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Bedlam's Fate Uncertain
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| Jim Fittipaldi, the man at the center of Bedlam, recently lost out on an attempt to buy the building housing the Arts District gallery and event space. Without an angel investor, Bedlam's future remains a question mark. Photo by Gary Leonard. |
After Six Years, the Arts District's Soul May Hit the Road Again
by Andrew Moyle
Sinking into a plush bedroom couch in the very back corner of Bedlam's second floor, Jim Fittipaldi looked like it pained him to sit still. As he smoked a cigarette, his facial expressions and gestures were as frenetic as the collection of artwork hanging on the brick wall above him.
He'd be much more relaxed upright, it would seem, with a wide stance to work with. Or, better yet, on the move.
And move is just what he may have to do.
"What do I need?" Fittipaldi echoed when asked. "I need $3 million."
Bedlam, Fittipaldi's art gallery, event space and home, has anchored the southern end of the Arts District ever since he moved there in 2000. Now it's on the block for $2.8 million.
The owner of the building is Tomy Drissi, a 3-D cardboard movie display mogul, race car driver and owner of Pink's Hot Dogs. (Yes, thePink's Hot Dogs.) It's not like Drissi's a bad guy. He's let Fittipaldi's have his way with 1275 E. Sixth St., rent free, for six years.
It was Fittipaldi's idea that Drissi should sell the Bedlam building in the first place. To Fittipaldi.
Yes, this is one of those stories. The name "Bedlam" is spot on.
Art and the LSAT
It's been said that Bloom's General Store is the heart of the Arts District, and Bedlam is its soul. Sticking with the metaphor, the former is a matter of pragmatic fact, the latter an altogether more ethereal concept.
The place, a hidden-in-plain-sight warehouse a half block east of the Sixth Street Bridge, has shored up the southern border of the Arts District for the past six years. It's been the scene of art shows, themed parties, art workshops, music videos and just about anything else the human mind can invent.
On the night of July 25, the entire second floor was turned into an artist's workshop. Sixty or so artists, of every ability level and working in an array of media, sat or stood and sketched nude models. The theme was the Garden of Eden. Apples played heavily.
"Where else can I go on a Tuesday night and get some real work done?" said an artist named David, who worked his sketchpad with stabs of ink.
Nearby, Kanu Saul, Hollywood's quasi-homeless guerilla hairdresser, shaped the straight, dark locks of a young Asian woman. He paused only momentarily to deliver a kiss on the cheek to a surprised reporter.
Sitting in a corner away from the action, in an area set up as an indoor bar, James Ripley studied for his LSAT.
"It's ego busting," he said, somehow able to focus past the action all around him.
Despite the festivities, there were nerves in the air, although few were aware of them. Terry Elsworth, a longtime friend-of-Bedlam who was manning the bar, was one of the few.
"It's hurting my heart," Elsworth said, unbuttoning his shirt for effect, showing off a zipper-like scar from heart surgery partially paid for by one of Fittipaldi's renowned fundraising efforts. "Because this place is in jeopardy."
Late last year, Fittipaldi and some cohorts pulled together a plan to buy the Downtown Los Angeles building from Drissi, who was receptive to the idea of being compensated after six years of generosity.
"He said he had some people who were really into the arts and they wanted to try to come in to make an offer to work with me on the property, so they could create something," Drissi said in an emotion-laden telephone conversation. "He had plenty of time."
The offer was formalized in February and a timetable was set: Fittipaldi had six months to raise the $2.8 million. But in mid-July, the deal fell through when a member of the consortium bailed out. (Fittipaldi would not name the party in question.)
Business, it would seem, is not Fittipaldi's strong suit.
"That's a playing field I'm not really savvy on," he admitted. "A really good businessman eats me up."
Drissi, owner of Hollywood-based Drissi Advertising, which makes three-dimensional cardboard displays for movie houses, wouldn't detail what arrangements he is making for the building. He repeatedly stressed that he has yet to make a next move.
But, he added, he also can't put the Bedlamites' fears to rest.
"How can I say that, when I've had people who have put forth a plan, and that plan now has not come to fruition?" Drissi said. "Jim is a good friend of mine and I will always support him however I can. They're really, really pushing to make it happen, so, with that, I haven't made any decision. I'm waiting."
Riding the Arts Wave
Bedlam was always a bookkeeper's nightmare, but that was half the point.
In the 1980s, Fittipaldi worked as an art director for morning shows like "Good Morning America" and "Good Morning L.A.," building sets and cranking out screen graphics on short notice. Although the work was lucrative, he found it unfulfilling.
"You do what you're told. I just got tired of it."
One night on the drive home from work, he said, he tossed his portfolio in a dumpster.
In the mid-1990s, he joined the second wave of artists moving into the District (the first wave occurred in the 1970s), at the time defined by the likes of Al's Bar, the restaurant 410 Boyd Street and Coffee Strippers coffee house.
