Monday, July 2, 2018

Pups At Pasaquan

I am no fan of folk art.  In my opinion, if I want to see what a 6 year old can draw, I'll find a kindergarten class, no need to pay admission to a gallery.
And yet, I keep trying to broaden my horizons.  A friend suggested I go to Pasaquan in Buena Vista, Georgia.  It is a 7 acre visionary art site, only recently restored after having been in hibernation for 30 years since the artist's death.
The only reason I put it on my bucket list is because dogs are welcome.

My crew and I went to visit two months ago and ever since then I've been mulling over the meaning of home.  Is it simply a place to hang your hat and watch TV, or is it your castle?
The artist, Eddie Martin, took it one step further, his home was his temple.

As a runaway to NYC in the 30's, he contracted a virus that sent him into a high fever where he hallucinated that aliens had chosen him to represent them on this worldly plane.  Thus, he returned to his native home, became the first Pasaquoyan and renamed himself St. EOM (pronounced Ohm).

For 30 tireless years, he created and added on to his homage to the Pasaquans.
Zany and flamboyant, Eddie Martin was known to load up his sedan with his cats when making a trip to town for concrete mix.  Sometimes wearing see through pants, other times in drag.  

A large man in a dress carrying bags of mortar... wish I could skip back to the 1960's to be witness. Forging ahead to the beat of his own drum.

At first perhaps experimenting, then when he found his vision... he was off to the races.

Over 900 feet of decorative walls.

Murals like no other.

With each subsequent creation, his craftsmanship improved.

The fine details of the construction amazed me.

The world's most ornate propane shed:

I'm still not a fan of folk art, but I am of the first Pasaquoyan who spoke with a Southern lisp while preaching about love and acceptance.  

Contemplating one man's sanctuary... forcing me to question if my home is true to my nature.  Home, being the only place you can honestly be yourself, is your home your castle, or are outside influences running roughshod over it?

If you can create a harmonious place to be yourself, be creative, be happy... as long as you're not lowering your neighbors' property values, why not follow your own path? 
During my many prayers to St. EOM, I've questioned if he felt outcast, living alone, busily creating his grand masterpiece; whether the decisions taken while laying down the rules for his existence alienated too many people? I wondered...

...then I decided that my sanctuary is indeed my own and my need for quietude isn't up for discussion, it's a non-negotiable.  I'm no artist, I won't be painting alien penises all over my house, I won't be going to Home Depot in Indian head dress with Daisy Duke shorts on, but I will stand firm on the principles I hold dear for my sanctuary.  My Fleetwood home with wheels is my castle, it's where I find refuge, it is where no TV, no radio, no booze, no incessant cell phone beeping is allowed.  My temple with a hefty amount of fur.  
Having been raised Catholic, put in a private school run by nuns, I was expected to find a saint to venerate.  Never did, until now.  Hold fast to what you hold dear and live the life you dream.
Amen, St. EOM, amen.