Wake Up, Planet Earth
Colin St. John
Johann Faust gave his soul to Mephistopheles in order to acquire knowledge of the world. Jerry Foust gave up all his possessions in order to paint. Foust lives and works in a huge, abandoned studio on Greene Street in SoHo. By all accounts, he is a homeless man, but he has made a home of his dilapidated space.
Foust is a character straight out of 1960s fiction. One cannot help thinking of Neal Cassady (or his fictional alter-ego Dean Moriarty) when listening to Foust philosophize and expatiate. It seems little coincidence that Cassady once said, "Art is good when it springs from necessity. This kind of origin is the guarantee of its value; there is no other." Jerry Foust lives that mantra.
If he doesn’t sell his paintings, he doesn’t eat. But, he counters that reality with his own brand of the Kerouacian Code: he doesn’t care about money. The first time I asked him how much he sold his paintings for, he said, "Basically, I set the price for what I think it’s worth." When I finally got a concrete answer out of him, he pointed to small canvas that he said would sell for $300 and then to a large conglomeration of bent steel, paint and lights that he unflinchingly said would sell for $25,000. Jerry is blind to this discrepancy.
Jerry Foust’s studio, between Spring and Broome on Greene, is a perfect analogy for Jerry Foust. The façade of his building is black and covered in graffiti, while the surrounding fashion boutiques’ dental-white paint glimmer in the sun. The door is broken. There are no windows. The building should be on a block in the South Bronx, not on one in one of the wealthiest parts of New York. Jerry’s building shouldn’t be here and, given the tenets of capitalism, neither should Jerry. In a block of Nicole Millers and Anna Suis, Jerry Foust is the lone Goodwill Store.
Colin St. John: Someone’s letting you stay here, right?
Jerry Foust: Correct, Sue. She owns the building.
CSJ: How did that come about?
JF: Actually I was out front–I had a dispute with a few of the guys at the last studio and they forced me out. Actually, the gentleman, Jim Powers, has forced everyone out. But anyways, I still love the man, dearly; he’s a genius artist. He’s the guy who does the light poles all over the East Village–mosaics. Anyways, we got into an altercation, he ousted me and, basically, I didn’t have anywhere to go. And I didn’t want to rely on any one of my friends or go through all that bullshit–couch-surfing. So, I was just like, you know what, this time instead of doing that, I’m going to do this on my own. So, I came over here and actually started sleeping and painting in front, on the loading dock out there.
CSJ: Had you heard about this place?
JF: Yeah, Myles Emery, who was also at the previous studio, him and his girlfriend, Shelby, they were here before I was for, I would say, a month. And, they made some money and they ended up going over to a hotel on the West Side. And then, since they weren’t here, I was like okay I’m going to go over there and see what I can do.
CSJ: Do you think this is atypical for New York artists? Did this sort of situation happen more in the past?
JF: Basquiat of course–he was a street artist and on the street, and a few other artists as well. I think it’s just kind of like another circle. It’s a full circle again.
Sue Stein, the owner of the property, used to let Jerry put his paintings inside when it rained and he would stay outside. Little by little, Jerry would sleep inside and, soon enough, Sue let it ride. (She’s a saint, by all accounts, rejecting offerings from Revlon for the building, keeping it from being condemned and letting strangers use the floor right below hers.) Myles Emery and Shelby Voice moved in and the three began to host salons on Fridays to exhibit the art that they were creating "nocturnally." Voice (a 22 year-old from Washington state) and Emery (31, from "all over the place"), both artists in their own right, have since moved out. It’s Jerry’s now.
CSJ: How long have you been in New York?
JF: I’ve been in New York for eight or nine years, ten years. I’m really bad with time.
CSJ: Where were you before?
JF: Dallas, Texas. That’s where I’m from.
CSJ: Did you move here to do art?
JF: I actually moved here to do music production. I was actually registered for the Institute of Audio Research, which is a music production place over on University…And then Tommy Mottola–I did interior and exterior landscape design before I just gave that up, and became and artist full time–I did some work for him. I walked into his apartment, there were gold records all over the walls, and I was like, "Whoa." And he was like, "Don’t go to school. If you’re going to do it, be an apprentice, find someone who’s in a studio and apprentice for him." So I was like, "Alright, boom!" I didn’t attend school, got a full-time job, again doing interior and exterior landscape design and did that for many years. Seen some of the most beautiful apartments in the world.
CSJ: You decided at what point to paint?
JF: I was actually an assistant teacher with my ex-girlfriend at Rockland Center for the Arts up in Rockland County. I sculpted for years and that’s what I was primarily doing before I actually picked up a paintbrush. When I picked up a paintbrush, this is the kind of stuff that automatically just started coming out.
What automatically comes out is hardly something that you would think was indirectly inspired by Tommy Mottola. His paintings delineate mazes and, soon, his paintings will be a maze. Following Basquiat in an almost "aesthetic trash" mode, Foust has been collecting hundreds of doors that he covers in his vibrant, snake-like patterns. In the seven or eight months during which he’s lived on Greene Street, he has produced the bulk of what he calls "The Door Project." When complete, a step into the door of his studio means a choice of six different directions, with Jerry’s doors guiding their mice–or rats.
