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Sienna Miller Stops by the Chelsea

Factorygirlposter_1 And Renee Ricard hides in his room.  If Sienna had waited until the holidays to stop by maybe she could have caught the slug fest that went down in the lobby between Renee and The Painter. 
Sienna wants to hear Edie’s voice and has been told that the brilliant artist René Ricard might have rare film footage he shot back in the day. Sienna is familiar with the hotel: Her father’s guru still has a practice on the seventh floor.

I take Sienna behind the front desk and introduce her to the legendary proprietor, Stanley Bard. "You look like Edie," Bard says delightedly. "What was she like?" she asks. Bard shrugs. "When she wasn’t using, she was fine. But she was a drug addict. I remember Nico, I remember Ultra Violet.… It was like a cult." He directs us to Edie’s old place on the first floor. "It probably hasn’t changed since she left," he says, and he may well be right. Sienna, squinting as she surveys the room, says, "This is where she had the fire. This is where she crawled on her hands and knees." Back at the front desk, she asks Bard what caused the fire. "Candles and cigarettes," he says with the stoicism of one who has endured more than a few youthquakers in his time. "The usual."

René Ricard, meanwhile, is not answering his phone. Nevertheless, the consensus is that he’s: a) upstairs and b) too volatile to be approached directly by Sienna. "You can’t go up there," Bard says. "He’s paranoid." He turns to a passing hotel resident. "This is the girl who’s going to play Edie," he says. "Can you take her up to see René?" The tenant edges toward the elevator. "No, man, I just got back from Europe today. I can’t. He’s crazy." I ask another. "Don’t ruin my day," he replies. "He’s crazy." Finally, another painter—a young Texan in a cowboy hat who sits all night in the lobby working on a picture of the lobby—strides over and says to Sienna, "I’ll take you up, ma’am. I can do this."

We go up to Ricard’s floor. "Stay here," the cowboy says. We sit on a bench near the elevator and watch him disappear behind a corner in the hallway. We hear hammering on a door. Then we hear kicking of cowboy boot against door. Then we hear hammering, kicking, and yelling all at the same time: "Reneee!" The cowboy returns. "He’s not in. Or he’s not answering." (Cowboy, otherwise known as guy who paints in the lobby, I know you read the blog, send us your comments. Or, what about some of the other Chelsea folks who participated.)

"I love this place," Sienna says. "I want to stay here."

(Source: Blogger NYLove, courtesy of Vogue, Jan 06)

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One response to “Sienna Miller Stops by the Chelsea”

  1. The Cowboy Artist aka The Lobby Painter Avatar
    The Cowboy Artist aka The Lobby Painter

    As I was catching up on my HotelChelseaBlog reading I came upon a little piece of fluff written about a Miss Sienna Miller and it occurs to me that although certain names and descriptions are correct the article is full of lies and inconsistancies. It is my duty as a loyal American to set the record straight as to what happened when I, The Cowboy Artist aka The Lobby Painter, took Sienna Miller to see the great Rene Ricard.
    I was just minding my business waiting for the elevator when the ugliest girl I HAVE EVER SEEN walks up to me and asks me if I know Rene Ricard. Normally in occasions like this I would lie but seeing as the ol’ bastard and I were chummy I didn’t have to. I said, “Yeah, I know that cock sucker. What’s it to you?” She starts explaining to me about some movie that she’s doing and I’m like shut the fuck up already but I says to her, “I’ll take you up there but you got to do something for me.
    So we are in my room and the girl is awesome, I’d never seen a girl get past the third level of Metroid as fast as she did and without loosing any lives, that shit takes skill. After a while she gets antsy and says, “Lobby Painter, can we go see Rene now?” I look at my phone to check the time and it’s 3:00pm. That’s the time Rene feeds.
    We go up the elevator at about 3:30 when I know that Rene is docile but I’m still cautous. We approach the door slowly and I give it the secret knock. We hear a rustling like a body moving amongst piles of newspaper. My companion gets scared and runs down the hall and before I can do the same the door opens and who is it but Ethan Mother-Fuckin’ Hawke.
    “Lobby Painter! I didn’t expect you. Come in, come in.” I peek around the corner to look for the girl but she’s long gone. I decide to take his invitation and just as I begin to sit down I remember why I dont like Ethan. Ethan buys sheets with a very high thread count so as I go to sit on his bed I slip right off like it’s a stick of butter. I break my ass but while I’m on the floor I see under the bed shaking like a beatin dog is Rene Ricard. I say, “Rene, what the fuck?” but he doesn’t say anything, he just lays there shaking. I look over at Ethan who is trying desperatley to get past the third layer of Metroid, “What the fuck did you do to Rene?”
    “What’d ya mean?”
    “What the fuck do you mean ‘what do I mean?’ The poor bastard is scared shitless.”
    “Oh that. Yeah, I raped him.”
    “What the fuck? What the fucking fuck?”
    “Dont be such a baby.”
    “You raped a 60 year old man you crazy fuck. I’m out of here.” And as I’m about to leave I feel a stabbing pain in my right thigh. Yep, Ethan stabbed me. I start screaming cause it hurts like hell and Ethan Hawke, the fucking psychopath, is laughing his ass off. “You are one funny guy, Lobby Painter!” Then I hear the secret knock at the door and Ethan puts on Rene’s sunglasses and his treasured hat and answers the door. The room is black and smoky but I can hear the visitor make out the words in a feared stutter, “So sorry to bother you Mr. Ricard, my name is…”
    That’s all I remember. When I came to I was at Bellvue intensive care. I had lost five pints of blood and the artery that was severed had to be replaced with that of a baboon.
    A month later after undergoing some rehabilitation I returned to the Chelsea and as I waited in the familiar lobby for the elevator to take me back to my abandoned room I saw her. Sienna Miller. She wasn’t as ugly as the other actress but very few people are. She asked me if i knew Rene Ricard. I said, “No Ma’am I don’t.” She asked, “Is it true that Courtney Love died in Rene Ricard’s room?” The elevator opened and I stepped in, “No ma’am. She’s still there.”
    They never heard from Ethan Hawke ever again. My guess is we haven’t seen the last of him. He’s probably somewhere acting in some film, or worse directing it, or maybe he’s writing a crap love story behind you right now.

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