'Brave hearts': bring beauty to blighted areas: once-dangerous neighborhoods are now thriving arts districts, thanks to these modern-day art pioneers

"Artists are like the Marines," say Portland, Ore.,-based artist and gallery owner Brian Borello. "We go into the danger zones and clear the beach, make it safe for habitation, then they send us to the next place."

For example, Portland's once-fledgling and crime-ridden Pearl District is now "safe for habitation," due in large part to the large number of artists that used to live and work in that area. Today, many of those artists have moved on, and in their place is a slew of high-end boutiques and galleries in what is now a bustling arts district.

Back in its day, the Pearl District was a busy manufacturing center. But as business slowed, it became an abandoned warehouse district with garbage-filled streets, drug traffic and crime. That began to change when artists started moving into the giant spaces, transforming the district into a "hot" location, especially when they began a series of "First Thursday" gallery openings.

Soon, developers started taking notice, refurbishing the old buildings and transforming them into expensive shops and condos. The artists, eventually forced out by skyrocketing rents, moved across the river.

While he shows some of his work in the Pearl District, Borello's gallery, Neon Jones, is located across the river on Alberta Street in Portland's newest arts Mecca, the Inner Northeast District.

"A lot of artists have migrated over here because of the affordability," says Borello, whose storefront workshop gallery reflects the do-it-yourself nature of the pioneer spirit.

"Artists are attracted to the run-down areas, which are often unsavory and riddled with crime, but cheap" says Borello.

Back when Borello first moved to Alberta Street, it was a skid row lined with boarded-up storefronts and seedy bars. Still, he needed square footage to do his work, which includes large-scale public sculpture, housing fixtures and a project he's doing for Portland's new rail stations. Alberta had the square footage he needed, and then some.

The downside of having a studio big enough for creating Borello's large format works is the danger of living in a neighborhood where gangs still fight for street turf via drive-by shootings.

But where some see only dangerous slums, others see potential Gardens of Eden.

Visionaries like Borello are continuing a tradition of artists reviving run-down neighborhoods by opening their own galleries in what may or may not eventually become thriving arts districts or centers.

It's a trend that began in New York in the 1970s with SoHo, the East Village and later Chelsea. More recent examples include Brooklyn's Williamsburg, Los Angeles' Chinatown, the Warehouse District in Minneapolis, Deep Ellum in Dallas, and Over-the-Rhine in Cincinnati, among others.

Down in 'San Antone'

In 2001, George Yepes left Los Angeles along with his partner, painter Courtney Reid, and relocated to San Antonio, where he took over a series of abandoned warehouses on the San Antonio River known as the Big Tex Grain Mills.

Yepes is one of Los Angeles' most acclaimed artists, dating back to his participation in the Chicano Mural Movement of the late 1970s. His works have been collected by celebrities Sean Penn, Anthony Keidis and Cheech Marin and used on album covers, most notably Los Lobos' "La Pistola y el Corazon." In 1998, the State of California chose Yepes to paint the 70-foot vaulted ceiling of the State Archives Museum in Sacramento, and Yepes' paintings also appear in director Robert Rodriguez' latest movie, "Once Upon a Time in Mexico."

Yepes moved to San Antonio in search of larger spaces in which to work. He proceeded to transform the city's Southtown arts district, bringing in a new wave of Mexican-American artists who have helped make San Antonio one of the hottest arts markets in the Southwest.

Staking a Claim

In finding his space, Yepes dealt directly with the city of San Antonio, convincing city officials that he could drive commerce to a desolate area further south of Southtown with an arts complex he would develop himself.

Yepes took an old abandoned granary and turned it into an evolutionary leap in art-world configurations. The "Big Tex" site, inactive for some 25 years, was a rusting, desolate series of 18 silos followed by a trio of enormous warehouses with 100-foot ceilings. Unused railroad tracks once connected to the adjacent, still-active railroad line run between the buildings.

lust cleaning up this colossus would have been a daunting task for the most dedicated impresario, but instead of a rusted-out white elephant with rough cement floors and exposed sections of roof, Yepes saw a thriving cooperative interdisciplinary arts complex.

"We can rock out here," Yepes says, gesturing at concrete cargo loading bays that he turned into makeshift stages where rock and blues bands now play during his openings. "There are no sidewalks here; no traffic. People can pull their cars up and use the headlights to light the stages at night. We can have big weenie roasts as the music plays and artists paint."

As Yepes speaks, a long Southern Pacific freight train rumbles alongside the site. "It's like a bunch of artists jumped off a train at a little abandoned ghost town and just took over the town," he says, gesturing upriver, where downtown San Antonio has been given a dramatic facelift with its huge, tourist-friendly Riverwalk, connected to hotels, restaurants and shops.

"The city is talking about expanding Riverwalk downriver to the site of the abandoned Lone Star brewery south of here within the next five years. This is a unique moment in history," Yepes declares. "It's like turn-of-the-century Vienna when it switched from a monarchy to a republic. They brought in the artists to redefine the city. That's what we can do in San Antonio."

Yepes and Reid were first attracted to San Antonio when they visited the Blue Star Arts complex, located at the far edge of the Southtown district, and realized the tremendous potential for growth downriver from the Riverwalk complex. But soon after relocating to San Antonio, they ran into big problems.

"When we came to visit, the galleries and the San Antonio art world in general were very receptive" says Reid. "But when we came to live here, suddenly everything changed. We were told there was a three-year waiting period for shows, and we found that we couldn't exhibit."

