Amarillo, Texas, 1993. I had given up on attending West Texas A&M because the lessons I was being taught were what I like to call "Job Art", art that ensured that you would make a few bucks doing some form of work. It was basically what you would find in Holiday Inn lobbies, car salesman offices or worse, an advertising agency. I actually honor the people that do that kind of work because I definitely can't. I need the freedom to be weird and not have clients tell me I'm talentless and possibly mildly retarded. I was looking for art that couldn't be confined by four walls. I was looking for something strange. Then, one day I found it.
I had heard from a friend about the Cadillac Ranch, but hadn't gone out to seek it. When I did finally get to see it, I was amazed. I instantly recognized this earth art piece as an iconic venture into the weird side of the art world. I had to be a part of it and I needed it now. I asked my friend if he knew how to reach the guy that did the art piece. He said, "You're looking for Stanley Marsh, but I don't know where he is." I went on a week long search to try and find the reclusive SM3. I finally ran into someone that knew where he lived. I grabbed the address and left immediately. When I pulled up to the address, it was an electric gate with no intercom and no way in. I couldn't even see the house from the gate so I couldn't yell to anyone. I wasn't about to let this feeble metal gate keep me from completing my mission. I let the car idle and got out. Eventually, I found a way in that involved driving the wrong way on a one way street, but I was on the property now. No turning back. I began seeing odd things like lawn art, road signs, free range pigs and peacocks, and finally a half buried VW Beetle positioned in the same angle as the Cadillacs I had seen a few weeks before. There was his house, a single level wood and stone ranch house that seemed to stretch on forever. I stopped the car and got out looking like I had stepped into a fantasy land. A tall thin man in a pale cowboy hat emerged from one end of the house. I would later know this man simply as Foster. He didn't talk much, but he was a great man who could make a tasty pot of menudo. Foster asked, "What can I do for you?" I asked him if he was Stanley Marsh. He got a big grin on his face and began laughing. I was confused. He said that he wasn't Stanley. He told me, "You can find Stanley in the bank building downtown on Polk Street. He's on the 12th floor," and he turned to go back into the house. I called after him, "Which office on the 12th floor?" He turned back and laughed again saying, "He's on the whole 12th floor."
My nerves subsided, I got back in my car and drove straight to that bank building on Polk Street. I parked my little Ford EXP in the executive's lot with cars where the stereo cost more than my whole car. My nerves came back a little bit as I stepped into the elevator and pushed the 12 button. When I reached the 12th floor, I saw a reception desk with an attractive red headed woman typing. I looked around like I was completely lost, which wasn't too far from the truth. I was staring at a sculpture of a crushed car by the late John Chamberlain. The receptionist obviously hadn't seen me sneak in because she said, "Oh! Can I help you?" I turned and asked her if it was possible to see Stanley Marsh. She told me it was close to the time he usually takes a nap, but she would call Melba, his personal assistant. Through a series of back and forth between Melba, the red head and me, I let them know I wanted to do artwork with Stanley. There was a long pause. The receptionist said "Okay" into the phone and hung up. She said, "Stanley will be out in a minute to speak with you. You can wait in the croquet court if you like." She wheeled her chair back to the typewriter and continued her work. I stepped into a large carpeted room off the main entryway. It had shelving with boxes filled with who knows what, a white pig that had the taxidermy treatment, and a full sized indoor croquet court. I loved it! I hoped that Stanley would want me to do art with him. I wanted it so badly. I wandered back into the foyer and stood for a few minutes. From the far recesses of the open office space, an older heavier set man was lumbering toward me. He was dressed in brown pants and a light brown button up shirt. He had thinning hair, the best Mark Twain-esque mustache, and glasses. He smiled and reached out to shake my hand and said, "Hi. I'm Stanley Marsh. So you want to do art, huh?" I said, "Yes, sir. I absolutely do." He grinned a grin that only the most devious of minds could muster. He squinted his eyes and whispered, "That's excellent, but I have to interview you first. Can you come back tomorrow for lunch?" I said I would be there not knowing how I would get off work at Best Buy to make it for lunch. Stanley turned to go back to his office yelling, "tell Melba what you want for lunch," then he disappeared behind his office door. THIS was going to be an adventure.
See some of the other things I'm up to at www.JonathanElmore.weebly.com
No comments:
Post a Comment