He started Bedlam's first iteration on Molino Street. It quickly became the scene of some of the Arts District's most-talked-about parties - both black tie and blowout - and art shows that could sell thousands of dollars of local artists' work.
During his first show Fittipaldi met photographer Shaun Thyne. The two have since partnered to put together hundreds of events, but their soft-sell approach was always for someone else's benefit. Fittipaldi became known as a dynamo of generosity, part Mother Teresa and part Looney Tunes Tasmanian Devil, with a dash of Tom Sawyer thrown in for good measure.
"In fifth grade, when the teacher went around asking what we wanted to be when we grew up, I wanted to be a waiter," Fittipaldi said. "I realize now, that everything that I've accomplished is because I'm a waiter."
Maître d' would be a more apt description. Whenever anybody in the Arts District needed a good table, they knew where to go. Even if it was just a place to hang out. Fittipaldi's mother, Dorothy, even flies out from Florida to cook up a Thanksgiving meal for "the orphans," as Elsworth puts them.
"People have met, gotten married here. It's just an art backdrop," Thyne said from a barstool. "Everyone that wants to pitch in can pitch in. We consider everybody a huge family."
In 2000, fleeing rising rents on Molino Street, Fittipaldi and Thyne moved Bedlam to its current location, funded by Drissi. Moving didn't affect the product.
"It's a concept," Thyne said.
Selling that concept has proven difficult, however. Before Fittipaldi's deal to buy the place from Drissi fell apart, there was talk of formalizing the space, bringing it more into the open, creating a business plan and opening Bedlam's doors to this, the third influx of Arts District residents.
Now the idea of transforming Bedlam into a community arts center is up in the air, although it still has backers with heft.
Felicia Filer, public arts director for the city's Department of Cultural Affairs, recently toured the place. Guy Zimmerman, artistic director of Padua Playwrights, has been in talks to put on a series of short performances in the ground-floor workshop space.
"It's a great space and I hope we can work something out," Zimmerman wrote in an email. "Jim is an important presence in the Downtown scene and L.A. should work to keep him there, I would think."
That effort is in the works, but although Drissi made assurances that there is no timetable for a sale, the Bedlam community is preparing for the worst.
Which wouldn't be so bad, all things considered. Given the right religious perspective, one might say that souls can live on.
"This place, regardless, will always be a place to stop by," Thyne said. "We just don't know if it will be in here."
Contact Andrew Moyle at andrew@downtownnews.com.
page 10, 8/7/2006
© Los Angeles Downtown News. Reprinting items retrieved from the archives are for personal use only. They may not be reproduced or retransmitted without permission of the Los Angeles Downtown News. If you would like to redistribute anything from the Los Angeles Downtown News Archives, please call our permissions department at (213) 481-1448.
He'd be much more relaxed upright, it would seem, with a wide stance to work with. Or, better yet, on the move.
And move is just what he may have to do.
"What do I need?" Fittipaldi echoed when asked. "I need $3 million."
Bedlam, Fittipaldi's art gallery, event space and home, has anchored the southern end of the Arts District ever since he moved there in 2000. Now it's on the block for $2.8 million.
The owner of the building is Tomy Drissi, a 3-D cardboard movie display mogul, race car driver and owner of Pink's Hot Dogs. (Yes, thePink's Hot Dogs.) It's not like Drissi's a bad guy. He's let Fittipaldi's have his way with 1275 E. Sixth St., rent free, for six years.
It was Fittipaldi's idea that Drissi should sell the Bedlam building in the first place. To Fittipaldi.
Yes, this is one of those stories. The name "Bedlam" is spot on.
It's been said that Bloom's General Store is the heart of the Arts District, and Bedlam is its soul. Sticking with the metaphor, the former is a matter of pragmatic fact, the latter an altogether more ethereal concept.
The place, a hidden-in-plain-sight warehouse a half block east of the Sixth Street Bridge, has shored up the southern border of the Arts District for the past six years. It's been the scene of art shows, themed parties, art workshops, music videos and just about anything else the human mind can invent.
On the night of July 25, the entire second floor was turned into an artist's workshop. Sixty or so artists, of every ability level and working in an array of media, sat or stood and sketched nude models. The theme was the Garden of Eden. Apples played heavily.
"Where else can I go on a Tuesday night and get some real work done?" said an artist named David, who worked his sketchpad with stabs of ink.
Nearby, Kanu Saul, Hollywood's quasi-homeless guerilla hairdresser, shaped the straight, dark locks of a young Asian woman. He paused only momentarily to deliver a kiss on the cheek to a surprised reporter.
Sitting in a corner away from the action, in an area set up as an indoor bar, James Ripley studied for his LSAT.
"It's ego busting," he said, somehow able to focus past the action all around him.
Despite the festivities, there were nerves in the air, although few were aware of them. Terry Elsworth, a longtime friend-of-Bedlam who was manning the bar, was one of the few.
