Becoming Enzo | Pop Art — Stories on the History of Design

Arthur Avenue, The Bronx, NY. Boxing Day had just passed and “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by the Beatles was playing on the radio. It had been snowing the whole night and the streets were covered in a beautiful white layer. I was sitting by the store counter watching children throwing snowballs, building snowmen and running across the streets in laughter. We ran a family-owned cheese and meat shop called Speranza Co. at the East end of Arthur Avenue, also known as Little Italy.

Our whole life evolved around the store. Everyone from close to distant family to the next door neighbor had some sort of duty or task at the shop. We were a family of five and I was the youngest. My parents named me Enzo, meaning winner or ruler, but due to my slim silhouette everyone called me Slimzo, so I felt pretty far from either. I really hated that name.

Normally I’d spend most of the days looking out of the window and dreaming of becoming a well-known artist. I was trying to imagine the kind of life they were leading at The Factory down on East 47th Street. I was trying to think ways on how to become a Warhol Superstar, but it just seemed unrealistic to someone with my background. I’d hear exciting stories about what was happening in his studio, which made it even more attractive for me. I really wanted to become part of that creative and artistic lifestyle, but I was getting pressure from my family to keep things more stable.

I’d been having discussions with my family for the past few months about continuing the family business, getting married and starting a family. They didn’t see art as a way to make ends meet nor as something with a promising future. They were supportive towards my creative cravings as a hobby, but were against trying to make it my full-time gig. I was really into the new Pop Art Movement that took subject matters from the immediate environment, used vibrant colors and innovative techniques.

There was something exciting and real about taking inspiration from everyday things. Subjects that existed, but didn’t necessarily have a narrative. Satire and humor surely had a somewhat narrative form, but these Pop Art creations were something new to the prevailing abstract expressionism.

Pop Art subject matter was around popular culture, hence the name Pop Art. When I was talking about this style in the neighborhood, they felt it looked more like adverts, comics and mundane pictures instead of art. I had a hard time explaining the topic of graphic design versus art, and how Pop Art fit into this equation. However, majority of people did seem to like Andy Warhol’s Marilyn Diptych, depicting Marilyn Monroe in 50 images based on the same photograph. The artwork showing Campbell’s soup can convinced my father to allow me to try creating graphics for the family products.

My family knew I was stubborn and I think they agreed to let me use the graphics I created for products as a way to try to get me to follow their master plan. The rule was that I’d have to produce and sell the goods myself. I was lucky in a sense that the neighborhood itself was also an extended family where materials were available and affordable, and I was allowed to create screen prints of my art in a nearby print shop.

I was using primary colors, mainly red, yellow and blue in all of my works. Perhaps it could have seemed a bit like I was copying Roy Lichtenstein’s style, but that wasn’t the case. It was because these colors were easily available and I liked using a more limited color palette. I could have still mixed these colors if needed.

As a young artist I was still looking for my own signature style, and I knew I wasn’t that much into using celebrities as my subject matter. I was more passionate about creating art related to things I saw everyday inside our shop and the neighborhood. These inspired me to create my first series of works titled: “A Day in the Life of”, which featured works on everyday items.

My artworks, or packaging designs, were displayed outside the shop in a small stand every day from sunrise to sunset. People did find them different to what they were used to, but considered them as just packaging, not really as art pieces. I decided I would include a small print piece of my work as a separate item free of charge for everyone who bought something. I added my name and address to the backside of the prints in hopes of promotion.

It was Friday and an older gentleman who was dressed in a red tuxedo, rocking a red beard, black combat boots over his trousers and a black French beret stopped at the stand. He said he’d seen my prints and asked if I’d be interested in showing my works at his event space in Montauk for a $100 the following day. He was hosting a weekend event and thought my works would fit in great. I’d have my own corner with about 20 other artists from the area.

I was thrilled. $100 was quite a lot of money, but I decided I was going to go for it — it was the first chance I had at showing my works outside our neighborhood. I agreed and he gave me the details. I was expected to arrive early morning, setup my stand and pay the fee. He thanked me and left abruptly. I had a small dilemma I didn’t want to share with him — I didn’t have a car and Montauk was pretty far away, especially when needing to bring in my best works.

It was time to ask around the family, aka the neighborhood. Everyone had vehicles that were meant to be used for work, so it felt like it wasn’t going to happen. Luckily, my uncle knew a guy who knew a guy who had a friend who had a car available in the garage and agreed to lend it to me for the weekend. However, it was a summer car. It was an older Cadillac convertible without a sunroof. It was the end of January. However, it was the best I could get in such a short notice. I was told to take extra good care of it and make sure the thermostat was working properly. I didn’t really know what it was though.

