Former church converted to house artist, gallery
By Perry Flippin
Friday, January 5, 2007
René Alvarado, the brightest young star in San Angelo’s artistic firmament, is ready to open his newly transformed studio/gallery/living quarters at Kenwood Drive and Avenue I.
Alvarado, 34, acquired the former Trinity Lutheran Church in 2005 and spent a year converting the 3,250-square-foot sanctuary into a working art center. Because of the location’s residential zoning, the artist will receive visitors only by appointment. Furthermore, because his dwelling was a former house of worship, he respects its sanctity and its architectural integrity.
“This was really a community effort because of all the years leading up to it,” Alvarado said, naming teachers who guided him and patrons who sponsored him, especially Roger Allen at the Chicken Farm Art Center and Howard Taylor at the San Angelo Museum of Fine Arts. “I’m a romantic at heart. I love tradition and history within a community.”
That love of place keeps him in San Angelo, even as art dealers as far away as Cincinnati and New York beckon him.
“Someday I want this to be part of the community where people can come and see the work and see where I once used to live,” he continued. “I want people to see what I worked so hard for.”
His dream is to one day give the church back to the community as a permanent place to display art — perhaps his art.
Alvarado’s art, distinguished by colorful imagery and primitive symbols, reflects his Mexican heritage. Born near Torreon, Coahuila, the artist came to San Angelo at age 10 with his parents, five sisters and three brothers. His parents, two sisters and a brother still live here.
“I paint emotions that come from the environment,” he said, noting the oversized canvases that measure 5 feet by 7 feet or more. He particularly admires San Angelo’s ranching community, describing genuine, down-to-earth people surrounded by open, surreal country with charming animals, trees and sunsets.
“When you see a landscape or seascape,” Alvarado continued, “basically I’m using them as metaphors for emotions or content of that experience.”
Every painting is different, and every moment is different.
“I have to have something I need to express,” he said. “Most of the time, the imagery develops. I don’t have an image in my mind. I just start painting. I really let the emotion just flow out.”
He described his creative process as a conversation with the canvas, but he uses images instead of words.
“The audience sees them as decorations, but I know the content,” he said, comparing his work to confessionals at church or interactions between best friends. His creations fetch between $200 and $16,000.
Alvarado insisted he has no favorite painting among his works, but he feels a special attachment to his largest canvas, which measures 8 feet wide by 5 feet high.
“The one piece I’m proudest of is the portrait of my entire family,” he said. “It’s layered, colorful and complex.”
His paintings aren’t abstract, but he does juxtapose elements in ways that make the viewer ponder their meaning.
“My paintings represent all the components of my experience — metaphors, symbols, psychology,” he said, noting that a painting is art only if someone will display it. “I still think I’m able to bring in aesthetics. That’s important.”
San Angelo, he continued, has wonderful opportunities for creating great art. He said his close family connections here make him feel doubly blessed.
“My mom is proud of me,” Alvarado said, smiling. “I don’t have a tattoo or a pierced ear. She still calls me her little bohemian.”
source: http://www.gosanangelo.com/news/2007/jan/05/former-church-converted-house-artist-gallery/
This San Angelo Artist has got HEART
Listen and Watch Here-----------------------------
When a home isn't meant to be one
Central Texans convert churches, stores into living spaces
By Janet Heimlich
SPECIAL TO THE AMERICAN-STATESMAN
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Jeff Kester sits comfortably in his living room while listening to South African jazz playing softly in the background. The architect is aware that, for much of the past century, many others have sat here, too, listening to sermons and praying.
Kester and his wife, Rhea, live in what used to be a San Marcos church used by Presbyterians, Lutherans and Pentecostals.
"I was given a gift of being a steward for this building," which was built in 1901, said Kester.
But he and his wife faced a daunting challenge after buying the church in 1987: They had to turn a building that was never meant to be a home into a liveable space. Like other Central Texans who have moved into such spaces as storefronts and factories, they've had to put in bedrooms and knock out walls. And many have to completely refurbish electricity and plumbing.
Kester describes the church, which he had long admired, as "almost Victorian Gothic with some Queen Anne influence" with its two empty belfries and tall lancet windows. The floors are longleaf pine, and beaded board paneling covers the walls and 20-foot-high ceilings.
It was last used as a church in 1975 and later sat neglected. By the time Kester got his hands on it, many of the stained-glass windows were broken, and nearly all the pews had been stolen.
At first, Kester used only part of the building for office space. But in 1991, he decided to completely restore it and move in.
The project took seven years, and his wife and two sons had to camp out in a room behind the sanctuary. "I got a lot of complaints," Kester says.
There were all sorts of restoration problems, as well. The floors sloped down from the doorway to the pulpit to give the churchgoers in the back a good view. And the building was austere, not anywhere near as cozy as a home.
To fix the floor, Kester replaced the foundation, and relaid and refinished the old planks. He knocked out old windows around the pulpit and put in bookcases; that area is now the dining room.
He also built a kitchen with a loft above that houses the master bedroom and a small office. From there, the family can look down into the sanctuary below, which is now the Kester living room.
The space is warm and inviting, and, because the kitchen and loft extend only midway into the sanctuary, there is no mistaking the space as a former church. Kester even displays the last two pews in his living room.
"I feel like I'm just taking care of it for the next generation," Kester said. "And then it will still be a gem in this community."
