Craig Tracy: Becoming a Quarter Caretaker
Artist Craig Tracy on the balcony of his French Quarter home, photo by Ellis Anderson
November 2025An artist housesitting a home with one of the Quarter’s largest courtyards has an unforgettable ephiphany: No one owns the French Quarter, we’re just fortunate to be its stewards for a time.
~ by Craig Tracy
This series is underwritten in part by New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Foundation and sponsorship by Kelly and Linda Baker
This project is made possible in part by a grant from the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Foundation, Inc.
This project is underwritten in part by Kelly & Linda Baker
I’m an artist born and raised in New Orleans and for the past 20 years I’ve had a gallery for my work on Royal St.
I've filled my gallery with color, mystery and creative energy allowing locals and visitors from far and wide to see, experience and collect something that is truly unique to New Orleans.
Craig Tracy doing a live body painting demonstration during the 2025 Dirty Linen Artwark. Photo by Ellis Anderson
Craig’s original Royal Street gallery at 827 Royal, photo by Ellis Anderson
I want to tell you about the magic that lives just out of sight – completely hidden behind my old gallery. It's an extraordinary home. A real French Quarter gem built over 230 years ago.
Back in 2006, just a few months after I had opened my gallery, the man who owns this home I speak of – I’ll refer to him as David in this story because that’s his name – David asked me if I’d like to "house sit" for him while he and his wife traveled for a few weeks in Europe. The only conditions were that I’d need to “keep an eye on things” and I’d be fully responsible for watering all of the flowers, plants and trees in his courtyard. I agreed and just a few weeks later he handed me the keys - heavy old-fashioned keys, the kind of keys that open treasures.
Photo courtesy Craig Tracy
He also gave me a look and a little smile when handing over the keys. The look he gave wasn’t so much at me but rather into me - and that smile was the smile people give when they’re handing you something special, something that you don’t quite understand yet.
He then said something that I’ll never forget. He said, “Enjoy it.”
Now, before he left for his trip, he gave me a full tour of his three-story home and the exquisitely manicured jungle of a courtyard directly in front of his house. It's epic. He told me that his was the second largest private courtyard in the Quarter.
And it’s private - so much so that nearly none of the traditional French doors and windows on the front of his house that face out into the courtyard had curtains for privacy or shade.
Photo courtesy Craig Tracy
His massive lush courtyard is his privacy curtain. And because of the abundant number of windows in his home, when you are inside the house you feel like you are fully connected to the outside. Two separate fountains dance and play, making sounds that bounce off the tall brick walls like music.
David has hosted parties in his courtyard with as many as 200 guests. His courtyard even has its own freestanding bar and bathroom. His space – his very secluded and private space – is awesome.
The first thing that I said when seeing the full size and scope of his courtyard was “David? Do you have any elephants back here?”
He laughed, of course, but I meant it. I was overwhelmed. He just smiled and said, “You’ll see.”
A week or so later was the first night I slept alone in the house. I remember lying in bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms, staring at the ceiling beams, listening to the creaks and sighs of a structure that was never built in the United States because, of course, this house predates the signing of the actual Louisiana Purchase.
The air smelled like wood oil mixed with something floral from the courtyard. Through the old doors, I could hear the faint splashing of the two fountains. This house felt… alive.
I drifted off feeling a bit unfamiliar and alone that night but I slept deeply and when I woke the next morning, I had this instant clarity — like an epiphany had matured within me while I slept.
I realized David doesn’t own this house. He’s simply “paying the price to take care of it.” This house has been here for generations — before any of us, and it’ll be here long after we are dirt and dust.
Property owners in the Quarter are just caretakers and stewards.
That realization hit me hard because it changed how I now think about “living" in the French Quarter. Every gallery, every balcony, every cracked sidewalk and every crooked wall, window and doorway – none of these places are "owned.” We’re just the lucky few who get to love and care for them, guaranteeing that they’ll be here far longer than we will.
Now, do you remember when David said to me “Enjoy it?” I’m here to let all of you know that I absolutely did just that.
As any self-respecting bachelor with the keys to a lavish historic estate would do, I made the most of those two weeks. First was a big dinner party with all of my A-list friends. It was so perfect – candles, wine, music and enough food for a dozen or so guests. Everyone was so delighted to share time in this exceptional space.
It was like someone had handed me the keys to a shiny red Ferrari and said with a wink, ’Try not to scratch it, but do have all the fast and furious fun you can with it.”
Some of the best nights of my life were had while “housesitting” for my good and generous neighbor. I’m pretty sure that I made some great memories for some unsuspecting new friends as well.
When David returned from his travels, I handed him back those same old heavy keys. He smiled that same knowing smile. He thanked me and I thanked him. All was well, but so much had changed within me – how I saw and still see our beloved French Quarter.
Shortly thereafter, I became a French Quarter property owner and full-time resident on Madison Street. Now, roughly 20 years later when I water the plants on my balcony, or I remove the old lead paint from my doors and windows, I think back to that first night in David’s house — that sense of awe, of responsibility, of love for what lasts.
Owning in the Quarter — living here — it isn’t about possession. It’s about participation.
We’re part of a living story, of people and courtyards and walls that whisper if you listen closely enough.
So now, when I walk down Royal Street at night and see a light glowing behind old shutters, I think: Someone else, right now, might be learning the same thing. That you don’t own a piece of the French Quarter. You just get the honor of taking care of it for a while.
And if you’re lucky, maybe your courtyard or your good neighbor's courtyard is big enough for an elephant.
Craig Tracy and his daughter on the balcony of their Madison Street home in the French Quarter, photo by Ellis Anderson