"It's hurting my heart," Elsworth said, unbuttoning his shirt for effect, showing off a zipper-like scar from heart surgery partially paid for by one of Fittipaldi's renowned fundraising efforts. "Because this place is in jeopardy."
Late last year, Fittipaldi and some cohorts pulled together a plan to buy the Downtown Los Angeles building from Drissi, who was receptive to the idea of being compensated after six years of generosity.
"He said he had some people who were really into the arts and they wanted to try to come in to make an offer to work with me on the property, so they could create something," Drissi said in an emotion-laden telephone conversation. "He had plenty of time."
The offer was formalized in February and a timetable was set: Fittipaldi had six months to raise the $2.8 million. But in mid-July, the deal fell through when a member of the consortium bailed out. (Fittipaldi would not name the party in question.)
Business, it would seem, is not Fittipaldi's strong suit.
"That's a playing field I'm not really savvy on," he admitted. "A really good businessman eats me up."
Drissi, owner of Hollywood-based Drissi Advertising, which makes three-dimensional cardboard displays for movie houses, wouldn't detail what arrangements he is making for the building. He repeatedly stressed that he has yet to make a next move.
But, he added, he also can't put the Bedlamites' fears to rest.
"How can I say that, when I've had people who have put forth a plan, and that plan now has not come to fruition?" Drissi said. "Jim is a good friend of mine and I will always support him however I can. They're really, really pushing to make it happen, so, with that, I haven't made any decision. I'm waiting."
Bedlam was always a bookkeeper's nightmare, but that was half the point.
In the 1980s, Fittipaldi worked as an art director for morning shows like "Good Morning America" and "Good Morning L.A.," building sets and cranking out screen graphics on short notice. Although the work was lucrative, he found it unfulfilling.
"You do what you're told. I just got tired of it."
One night on the drive home from work, he said, he tossed his portfolio in a dumpster.
In the mid-1990s, he joined the second wave of artists moving into the District (the first wave occurred in the 1970s), at the time defined by the likes of Al's Bar, the restaurant 410 Boyd Street and Coffee Strippers coffee house.
He started Bedlam's first iteration on Molino Street. It quickly became the scene of some of the Arts District's most-talked-about parties - both black tie and blowout - and art shows that could sell thousands of dollars of local artists' work.
During his first show Fittipaldi met photographer Shaun Thyne. The two have since partnered to put together hundreds of events, but their soft-sell approach was always for someone else's benefit. Fittipaldi became known as a dynamo of generosity, part Mother Teresa and part Looney Tunes Tasmanian Devil, with a dash of Tom Sawyer thrown in for good measure.
"In fifth grade, when the teacher went around asking what we wanted to be when we grew up, I wanted to be a waiter," Fittipaldi said. "I realize now, that everything that I've accomplished is because I'm a waiter."
Maître d' would be a more apt description. Whenever anybody in the Arts District needed a good table, they knew where to go. Even if it was just a place to hang out. Fittipaldi's mother, Dorothy, even flies out from Florida to cook up a Thanksgiving meal for "the orphans," as Elsworth puts them.
"People have met, gotten married here. It's just an art backdrop," Thyne said from a barstool. "Everyone that wants to pitch in can pitch in. We consider everybody a huge family."
In 2000, fleeing rising rents on Molino Street, Fittipaldi and Thyne moved Bedlam to its current location, funded by Drissi. Moving didn't affect the product.
"It's a concept," Thyne said.
Selling that concept has proven difficult, however. Before Fittipaldi's deal to buy the place from Drissi fell apart, there was talk of formalizing the space, bringing it more into the open, creating a business plan and opening Bedlam's doors to this, the third influx of Arts District residents.
Now the idea of transforming Bedlam into a community arts center is up in the air, although it still has backers with heft.
Felicia Filer, public arts director for the city's Department of Cultural Affairs, recently toured the place. Guy Zimmerman, artistic director of Padua Playwrights, has been in talks to put on a series of short performances in the ground-floor workshop space.
"It's a great space and I hope we can work something out," Zimmerman wrote in an email. "Jim is an important presence in the Downtown scene and L.A. should work to keep him there, I would think."
That effort is in the works, but although Drissi made assurances that there is no timetable for a sale, the Bedlam community is preparing for the worst.
Which wouldn't be so bad, all things considered. Given the right religious perspective, one might say that souls can live on.
"This place, regardless, will always be a place to stop by," Thyne said. "We just don't know if it will be in here."
Contact Andrew Moyle at andrew@downtownnews.com.
page 10, 8/7/2006
© Los Angeles Downtown News. Reprinting items retrieved from the archives are for personal use only. They may not be reproduced or retransmitted without permission of the Los Angeles Downtown News. If you would like to redistribute anything from the Los Angeles Downtown News Archives, please call our permissions department at (213) 481-1448.
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