The view from work

 Pontalba building

I spent the past week or so working on an apartment in this very historic building. From the balcony I was literally a stone's throw from the Cabildo building where they signed the Louisiana purchase. During my smoke breaks I could walk out on the balcony and listen to the musicians as tourists milled about below me.

Beats driving a cab in Jersey.

 The Pontalba Buildings form two sides of Jackson Square in the French Quarter.

These are matching red-brick block long 4‑story buildings built in the 1840s by the Baroness Micaela Almonester Pontalba. The ground floors house shops and restaurants; the upper floors are apartments that are the oldest continuously rented such apartments in the United States.

In the short story Hidden Gardens, Truman Capote describes the Pontalba Buildings as "...the oldest, in some ways most somberly elegant, apartment houses in America, the Pontalba Buildings."

They were declared a National Historic Landmark in 1974

The Upper and Lower Pontalba Buildings, which line the St. Ann and St. Peter Street sides of Jackson Square, were built in 1850 by the Baroness Micaela Almonester de Pontalba, the daughter of Don Andres Almonester y Roxas, the Spanish colonial landowner associated with the neighboring Cabildo, Cathedral and Presbytere. Inspired by the imposing Parisian architecture the Baroness favored, the distinctive rowhouses were intended to serve as both elegant residences and fine retail establishments. In 1921 the Pontalba family sold the Lower Pontalba Building to philanthropist William Ratcliff Irby who subsequently, in 1927, bequeathed it to the State Museum.

We finished up the apartment. Yesterday early start, long lunch then worked until 4 am. I slept for a couple of hours on a pile of drop cloths on the balcony over looking Jackson square. 

A lone saxophonist down by the river sung me to sleep in the moon light. Homeless guys fighting over the last swig woke me up.

Cover 21

Last week at the Moulin View, I was discussing New Orleans with Andie. She was telling me how this town lets you know if you belong here or not. Andie said she has known people who move here only to be driven back to where they came from. Jobs lost, cars stolen or bad vibes roll up the welcome mat. For those who belong here the city opens herself up for the embrace that keeps you for life. You still have to earn it, you still have to prove yourself for the lady's approval.

I've been here a year and things are looking better each day. There's been some challenges, some downfalls but I think New Orleans likes me.  Here is my third cover for the Quarter Rat, enjoy.

Bourbon Street Parade

A year ago I rolled into this town in a 95 Ford Escort with less than $75 in my pocket, no job lined up and only Waffle’s floor to crash on. At least I was out of New Jersey. I never felt at home in Jersey, regardless of what town I lived in. The first morning that I woke up in New Orleans and strolled down Magazine Street in search of coffee and smokes it felt right. I can’t explain it other than it felt like I was home. There has been a lot of rough times in the past year, but never once did I ever consider returning to Jersey. A few times I did consider cashing in my chips off of the Crescent City Bridge.

New Orleans talked me out of it. The reputation of this city through out the world is one of indulgence and debauchery, a decadent drunken harlot catering to carnal pleasure. Babylon on the Mississippi. Like the proverbial hooker with a heart of gold she welcomes the creative, the outcast and those who feel at home nowhere else. That has been her turbulent history. The flags of Spain, England, France, America and the Confederacy have flown over her, yet she is still individual and defiant.

Cajun refugees from Canada made their way down the river to find a new home here. Slaves from Africa were forced to make New Orleans their new home and Pirates had their mail forwarded here. Vietnamese refugees have come here as boat people only to become some of the finest fisherman in the world. Where else could Pirates become heroes and descendants of slaves become celebrities. A city whose not known for making steel or autos, not seen as a center of financial power or commerce. Instead is associated world wide for music, food, writing, art and individualism. Perhaps this is why I immediately felt at home here.

Today, a year later I am working as a house painter and optimistic. I took a break from painting French doors in a former slave’s quarter on Esplanade turned into a condo. I walked up Bourbon Street to a strip club to collect money for artwork I did. There is a change in my life, walking out of a strip club with more money than I walked in with. On the way to the club I stopped and jotted down a phone number to an affordable apartment on Bourbon for rent.

Kicking back down Bourbon Street I glanced into a window of Skully’s record shop. Posted in the window was a poster for “Bourbon Street and Beyond, illustrated by Eric T Styles” On the counter sat several copies of the book I worked on for the past few months. With a stupid grin on my face walking back to Esplanade I spoke to myself “A year ago I rolled into this town in a 95 Ford Escort with less than $75 in my pocket, no job lined up and only Waffle’s floor to crash on…”

Putting a face on Mardi Gras

If I had to describe Mardi Gras to the folks back in Jersey, I'm not sure I could. The entire Gulf Coast celebrate this season with passion and reverence as the Jersey Shore does with the start of summer. Imagine Memorial Day, Labor Day and Christmas all with in a couple of months.  Locals are a tight group down here, all share the joys of Carnival season and the fears of hurricane season. Someone tried to explain to me how the season starts and ends each year, all depends on when Fat Tuesday falls. 

