As told to Lynnda Greene
Photograph by Frank Di Piazza
Since opening Mad Art Gallery in a vintage Art-Deco police station in Soulard six years ago, former St. Louis County police officer Ron Buechele has busted our assumptions about what a gallery is supposed to be—arcane, outré or chi-chi—and dispatched them straight to the slammer. Supporting this innovative venue by renting out its 19,000-square-foot space for private parties, he’s able to take risks to nurture new audiences as well as new artists. Declining commissions, he showcases rising regional talents he selects from his ongoing open calls in the thoughtful groups shows he hosts each year. And by opening the space to films, concerts, improv shows and community fundraisers, he brings in legions of people who might not otherwise enter a gallery. Here he talks about why St. Louis is a great place for artists and why the city itself might well be their best work.
“Art” wasn’t anything I found in a gallery or picture books—it was something I did, even as a kid growing up in Venice, Ill. My parents gave me materials like charcoals, pastels and good paper, which I stored in my little makeshift studio—a coffee table with a clip light. That was my place, where I’d draw or make models or Halloween costumes. I didn’t really set out to be an artist. In fact, I got my J.D. [Juris Doctor] degree long before my BFA—but the idea of making art has always been a draw, even as I got into other things along the way. Everything I’ve learned for a purpose—welding, or carpentry when I rehabbed my first place in Soulard—has turned into a medium I’ve worked in later. Everything I’ve learned has informed the next thing, which at some point happened to be Mad Art.
It seemed so big when I bought it, and at first I had no idea how to utilize the space. I wanted a place for art and artists, but a traditional gallery seemed too limiting, and a big studio wouldn’t pay the bills. Since I was working as a full-time cop, I depended on the help of a lot of great creative people along the way. Friends would help on weekends, and we just kept fixing it up and making things happen until something worked. Whatever it was going to be, I knew it was necessary—it had to be done, and it had to be here. In fact, I wonder if Mad Art could have happened anywhere but here.
That the St. Louis arts community is fractured frustrates a lot of people, but in some ways it makes it easier to build support and get started—because if you want to try something new, you can do it here. You may not be able to do it exactly as you want, where you want, but you can do it. Typically I’ll notice a group settle in somewhere, thrive for a while and then dissolve, for any number of reasons. Sometimes they inhabit a building that doesn’t have proper fire exits or restrooms, or maybe they didn’t get the proper licenses, and the city gets wind of it and shuts them down. A few years later, I’ll see something else going on there: same location, maybe even the same people, doing the same kind of thing—shows, events, readings—and they get it together this time.
A lot of groups don’t think in terms of sustainability. It’s easy to be the flavor of the month for as long as the flavor lasts, but once people move on to the next new dive on the scene, you’ve got to work your butt off to give people a reason to keep coming back. Some do, some don’t—but the important thing for all of us is that they don’t give up.
You also have to build your own community, which is why Mad Art does a lot of benefits. If you want people to know who you are, you’ve got to work with local organizations. We’ve done two benefits for Stray Rescue, drawing hundreds of people and raising thousands of dollars. Community service speaks to the whole point of it all: Are you just having an art party, or are you focused on a larger goal? If you complain that no one knows you’re there, then ask yourself, “Where are we?”
St. Louis is about to pop. All the components for a comeback—an influx of creative talent, a diverse cultural life and a lot of new development—are in place. Now we’ve got to take the next step. I don’t know what that will be, but, whatever it is, we need to do it collectively.
