For far too long, art, music and literature were kept from the masses, elevated and rarefied and out of reach for the average person. I am a huge fan of folk art, crafts, found art, and art made from or depicting everyday items. What some might call lowbrow shatters snobbish barriers and brings beauty to anyone who seeks it.

It is no wonder, then, that I love tattoos (here’s my left arm),

graffiti and street art,

pieces made from items with little to no intrinsic value,

and art bordering on obsessive/compulsive, if not downright insane (The Beer Can House, Houston):

The Kooky Colorado Desert

The Colorado Desert in Southern California sits within the greater Sonoran Desert, and includes Palm Springs, the Salton Sea, and Borrego Springs. The Colorado seems to attract, and inspire, eccentric, rugged individualists. In the words of “Law and Order,” “These are their stories. Cha-CHUM!”

Robolights

In the early 1970s, Palm Springs attorney and hotelier Ken Irwin, Sr. built a home in the Movie Colony neighborhood of Palm Springs. The neighborhood is so-called because in the early years many Hollywood stars, under studio contracts, could be no more than two hours from Los Angeles, so they kept homes in the area just off the little village of Palm Springs. From the corner of the lot of the Irwin property, you can see the backside of Sinatra’s 1947 masterpiece, Twin Palms.

Mr. Irwin’s namesake, Kenny Jr., was an artist from an early age. He began making sculptures on the family property, and friends and neighbors donated more materials, like old appliances and spare parts. Often, Kenny’s sculptures resembled robots.

One year at Christmas, Kenny lamented to his father that there were not very many Christmas displays in the neighborhood. His father encouraged him to make one, and thus Robolights was born. The display was a tradition for over thirty years.

I never heard of Robolights until I spent my first winter in Palm Springs in 2015. By that time, it was estimated that over 50,000 people came to Palm Springs specifically to see it. And, what a sight it is to behold. Christmas tunes, massive sculptures at every turn, demonic and nightmarish looking characters coexisting with whimsical inflatables and children’s toys, lots of spray foam insulation and brightly colored paint, and kinetic art. Then, add thousands and thousands of lights. Along with robots, Kenny’s art incorporates microwaves and mannequins, and roller coasters are a common theme.

Here’s a YouTube video that gives you an idea of the sheer scale of the exhibit.

As you can imagine, the residents of the tony Movie Colony neighborhood, some of whom moved to the area after Robolights’s inception, were very vocal about their displeasure over the month-long display, the traffic, and the crowds. It didn’t help that Kenny converted to Islam, and his clothing of choice is often a galabia and taqiyah, removing him even more from his neighbors. They complained bitterly to the Palm Springs City Council.

Then, Ken Irwin Sr. died in 2016.

That’s the same year the city filed suit against Kenny, which it actually lost in 2017, but it resulted in Kenny not being able to charge an admission fee, among other things.

I returned to Palm Springs in 2018 with every intention of seeing Robolights again, but whether it would even happen was up in the air; the city refused to allow Kenny to open unless he agreed that 2018 would be the last year Robolights would be staged in the Movie Colony.

Marsha and Doug flew out on Christmas day from Seattle specifically to see Robolights in its final year in its original location.

Sure, Kenny is looking for a suitable commercial space, and the city even agreed to pay $125,000 for relocation expenses, but I fear that the art made in situ is a lot like IKEA furniture; once assembled, it disintegrates in transit.

We were still basking in the glow of the amazing Christmas night display the next day, when Marsha discovered on Facebook that Kenny accepts visitors to the home on the property during daylight hours! A few texts later, we had a 10:30 a.m. appointment.

We let ourselves in through the gate and found Kenny out back, leaf blowing in preparation for the coming night’s performance. He was all by himself – no employees, no volunteers to help during his busiest time of year. He was hatless, shirtless, and shoeless. He seemed a bit surprised at our presence, even though we texted less than an hour before.

Kenny is extremely warm and charming one minute, and socially awkward the next. Now in his 40s, he is a sincere and earnest artist who wants to spread the joy in his art to the world. About that, there is no doubt.

Kenny led us to the house, an early 1970’s time capsule, chock-full of his pieces.

It was such a treat, not only to meet Kenny, but to see the house, which is off-limits at nighttime. Marsha and I both bought small items to thank Kenny for being so generous with his time, but he appeared distressed that his works of art were leaving him; he took them and disappeared outside to take photographs, as they had not been “catalogued.“

It was time for us to leave, and I asked if we could all take a photograph together. He did not hesitate. He was wearing nothing but cargo shorts. I asked perhaps a bit too tactfully, “Are you camera ready, Kenny?” Not picking up on the subtle social cue, he said he was.