The next morning at 5 AM I drove the car to our home, and started filling it up with my works. I filled the whole car completely with works from the past year and my pride and joy “A Day in the Life of” series. There was only room for a driver, me. Imagine the scene — a summer convertible where the sunroof is missing, filled with artworks in the middle of winter in New York. Perhaps people who witnessed it thought I was out of my mind, or some kind of show-off, but in reality it was just what was possible.

I started driving towards Montauk around 7 AM. It was cold, but it didn’t matter — at least it wasn’t snowing or raining. I did prepare a blanket to cover my works in case it started pouring down. I was probably somewhere between Shinnecock Hills and Southampton when I started to notice smoke coming from the front of my convertible.

After about a minute the smoke intensified and a sizzling sound started. I stopped by the road to take a closer look and popped up the hood. All that was coming out was hot air — I wasn’t a car mechanic nor had any experience with cars, but it looked as if the engine had overheated.

I waited a bit by the road, but it didn’t seem to help. I tried the ignition again — the car was not starting. How can it overheat during the winter I was thinking to myself. Was this my luck? Just when I get a chance something like this happens? I felt hopeless. I still decided to wait for a bit, added a bit of snow to the engine, but nothing seemed to work. The car was still not starting. It was getting close to 10 AM and if I couldn’t get it running I’d miss the show.

I tried to stop a few cars that were passing by. No-one stopped — maybe it seemed too strange of a scene to stop. I decided to walk to the direction I was driving with the hopes of finding a phone. I left all my art exposed in the scene where the car broke down.

I had walked about 10 minutes when I finally found a resting spot with a phone booth. Luckily I had a few quarters and called my uncle about the car. He was furious. I was told to call a tow-truck immediately, forget about the event and attend the car at all times. I agreed — I was getting a huge favor by having a car in the first place, and trying to be stubborn and go to the event could have caused even more problems at home.

I hanged up, called a tow service and started walking back towards the car. After I passed a corner I noticed a human figure and what appeared to be a larger animal, perhaps a dog figure by the side of my car. The person was appearing to be going through the artworks. Another setback — a thief? What more could go wrong today? I started to run towards the car.

As I reached my car, the person, who appeared to be a man in his late 40s looked up to me with a grin on his face and asking “Are these yours?”. “Yes, what do you think you are doing” I replied in a defensive tone. “I really like them”. I stood in silence for a bit and replied “ Um.. really?”. I was so taken aback by his reaction and couldn’t believe what he had just said. I didn’t know what to say, so we stood there for a bit in awkward silence.

I glanced downwards to what I initially thought was probably a dog, but to my amazement was an anteater, held by a string of it’s owner. At this moment I knew the man must be in some way related to art, as this was something similar to Salvador Dali. He noticed me glancing his pet and mentioned that he learned about having anteaters as pets from Dali, and decided to get one for himself as he was such as fan of his work.

We had some small talk and he saw that I was in trouble with my car. He said the event I was heading towards was a big scam and the gentleman was well-known in the area for such behavior. He’d say he was hosting an event of some kind and ask for an entrance fee, usually in advance, and go to a place that was empty at the time, especially during winter season, and disappear a few moments later. I didn’t know if I was happy or sad to know about the matter. Everything just seemed like it was the the worst day possible.

It also started snowing lightly — great.

The man said he had an art gallery nearby and told that he could take the works and store them in his house temporarily. I could pick them up later. I didn’t really have a choice. It was either my works or the car. I couldn’t have messed with the friend of a guy who knew a guy who knew my uncle anyway.

I started covering works under the blanket and was thinking perhaps this was another scam? Anyway, I agreed. I gave him my phone number and left all the works under a blanket by the side of the road. In the snow, in the winter. The man left with his anteater and not a long after the tow-truck came and we left the scene.

As we were pulling out from the side of the road, I kept glancing the pile of works from the side mirror — thinking whether I should still try to push this art thing. After about an hour and a half we were back at Arthur Avenue, The Bronx, NY. I was told off by everyone, of course. The car returned to it’s owner and me directly back to attending the store without making packaging designs.

A couple days passed by when I received a call. It was the man from the side of the road. He told that he was able to retrieve all my artworks and they were stored in his house, though unfortunately because of snow, the works got wet.

I said it didn’t matter. I think he was waiting for my reaction, but continued quickly to say that the moisture of the snow had transformed the works into something truly unique and that he would like to purchase all the works and have an exhibition in his gallery. He said he would send me a cheque immediately for $10,000 if I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t believe my ears and tears started to fall off. I was speechless and the man waiting patiently without saying a word on the line.

I wasn’t thinking about the superstars anymore. For the first time, I did feel like an Enzo, a winner.