This Mardi Gras poster is by artist Peter O'Neill who has completed several Carnival themed paintings for his New Orleans gallery. Peter says he enjoys painting for his NOLA gallery. I look forward to his Facebook postings of his latest work, great stuff. Mr. O'Neill said he's going to take four weeks off after I commented on how prolific he has been in the past few weeks.  Here is his web site to view more of his work, or to order a copy of his Mardi Gras poster.

www.oneillgallery.com

Enjoy your time off Peter.

Good Company

I've landed some work doing some graphic work for T shirts and print ads. The latest is this ad for club Deja Vu on Bourbon Street. Some may scoff at the themes of my artwork, I believe it's a status position. These very same street were walked over by the tiny legs of Toulouse Lautrec himself. In fact there is a Toulouse Street in the Quarter. 

He spent some time here back 18 something. Google it if you don't believe me. I can see why the dude dug this town. He made a name for himself doing show posters for The Moulin Rouge, 18th century strip clubs.

A creepy artist who falls in love with a dancer, gee how original.

What I learned from video games

When I came down to New Orleans a year ago, some said I didnt have a plan. I insisted I did. I lied. In hindsight I realized that I treated it as nothing more than a new game of Grand Theft Auto. Thats the only role playing video game I ever got into.

 

Every game starts out with basically the same character, a down on his luck new guy in town. Penniless and with few contacts the anti hero climbs his way to the top on wits and guts. Dropped off in the lowest rent district of a large city with a cast of characters to be met, some allies, some enemies. Its a game about hustling your way to the top using what you got available. How does the game end? You kicking back in a mansion full of toys, respected by everyone in your new city.

 

"Bourbon Street and Beyond"

I got permission (kind of) to publish a tiny bit of the Quarter Rat book "Bourbon Street and Beyond" on line. If I had to choose one story as a favorite it would be this one. Perhaps because I have done mascot work before. One summer I had a job dressing up as a Seagull on the Seaside Heights boardwalk. Jersey's version of Bourbon Street. I hope you enjoy the sneak peek at the book, it will be up on Amazon.com, and available through out the French Quarter in time for Mardi Gras.

Two Queens and a Joker
An almost love story by: Jay Slusher

When I moved to New Orleans in the mid-90s my first job was at a club famous for its 190-proof, melon-flavored drink. They’re also famous for their mascot who dressed up in a heavy fiberglass suit with a full face of Styrofoam and a helmet. Part of my job was keeping drunks from beating on him. It was nerve wracking. I had to watch the door, the floor, and him. Needless to say, I got in a lot of shit.
Back in the day we had reps from the cigarette company come out and give away free smokes to the customers and employees on weekends. We had Winston and this one girl Gretchen. She was really hot for a merchant of death, let me tell ya. We talked about going out a couple of times.

Well, this particular night the mascot guy, named Chris, decided to drop a couple of hits of acid before he got into his suit. I’m at the door talking to Gretchen when I notice a commotion outside. Gretchen is just starting to write her number down, and I see these two drag queens beating the shit out of Chris. I’m talking two six-feet-tall black guys in heels, wigs, and mini-skirts. One of them is getting in some really good shots with a fanny pack with a brick in it. (Little known fact: NOPD doesn’t consider that a weapon. A lot of homeless people carry them.)

I got the real story from the Lucky Dog guy later that night (one of my network of spies and informants).
When the queens came by Chris says, “What’s up, dudes?”
One of the queens replied, “Say what, motherfucker?”
“You heard me, sir. How are you gentlemen doing this evening?”
They go ballistic. Chris is tripping his face off. So, I push Gretchen off and run out to break up the fight. It got rough, I got hit a couple of times, but finally I got that stupid fanny pack away. I hauled off and decked both of them, and they backed off.

I haul Chris to the courtyard where he fell out in the suit, tripping hard. His helmet was all twisted around, babbling incoherently. He couldn’t get up in that suit, so I left him there, face against a keg, hallucinating like a motherfucker. Now, I’ve had some absurd moments in my life but breaking up a fight between two drag queens and a guy in a Hand-Grenade suit is definitely up there.

I get back in the bar and Gretchen and the other, not as hot cigarette rep, are gone. I ask Jimmy the bartender what happened. He says they got scared during the fight and left. Well, shit! I look down on the ground and there’s the piece of paper with her name and the first three digits of her number on it. Double shit! Of course, I never saw her again. I left Chris in the courtyard until we closed; immobilized and tripping balls. Then to add insult to injury, I hosed him down just to help me ease the pain of the phone number lost.

