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444 Harrison Street: The Artist's Search for a Place to Live

(written on Oct 4^th, 2004)

For a broke and starving artist it can incredibly difficult to find a place to live and work in. Especially if the artist desires a place that not only provides inspiration and idea, but is also located in an area that acts as a constant muse. One may also desire to be near particular resources, stores or restaurants, favorite dumpster-diving locations. Although busy downtown areas can illustrate the movement of life, unpopular or secluded places can also bring a sense of peace. Besides experience and funding, any artist needs supplies to work with, an area to work in, inspiration, and a comfortable environment that allows for complete concentration and focus. The idea of finding and living in an artist's bohemian-like place may seem far out to some, but I believe that I may have found one.

In this place, waking up to the smell of vinegar is a good thing. Here, white noise is my alarm clock. My neighbors, the workers of lumperland, the lowlifes of Jack London Square, and the homeless and handicapped few that dwell underneath the concrete shelter of the 880, make frequent, but appreciated appearances during the course of my waking day. Nighttime brings naked streets that are vacant of busy people, but often full of discarded objects. Shopping carts prove to be very useful where I live. Noise is in constant existence here, especially when humans are contributing their own 'sound effects'.

Walking by the Oakland Portal everyday to leave from and get to home, occasionally following the path of train tracks nearby to visit Jack London Square. China town has become increasingly familiar, sidewalks full of restaurants and produce markets. Artist lofts lay in clusters to the east, and downtown Oakland is only a few blocks away. The surrounding neighborhoods and communities seem to express a lot of diversity, and this in turn seems to have an effect on this building and its own community.

Workdays give way to weekends that bring people and music to this place. There is no age limit, no line to wait in, and no list to be on. No one is excluded; even vampires are allowed inside, although they would have to find an alternate entrance seeing as how the front door has been reinforced with a strand of garlic. During a show, areas concerned with edibles temporarily switch their focus to incoming and outgoing band equipment; Refrigerators are rotated to make more room, and cardboard floors are installed to prevent burn damages from gravity-stricken cigarette butts. Community rooms are converted to house warm bodies and merch tables. When all is over, and the guests have gone home, eyes look through the skylight while a tired body finally finds rest.

Morning comes, impossible to avoid, creeping in through the glass shop window and reaching the bed to wake me vigorously. The leftover residue of spilled beverages and dried vomit sticks to your feet as you make the morning journey through the show room to the shared shower upstairs. The walls of both kitchens and hallways display the random and spontaneous expressions of show goers from the night before in various colors of permanent ink. The brick and sheet rock walls themselves seem to swell up, soaking in all of the night's events and emotions, waiting until morning to release the flood upon those of us who live here.

And many of us who live here are artists in some way. This building's interior is very large, with spacious shared community rooms that provide an excellent place to do work. The location allows for seclusion from others, but also the freedom to be loud, or at least until the homeless get cell phones. Even the structure itself resembles the unorganized and creative state that most artists' minds are in. Due to the numerous rewiring jobs it is not very odd for the power to go out occasionally.

But despite the minor flaws and errors that come unwanted with the full package, the rest of the experience and environment make up for the bad points in a huge way. Living here is at times like attending an on going party, but every once in a while this building can feel very peaceful, empty, and serene. Although the noise never ceases, once one is accustomed to it, the constant sound can become very enjoyable. At night it is almost like falling asleep to the rain hitting the roof above your head. It's actually the mechanic beeps and clicks that come from a lumper's produce delivery machinery.

Places like this are few and far between. And even when one is obtained, a balance between fun and work must be found and practiced before an artist can really get the full potential from their resources and habitat. Living in an artist loft or warehouse that is very bohemian in nature can be achieved by following a simple formula. The surrounding neighborhood = the supplies (i.e. found objects), the home itself = the space to work, and the inhabitants or guests of the house (and events they spawn) = the inspiration. Poorer or more industrial areas produce better and larger quantities of thrown out treasures. Warehouses, or other large buildings, especially when shared among many roommates, provide great space at a low cost (considerably). And as far as this place, the show goers and those who live here have always been a good source of inspiration and creative idea.

This is a venue, a hangout, a haven for the bored and under-aged, a recording studio and practice area for a local band, a darkroom for an up and coming amateur photographer, and a hot shop for an art student from the Northwest. But above all, this is a house for twelve people, seven cats, a dog and two boas. Some kind of Saturday afternoon hangover influenced mixture of reality TV and the discovery channel. Creative energy lingers in the air like the smell of sulfur after someone has lost their lighter and has to resort to a book of matches. I find it to be the perfect environment for an imaginative artist to live and work in.