Richard Serra - A Hotel Chelsea Narrative
Manhattan, New York City
A hypothetical scenario was created after through research on the chosen artist and era/year when they stayed at Hotel Chelsea after which a space was envisioned for the same - keeping in mind the time, location, happenings at the hotel, meet and greets during the time at the site, and finally the artist themselves along with their style, aesthetic and life at the time.
Project Narrative:
Life had taken a turn since the day he first moved into the hotel. Serra was never someone who was known to be social or forthcoming with his emotions. He had never planned on living at the Chelsea Hotel and had, for the first time, found himself proceeding with a spur of the moment decision. His reason to stay at the hotel had been a very simple one. Serra had been keeping himself busy since his college days and the year of 1978 was the only one where he’d relatively taken up fewer project and even cancelled a major contract which would’ve taken him to Washington. His mothers sudden demise had not only left him feeling lost within all his bottled up emotions, but had also caused a falling out between him and his brother. Looking back, standing on the balcony of his recently rented hotel room, it occurred to Serra that his decision might not have been impulsive after all but rather one that was caused by the layers of stress from both his personal and extremely hectic and fast paced work life.
His initial plan for staying put at New York for a couple weeks had been extended and Serra now found himself in his third month of having stayed there with three more to go as per the lease. He never had much of an issue when it came to the rent unlike a lot of other residents as he earned a solid income of a minimum of $1000 per month. Being a reserved person, he never put in the effort to get to know any of the other visitors and resident of the building. As far as he knew, the room opposite his was occupied by a middle aged couple who were into theatre and the one at the end of the corridor by a lad who loved playing the drums especially loud as the nights grew darker. It never bothered him much though as he usually stayed up into the night working himself. How ever much he tried not plunging back into his work, he found himself inevitably drawn to it and in the end gave in and set up his own little studio and worked mostly on 2D painting and art rather than massive installation. However, Serra also made sure to use his time at the hotel and do a couple pieces for himself that were never to be published; a personal set for the sole purpose of expressing himself without the scrutiny of the public.
He had fixed up his pace to his liking over the months and now had a small studio overlooking the balcony and a bedroom and bath with all the essentials that he needed. One might even say that his sense of minimalism and ‘bohemian’ was way ahead of his era as Serra was someone who like crisp sharp lines with an unnatural amount of love for a raw industrial metal finishes. He was someone who valued a certain standard of living and always yearned for the space itself to have character and experience.
he had heard of the Chelsea Hotel at various points in his life, one major influencing factor was that he had the choice of completely personalising a rented space to his liking without anyone questioning him.
One evening as he was fixing himself some dinner in his kitchenette with some jazz playing in the background, he was disrupted by a knock on his door. This had never happened before in his three months of stay the the place had he had always distanced himself from all the crazy parties and weird on-goings of the hotel. He particularly made sure to never attend or get involved in anything that took place as he was solely there for some space and piece of mind. As requested he had never been bothered and had a good take on the hotel so far though he had heard stories about both the good and cheerful and the dark and dramatic side of the legendary Chelsea. He was happy to have had a good couple months and never complained much. With all this running through is head at the sound of the knock, Serra slowly made his way towards the door and opened it just a sliver for a peak at who was outside.
At the bottom of his door was a parcel with a his name on it but there seemed to be no one else around. He picked up the neatly wrapped white box, looked around once again and headed back in with the box carefully held in his hands. He set the box on the table but did not attempt to open it. Attached to it, he noticed, was a small piece of parchment with a small not clumsily etched on to it in crooked cursive writing. He detached the paper from the parcel and read the note written on it. It was addressed to him by his younger brother who he had spoken to once after the quarrel with his other sibling. The note read that in it were the remaining ashes of his mother that were to be given to him but since he had left to Germany right after her death it couldn’t be sent to him earlier. His brother had also written about how he was doing, how their older brother was and that he should try reconciling with and had also briefly enquired about his heath and work life. The note ended with him asking Serra to come over for Christmas Eve later that year. Serra thought of replying to the letter but decided against it as he wanted a little more time to think things through before sending in a response. He left the parcel unopened for the time being and decided to finish up his supper and complete a few chores. After a long couple hours, he sat down infant of the table staring at the package for a good ten minutes before actually opening it. He thought of what he wanted to do wither remains as he slowly unwrapped the package and took out a small box containing all that was left of his once lively and very loving mother. Looking out the horizon it suddenly occurred to him that he had been sitting there lost in thought for a very long time and that it was almost midnight. He finally got up, made his way towards his studio with the box in his hand, sat down at his desk and spread open a canvas. Serra, as tears stung his eyes, had come to a decision of painting his mother which he felt was the only true way of expressing his love for her. He put down the box, dipped his brush in water and ash and began his master piece as a distant but steady beat of drums being played filled the midnight air.
Mood Board:
Conceptual Renders:
