Floating in a once-cramped apartment, a quirky glowing room infuses
the space with sunny warmth.
PHOTOGRAPHED BY CARLOS EMILIO
When Jane Krolik
talks about her family's Mercer Street apartment, one word keeps recurring:
floating. "I wanted everything to float the banquettes, the
desk, the room we call the Sugarcube," she says. "It's like heaven
and earth." Heaven, in this case, is the glowing polycarbonate box
that encases the pocket-size bedroom of her 6-year-old daughter, Daisy.
More earthy is the brown wool banquette, a twenty-foot L shape that
simultaneously hides the baseboard heating and brings her guests close
to the source of warmth. Until last year, however, Krolik's home and
hearth were entirely pedestrian: Two narrow rooms split the 2,000-square-foot
space down the middle; the low-ceilinged second floor was used primarily
for storage. So when architects Parsons + Fernandez-Casteleiro suggested
tearing down the walls, bleaching the floors, and making the second
floor glow, Krolik jumped at the chance. "I wanted something spartan,
but unusual," she says. Every knob, switch, intercom, and computer
that could be hidden was tucked behind minimalist doors, leaving the
apartment as clean as a canvas and ready for improvisation. Like her
sofa cushions, custom-made from an Op Arty fuzzy textile. "The fabric
was very mod-looking, but the furriness of it was hysterical," she
says. "It's not painfully serious." Krolik's vision of heaven, it
seems, includes a sense of humor.