Many times, on studio visits to friends, when I didn’t entirely love the work,I would exclaim, “Beautiful loft.”
After, when we had left the neighborhood forever and life had become quiet and difficult, I thought about the parties. Every day in SoHo was the same: you worked, drank, stayed up late. Weekends didn’t matter. So parties came on Tuesday or Thursday, after openings. The whole pregame ritual of it—pulling on jeans and a sweater, doing your makeup over the bathroom . . .
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