smiled. I suppose my giddiness at my findings showed, and he understood them well. The places we live house special meaning. They aren’t just a collection of walls and doors, but they contain intense, personal moments that define our lives. This new space is a new chapter for me, in my life and in my writing.
The image above is not my own. It depicts the lobby of Devonshire House, a building in Greenwich Village of New York City, that was design by Emery Roth in 1928.
happiness, home, peace, simplicity

My Year of Hopefulness – Living With Less

Christa Avampato

My friend, Laura, and I have made a pact of simplicity, a promise to keep each other on the path of less is more. My apartment’s furniture consists of a yoga mat, my friend, Jamie’s, air mattress, and a couple of IKEA plastic chairs that I plan to use on my little patio. It’s sort of like camping indoors. I lie awake at night staring out the windows at the beautifully illuminated view, and I say a little prayer in the hopes that I will always feel this content.

I don’t know that I’ve ever been happier with the decor of an apartment. In my old apartment, I was in such a rush to get it “perfect”. I actually made that statement out loud several times and each time it felt wrong. Now that I think back on that old apartment, there was always something just a bit off about it. I felt shut in despite all of the space. Now with less room in my new apartment and fewer belongings I feel a freedom that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before at home.

On Tuesday I saw my first sunset from my patio. I face west toward the Hudson River and my view is dotted with those beautiful water towers that are found everywhere in New York City if we turn our gaze upward. The sky was a deep ruby red and lined with puffy clouds that took on a dusty blue hue as the sun sunk down behind New Jersey. There’s an odd, comfortable feeling of belonging in this new space. I can’t explain it except to say that it feels just right, imperfect and unfinished.
My life prior to this most recent move was too full. I felt too obligated, too burdened, a little claustrophobic and over-committed. I just didn’t know how to simplify, how to free up my energy and my time. Now that I am through the stress of the most recent events, I am searching for every bright side possible. I’m too grateful for today, for every day, to not look for the bright sides. I’m turning over every stone to make sure I find as much happiness as possible.
In the past few days, I’ve found myself more relaxed and at ease, reluctant to rush or buy much of anything, reluctant to give away my time and space for anything less than those people and things that I truly, truly treasure. It’s a sweet feeling to be surrounded only with what fills us up with joy.
art, fate, home

My Year of Hopefulness – A New Lease on Life

Christa Avampato

Today I went into my old apartment for the next to last time. I was there with the insurance adjuster and the movers. I marked what things I hoped they could salvage, they boxed it up, and took it away for cleaning. At first it was a routine exercise though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t tear up a little. It’s a difficult thing to see all of your belongings damaged, things you worked so hard for, things that have sentimental value, things that connect you to people you love and times long ago. The severing of that tie, despite its materialistic nature, can be hard to bear.

The dry cleaners were supposed to be scheduled for today as well but there was an appointment mix-up so I’ll just meet them tomorrow. They’ll be there at 10:30 tomorrow morning and once that piece is done, I’ll close the door for the last time on an apartment that I had high hopes for. I imagined dinner parties with friends, out-of-town guests, a little dog livening up the place. I’d be cooking in my eat-in kitchen, writing away. It was to be a little den of creativity for the next year. Instead it taught me the lesson of a lifetime – how precious and short every day is. We so often live close to the edge and don’t even know it. One minute, I’m writing on my computer, buying iTunes songs (‘Landslide’ by Fleetwood Mac was downloading at the time the fire broke out), and then my kitchen floor is crackling and heaving the next moment. Life’s funny that way. So unpredictable.
At 1:00 this afternoon, I signed the lease to my new apartment and by the kindness of the building managers I can move in immediately. The building was designed by Emery Roth, a renowned architect, whom I’d never heard of until this afternoon. He lived in the building for many years, just down the hall from me, in a 9-room apartment (much larger than mine!). He designed many well-known iconic residential structures in New York City including the El Dorado, the San Remo, and the Warwick Hotel. His firm, Emery Roth & Sons, continued on long after his death and designed many well-known New York City buildings including the World Trade Center (a little spooky that on 9/11 I’d sign a lease at a building designed and inhabited by the man whose firm designed the World Trade Center), the Bronx High School of Science, and the Hemsley Palace Hotel.
As the leasing VP if my new building said, “it’s almost as if you were meant to end up here rather than your other apartment.” At first I thought she was just saying that to make me feel better. Now, I’m wondering if there’s more to her comment than just that simple, surface sentiment. According to Wikipedia, “The extensive architectural records and papers of both Emery Roth and Emery Roth & Sons are now held in the Department of Drawings & Archives at the Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library at Columbia University.” Once I am settled in, I will have to pay that library a visit. There’s some kind of story here, and now that the wheels of my mind are turning this way again, I know I’m well on my way to being my old self again, with an even greater appreciation for life and all of the mysteries it holds.
The photo above is not mine. It depicts the San Remo designed by Emery Roth. It can be found on Wired New York, an on-line community created by Edward Sudentas for people who love New York City art and architecture.
fear, grateful, home, insomnia, nature, sleep, stress, thankful, weather

My Year of Hopefulness – Cleansing

Christa Avampato

It’s the middle of the night and I’m having a tough time sleeping. I’ve become accustomed to insomnia as I’ve had it off and on for most of my life. Tonight is a little eerie though. I’m awake because of the wind. It’s keeping me up long past my bedtime. It’s so gusty that as I was walking back to my friend, Amber’s, apartment, I could feel the weather bearing down on me. For a moment I almost lost my footing. You’d think this was Chicago in the winter the way the gusts are going. We rarely have wind like this, especially at the beginning of September.

I can’t help but think that this odd wind is a way for the greater universe to say to me that my life is being cleaned out, and it must be this way as tough as the circumstances may be. With these gusts will go all of the bad energy from the fire. And with that energy will go the fear as well – mine, and my neighbors’, family’s, and friend’s fears, too. Rather than it being a disturbing wind, perhaps it’s trying to be of great use at a time of great need. Maybe a strong, forceful wind is exactly what’s called for in times of stress. At least I’m hoping that’s the case.
As I headed from The Empire Hotel toward the subway tonight, for a second I thought “damn, all my warm clothes might be ruined. I have nothing to wear!” And then a second later I started laughing, out loud. Who cares? So I will have to buy some new warm clothing now that Fall has arrived. I stopped for a moment right by Columbus Circle and looked up at the sky, the clouds faintly swirling and swishing in the very dark sky. I said a prayer to whatever and whoever is up there looking down on me, blowing all the smoke away so that I might see and think a bit more clearly. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad I’m here to witness this.” And I’ve never meant any 9 words more in my life.
The image above is not my own. It can be found here.