Seeing dreams dissolve

Soon after British writer Roger Cardinal coined the term “Outsider Art” in 1972, the art form hit a popular nerve. Museums mounted exhibitions in its name. Publishers capitalized on its novelty. American culture quickly brought the outside in.

Loosely defined as any painting, sculpture, assemblage or environment -- such as Forestiere Underground Gardens -- produced by individuals who have had no training in art and who work with no concern for mainstream trends or traditions, Outsider Art encompasses a broad spectrum of work, ranging from the spiritual tableaux of Howard Finster to the soaring spires of Simon Rodia.

But hanging these images on walls or reproducing them in the pages of a book is much different than setting them in the middle of a city or along a suburban street. Outsider Art -- especially if it takes the form of a home -- is, at best, a violation of zoning regulations and a drag on property values; at worst, it is messy, primal and profoundly undisciplined.

According to Terri Yoho, executive director of the Kohler Foundation, which preserves folk art sites in America, visionary environments are endangered, and their loss represents a greater aesthetic loss.

“In many cases, the art and the story and the message is as precious as anything you’d call fine art,” says Yoho. “You have to remember that this art was created out of their own initiative and drive. The goal is simply to create, and the end result is a wonderfully pure art form.”

Urbanization is often antithetical to visionary environments. Drive down Cochran Street in Simi Valley. Sandwiched between a senior living complex and a private residence is Tressa Prisbrey’s Bottle Village.

Perhaps the most famous visionary environment in Southern California, this collection of 15 one-room buildings and 22 whimsical sculptures, composed of bottles, headlights, televisions tubes and other pieces of junkyard detritus, was constructed by “Grandma” Prisbrey, who started assembling it in 1955.

The 1994 Northridge earthquake damaged the site, collapsing walls and buildings. In 1997, when the Federal Emergency Management Agency allocated nearly $500,000 for repairs, residents and politicians fought the allocation, describing the village as “a dump” and “a pile of junk” and calling its champions “a bunch of phonies.” FEMA rescinded the money, and the village has deteriorated further. Daniel Paul, acting director for the nonprofit that owns the property, estimates that repairs would cost nearly $1 million.

“These are strange times for the Bottle Village,” says Paul, “because we’re faced with the site disintegrating, and at the same time we’re receiving acclaim on a scale that goes beyond ... Southern California.”

Earthquakes and politics are unfortunate bedfellows, which only makes the owners of Nitt Witt Ridge in Cambria all the more grateful that last December’s temblor did not damage their site.

Like Bottle Village, this 2 1/2-acre environment is built of pots and pans, car bumpers, abalone shells, toilet seats, toys and other odds and ends. Its creator, Art Beal, died in 1992, and the owners, Michael and Stacey O’Malley, are trying to maintain his legacy. “The town has never respected this place,” says Michael. “It’s a complicated situation up here, to say the least.”

Because the neighborhood is zoned for residential buildings, the O’Malleys can’t charge for tours or sell T-shirts on site, so they’ve rented a commercial space in town.

According to Annie Carlano, the curator of the Museum of International Folk Art in New Mexico, the best way to save these environments is to build a tourist industry around them. “We’re losing these extraordinary testaments to some of the most imaginative manifestations of creativity in the world,” says Carlano. “Americans need to embrace these sites as major artistic achievements and not neglect them.”

-- Thomas Curwen