There's a spiral staircase immediately in front of you leading up to another level. The plantlife only gets thicker as you go up, and soon, it's strangling nearly every pole and railing within reach. Turns out, all these vines come from some overgrown hanging plants in baskets scattered up here.
Confounding matters are a myriad of art supplies scattered about—tubes of paint, empty and half-finished canvases, brushes of various sizes and softnesses, other strange tools, and a whole lot of dried paint dripped and smeared across the smooth wooden floor. Lived in, but still, not a sign of life.
There's a projection window opposite the staircase with a few pillows scattered about its nook for lounging. The upstairs is soaked in its light.