FROM TRASH TO TREASURE
California yard like a gallery
On most nice days in Sebastopol, a small, mellow city in California wine country, the Florence Avenue oglers are easy to spot. They move slowly, on foot or in cars, the better to study 26 large chortle-inducing recycled junk sculptures rising from front yards.
A frazzled waitress races across an inverted mug, arms loaded with breakfast plates and a coffee pot. A leering turquoise caterpillar takes on a hookah that started life as a Moroccan brass lamp. Elsewhere, a seductive mermaid lies sideways on a tail of multi-hued blue scales made from applesauce lids.
This mad cavalcade of 3D cartoonery stretches along the quiet, hilly residential street where lovely Victorians, bungalows and cottages incongruously meet recycled industrial and domestic detritus. Think water heaters, egg beaters, electric meters, winery vats, hubcaps, watering cans, chandeliers, oil drums, toaster ovens, shovel heads and shock absorbers.
In a world rocked by war, disease and toxic politics, not to mention raging wildfires that mercifully spared Sebastopol last year, the eco-wacko statuary offers welcome relief.
Behind the whimsy are a pair of Canadian-born artists — selfdescribed “junk sculptor” Patrick Amiot, 58, and his wife, Brigitte Laurent, 56. They ’ve collaborated for decades on works ranging in size from delicate tabletop figurines to imposing outdoor installations.
Three decades ago, they created a 100-square-foot mural celebrating British Columbia for Expo 86 in Vancouver. In 2016, they finished a US$1-million solar powered Canada-centric carousel for the Toronto suburb of Markham, Ont.
But Sebastopol is home. Since arriving with their daughters in 1997, they have created 300 public and private pieces in and around the city, including a 30-centimetre Florence Avenue angel and a 3.7-metre fisherman beached on their lawn to lure art buyers.
Amiot does the design and fabrication, Laurent applies sublimely ridiculous paint jobs and daughter Mathilde, 27, helps with welding. Heeding a different muse, daughter Ursule, 25, is a chef in Oregon. All four became dual citizens in 2014.
“I’m like the immigrant who comes here and the sky’s the limit. You paint your house, you paint your car, you paint everything,” Amiot said. When things go really well, he buys real estate.
At Amiot’s sprawling Rat Dale Country Club on Gravenstein Highway, he works, displays salvaged treasures, stashes tons of items organized by a paid junk librarian and leases cheap space to artists and startups. He also has an arts building in nearby Santa Rosa, Calif., and a Toronto art dealer who sells the couple’s pricier work.
Success hardly came overnight. Early penury almost forced the family from Sebastopol to Costa Rica to open a pizza joint. To train for the move, they offered free practice pies made in an oven created from junk. Their Florence Avenue neighbours liked the food and loved the work.
They stayed put and prospered. “I owe everything to this street,” Amiot said. “They bought my art, and that was my born-again thing, being part of a tight-knit culture” like the one the family had in Canada.
His first front-yard statue, the aforementioned angler, went up without a city permit. No one complained, although no one bought it, either.
On Sept. 10, 2001, Amiot replaced it with a version of the Statue of Liberty. After the next day’s terrorist attacks, he added a sign: “In memory of the all the innocents who died on 9/11.”
“A woman came over and hugged me. People left flowers and notes as a patriotic thing. It became a shrine,” Amiot said.
After Lady Liberty was bought and sent to Reno, Nev., simultaneous successors appeared: Godzilla made from a Volkswagen hood, a cheesy used-car dealer, a flag-waving astronaut and a silver chaise lounge resembling a giant toothpaste tube. (Street pieces start at US$2,000).
Neighbours gladly showcased loaners. When those sold, Amiot installed new ones. In 2013, the grateful artists gave the statues to their pro bono gallerists. The couple also donates works to local schools and non-profit organizations.
Last fall, after parts of Santa Rosa were levelled by blazes, he put a towering firefighter on his property to honour first responders. A large “thank you” is written across a fuel tank topped by a firefighter and his red truck.
“We all came pretty close to burning. We all know somebody who lost everything, and if it wasn’t for these thousands of firemen …” Amiot said, his voice dropping. “I do a lot of sculptures, but that one is maybe the most powerful.”
Amiot and Laurent also do a brisk trade in quirky commercial pieces. A spiky porcupine touts Sebastopol Community Acupuncture on Gravenstein Highway and a bespectacled pooch reads in an easy chair at Copperfield’s Books on Main Street.
But Florence Avenue remains the prime Amiot-Laurent gallery.
Several years back, Amiot put up a gate to keep fans from barging into the house, which — no surprise — boasts trippy interiors.
But there is more to Sebastopol than junk art. Just 65 kilometres north of the Golden Gate Bridge, the city of 7,500 exudes a laid-back aging-hippie vibe. It’s a perfect detour for those on the mindful, wineful circuit of Sonoma and Napa counties.
Nuke-free, of course, and politically and socially liberal, Sebastopol became home to emigres after San Francisco’s 1967 Summer of Love counterculture invasion.
The foodie scene is booming, from ambitious cafes and restaurants to the Barlow, a five-hectare market district whose local vendors sell flowers, clothing, art, soap, cheese and home goods. Beer is brewed, spirits are distilled and wine is made on the premises.
Nothing, however, quite captures Sebastopol’s zeitgeist like the free Wednesday night Peacetown Concert series in Ives Park, where you can’t go wrong wearing tiedye. Hundreds of locals and tourists bring blankets, chairs, kids and dogs to groove on the music and savour their own picnics or food truck fare.
“We call our move here an irrational leap of faith,” Amiot said. “It’s important to give back to the people around us. After 20 years, I owe this town so much more than they think. They were so open-minded.
“It was my dream of what America was. We could take a risk and play.”