Living in a store
Like the Kesters, Karen and Carl Powell moved into a building in need of a serious makeover. They bought an old downtown storefront in Bartlett, about 50 miles northeast of Austin, and their reason was simple — it was all they could afford.
Carl builds furniture and Karen weaves, so they didn't make enough money to easily qualify for a loan, even after selling their Galveston home.
While house-hunting, they found themselves driving through Bartlett in the mid-1990s and were taken with the tiny town, which looked vibrant yet quaint.
Many of the old brick buildings had cheery signs. And then they saw a storefront with large letters painted on the window: "For sale by owner, owner finance."
It was the town's old Cotton Exchange, built in 1900. Later it served as a women's hat and clothing store, and then a workshop that manufactured laminate countertops.
The Powells decided to take the plunge, buying the place and moving in. But then came a bit of unpleasantness. The ceiling was so deteriorated that rain poured in during storms, and it was 15 feet high, three feet lower than they had been told.
Then there was the town itself, which wasn't as vibrant as it had looked at first. That's because Clint Eastwood had just finished filming the 1995 movie "The Stars Fell on Henrietta," and the painted signs were part of the set. In fact, half the stores were vacant.
The couple also took on a political battle. For years, they fought the City Council to change the zoning laws to officially allow people to live in commercial buildings.
Despite all the disappointments, Carl Powell installed a second-floor loft in the building, which is where they live. Later, when a storm carried off much of the roof, he put in skylights.
"The main thing about our house is it's always in progress. Nothing is ever sure except the kitchen sink," says Karen Powell. Carl Powell jokes that walls have been moved around and the bedroom has never been in once place for very long.
But to a newcomer, the upstairs has an intimate, lived-in feel. Carl made the sleek and contemporary furniture. Framed pieces of art fill every wall. Downstairs serves as the couple's studio.
And two years ago, the town agreed to change the housing ordinance. As a result, a handful of new tenants now live and work in some of the formerly vacant buildings, giving them renewed life.
The Powells acknowledge sacrifices, with Karen Powell saying she would like more living space. But even if they were to move, they don't ever see themselves living in a conventional home.
"We have always been going forward, but it may not have been in what would be the accepted way to live," she says.
Plant, sweet plant
Having too little space is a complaint you won't hear from Conner Lindsey and Sharon Gaugler. Since 2002, the married couple has lived in the old Swift and Co. meat- and poultry-processing plant in Taylor, which closed down 40 years ago.
Lindsey and Gaugler had been living in Wichita, Kan., before coming to Central Texas to be close to relatives. Gaugler works in Austin as vice president of a credit union.
But they were having trouble finding a place that was big enough to hold their antiques. Lindsey sells and restores antique furniture, and the two collect old furniture and such eclectic items as Victorian knife rests and apothecary show globes.
Then they saw the Swift plant. Built in 1930, it has 26,000 square feet. Each of its three stories is big enough to house four large apartments. The first floor, with its enclosed loading dock, could provide Lindsey with 10,000 square feet of showroom. He could use the second floor as his workshop.
Gaugler knew it was right when she saw the third floor. "That did it for us. I could just envision living up here," she says.
But the couple didn't understand the magnitude of restoring the brick and concrete structure.
The filthy walls needed power-washing. (The water was simply swept downstairs, an advantage of concrete floors.) They installed three central heating and cooling systems. Painting one story took more than 100 gallons.
Most of the interior work was done on the third floor, which would be the couple's living space. Before they moved in their furnishings, the acoustics were so bad they could not understand what was being said on their television.
Plumbing the three bathrooms posed a big problem, because it would have been too costly to install pipes in the 7-inch concrete floor. Instead, they laid the pipe on top of the concrete and built the bathrooms a few feet off the floor, with stairs leading up.
But even after the building was made liveable, they still had to furnish it. There were no interior walls except those surrounding the bathrooms.
Which raises a question: How do you differentiate rooms in a space large enough to play ice hockey? And could a former factory ever be made to look inviting, or even pretty?
Gaugler and Lindsey had a plan. They arranged furniture and laid down rugs to help define "rooms." Bookcases, wardrobes and dressers outline the bedrooms. Fabric attached to the backs of these pieces resembles wallpaper. And Victorian wooden fretwork hangs above the entrances to give the effect of doorways. Lindsey says he likes not being restricted by walls. "If we want to move the TV room to another part of the house, we can do that."
Gaugler says she was especially particular about the kitchen layout. She wanted it separate but still open. Two antique L-shaped banker's walls, complete with teller cages, did the trick.
The two admit that it's not always easy living in a three-story factory. To get to the third floor, they must either walk up 40 steps or take the freight elevator.
They buy three sets of tools and cleaning supplies, because it takes so long to walk from one floor to the next. "You don't leave things and walk away because it can take you a while to find something later," says Gaugler.
Guests have an even harder time adjusting. There is little privacy in the bedrooms, and train tracks run right behind the building. Gaugler laughs about the late-night train whistle that she and Lindsey have gotten used to. "You know your guests are going to sit straight up in the bed."
But for Gaugler and Lindsey, it's a welcoming place. And what's more, they have plenty of room for all of their belongings, and then some.
source: http://www.statesman.com/business/content/business/stories/statesmanhomes/01/07/dyc_churchhome1.html
