Artist Charley Faust helped struggling firm win a contract

By Ira Spector

Ira Spector

SAN DIEGO — I remember picking up a newspaper in 2015 and reading that Charley Faust had died at the age of seventy-eight. Charley was the incredibly talented artist whose designs graced the world famous San Diego Zoo and its companion Safari Park. He was without question the best artist San Diego ever produced. (Donal Hord was our best sculptor.) Charley could draw and paint imaginatively with incredible realism He also created innumerable bas-relief sand cast murals that still hang in libraries, banks, corporate offices, government buildings, and the San Diego Airport. It was my good fortune to have known him. He taught me, on the telephone, how to make sand castings

After a year of struggle, searching for our niche in the limited art market in San Diego in 1962, my wife Suzi and I got our first break. Upon the advice of a San Diego client, I made an appointment with the head of the interiors department at Charles Luckman and Associates, the prominent Los Angeles architectural firm, to solicit commissions for my wife. I showed him her portfolio and was fortunate to receive a job from him to execute a mural in the PSA Airline cocktail lounge at the brand new Los Angeles Airport.

Upon leaving the Luckman office, I immediately got lost in unfamiliar streets. I headed toward what I hoped for was the freeway to San Diego, and wound up dead ending into Santa Monica Blvd. Straight ahead, was an unusual four-story modern, white building. Underneath the windows on each floor was an abstract composition of colorful mosaic tiles. As a junior engineer, my knowledge of architecture was limited, but instinctually I thought this might be an architects building. There was time left in the day, so I stopped to see if my hunch was correct. That’s how I found myself in the offices of Welton Becket and Associates, one of the largest architectural firms in Los Angeles. One of their specialties was department store interior design.

I took the elevator to the third floor, which the directory promised was the Interiors department. In the lobby, mounted against the most prominent wall, was an impressive bas-relief, tan sand-faced mural in a decorative theme, 15 feet long and 5 feet high. I had never seen anything like it before in my limited knowledge of public art. In front of the mural was a large reflecting pool, which created a dramatic effect.

By dumb luck I was able to see the chief interior designer without an appointment. He looked at Suzi’s portfolio and remarked how impressed he was by her talent. By now I was used to this and did not react as excited as when we first started the business. However he did mention something that got my juices flowing. He called in the six designers in the department to review the portfolio. They were similarly impressed, and I heard them murmur among themselves her art style would look good in department stores. Nothing specific was promised, but I got the impression I would hear from them in the future.

A month later I received a letter from the Becket office asking me to phone regarding department store work. Denis Allemand, project manager interior designer, signed the letter. I immediately called, and Denis with slight French accent, asked me if we did sand castings. They were designing a new series of May Company Department stores in the Los Angeles area, and were looking for someone to execute six murals in four stores. The murals were to be in the most prominent part of the store. Thinking fast I replied,” Yes we did.” Just a week before, Suzi and I saw our first sand casting at an art show opening It was a twelve inch diameter sun face by Joyce Fitzgerald, a local artist. Neither Suzi nor I had any idea how the plaque was made. Over my shoulder I heard Charlie Faust who was also at the opening respond to someone else’s inquiry about its construction with the remark, “Oh they’re easy to make.” With faith in Charlie’s comment, I put my neck on the block. “Can you please call on me so we can discuss the project?” Denis inquired.

In Denis’s office, he showed me a sketch of the mural he had drawn and wanted executed. There was a large sun face in the center with nine other decorative elements including a fish and rooster surrounding it. Embedded in the mural, as accents were stained glass. Each mural would be twenty-four feet long and six feet high. Each of the six murals were to be exactly the same. “Ira, come back in a week with a sample and a price.”

I rushed home all excited by our first big break in the art market after a year of struggling. Here was the opportunity to earn a year’s income from one job. All we had to do was learn how to make it. I called Charley Faust, who knew Suzi’s work. I asked him if he would tell me how to make a sand casting. He was very kind, (which sometimes other artists are not,) and gave me instructions on the phone. It took two more phone calls to Charley and we finally had the procedure perfected. However, another situation developed. Constructing sandcastings involved making impressions in wet sand, and then mixing casting plaster into water. My fastidious spouse decided she couldn’t stand the mess. She threw up her Pennsylvania Dutch stubborn arms and said, “No more.” I knew her well enough to realize she literally and figuratively washed her hands of the project.

