In 1967, while covering the proposed plan for a cross-Manhattan expressway that would have cut straight through the lower portion of the island, the New York Times described the structures that would be sacrificed for the project as “grimy loft buildings west of Lafayette Street. The buildings, most of them 5 to 10 stories high, are occupied largely by manufacturers and wholesalers.”
At the time, a handful of artists were also living and working in those buildings, which comprised an area known alternately as “Hell’s Hundred Acres” and “The Valley.” In doing so, they were taking advantage of a major shift in New York City. As Manhattan was transitioning from a manufacturing economy to a service one, workspace needs were changing as well, making these aged buildings less desirable. At the same time, the looming threat of the expressway discouraged new businesses from coming in, lest they soon be torn down. Indeed, the buildings came close to meeting their demise a couple of times in the 1960s.
Instead, attitudes toward their architecture—and toward building an interstate through Manhattan—gradually evolved and in 1973 the community was enshrined with landmark protection. The artists made permanent homes there and in the process gave an unwitting master class on adaptive reuse. In the 1970s, the area came to be known as Soho.
This part of New York’s history was on my mind as I viewed the artist Christopher Wool’s captivating new show, “See Stop Run,” in an early 20th century Financial District office building. The show inhabits the entire 19th floor of 101 Greenwich Street, a structure that over more than a century has housed the headquarters of the Electric Bond and Share Company (a major precursor to many of our present-day electric companies), the offices of the law firm that successfully fought the censorship of Ulysses, and more recently, an outpost of the co-working company Convene. (It was also the scene of a grizzly murder in 2009 that grabbed a slew of headlines.) But currently, its tenants, or lack thereof, reflect the city’s increased office vacancy rate since the pandemic—according to the building’s website, eight of 26 floors are empty (including the 19th, which is available to rent after the Wool show closes), with parts of others also vacant.
Wool’s paintings, sculptures, and photographs seem at one with the raw space of that 19th floor, reflecting his interest in the sculptural elements of non-sculptural objects, his tendency to layer new work over old, and his soft spot for unearthing the beauty in neglected things. The artwork feels like it’s hanging out in its natural home, a space that’s also neglected and features any number of sculptural happy accidents.
The show also gives one the sense that with it, we are looking at the future of emptied-out office space and the potential therein. It runs counter to the assessments of many journalists and real estate developers who concluded early on during the shift to remote work that Manhattan’s office space is only suited to be Manhattan office space. This stance springs partially from a reluctance to change course on something that in the past proved profitable, but also from a lack of imagination for how to cope with buildings’ inherent challenges. Yes, their layouts often provide windows only in the perimeter areas, leaving large inner cores devoid of natural light. Yes, their existing plumbing systems are inadequate for the many kitchens and bathrooms necessary to complete a residential conversion. Yes, in many cases, though primarily in mid-century and later buildings, their windows don’t open.
Aside from the window-opening part, the same challenges applied to the loft buildings of Hell’s Hundred Acres in the 1950s and 1960s. Of course, some circumstances were different. First, it had never occurred to anyone that they might be desirable as dwellings. Not even the artists thought of the buildings this way, even as they lived in them. They certainly didn’t foresee the multi-million-dollar homes that now populate the neighborhood, nor that the makeshift layouts they imposed on their spaces would inspire our era’s dominant residential layout, the open concept living space. The conversions, especially at the beginning, happened organically and informally.
Second, when the artists moved into Soho, the area had already experienced a decline. It still hosted a robust manufacturing industry, but mostly because the rents in these dilapidated buildings had become cheaper than elsewhere in the city. It wasn’t any manufacturer’s first choice, all else being equal.
In today’s New York City, on the other hand, we already know that people will be happy to live in places like Midtown and the Financial District, and that the notion of converted commercial space is not a barrier to be overcome in the minds of potential residents but an easy marketing hook.
We are also coming to terms with a sudden upheaval, rather than slowly adjusting to a slower burn like the one in pre-Soho. Office space throughout Manhattan until very recently was highly coveted, with more demand than supply. The real estate industry held out hope that the decline of in-office work was merely a blip, not a permanent change. But building owners now seem to be in the beginning stages of accepting a new reality of lessened demand for office space and the accompanying decrease in buildings’ market value.
The New York City government, for its part, also seems ready to acknowledge that tax receipts from its commercial spaces may never be the same as they were before Covid. It has now established a program to help facilitate residential conversions and is considering zoning changes and tax breaks to make more such conversions feasible. At the same time, a few developers have completed major residential conversions that prove it can be done. Aside from residential conversions, urban planners are getting more creative regarding the potential uses of former office space, from schools to gyms to galleries to film studios.
The emergence of Soho showed us that when there emerged a will, there in fact was a way to successfully convert disused commercial space for a new purpose. Today, it’s worth noting that 101 Greenwich seems ideal for an apartment conversion, with its U-shape and large windows throughout. For now, though, one artist has figured out how to infuse value into the 19th floor of an empty, raw office downtown office building.
“See Stop Run” runs through July 31st at 101 Greenwich Street, 19th floor and is free to the public.
