An eviction notice was stuffed under my door in March 2011 after the hotel was sold. For the next two years demolitions began unearthing the famous stain glass, chopping the hard wood floors and I fought back with a lawyer.
The dust and mold made its way into my room, into my treasures and into my health. I lived in the hotel for twenty years before an urban real estate mogul found ways to take away other tenants’ dignity and mine. The hotel is still closed for renovations and still holds a staggering historic memory of creative activities. I met Alexander McQueen in the lobby who then saw my work and invited me to his fashion show where color, lace, and blood red began to influence my images and led me to photograph the hotel. One cannot underestimate the value of ‘place’ and its tender meaningfulness for artists.