February 2026.
Milo Arts is Milo-Grogan’s best-known landmark. Built as the Milo Public School before the neighborhood was annexed into Columbus, it has since been converted to a live-work space for local artists. This will also be a very special series of articles, as I was uniquely granted access to the inside of the building (which is not normally given) after befriending an artist who I met outside.
Milo Arts is located at 617 East 3rd Avenue in the Milo-Grogan neighborhood of Columbus, Ohio. It is bordered by 3rd Avenue and houses to the north, Starr Avenue to the south, 9th Street to the east, and an alley and Milo Arts’ galleries on Cleveland Avenue to the west.
Photos
I’ll leave out the history, which is featured in the companion article to this one. We’ll start back where I left off, after being greeted by one of the building’s resident artists.
In my previous post, I mentioned that the gentleman on the right in the red jacket was a local who frequented this building. However, the man dressed in black on the left was the artist I met. When I crossed the street to take more detailed pictures of the facade’s elements, he approached me. In hindsight, I should have known he was an artist--the fashion sense and his appearance were dead giveaways.
The artist inquired as to my activities that cloudy afternoon, before introducing himself as Bela. I can’t remember the intricacies of our conversation, but I explained to him why I was there and my hobby of photography. He humored my interest first by offering to take me inside his apartment. I enthusiastically agreed.
This is NOT the apartment I went in, this door is on the other side of the building. I did not take a photo of Bela’s apartment.
Bela’s apartment was through the Stuart Little-sized door embedded into the former school’s umber stone water table. I descended a few stairs into the dimly-lit, yet eclectically decorated space. His dog, a big shaggy fellow, approached me for petting while Bela explained that his apartment space was once the school’s kindergarten. It seemed barbaric to trap the school’s youngest students in the dark confines of this stone basement, but beneath the apartment’s vibrantly colored rugs, I could make out floor tiles with designs clearly intended for young children. Bela’s space was small, but he had a clear separation between his living and working areas. (I did not take any photos of Bela’s apartment as to respect his privacy. He was very generous to offer me a tour of it, and I conducted myself as I would have at a friend or relative’s house.)
Bela led me out of his apartment, and then amazingly right through the front doors of the school! We climbed the stairs (the entrance is at a sort of mezzanine level where one must go up or down), and we then entered Milo Arts’ administrative office. It was there that I was introduced to Rick Mann, the owner of the building, and his staff. Rick was very affable, further explaining the history of his organization to me. After I introduced myself and my own intentions, Rick offered to take me on a tour of the entire building, which I happily obliged.
He started by informing me that Milo Arts is typically not open to the public, largely due to the fact that it is home for the artists who live and work there. Because of that, he also asked me to respect the private spaces of the artists by not entering, and to keep to the public corridors and vacant rooms. I was already overjoyed to get my own personal tour, so I didn’t feel the need to push boundaries here.
The grand staircase has been altered with terrazzo treads and wrought-iron railings. It would have been a more opulent Victorian design with wooden balusters and newel posts originally.
Looking back down at the entrance:
The lunette window and framing are original, but the doors and glass blocks are also later modifications to the building. I liked the window’s rows of Christmas lights along the muntins:
Some of the first floor’s rooms, and a public restroom:
The open door at left here was Rick’s office and the main administration area.
I also loved this sketchy, chaotic depiction of Milo Arts’ facade--it matches the building’s character excellently:
We started our tour in the room below:
It was undergoing renovation work at the time. Beyond the various tools and supplies set up, the room’s original wainscoting, wooden floor, and tin ceiling were all intact. If I recall correctly, there was a door out of frame to the right that had a converted bathroom space.
Across the hall was another room used for storage and as a workshop. If you recall from my last post, this was the one on the west side that had its original vaulted windows removed in favor of an industrial sash design.
I believe this is an original chalkboard:
The diffuse lighting, combined with the room’s off-white ceiling, cast the space with a sick, pallid hue:
I cranked up the shutter speed to level out the exterior’s exposure:
I love architectural salvage, so this pile of various decorative accoutrements pleased me.
