Photo by Bret Brookshire
"It starts with a flower growing; then the house lights up. Then a
rocket ship lights up over the flower, and there's a star and a planet,
and the ship drops a bomb on the flower – which explodes. Then it all
goes black, and the cycle begins again."
That's Ben Livingston, neon artist, talking about the large work of
animated images that have brightened the front of his studio off Fifth
Street for more than two decades. Soon, he'll be talking about it in
the past tense: After 22 years of near-constant display, the
electrified mural is coming down.
"My studio's been sold," says Livingston. "And, like the story goes
too often here in A-town, yuppies are in, and art is out. I've got to
be out of here by May 1, so I have to take the piece down between now
and then. Megan Crigger, the manager of Austin's Art in Public Places
program, would like to accept it as a donation – because she's
interested in having it at Seaholm. So I'm hoping to find someone
who'll buy it for that. Which may not be easy – it's been appraised at,
uh, quite a bit of money."
Specifically, according to art appraisers C.L. Wysuph & Associates, $90,000.
A nice chunk of change for a bunch of gas and glass, but, of course,
it's the inspiration and craftwork, not to mention the interest
compounded by history, that make for true value among unique objects
fashioned by human hands. The mural – an anti-war statement influenced
by the art of Terry Powell, crafted by Livingston and his apprentices
John Hayward and Leith Hartell, driven by Frank Roberts' jury-rigged
computer program – fairly glows with such value and interest.
"I have some friends who were in town for South by Southwest
Interactive, and the taxi driver who brought them over? He said he's
been bringing his kids to see the piece for years. And sometimes when
people come in from out of town – this guy's been driving for 14 years
– they ask him to come here; it's on their list of things they want to
see. I guess the image has gotten around: Ellie Rucker had it in the
Statesman when it went up; the
Chroniclechose it as a Best of Austin in '93; Holt Rinehart's used it in their
textbooks. It has a definite history in the city; a lot of kids have
grown up with it."
But now?
"I'm gonna get one of those trucks that has a sky bucket attached
and just start taking it down one piece at a time," says Livingston.
"My morale's kind of low right now. It's like going to work with
cancer: You just go and do it. If we can't find a buyer, I don't know
where it'll go – probably in some friend's garage." He shakes his head
and chuckles, trying to look less despondent than he may feel. "This is
definitely the unglamorous part of the art world."