A Place Called Home

Like most New Yorkers my apartment is tiny. It consists of a room furnished only by a bed, a couch and bistro table accompanied by two chairs (which I was fortunate enough to have inherited when I moved in), an oven-less galley kitchen, and a compact bathroom. However, my relationship with my apartment was love at first sight, and almost 5 years later my sentiments have yet to wane. Over this time, I have come to consider myself an expert on the art of studio living, and have mastered the craft of transforming the space which I occupy which is genuinely and uniquely my own. I say that not only because it houses my possessions, but because of the way I've used the space. My apartment has become a place for me to host dinner parties for 16 people, a place where I taught myself how to prepare elaborate meals with limited resources, a home for many of non-city dwelling friends, a place where host my bookclub and impromtu salsa parties, a place where I spend time with family, and it is of course the place where I unwind at the end of a long day and enjoy the comforts of being alone for once in this crazy city.

This blog is a ode to the beauty that comes from studio living, and is an attempt to inspire my fellow New Yorkers on how to live large in a small space.

Happy Reading!