From the 39th floor of the Olympic Tower one can look down to the roof gardens at Rockefeller Center, out to the distant Statue of Liberty, then, turning left, following the rolling contours of lower Manhattan, out to the shores of the East River. The views through the floor-to-ceiling windows are spectacular enough that the owners knew precisely what they wanted when they brought in Wayne Turett to renovate their space: as close to nothing as possible which would distract from the jaw-dropping vista. Nominally, the space needed to be a one-bedroom apartment, with it’s full compliment of residential amenities, but functionally, it needed to be an event space nonpareil, a seamless and spotless front row seat to the city for political fundraising and high-profile entertaining. Turett –an architect known for his nuanced and textural designs—had his work cut out for him.
The unit began as two separate residences, each a warren of low-ceilinged rooms, which Turett gutted and combined. He began the transformation by arranging the apartment’s necessities as close to the building’s core, and away form the windows, as he could manage. Walls which were inevitable programmatically then needed, somehow, to be “erased”: some would be glass, some would slide away leaving only the faintest trace. Finally, finishes, lighting, appliances and accessories needed to be meticulously selected and detailed to produce the cleanest, most seamless space possible.
The result is breathtaking, even when one finally turns one’s back to the windows. A few surfaces of intense color and sheen burst from amongst the otherwise uninterrupted whiteness. Mechanical equipment are carefully built around columns, so as not to affect ceiling heights; vents and supply registers are elegant and inconspicuous slots. Nine televisions –a concession to the kind of entertaining contemplated for the space, but also including three in the master bathroom and closet for the news-junky owners—are tucked away, hidden in every odd corner and niche on retractable arms. A glass box encloses a sitting room, including a bright red assembly which unfolds to reveal the makings of a home office within; it also discretely hides the entrance to a second bathroom. A massive sliding white glass wall can open (or close) the master sleeping area from the rest of the sprawling living space.
In some ways, this pied-a-terre marked a departure for Turett and his team, forcing him to set aside the tools he normally favors: texture, volume, muscle, found objects, tactility. Instead, Turett adapted to this sparest of design briefs with new levels of refinement, a new bar for technique, and an almost religious deference for the view from the 39th floor.