So Yepes and Reid took matters into their own hands and started holding shows at Blue Star in a small studio space Yepes called "The Red House." Then Yepes took one of his large works and installed it outside in the courtyard, as part of San Antonio's "First Friday" public art fairs, which take place along South Alamo Street (and now run as far down as the Big Tex space).

"We were doing wood engravings, making ink prints and selling them on the spot, while George was painting outdoors as the people came to look at the work" Reid says. "We started selling, and people were saying how much they appreciated it because they were starting to think that the First Fridays didn't include enough new work."

Later in 2001, the pair put together a Halloween party and art show, inviting a group of young artists who had had the permit for their show canceled by the city at the last minute, to present their work as part of the event.

The party turned into a 1960s-style happening that led directly to Yepes' "Art Dacha" concept, a worldwide open call for artists to come to San Antonio to live and work together. The idea was to have artists living and working together in a collective, leading to joint shows of their work.

"We were looking at those warehouses and imagining what we could do there, and George just decided to take them over and convert them to art spaces," says Reid. "He wanted to invite other artists to participate.

"At first, I resisted that idea," Reid continues, "but as we conceptualized it, we realized it could be like 1960s-era projects such as Andy Warhol's Factory."

In late 2002, Reid and Yepes put out an open call over the Internet for artists, musicians and poets to join in what they described as a "Woodstock for Art" Hundreds of responses came from around the world, and today the "Art Dacha" is in full swing. Perhaps the most interesting thing about the call, though, was how many South Texas Chicano artists showed up to participate. By June of 2003, the Big Tex shows had become the biggest of the First Friday events.

"We're into our Dacha series again this season," says Yepes. 'Art in the Hood' consisted of four shows in June and July. We had four welders working in the back warehouse, 10 painters and woodworkers. The Big Tex complex was fully occupied. On First Fridays, we handle 5,000 people."

On the Dark Side

Another urban pioneer is Jonathan Ferrara (shown on page 42), who quit his job at the First National Bank of Boston 12 years ago and set out on an adventure that has profoundly changed the New Orleans art gallery scene.

After setting up galleries showing works by younger artists in rundown sections of town--first Magazine Street, then the Warehouse District--Ferrara saw those areas turn into some of the city's hippest neighborhoods.

His New Orleans experience began in 1995 with his first gallery, Positive Space, located on Magazine Street. When Ferrara and two partners rented the space, the block was full of blighted houses.

"The space we rented was in such bad repair the landlord was afraid to let us go inside fearing it would collapse on us," Ferrara recalls. "We gutted the building and rebuilt it from scratch. There were a few antique shops around but no galleries when we moved in. We had to find artists who wanted to show their work."

Ferrara says his goal in opening Positive Space was to give the city's younger, edgier artists access to gallery space.

"The established galleries all dealt with artists who were 40 and older," he says. "We provided the breeding ground for a whole new generation of artists in New Orleans."

But securing that space meant opening a gallery in a neighborhood that was still reeling from years of poverty and crime.

"We were on the dark side of the street," Ferrara says. "Some of our events would be interrupted by the sound of gunshots. We were in the hood by the St. Thomas housing projects. The city was the crime capitol of the nation.

"In September 1996, we put on an exhibition, 'Guns in the Hands of Artists; which featured local artists making works of art out of decommissioned guns. We made the front page of The New York Times."

Despite the gallery's notoriety, Ferrara found himself looking for another space. Properties had started to improve around Positive Space, condominiums started springing up and other galleries and trendy boutiques popped up in what is now known as the Magazine Street Arts District.

"That area blossomed around our sweat equity," says Ferrara. "The real issue with art is survival. Our landlord at Positive Space only gave us a six-month lease. Real estate owners tend to be conservative. Artists and landlords often have conceptual and ideological dashes."

Ferrara solved his real-estate problem by first renting a space on Barrone Street in the Warehouse District, then buying an entire building in the neighborhood outright.

The Warehouse District had long been one of the city's more dangerous spots, filled with dark, empty streets and abandoned warehouses--once the center of the city's thriving Mississippi River trade--that had turned into vermin-infested eye-sores.

When Ferrara opened the Barrone Street gallery in 1998, that section of the Warehouse District was still no man's land, and when he scraped the money together in 1999 to buy the building on Carondelet Street, the block was completely lined with boarded-up warehouses.

"When I moved in, I was the only thing on this block," he says. "Now it's filled with condos and there's a $27-million arts complex across the street. Somebody's got to be the first one to jump in. If I'm going to change this neighborhood, I'm going to invest in it and benefit myself. The more responsibility you embrace, the more freedom you have."

Ferrara has demonstrated how artists can work with local government officials and the private sector to everyone's benefit. At 37, he is the youngest member on the board of directors of the city's Downtown Development District, which decides where public money will be invested to enhance New Orleans' business and cultural environments. He is also the chairman of the city's Public Art Committee, where part of his mission is to promote public art in the downtown area.

"I'm always the only artist in this group of business people," Ferrara says. "I'm also one of the youngest people, I get asked to join these things because of my high visibility and I get things done. When people hear about my business background they tend to listen to my ideas more closely than they might [listen to] other artists."

Ferrara's skills as a fund-raiser are also key to his role in community development, and one of his pet projects is ART DOCS, a program that helps provide healthcare for local artists.

"I chose to live in a place where there's a cultural renaissance going on," he says. "It's in my interest to make it a good place to live and do business.... Artists need help (with) healthcare, which helps the arts scene continue to prosper. In this sense, the more you give the more you get."

For reprints of this article, contact LaTonya Brumitt @ (314) 824-5504, or labrumitt@pfpublish.com.

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