“This is awesome,” I exclaimed, my voice echoing in the vast space. “It’s enormous.”
Before us stood the future location of our brand new gallery, right here on Mulberry Street in Fullerton. Landon, Tony, Chuck, Steve, Brian, and myself, we all surveyed the scene, a mixture of awe and anticipation in our eyes.
These walls, scarred and worn, bearing the marks of time and neglect; this concrete floor, stained with the ghosts of oil, paint, and rust from decades past – to us, it was beautiful. It wasn’t just a space; it was a raw canvas, a beginning.
Stepping outside onto Mulberry Street, we gazed across at the old, silent Donald Duck juice factory, a relic of Fullerton’s past, long since abandoned.
“Imagine,” someone mused, breaking the silence, “if that became an art colony, like The Brewery in LA.”
“We can build our own version, right here,” Mike responded, his gaze fixed on the warehouse.
Mike’s father, Pete, an aerospace engineer with a history in Apollo missions and spacecraft design, owned these warehouses. For years, they had stood, somewhat enigmatic, under his ownership. Developers had persistently tried to acquire these aged buildings, envisioning condos or apartments, but Pete had always resisted selling. And so, fate, or perhaps Pete’s foresight, had led us to this treasure – a blank slate nestled on Mulberry Street.
The concept resonated with a book I’d once read, “Neo-Bohemia: Art and Commerce in the Post-Industrial City.” It chronicled how artists and musicians in Chicago had breathed new life into old industrial warehouses, transforming them into vibrant studios, galleries, and music venues. We envisioned a similar metamorphosis for Mulberry Street. From the remnants of old industry, we would forge something new, something vital. Echoing Warhol’s legendary studio, “The Factory,” we weren’t manufacturing commodities; we were creating art.
Two years prior, when we first launched our gallery in downtown Fullerton, many had scoffed. An art gallery in sleepy Downtown Fullerton? And not just any gallery, but one dedicated to contemporary, lowbrow, skate, punk, and outsider art. We showcased the unconventional, the things we found genuinely compelling. And surprisingly, people responded. From the quiet suburban streets, they flocked to experience something fresh, something different, right here in Fullerton.
Back then, the inevitable questions arose from parents and friends: “What do you actually know about running an art gallery?”
The honest answer? Not much, beyond our deep love for art itself.
Conventional wisdom dictates that grand endeavors require grants, funding, and bureaucratic approval. That some established institution needs to validate your vision. But I’d witnessed firsthand the inertia of bureaucracy. The City of Fullerton, for instance, had been talking about renovating an old movie theater for years, yet nothing concrete had materialized.
Our guiding principle was DIY – Do It Yourself. That’s the engine of real progress. So, we decided, we would take matters into our own hands, right here on Mulberry Street. We’d mend the holes in the old warehouse walls, handle the drywall and painting ourselves. We weren’t professional contractors, but we were resourceful individuals, adept at figuring things out and getting things done.
We were prepared to work tirelessly. After full days at our regular jobs, we would dedicate our evenings to transforming this Mulberry Street warehouse.
We weren’t driven by financial gain, nor were we beneficiaries of grants or official endorsements. Our fuel was passion, our tools our own hands. And crucially, we had the support of friends who shared our vision. John stepped in, declaring, “I know how to patch a wall,” and he did, expertly. Chuck offered his skills, “Moldings? I can do moldings,” and he made it happen. This was our collective power in action.
In a single month, fueled by collective effort, we achieved more than any redevelopment agency or historic foundation might in a year. We were witnessing the genesis of an art colony, a vibrant hub taking shape on Mulberry Street. It was about people uniting, contributing their skills and knowledge, each according to their strengths.
Mike, ever the documentarian, moved through the space with a large Polaroid camera, capturing the transformation. “We have to document this,” he emphasized. “This feels important.” It was a sentiment we all shared – this was something larger than ourselves. I, too, wandered with my camera, recording Landon cleaning aged windows, Chuck expertly nailing wood, Tony diligently sanding a wall, each contributing to the collective endeavor on Mulberry Street.
Vince, a friend who had once experienced homelessness and now lived in the back, pushed a mop across the floor, his internal monologue spilling out into the space. Vince’s conversations were always grounded in the immediate, the practical.
“Gotta clean this floor. Filthy. Hasn’t been cleaned in ages. Gotta clean this floor. Better change the water. This mop’s seen better days…”
Life had etched its marks on Vince, yet his eyes held a profound sincerity. There was no guessing with Vince; his thoughts were always audibly present.
A part of me wished for that same unfiltered honesty from everyone. To simply wander with a camera, capturing Chuck hammering, Tony sanding, Landon cleaning, each voicing their innermost thoughts aloud.
If I possessed Vince’s courage, I might have articulated something like this:
“I’m filming this. I’m exhausted. This is incredible. We’re all tired. But this will be truly amazing. Mike, I can’t believe you made this possible for us. Landon, I know you sometimes worry about the lack of income, but trust me, this is bigger than that. Tony, you’re a bit of a wildcard, but one of the most genuinely cool artists I know. Chuck, spelling isn’t your forte, but you’re a master craftsman with an eye for beauty, especially with those moldings. Steve, I hope you truly grasp what you’ve signed up for. Prepare to potentially lose money alongside us, and be okay with it. Forget money! Forget business plans and all that capitalist noise. This is real! This is tangible! We are making this happen! I apologize that financial success isn’t guaranteed, truly, but do you realize how rare and beautiful this is?”
Lost in these reflections, camera in hand, fatigue clouding my mind, I continued filming, documenting the birth of our Mulberry Street art sanctuary. Sleep would come easily tonight.
Walking home, I made a simple soup and settled in to watch “Where the Wild Things Are.” Max and his Wild Things, constructing their fort together, resonated deeply within me. This essence of collective creation. Of shaping our environment according to our desires. Rejecting the status quo, forging something new. That, I realized, was the very heart of our gallery, of this burgeoning Magoski Arts Colony on Mulberry Street. We were, in essence, a group of adults building a fort, driven by the pure joy of creation, not by obligation, external pressure, or the pursuit of profit. We were doing it because it was intrinsically rewarding, because we wanted to.
Perhaps it sounds sentimental, but to me, it felt profoundly right.
