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As for the allegation Reece and Branch have passed up artists on the waiting list and stocked the building with their friends, Reece categorically denies it, saying, "I don't even know that I would want my friends living that close to me." Branch was the only tenant he knew prior to her move-in, he says, and neither has known any of the people who've moved in since. "Of course, by the very nature of being neighbors, acquaintances and friendships will be established," he says, but he swears nobody receives preferential treatment.
"Let me address that month-to-month deal with you too," he says. The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development sets the maximum allowable rent for each unit, he says, but the actual rent listed on a tenant's lease has an allowance subtracted for utilities. This allowance has risen four times in the last two years, he says, so Alpha Barnes is hesitant to lock anyone in for a full year at a certain rate since the company anticipates the allowances going down in the future. In other words, keeping people on month-to-month leases isn't about intimidation, he says. "It's about economics, pure and simple."As for threatening people with eviction, Reece says affordable-housing rules don't even give him that opportunity. "If I give you a notice to vacate, it can't be just because your lease is up. It has to be because you've committed these violations or because there's a rental payment issue, and you have to back those up, so I don't even have the opportunity to give somebody a notice, say if I didn't like you or I hated your shoes or whatever it is about you, I don't even have the option to do that." Only three people have been asked to leave since the building opened, he says one for drugs, one for serious housekeeping issues and one for making unwelcome advances on other residents.
And finally, to the complaint there aren't enough artists in the building, he says, by his count, 24 out of 34 units are occupied by artists. Some of them might not have art degrees, he says, but that doesn't make them nonartists. And since the building receives affordable-housing funds, management isn't even legally allowed to cherry-pick applicants based on artistic merit, he says, and he's correct.
"There is nothing in the federal rules and regulations that would allow this particular property to exclude nonartists," says Gordon Anderson, spokesman for the Texas Department of Housing and Community Affairs.
Which means Elder Street Artist Lofts could one day conceivably not even have a single artist living in it.
The Press contacted several of the foundations on ArtSpace's donor list, to see how the project was originally presented. We spoke with Barbara Snyder of the Wortham Foundation, which gave "a small amount" to the project. Snyder sat in on a meeting with the Minneapolis nonprofit, and she says she was given the impression the building was going to be artisty but not necessarily full of artists.
"I don't remember that they specifically said you had to be an artist to live there," she says. "The main reason the foundation gave the small amount they did was to preserve the old building."
Elder Street isn't the only ArtSpace refurb in Texas. There's also the National Hotel Artist Lofts in Galveston, where the focus also appears to be more on preservation than on providing space for artists. The 28-unit building on Market Street, originally opened in 1871 as an opera house (and eventually home to weatherman Isaac Cline's equipment during the 1900 hurricane), was reopened in 2001 at a cost of $3.6 million.
Photographer Rick Wells lived there from 2003 to 2006. There was an original group of artists, he says, but a lot of them moved out over time and the place eventually became "just a general rental space, not necessarily geared for artists."
"For the most part," he says, "you'll find more med students there than anything."
Finding affordable live-work space in this city has almost always required creativity and a willingness to get a little dirty. Nestor Topchy once lived in a plastic yurt on a loading dock, only to move to a metal shack. Rick Lowe squatted in an old barn. Jeff Elrod slept in a hut inside a leaky warehouse.
Two of the city's most active studio compounds, Commerce Street Artists Warehouse and Winter Street Studios, don't actually allow artists to live on site, so they don't. They just work there. And eat there. And sleep there. And keep their stuff there.
Most artists are used to living rough. It's almost expected of them. So when Cecelia Johnson found out she was going to get to live and make art in a big, beautiful building she'd adored, it was a dream come true.
"I was so excited to move in," she says. "And so was everyone. The potential was really great."
She soon began dating a local drummer by the name of David Garcia. They've since broken up, but Garcia still remembers how excited she was about Elder Street.