This should have been written months ago. Maybe years ago. I should have started work on this when I first thought of it. I should have knocked on some doors, asked some questions, did some research and submitted the last word on a house that both charms and vexes. I should have gotten in front of this story. Seriously. Who else was going to? Now it might be too late. The die appears to have been cast, and what could have been one of the most uniquely creative spots in Central Ohio may soon be just another house.
115 Morse Road means nothing to most folks. If you’re familiar with it at all you most likely to know it by sight rather than by number; “Oh, that house! The one with all the junk in the yard!”. Morse Road does that. It hustles us through neighborhoods, past businesses, and on to our destinations at a breezy 45 MPH (posted 35, but really, have you seen anyone do 35 on Morse?). In a city notoriously unfriendly to pedestrians, Morse Road stands as a barren east/west reminder of just how joyless walking in most of Columbus can be. And that’s a shame, because if all you’ve ever done is drive past 115 Morse Road you have likely missed one of the most intricate and compelling works of art in Central Ohio.
Visionary environments. That’s what the scholars call them. They’re a sub-genre of a sub-genre. Outsider artists are best known for paintings, drawings, small scale sculptures, and carvings. And why not. These mediums are relatively easy to obtain and relatively easy to manipulate. Anyone can do it. Sometimes though, its not enough to paint a picture or carve a statue. Sometimes a world needs to be made. Sometimes a world needs to be remade. These are the visionary environments. They’re deeply personal, built with the kind of obsession that rarely quits, and imbued with such a subjective rigor that most of us can only wonder what drives the creator. Think Simon Rodia’s Watt’s Tower. Think Howard Finster’s Paradise Garden. Think 115 Morse Road.
I don’t know Geno Centofanti. I never met the guy. I don’t know his neighbors. I don’t know his detractors and I don’t know his supporters. I don’t know what it’s like to live in proximity to a man bent on re-shaping the world to conform to whatever it is he sees in his head. I don’t know what realtors say to potential buyers and I don’t know what code enforcement officials say to concerned neighbors.
But I do know this; this business of imagining something and then wanting so desperately to make it real that you’ll slave and sacrifice and sweat, that’s where art comes from. Plain and simple. The artist sees it in their head, and then they make it. If they’re particularly driven (obsessed?) they’ll make it no matter what the consequences are. That’s the heart of creation. It’s why art is so important. It’s the thing that allows us to continuously re-imagine and rebuild our world.
Now we get to the tough questions; the kind that we as a community will have to answer. Are property values more important than all that. Is code enforcement the thing we’ll put above artistic expression. Is it really an either/or proposition, or is there perhaps some room for compromise. I don’t know the answers, but I expect we’ll find them out soon enough. There are foreboding signs on the property indicating the death of freedom. A new Facebook support group has popped up. Lengthy missives from the artist himself indicate that the City is leaning in and ready to take action. I can only guess at the outcome.
If you haven’t seen 115 Morse Road up close, I’d suggest getting there soon. Park your car on a neighboring side street and enjoy a stroll along one of Columbus’ most car-friendly thoroughfares. It’s worth it. For there, at 115 Morse Road, the yard with all the junk in it, you can lose yourself in the kind of dizzying and surreal environment you won’t find anywhere else. Get there soon. This might be your last chance.
115 Morse Road (detail)
large scale installation
found objects
plant material
More information on 115 Morse Road can be found on Facebook.