Columnist Scott Dickensheeets: The comings and goings of NICA

Scott Dickensheeets

Tuesday, Feb. 16, 1999 | 10:47 a.m.

1. Going: 8 a.m. Friday, NICA gallery, 3455 E. Flamingo. Seven grand a month is the going rate here, so this tenant is going. After six years in The Cannery strip mall, pinched between a car wash and an organic food store, the Nevada Institute for Contemporary Art is leaving, moving downtown. There are 3,800 square feet of ground-floor gallery waiting for NICA at the Arts Factory on Charleston Boulevard, for the fire-sale monthly rent of a buck a square foot.

The moving crew is due any minute to pack up the storage room and offices. The gallery is already empty, almost. A ceramic-and-glass doodad of art by Wayne Littlejohn -- a confection of seashells and cupids -- is parked on bubble wrap in a lonely corner, left behind from the two-day stealth exhibit that was NICA's final show here. It was an impromptu culling of local work, assembled to impress visitors from L.A.'s Museum of Contemporary Art. Otherwise, only the white-walled emptiness of the space itself suggests that this might have been an art venue; certainly nothing cues a visitor to the struggles of definition and redefinition that the city's top visual arts group underwent here.

Along with some fine exhibits, NICA's tenure here saw periods of upheaval and board turmoil, including the turbulent departure of uber-donor Maureen Barrett. There was also ground gained and lost on the organization's long-standing prime directive: to build a free-standing contemporary art museum.

"For those of us who haven't been associated with (the organization) as long, it's a relief," NICA's Bonnie Ash says of the move. "For the people who put this together, I think it's a little more traumatic."

It's not just cheap rent that has NICA moving. Here in The Cannery, NICA sometimes seemed out of the flow, as close to Henderson as to what was happening in the hot spots of Las Vegas culture. "It's kind of isolated," Ash admits. "But we do get a lot of foot traffic."

"We're gonna miss the car wash," says the executive director, architect Eric Strain, when he arrives. He's only half-joking. Plenty of people dropped off their cars to be washed, picked up a little organic lunch next door, then strolled through the gallery. "You know the alley next to the Arts Factory? We're thinking about putting in a car wash there."

Still, being a pleasant addition to your car-washing experience isn't NICA's true goal. It needs to be in the cultural fray, in the mix of things, just in case this time -- as opposed to the previous near misses -- the arts scene really, finally takes off. That's what the Arts Factory means to NICA: A chance to shake off six years in the cultural boonies of East Flamingo Road. Be down where the energy is. "It's good for organizations to start over," Strain says as a mover pokes his head into his office, eyeballing the lifting to be done. NICA spent half a dozen years at UNLV before its six-year stint at the Cannery. "We'll try downtown for six years and see how that works."

The final show, arranged by local artist Ethan Acres to give the MOCA crowd a sample platter of Las Vegas art, was encouraging. It killed, according to Strain. Blew the Angelenos away. "We couldn't get them out of here," he says. It's one more indication that there is something in this town worth working on behalf of. (He hopes to stage an expanded version of the show next year.)

But perhaps issues of direction and mission are best set aside for more immediate concerns. Right now, the moving guys are standing over the copy machine. It will have to be carted upstairs to NICA's temporary HQ in Strain's tiny architectural practice at the Arts Factory, a bit of heavy lifting the crew was unprepared for. "I wish he would have told us about that," one of them says.

"How are we going to get this up the stairs?" another wonders.

"I don't know," Ash replies. "You're the moving man."

2. Coming: 10:30 a.m., Friday, the Arts Factory, 107 E. Charleston. "We have a little bit of work to do," Strain says, standing in the midst of what was until recently a tattoo parlor. A sticker on the door still says "University of Tattoo, Las Vegas."

This will be NICA's home soon. For now, it's a mess. Walls have been torn down, the floor pulled up, boards are hanging from the ceiling. Someone has spray-painted graffiti on the walls that is less offensive for its content than for its bad technique.

"This will be the reception area," he says, indicating by gesture walls and fixtures that now exist only on drawings in his architecture office upstairs. He spreads his arms again. "This will be the main gallery."

Although this space is roughly comparable in size to the Cannery location, better design -- courtesy of Strain -- will give it double the wall space. He envisions three galleries: a main one of 900 square feet, a second of 660 square feet and a tiny third space of 400 square feet. All the "build-out" for the new space is donated, Strain says, except the floor. If you'd like to sponsor a dandy concrete floor, call NICA immediately.

If it's difficult to visualize now, it was even harder before all the tattoo-biz fixtures were removed ("I've never seen so many sinks in my life," Strain says). Apparently a few NICA board members had misgivings then. We're gonna move in HERE? "Once they see it all open," he says, "they can see what's going to happen."

The plan: to open the new NICA on April 1. The inaugural exhibit will be "Chromaform: Color in Sculpture," a traveling exhibit surveying sculptors who emphasize color.

"It's a good, important show," Ash says. "It shows what NICA can do to bring in an important outside exhibit." The aforementioned Wayne Littlejohn will have a solo show after that.

That's what NICA means to the Arts Factory: A high-profile agency to complement the mix of commercial (Smallworks Gallery) and nonprofit (Contemporary Arts Collective) tenants already there. "NICA will bring some more people down there," Strain says. "Our reputation is going to bring something to what's already going on down there."

Strain's architecture practice occupies a walk-in closet with a window overlooking Charleston; the Stratosphere Tower is framed in the distance. Until the renovation downstairs is complete, this wee space will be home to both halves of his professional life, including NICA office staff. A tight fit. But what he loses in elbow room he gains in time saved. "Life's going to be a lot easier," he sighs.

He starts talking about how he likes to sit here in the evenings and watch the lights flicker on at the Stratosphere, but the movers show up with armloads of NICA computers, and he has to clear some space.