This was one of the stranger houses I've been to lately, because while it had some obvious modernist touches -- cathedral ceilings, glass-block windows -- it also had some decidedly pioneer-era ones as well. See if you don't agree.
The livingroom. That soaring ceiling said post-war, the wood paneling, westward-ho.
This photo kind of sums up the friction I felt in every room.
Plus, this place was crowded. If I wanted to fight people left and right to get a look at something or take a photo, I'd go to the mall or a tourist attraction.
It feels like I say this all the time, but only because it's so often true: There was stuff everywhere. A treasure trove and bonanza for the right person, a confusing mess of junque for the wrong one.
Upstairs there was a huge master bedroom with wraparound windows and this extensive album collection. Ordinarily this sort of thing would make me salivate, but they were all classical and opera, which doesn't spin my turntable, so to speak.
Excuse me, ma'am, but...
... you're in my shot. Readers often write to ask how I manage to take so many photos at these things. The answer is easy: people are, for the most part, oblivious to everyone and everything around them, except for the next big find.
That's better. Too bad there wasn't much interesting to say about this.
Terrific 1940s medicine cabinet with fluorescent lights. I don't know what caused the striping in this photo.
Downstairs was an incredible selection of stuff.
The woman who used to live here apparently had an antiques business of her own. A lot of the items still had the tags on them. (Do you recognize that little
Santa in the pot at the bottom?)
More glass block. More stuff.
There were rooms in the back of the basement, too, each one filled with shelves, each shelf filled with things.
This 1970s cookie jar would be a great place to hide your pot brownies.
The livingroom. That soaring ceiling said post-war, the wood paneling, westward-ho.
This photo kind of sums up the friction I felt in every room.
Plus, this place was crowded. If I wanted to fight people left and right to get a look at something or take a photo, I'd go to the mall or a tourist attraction.
It feels like I say this all the time, but only because it's so often true: There was stuff everywhere. A treasure trove and bonanza for the right person, a confusing mess of junque for the wrong one.
Upstairs there was a huge master bedroom with wraparound windows and this extensive album collection. Ordinarily this sort of thing would make me salivate, but they were all classical and opera, which doesn't spin my turntable, so to speak.
Excuse me, ma'am, but...
... you're in my shot. Readers often write to ask how I manage to take so many photos at these things. The answer is easy: people are, for the most part, oblivious to everyone and everything around them, except for the next big find.
That's better. Too bad there wasn't much interesting to say about this.
Terrific 1940s medicine cabinet with fluorescent lights. I don't know what caused the striping in this photo.
Downstairs was an incredible selection of stuff.
The woman who used to live here apparently had an antiques business of her own. A lot of the items still had the tags on them. (Do you recognize that little Santa in the pot at the bottom?)
More glass block. More stuff.
There were rooms in the back of the basement, too, each one filled with shelves, each shelf filled with things.
This 1970s cookie jar would be a great place to hide your pot brownies.
Photo #2 - Every home needs a lamp with a pig intestine shade.
ReplyDeleteIt kinda makes me want to squeeze it, just a little bit, to see if it would rupture.