CSJ: Do you find most of your materials?
JF: Everything is recycled. Everything, everything.
CSJ: The paint too?
JF: Most of the paint, as well. Like I said, most of the stuff, I would say 95% of the stuff is recycled–maybe even more. Every once in a while I’ll go to Home Depot…or Pro Paint or some of the other art stores. Other than that, it’s all found.
CSJ: Where do you find most of it?
JF: I find it all over the streets. What are you going to do with paint when you’re done painting your house? They just put it outside on the street basically with the garbage. [A rat scurries across the floor.] Jesus Christ look at that rat, man! It’s the size of a fucking dog.
CSJ: Does that happen a lot?
JF: Oh, there’s fucking rats around here, man. I don’t want to fucking kill them. I feel like there’s enough dying on this planet as is. But, I want to be able to tell them, "Go away." But, they don’t go away.
And it’s not surprising that they don’t go away–depending on how you look at it, Jerry’s home is a beautiful modern artist creation or a total and utter shithole. One of the times I visited Jerry on a bitter January afternoon, he was bundled up on the couch in a blanket. He wasn’t asleep, he was cold. The freezing temperatures did little to suppress the stench of urine, but it did crystallize the view of the ubiquitous 40-ounce malt liquor, cheap whiskey and hand-rolled cigarette butt collection. It’s understandable. There’s no bathroom. His facilities are down the street for the sit down. As for the stand up, I’m sure the empty paint cans don’t stay empty long.
On one visit, Jerry was elated to report that he had cleaned up at the Russian baths over the weekend. (That’s not to say that Foust is anywhere near revolting. He’s tall, dark, handsome and rugged; always in his Neil Young fedora, long jacket and skateboarding shoes–complete with paint stains.) There’s no kitchen. Jerry orders out. There is, however, a bed and a couch, the latter crashing two surfers: Johnny LaValey, a young blonde musician and Omecca, the Son of God.
CSJ: Tell me about Omecca.
JF: All the work is really codes. Omecca’s been teaching me how to read codes. They’re all codes of existence and mankind.
CSJ: What kind of codes?
JF: Like Biblical codes, man.
CSJ: Are you a religious person?
JF: I’ve had my ups and downs with religion. My falling outs and being lied to–everybody has, we’re all mixed up with religion. But, as far as today being the 26th [of January, 2006] which is the last letter of the alphabet–"Z"–and we are in the age of Aquarius now. People are going to start awakening now and soon we’re going to be able to communicate without really speaking.
CSJ: Is that an astrological perspective?
JF: That’s astrology, absolutely. Everything. That’s mother, father, all of the above.
CSJ: What’s Omecca’s religious background?
JF: He’s the Son of God, man. Which we are all the sons and daughters of God.
CSJ: Where does he stay?
JF: He stays here on the couch. He’s been traveling for many, many years. He’s 66 years-old, but he’s actually going reverse in time, so he actually looks like he’s 38. Instead of aging and getting old, he’s turning younger.
CSJ: Where’s he from?
JF: All over the place. I think he’s from Africa. He’s from all over the world, he’s been everywhere.
CSJ: So, do you think this is a part of something larger?
JF: Absolutely, I just have to weed out tons of demons that come my way. As far as time limits, I have a lot of work to do–all kinds of work, enlightening people.
The only time I ever encountered Omecca, the only thing he had to say was, "Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets." And as weird as at it all sounds, I wasn’t surprised by Jerry’s thoughts on Omecca. Jerry Foust is all about difference. He wants to be different, he wants to do things differently and, ultimately, it seems he wants to make a difference. He sees himself as more of a revolutionary than he let’s on; he’s a latter-day beat and he knows it. And even if his motives seem odd, this beat has a heart.
CSJ: So what do you think about the New York art scene?
JF: I think there’s a whole lot of talent right here on the street. Right here on even Greene Street. Really, really, really talented artists that should be in galleries. I think that whole thing is a big bureaucracy. People being handpicked out of schools. "Oh, come, come with us. We’ll coach you along the way." They’ve been given a golden opportunity along the way.
CSJ: Bullshit.
JF: Exactly, total fucking bullshit.
CSJ: This is kind of a bullshit question–but what are your goals? In terms of this, in terms of the future?
JF: To be honest with you, this building I want to really make a Mecca of the arts. I would love to have an education system through here. I would love to have a music studio here, totally soundproofed, because we have these dickhead neighbors on Wooster Street right behind us that are always bitching and moaning about loud music. Yeah, basically turn this into a total temple of arts. The entire building. Each floor being something different.
The last time I talked to Jerry, I did the "journalist thing" and asked if he wanted to add anything. He’s not a very talkative person and he’s the type who thinks about what he’s going to say pretty long and hard before he says it. He was silent for some time and then he bellowed, "Wake up, planet Earth!" And I couldn’t help but to think that maybe, "Whatever Jerry wants, Jerry gets."
