[LEMONS] 10.22.2001
photo: William Berry/AJC
Howard Finster was a sweet, eccentric man whom I had the pleasure of meeting a couple of times when I was in high shool. We used to drive over to Paradise Gardens, and spend the day poking around the place, climbing structures, and tripping out at the crazy visions The Man produced. It was a gorgeous place, and I'm profoundly happy I got the chance to visit there, and to meet the Man of Visions who built it.
My learning with Howard went like this, I had heard his name in connection with REM's Reckoning album. It was the mid 80s, and in the South, the entire world was about REM (for people like me at least). One day I was watching this old REM video that showed the band lurking around a strange and wonderful place, full of mazes built from rusted bicycles and odd statuary: Paradise Gardens. I found Pennville on a map, and discovered it wasn't far from my boarding school. I drove up with some friends, I believe that David Kerns went with me that first time. It was a free for all back then. Art everywhere, chaos, clearly hazardous materials. A place designed for lawsuits, but the folks who went to Paradise Gardens weren't the type who would file suit.
That first trip, I was a broke high school kid. I wanted to buy something Howard made, but I had no money (the way sales worked back then was you would look on the back of a piece for a price, then go and try to find a FInster family member to buy it off of. Although there was a room that had a lot of stuff that was for sale, it was hardly organized). So I bought a cassette tape that the Reverend had made. It had all sorts of craziness on it ("Here's me, Howard, playing the Banjo" followed by Old Time Religion Gospel hollering and banjo music.). I went back again and again, even though we weren't supposed to go there in high school.
It was magic. It was one of the greatest discoveries and greatest mysteries of my youth
Over the years, fences went up around the property to keep the thieves out and the Finsters began charging an admission fee, more buildings were completed on the premises, art collectors and agents showed up, a Keith Haring piece showed up in the garden, and a lot of Howard's best work went off to museums. In short, it began to lose its rustic charm for me, but the magic never died.
I own four Howard Finsters (as opposed to paintings by his son Roy), one of which I bought directly from Howard. They're treasures. I've put my hands on the coffin the great man is to be buried in. I'm really sad for myself and the world, but happy for Howward. He always admonished us to "get right with God." Well Howard, you're with God now, paint him something good.
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