Such buildings leave fond memories of improvisation and sensuous delight. When I lived with an artists’ commune in an old church in New York state, I slept in the steeple in front of the rose window overlooking the stream below. The major problem was being pooped on by pigeons, so I made a canopy from the canvas of a large bad painting (art side up) and thereafter slept in comfort, cooed to my rest by flights of angels. Low Road buildings are peculiarly empowering.
