In New Orleans, a Building Where the Graffiti Takes Center Stage Sara Essex Bradley for The New York Times Rice Mill Lofts, an 1892 structure in New Orleans that was once home to a rice processor, has been converted into housing with an unusual amenity: graffiti left over from its derelict days. LOTS of Manhattan residents have second homes in the Hamptons or the Hudson Valley. But in an effort to reduce the competitive fervor in their lives, and increase the eccentricity quotient, Cady McClain and Jon Lindstrom, actors who once played embattled divorcées on "As the World Turns," created their getaway in New Orleans. Specifically, they zeroed in on a five-story rental building called Rice Mill Lofts in a joyous bohemian swath of the city known as Bywater. Like the other 68 units, their two-bedroom apartment has tall windows, sealed concrete floors and stark white walls that contrast beautifully with the brawny beams and brick walls of the original 1892 structure, once home to one of the largest rice processors in North America. It also has a more unusual amenity: graffiti left over from the building's derelict days. Ms. McClain, 42, and Mr. Lindstrom, 54, had to sign an addendum to the lease that stipulates that they cannot remove or in any way deface the kaleidoscope of graffiti that spreads throughout the interior and on parts of the exterior of this building, which was heavily vandalized in the years it sat empty. In their case, this includes a sketch of a large birdlike figure on a prominent living room wall, with the sentence "Ich Bin Ein Berliner" spray-painted under it. "The graffiti was a huge plus - it definitely made us want to live here," said Ms. McClain, who was also swayed by the functional art commissioned for the building. Bywater artists crafted forged-steel door handles, zanily deconstructed mailboxes and dangling light fixtures that look as if they were inspired by broken fluorescent tubes. Such are the unconventional selling points at Rice Mill Lofts, where the developer, Sean Cummings, decided to make the graffiti the focus of his $20 million renovation. The decision hasn't hurt him. For apartments with really big, expressive graffiti, he said, there's usually a waiting list. The building is now at full occupancy. But if an apartment should open up and you're willing to pay the highest per-unit residential rent in New Orleans (from $1,100 for a 930-square-foot studio to $4,000 for a 2,000-square-foot, three-bedroom apartment), you'll get not only a chic minimal living space, but also membership in a creative community with its own culture - a culture that emanates from the building itself. It's a realm that in some ways mirrors the relaxed ethos of Bywater. The various parts of the building were created with the goal of bringing people together. Renters from wildly different backgrounds hang out and have cocktails on the roof deck, lured by a good sound system and the thrillingly close embrace of the Mississippi River. Mr. Cummings, 47, bought the building 19 years ago but didn't begin renovations until March 2010 because the neighborhood was "a green banana," he said. Translation: a dangerous but beguiling area below the French Quarter, on the edge of a slum. And over the years, all manner of occupants sprayed it with graffiti. "The funniest story is that we leased some space to some kids in their early 20s who were refinishing furniture," Mr. Cummings said. Some months later (he thinks it was around 2000), he picked up an issue of Details magazine and found an article about underground night life in New Orleans. "I read that this location was the best rave club in the nation," he said. They had just flown in RuPaul and hundreds of people for a party. So much for our awesome security. The arresting mural that reads "Boomlay Boomlay Boomlay Boom," now partly preserved in Lauren Kolb's bathroom, probably reflects the stomping bass rhythms of that era. "I'm a vivid dreamer," said Ms. Kolb, 34, who moved in after a divorce. I dream about this building and imagine homeless people camping out and setting up little homes for themselves. After the raves and Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, the roof fell in, the floors gave way, termites took over and the city condemned the building.