There is just so much I love about this photo! We all look so damned happy. The way Marsha and Doug and I are grouped together, it almost looks like Kenny naked photobombed us. Or, the wrinkle on the left shoulder of my black jacket against Kenny’s nude torso makes it appear that he was Photoshopped into the shot. You just can’t get any better than this commemoration of our meeting with Kenny Irwin, Jr. Another friend who wasn’t even there told me that if she ever needs to put a smile on her face, she looks at this photo.

If Robolights indeed moves to a commercial location, you can bet your sweet bippy I will be there.

Salvation Mountain

Just southeast of the Salton Sea, itself an enclave of wacky nonconformists, sits Salvation Mountain. New Englander Leonard Knight showed up on this patch of desert in 1984, intent upon spreading the message of God’s love to the world. On land he never owned, he built a mountain of cement, adobe clay, and straw, painting it in vivid, joyful colors.

In 2002, Salvation Mountain was declared a National Treasure in the Congressional record of the United States.

I first visited Salvation Mountain in 2010, while Leonard was still living on the property, sleeping in the back of a pickup truck. The residents in the nearby town of Niland made sure he ate and showered. At that time he was very concerned about his almost 30-year legacy, worrying visitors would walk on his artwork in his absence, and who would repaint it to combat the unrelenting desert sun. By the following year, Leonard was in a nursing home. He passed away in 2014.

Visiting with Marsha and Doug eight years later, I was relieved to see Salvation Mountain still standing.

A public charity has been established to support the property, and many visitors donate paint to the project.

Volunteers protect and maintain the site. If you get a chance to go see it, do it soon. The future of Salvation Mountain is certainly uncertain.

Slab City And East Jesus

Just up the road about a mile from Salvation Mountain is Slab City – remnant foundations of buildings which once comprised a World War II military installation. The mostly down and out, but also young people and free spirits, camp on those old foundations, naming The Slabs “The last free place on earth.“ There is no running water, electricity, plumbing, or trash removal. Despite lack of amenities, the loosely joined community has a library, radio station, and coffee klatch. The snowbirds caught on to the government’s laissez faire attitude toward Slab City and starting camping there too, but they depart in May when the temperatures go over 100 degrees and only the true desert rats stay behind.

East Jesus is a suburb of Slab City, where artists congregate. To get a flavor for the community, check out this Survival Guide.

For the daytripping lookie-loo visitor, the Art Garden is where it’s at. You will be greeted by a resident, who will tell you you don’t have to stay on the carpet, touch anything you want, and if you break something, just say it was already broken.

I must admit that Slab City and East Jesus are a little too untamed for me. While I am sure everything would have been fine, I was happy to go with Marsha and Doug, and I would not feel comfortable camping there. While I have returned to Salvation Mountain and Robolights, I can safely say that Slab City and East Jesus are now off the To-See List, permanently. (For those of you who may be unfamiliar, it is now on the Chuck It List.)

Borrego Springs

Hang a right on Highway 22 at the Salton Sea and take Borrego Salton Sea Way 35 minutes or so to Borrego Springs, on the edge of Anzo-Borrego Desert State Park, and California’s only designated Dark Sky Community.

Borrego Springs has a charming little main street with a few restaurants, biker bar, vintage trailer park, entrance to the state park, and the local newspaper. If you have a chance, have lunch at the Red Ocotillo. The new library is lovely. There are several mobile home and RV resorts in the area, and lots of boondockers and dunebuggies in the desert just outside town.

Borrego Springs’s big draw for me is where the now-deceased heir to the Avery Office Products fortune commissioned artist/welder Ricardo Breceda to install larger-than-life metal sculptures on his land. Galleta Meadows consists of several parcels along Borrego Springs Road.

The properties are so large and the art so spaced apart that you drive to and between the installations.

Along with recognizable elephants and camels and tortoises live otherworldly, ethereal creatures so gargantuan that only the desert could accommodate their sheer size.

Epilogue

After spending several days communing with and peering into the minds of Colorado Desert artists, I visited the Palm Springs Art Museum for a mental palate cleanser. Those neat and tidy Calder mobiles were just what the doctor ordered, like little brightly colored sorbets.