1823486 Greenwich StreetArchitect: UnknownLocation: 486 Greenwich Street WATER SPILLED FROM SOURCE TO USE. A belt of words around a building. At first I thought it housed a water supplier of the Culligan variety, only smaller. Or once housed. WATER. Sure, you could think that. It must’ve been from the days when the neighborhood was common-sense commercial. It had the punch of an industrial slogan. Its type was clear to read and spoke with authority. Its sentiment was underlined (or overlined) with three star-shaped anchor plates above it. SOURCE. USE. If the latter was a noun, then it was consonant with the former. FROM. TO. Even in its brevity, it had a sense of movement. SOURCE. You want to stress the source of water. You want to know where it comes from. But still, the whole thing seemed off, like somebody’s all-too private conception of the hard sell. SPILLED. Spilled implies accident, a loss of control. Or perhaps it was just a demotic way to say the water was freed from its source. Also, the company’s name was gone. You’d think name and slogan alike would disappear. I was wrong. It had nothing to do with any former industrial tenant, and there were no men in trucks with plastic jugs of water. It’s a sculpture by Lawrence Weiner, made for the owners and tenants of the building, John Hendricks and later his brother, Geoffrey Hendricks. I had to do more sleuthing to confirm the work wasn’t some appropriation of an earlier industrial artifact. The NYC Landmarks Preservation Commission’s designation report has two pictures: in one picture from 1981, it says JOHNSTON IRON WORKS 486, and in a picture from 1987, it says WATER SPILLED FROM SOURCE TO USE.
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1823
486 Greenwich Street

Architect: Unknown
Location: 486 Greenwich Street

WATER SPILLED FROM SOURCE TO USE. A belt of words around a building. At first I thought it housed a water supplier of the Culligan variety, only smaller. Or once housed. WATER. Sure, you could think that. It must’ve been from the days when the neighborhood was common-sense commercial. It had the punch of an industrial slogan. Its type was clear to read and spoke with authority. Its sentiment was underlined (or overlined) with three star-shaped anchor plates above it. SOURCE. USE. If the latter was a noun, then it was consonant with the former. FROM. TO. Even in its brevity, it had a sense of movement. SOURCE. You want to stress the source of water. You want to know where it comes from. But still, the whole thing seemed off, like somebody’s all-too private conception of the hard sell. SPILLED. Spilled implies accident, a loss of control. Or perhaps it was just a demotic way to say the water was freed from its source. Also, the company’s name was gone. You’d think name and slogan alike would disappear.

I was wrong. It had nothing to do with any former industrial tenant, and there were no men in trucks with plastic jugs of water. It’s a sculpture by Lawrence Weiner, made for the owners and tenants of the building, John Hendricks and later his brother, Geoffrey Hendricks.

I had to do more sleuthing to confirm the work wasn’t some appropriation of an earlier industrial artifact. The NYC Landmarks Preservation Commission’s designation report has two pictures: in one picture from 1981, it says JOHNSTON IRON WORKS 486, and in a picture from 1987, it says WATER SPILLED FROM SOURCE TO USE.

181983-85 Sullivan StreetArchitect: UnknownLocation: 83-85 Sullivan Street Just a doorway. A reasonably intact Federal-style entrance is a rarity within a rarity. When the neighborhoods changed and the buildings went from residential to commercial uses, ground floors that once communicated hospitality towards one’s peers (and one’s peers alone) were accordingly altered to maximize foot-traffic and window-shopping for the greater public. Charles Lockwood’s Bricks and Brownstone says: “The usual Federal style doorway had a delicately leaded rectangular toplight and, often, leaded sidelights. The single wooden door had six or eight deeply set planels, often edged with a delicate egg-and-dart pattern or beading, and brass or silver doorknob and knocker.” 83 has no sidelights (these would be thin panes of glass to the side of the door), edge detailing, or a knocker, but still, pretty typical for the time. We’ll compare this to the more ornate Late Federal and Greek Revival doorways in later entries. Anyway, it’s good to know they finally removed the wreath.
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1819
83-85 Sullivan Street

Architect: Unknown
Location: 83-85 Sullivan Street

Just a doorway. A reasonably intact Federal-style entrance is a rarity within a rarity. When the neighborhoods changed and the buildings went from residential to commercial uses, ground floors that once communicated hospitality towards one’s peers (and one’s peers alone) were accordingly altered to maximize foot-traffic and window-shopping for the greater public.

Charles Lockwood’s Bricks and Brownstone says: “The usual Federal style doorway had a delicately leaded rectangular toplight and, often, leaded sidelights. The single wooden door had six or eight deeply set planels, often edged with a delicate egg-and-dart pattern or beading, and brass or silver doorknob and knocker.” 83 has no sidelights (these would be thin panes of glass to the side of the door), edge detailing, or a knocker, but still, pretty typical for the time. We’ll compare this to the more ornate Late Federal and Greek Revival doorways in later entries.

Anyway, it’s good to know they finally removed the wreath.

1817James Brown HouseArchitect: UnknownLocation: 326 Spring Street First it was a fashionable townhouse in a nice, suburban neighborhood, built for a tobacconist who may or may not have been a black man. The nice suburban neighborhood declined as Manhattan neighborhoods often did, and the haute townhouse was transformed into a brewery, restaurant, speakeasy, and plain-old dive bar, serving the sailors and longshoreman who worked nearby. After accruing nearly a hundred years of rundown aura, it was purchased by a guy who took the time to restore it when he wasn’t tending bar or bringing in avant-entertainment to the place. There are, perhaps, Federal-style townhouses in the city whose restorations were perhaps more sweated-over than this one’s. There are Federal-style townhouses that are used and used-up: those on Canal Street (which we’ll cover later) come to mind. But this is the only one that seems lived in to me: as a neighborhood bar, it achieves an understanding with the people who frequent it that a trophy house or a discount electronics store can never really enjoy. (Not overtly, anyway.) It is loved.
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1817
James Brown House

Architect: Unknown
Location: 326 Spring Street

First it was a fashionable townhouse in a nice, suburban neighborhood, built for a tobacconist who may or may not have been a black man. The nice suburban neighborhood declined as Manhattan neighborhoods often did, and the haute townhouse was transformed into a brewery, restaurant, speakeasy, and plain-old dive bar, serving the sailors and longshoreman who worked nearby. After accruing nearly a hundred years of rundown aura, it was purchased by a guy who took the time to restore it when he wasn’t tending bar or bringing in avant-entertainment to the place.

There are, perhaps, Federal-style townhouses in the city whose restorations were perhaps more sweated-over than this one’s. There are Federal-style townhouses that are used and used-up: those on Canal Street (which we’ll cover later) come to mind. But this is the only one that seems lived in to me: as a neighborhood bar, it achieves an understanding with the people who frequent it that a trophy house or a discount electronics store can never really enjoy. (Not overtly, anyway.) It is loved.