What do I win?

I'll be coming my first year anniversary here in New Orleans.  What a long strange trip it's been.  I'm so glad I documented it to the best of my abilities. Perhaps someday my grand kids could be reading about my past year.  I only scratched the surface.  This city is nothing more than a sanctuary for good people who might have labeled freaks in middle America.  When I was only down here for one month, the BP oil spill took place.  It was if a black hole had opened up a few miles away.  These folks don't rattle easy, but are prone to expecting the worst case scenarios.

Scary times, New Orleans like a defiant pirate whore stuck out her tits and said "Bring it on M-Fer." The Crescent City would be proud to host the end times like another World's Fair.  New Orleans would provide the parades behind the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.  "Is that Brimstone?" No, it's cheap plastic beads and an odd beer bottle.  I figure that we all are just waiting to face judgment, so I might as well await it here in New Orleans running up as many charges as I can.

I'll be cutting corners this month, so look for "Best Of" bullshit.

What a day

On Sunday I had to meet with the publisher in the Quarter.  I've noticed since I moved down here almost everybody runs late. It's a given.  A tenish AM meeting evolved into eleven-something, ok quarter past twelve... One o'clock. I kicked around Royal Street checking out performers and galleries. Figuring I'd meet up with him at Jackson Square I took a nap in the grass soaking up 60 plus degree sunshine. A dozen or so joined me, homeless dudes, young lovers, and a hippy. In Jersey being late for a business meeting is a sin, down here it's a perk.

Walking back though the Square I found myself walking pace next to some long haired Jesus looking dude with a guitar. In NOLA this common. We acknowledge each other and a few steps later "Hey man, I hate to ask, but do you have an extra cigarette?" His lucky day. The day before I was walking down Decatur and spotted a just opened pack of Parliaments on top of a newspaper box. I'm from Jersey, I can't just leave them there. I pull the pack out of my briefcase and handed him 19 smokes. "DUDE! You are the Jesus Christ of cancer! Thank you." I'll add the title to my resume.

We got to bullshitting and stood on a corner talking about New Orleans. Turned out that he was a teacher by day who hung out street performing on the weekends for extra cash and for the experience. "Some nights I play out and only get paid in drinks." I met a very cool dude.  I now no longer describe myself as an out of work cab driver. I am now self described "Freelance artist." Turns out that Chris had not only heard of the Quarter Rat, but is a big fan of it. I am constantly meeting fans of the publication.

I really feel the energy of the Quarter, something supernatural here. Had this same scenario played out in Jersey...."Hey man, I hate to ask, but do you have an extra cigarette?" "GET A FUCKING JOB HIPPY!"

A Classic

I dunno why this tune was going through my head today. Enjoy.

Look for it soon

Here is the latest. Look for it in finer French Quarter establishments in time for Mardi Gras.

I went to church today

I had today off from work, so I wandered into the Quarter with sketch book in hand. Sorry to rub it into the rest of the country, but it was in the mid sixties and sunny. Tourists and Quarter Rats milled about, listened to music and lounged in the grass at Jackson Square. I'm getting familiar enough with the streets, coffee shops and cool niches that I almost feel like a local.

Most of my "architectural charactures" I draw from memory, composites of buildings that I visually inhaled on my excursions.  I thought that I would attempt the New Orleans crown jewel of St. Louis cathedral. I have been a bit intimidated to tackle a drawing of the most photographed structure in the Crescent City. For this piece of art I would have to sit in front of it for almost four hours, eyes darting back and forth between my paper and the church hundreds of times.

 

St Louis Cathedral is one of the oldest continuous operating cathedrals in the nation. The original one was destroyed by a hurricane in 1722, a fire destroyed the second one in 1788. The present one was finished in 1794 and has been the crown of the French Quarter easily viewed from the Mississippi. I'm sure many an early visitor passing on the river awed at it's spires. During hurricane Katrina the roof leaked severely damaging a million dollar pipe organ. Two large oak trees fell almost missing a statue of Jesus. The falling tree took off only Jesus' thumb, allowing him to only being able to hitch hike in one direction. 

Canal Street

 Here is one that I finished last night just for fun. It really doesn't do justice to Canal Street. Canal is a grand old thoroughfare that was at one time the main shopping district in New Orleans. It's probably the most beautiful and rich in character Avenue that I have ever seen.