I was not deterred. We were too close to creating some decent pieces. I had been working side by side with her making samples of a fish, and a sun face. I finished the samples myself. The price to charge was suggested by an artist friend of ours who had painted murals for the May Company in the Midwest. The price decided was six thousand dollars per store. Denis loved the samples and the price was right. We got the job.

Denis introduced me in his office to the imposing Jeffery Schwaebe, Chairman of May Company California, who wanted to meet me. While Denis took a phone call outside of the conference room, Mr. Schwaebe asked, “Where may we see some of your wife’s other sand cast work?” Thinking fast, the only thing I could think of was, “In New York City where we recently lived.” “Oh we go there frequently. Where in New York?” “The McCann Erickson Advertising Agency lobby,’ I replied. (Suzi, who worked there, had done some cardboard cut out painted figures in a few shadow boxes in their lobby.) My mind was racing, and I thought, “I’m dead. There goes this job and probably our career if he follows through on this.” At that moment, Denis returned to the room and caught the tail end of the conversation. “Mr. Schwaebe, we have seen Mrs. Spector’s work. We are quite satisfied with her talent. We are quite sure she will do an excellent job for you.” My eyes shifted to the chairman’s face, and this seemed to satisfy him, much to my relief, and thankfully the conversation took a different direction, and I was out the door directly to the men’s room.

Now I had to figure out a method to create the murals without my wife’s assistance. I came up with a scheme I thought would work. I taped some butcher paper together to the full size of the mural. Next I talked the Marine Corp. Recruit Depot into letting me use their opaque projector at the base, and I blew Denis sketch up to full size on the butcher paper. This enabled me to cut out the plywood shapes I needed to impress in the wet sand.

I’ll never forget the thrill I got when I washed off the wet sand from the first piece after the plaster had hardened. The decorative design appeared just at it had been created by Denis. I’ve never given birth to a baby, but the feeling had to be similar. I saved the largest and most difficult piece for last, a sun face six-foot square. I couldn’t do this by myself, the plaque was too big. I would need at least four men to help tilt the plaque upright. It would weigh nearly a thousand pounds. Fortunately I found three guys to help at night after they finished work. We struggled, tilted, and braced the plaque upright in the garage where I poured the casting. In the soft light of a single one hundred-watt bulb, I hosed off the excess sand from the face of the plaque, which was as tall as myself. A beautiful, radiant sun face emerged with a soft subtle smile. The three men who had helped me spontaneously applauded at the image that emerged.

The first May Company store where the plaques were to be installed was Buena Park in Orange County. I watched intently as the union laborers hoisted each plaque into place and bolted it onto the steel truss designed to hold it fifteen feet above the floor. I sighed with relief as the last plaque fitted into the remaining hole. The second identical mural was erected on the opposite wall. The last piece to be installed was the fish. Oh Christ! I silently swore as the workers finished the installation. I had cast the fish scales backwards on the second mural. Damn! I was going to have to go home and make another one. I was embarrassed by my error. Two top executives of the May Company also noticed, and complained to the supervising architect. He quickly came to my side and whispered to me, “Don’t say anything. Go for coffee and come back in half an hour. One of our top V.P, s. is coming and will review the situation.”

The boss architect arrived, handsome, tall, immaculately dressed, tanned face with a commanding sense of self-importance that he generously radiated to all within ear and eyesight. He first stopped to get a briefing on the problem from his underling on the job. He then strode majestically to the gathered May Company executives and listened to their complaints. “The goddamn fish scales are backwards!.” They riled and pointed to the plaque. Nonplussed the architect reviewed the plaque, studied both murals intently for a considerable amount of time and made his pronouncement. “This is obviously artistic license.” Who are we to judge the artist’s intent and interpretation. Let me take you gentlemen to lunch, where we can discuss Pablo Picasso and some of his interpretations.” The crisis was over. Those backward fish scales were up there for twenty years, gazed upon by every bargain hunting ladies-wear shopper as she rode up the escalator to the sales racks.

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Ira Spector is a freelance writer based in San Diego.