Some of the wainscoting was missing, which revealed a hobbit hole in the bearing brick walls:
No hairy-footed Bagginses popped out and offered me tea, unfortunately.
The iron crown molding was looking a little decrepit from age:
A diagonal sea of bead-and-reel-patterned tin ceiling tiles:
This room on the second floor was also being renovated. Note the original built-in storage beneath the windows:
Those would make amazing seats to read or people-watch on. Maybe I need to take up art ;)
A patch of missing tiles, which were the ones being worked on:
When we reached the second floor’s main hallway, another person was busy repairing the tin ceiling. Rick introduced me, and after hearing that I was an architect, he offered to take me up into the building’s roof!!!
As you can see, the original roof framing is just barely visible in the background, but it has had to be shored up with modern buttresses. The wood appears a bit charred, though, maybe there was a fire here at one point?
I even got to peek inside one of the towers’ peaked roofs:
I guess the cupolas WERE open to the attic, presumably for ventilation. You can see the more recent brick and CMU infill, along with the original stone sill and lintel.
This had already shaped up to be one of the most memorable experiences I’ve had while doing my various photography sojourns. The person working on the ceiling continued the tour for Rick, but I’ll finish up with the photos of the second floor that I took later on.
I laugh now looking at the high-vis orange PVC pipe below the crown molding, which has the building’s new fire sprinklers. I’m willing to bet that this was Rick giving the inspectors the middle finger here.
The modern tile floor and light fixture are pretty fugly, but the original doors and transom windows still remain.
Communal library and two portraits--the one on the right is of Rick and his beloved Milo Arts:
One last look before we head back downstairs:
My guide took me to the 1922 addition next. It was in poorer condition and felt more compressed, darker.
The stairs here appeared to be concrete, with the walls being stuccoed or plastered over:
I can’t remember where exactly these stairs went, but they seemed to be located around this area:
Some original radiators with decorated fins were chilling out below these stairs (they’re not connected to the floor):
The hanging light fixtures are original, but this space majorly lacked natural light and decor that was present in the 1894 building.
We continued down this hallway to the 1957 addition on the far south end of the building.
Modern for sure--concrete floor and CMU walls:
The wall and floor treatments are a travesty, and I bet they were always like this. Luckily, there is natural light, and the hanging artwork livens up the space very well.
The Modernist architecture also unintentionally has the effect of not competing with the artwork, allowing the visitor’s eye to drift there immediately.
This little nook is now used for residents’ laundry:
My guide left me at this point, allowing me to explore the building at will but repeating Rick’s stipulation to respect the residents’ privacy. I went to the second floor of the 1922 addition next:
It connects to the 1894 school here as well, but lately it was blocked by the scaffolding for the ceiling’s repair work.
Back into the dungeon we go.
This wall was sloughing off its plaster like a sunburn peeling. The brick bearing walls look solid as ever, thankfully.
The hanging blue charm is a nazar, a Middle Eastern amulet to ward off the evil eye. I only know it from Terraria though.
Bridging the gap between Victorian window pulleys and the modern tracked double-hung window is this gnarly middle ground--a chain-operated casement window:
I bet that thing squeaks and groans like a mother when it’s opened, too. I’d feel like Samson struggling against his chains just to get some fresh air in.
This stair was awfully picturesque with the saffron shade of its crumbling plaster:
Descending into the depths of the dungeon…
More wall finish issues:
I made my way out after and took some more exterior pictures before leaving (which are featured in part 1). Rick told me to stay on the lookout for events that they were having, since he mentioned having a hiatus since COVID but planned to restart. I did, but they didn’t seem to schedule anything before I graduated. Nonetheless, this trip was one of my favorite memories while doing my photography, even six months later. It is incredibly rare to be given a full guided tour of a typically off-limits building, especially areas such as the roof.
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