Lipschutz’s neighbor Julian Schnabel, who liked to make paintings on her vintage linoleum, and with whom she bartered for work. So was Paul Simon, another Dakota resident, and Ms. In the ’70s, John Lennon and Yoko Ono were clients. These days, vintage paper is much harder to find, she said, and her own appetite to do so is lessening: “I’d like to sell out my stock in the next few years. Her store, which she opened in 1965 on Hudson Street with a busted Tiffany magnolia lamp she found in a junkie’s apartment and 19th-century furniture harvested from the street, ranged around the Village in various locations for two decades before settling in SoHo, then TriBeCa, then lower Fifth Avenue, riding the waves of boom and bust and an appetite, perhaps now waning, for period wallpapers. Buildings burned down, rents tripled, but she wallpapered them all, sometimes even papering the floors and the furniture.
Boom beach landing craft wallpaper series#
Lipschutz, now 73, lived all over the West Village, raising her son, Luke Joerger, in a series of lofts and railroad apartments that she won and lost in typical old-Manhattan fashion. She is among the rent-stabilized tenants, she said, whom the new owner has asked to relocate to another floor.īefore moving to the Chelsea, Ms. Lipschutz - whose store, Secondhand Rose, famous for its vintage wallpapers and once as much of a Manhattan icon as the Chelsea - would be reluctant, even fearful, to dismantle her distinctive habitat. Chock-a-block with Persian furniture, Austrian pottery, Tibetan nesting tables, swags of tasseled damask and brocade, Tiffany lamps and pierced brass lamps and lamps made from armadillos (yes, armadillos) and more antique wallpaper, wainscoting and paneling than you’d think a two-room apartment could hold, the place appeared to have been put together back in the 1880s, around the time the Chelsea was built. Lipschutz’s home for more than two decades.
One recent snowy morning, a reporter picked her way through the construction that has been ongoing for years at the hotel to the third-floor apartment that has been Ms. As the long, slow death of the fractious, former bohemian enclave known as the Chelsea Hotel continues, Suzanne Lipschutz isn’t mourning much.
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