New Artleans

Back in New Jersey art is seen as an afterthought, in New Orleans it's the foundation. Architecture down here is every bit as important as the food and music. Every building regardless of age or neighborhood has something noteworthy to be found on it.  For the past few days we have been working in a modest yet elegant home over by the universities. Built in the 1950's, it has still retained the vintage cabinetry, a couple of glass exterior walls overlooking a pool and Japanese decor.

Had this home been in New Jersey, the classic retro kitchen would've have been gutted and remodeled years ago. The warm wooden cabinets with great style replaced by some pressed wood pre-fab plastic coated mass produced boxes from Home Depot. It's the mentality in Jersey, keep up with the Jones, new is better, the only thing to shown off is a price tag.  The tiniest pieces of hardware in this city worth studying.

Since I moved down here in March, I have been hearing about "The Art House." Best described as an 21st century bohemian artist's commune they are famous for their treehouse project and parties. I've worked with a few of it's residents doing background acting. If I were 20 years younger I might put in an application to live there. At my age, I like to be in bed by 9:00.

New Orleans has already made me a better artist.

Sneek Peek

If you noticed that this blog hasn't had as many illustrations as usual, it's because I have been busy working on the Quarter Rat book. Look for it to come out late February 2011. My editor Ottis B. Easy will have it on the shelves and on Amazon.com in time for Mardi Gras.

Early on my friend Aaron told me that negative forces in the universe would be trying to trip me up and prevent me from reaching my goal. Turned out he was right. A few negative slams have hit me, but focusing on positive notions and not allowing evil to win has actually brought to a much better place.

Vincent

A humbling complement I sometimes hear is "I wish I had your talent." Over the years I have responded "Perhaps you wouldn't if you knew all that went along with it." I'm not sure but I believe artistic talent is really just a symptom of a some sort of disorder. I wanted to share my favorite biographical films about  artists, surprisingly there are quite a few. The all time classic is the 1956 film with Kirk Douglas "Lust For Life." Douglas' eerie resemblance and gut wrenching performance makes it benchmark for films about artists.

Based on a book that was derived from his volumes of letters that Vincent sent to his brother Theo, the film is a portrait of the anguish of the tortured mind that could only find refuge in a paint brush. Vincent set the cliche' of struggling artists. A patron saint for artists who never sold any work during his painful life of self mutilation, absinthe binges and stays at mental asylums, yet today is one of the most celebrated geniuses in the art world.

I saw my first Van Gogh painting in a museum at Princeton University, and I nearly wept. To stand a few feet in front of one of his paintings was occupy space that transcended time and feel the joy of it's beauty, and the grief of it's creator. I dare say that if painting and art was a religion, Vincent would be the Christ figure.

 

Another biographical film about the life of  Van Gogh is "Vincent and Theo." This film examines the relationship between Vincent and his brother Theo who supported and nurtured the insane artist. Theo deserves gratitude and credit from the art world for enabling his sibling to create the wonders that we now hold in great regard. Tim Roth's incredible performance is scary in it's intensity.

 

A Holiday Favorite

Forget "It's a Wonderful Life" this is my Christmas favorite.  Last summer I worked on a film with a production assistant who was really cool. As we smoked cigarettes and downed our tenth cup of coffee he mentioned that the previous year he had worked on a film with Billy Bob Thorton.  

 

"Yea? What is he like?" I asked.
"He's the coolest"

My buddy told how early one morning on the set Billy Bob was gone for a few minutes and then came back brooding. The P.A. asked Mr. Thorton if there was a problem. Billy Bob said he was just trying to get some coffee. It seems that Billy Bob had time to walk down to a local coffee shop before the shoot but never got a cup.

The somewhat gushing production assistant quickly volunteered to go get the coffee for the star. "No, you don't understand" said  Billy. The actor just wanted to walk a few blocks down to the shop and buy a cup just like anyone else. However about half way to the shop he was so overwhelmed by pedestrians recognizing him, talking to him and asking for autographs that he had to turn around and sequester himself to the closed set.

It's a double edged sword for celebrities, fame and all that goes along with it. If you should see a celeb on the street, just a nod or a "hi" is suffice, no photos, no autographs.

"All I wanted was a damn Cappuccino."

Bourbon Street Tease

"Welcome to the Big Show. Grab your artillery and let’s whoop today’s ass! File rank and gear up. Shotgirls and Strippers, Barkeeps and Barkers please report to the front lines. This is the battlefield known as Bourbon Street, where heroes are made and brain cells are lost. You take your post amongst the madness." 


Excerpt from the Quarter Rat book that I am illustrating.  I'll keep all of you posted on it's due date.

And over to your left....

 

"Tour Guides Bullshit"

holiday season

I keep forgetting the whole holiday thing is coming up on us soon. This is about a seasonal as I feel this year. Enjoy.