My Weirdest Art Story Ever!

Plus! Rex the Park Slope Tyrannosaurus answers reader questions!! Cash in the mail!!!

Hello everyone,

Welcome to Issue #163 of CAFÉ ANNE!

Oh my stars. So much news.

First, following the launch of CAFÉ ANNE MATCH, many folks wrote in to note that when they filled out the survey to get connected with a platonic pal, they were not able to skip the questions aimed at those seeking a romantic match. Sorry about that! The glitch has been fixed. Please try again!

And in case you missed it last week, there’s still time to participate in this free service matching CAFÉ ANNE readers seeking romantic or platonic connections! Please read all the deets here.

Also in response to last week’s issue, we got several follow-up questions from readers for Rex, the Tyrannosaurus who recently opened a bodega for dinosaurs in the Grand Army Plaza subway station. As promised, I forwarded these queries to the reptile to get his answers.

Reader Appleton King, referring to the story about the latest NYC slang in last week’s issue wrote, “I'd like to know what the Dino's favorite slang words are.”

Rex replies: “It’s always nice to hear from a fellow king, though I’ve never heard of an Appleton. Are they a new species?”

Valerie S. asked, “Your bodega is well-stocked, but are there any items that customers have asked for that you don't have for sale?

Rex responds: “A few magazines we’ve had trouble sourcing are Coprolith Aficionado and National Geologic. And I wasn’t sure if I’d need a permit to stock Treehouse so I decided not to bother. But people are usually too embarrassed to ask about it anyway.”

And William F. Edwards wrote to ask, “What is Mr. Rex’s favorite meal?”

Rex replies: “Just call me Rex. Mr. Rex is my father. But both of us love a nice juicy steak. Extra, extra rare.”

Thank you Rex!

In other news, you will recall that last month, reader Ruth G. posted an excellent question in the comments: “Can cash be sent to your address?”

My response: “I’m pretty sure the answer is yes, but we need to test this theory out!” I provided my mailing address.

I am happy to report that I can indeed receive cash in the mail. Over the last week, I received $$$ in denominations ranging from five cents to $40 from readers including Neil G., Little Rascal Wiggle Butt, Lawrence O., Anonymous in AZ, Lisa W., Diane S., Robert M., and, of course, ice cream money from Ruth, the original cash-in-da-mail gangsta. Plus a crossword puzzle and a temporary “Born to Ride” tattoo. Thanks everybody!

Last but not least, huge Cretaceous Period shopping spree shoutouts to our newest paid subscriber Kara S. That’s enough $$$ to buy ten copies of Treehouse (for the articles only, of course). As you know, CAFÉ ANNE has no paywalls and never will—I can only keep going thanks to the generous support of folks who are willing to pay for something they’re already reading for free. Thank you!

I am very excited for this week’s issue, of course. I’ve got an interview with a local artist that starts off a little strange and then, well, you’ll see! Hahaha! Please enjoy.

Regards!

Anne

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PROFILE

My Weirdest Art Story Ever!

Lenny Prince!

As readers who memorize this newsletter before they print it out and eat it will recall, last month I wrote about St. George, the Staten Island neighborhood perennially described as the next hot spot for artists. When I visited, I met some interesting characters, but no artists!

After publishing the story, I got a lead from reader Jenna Park in Park Slope. If I wanted to meet a great Staten Island artist, Jenna suggested, I should head a little deeper into the borough.

"There is this man called Lenny who has a warehouse in Staten Island full of metal sculptures that he creates from scraps and junkyard metals," she wrote. "He makes life-sized Transformers, vehicles, helicopters, all kinds of crazy things."

I gave the artist, Lenny Prince, a ring. He agreed to an interview at his one-man museum, Lenny's Creations, which, he noted, is housed in the same building as his muffler shop.

He wasn't kidding.

When I stopped by last Tuesday, I found Lenny standing in the garage entrance. He is middle-aged, smiling and fit, and speaks with a slight Guyanese accent.

"Does it have a name?" I asked of his shop. Because the huge yellow sign on the building front just said, "MUFFLER EXHAUST".

"Sure!" said Lenny. He pointed to a smaller sign higher on facade. "Right up there! 'Half Price Mufflers'! We've been around 25 years."

"Are the mufflers actually half-price?" I wondered.

"Reasonable price, fair," he laughed.

Lenny has two guys working for him and handles about twelve jobs a day. He likes mufflers because they are simple to repair and replace. "You pick how you want to make money in life. You can pick the hard way or the easy way," he said.

Lenny in his muffler shop

Before touring the museum, I got a tour of the shop. There were two post lifts and a huge pile of mufflers in the back. The garage also houses some of Lenny’s sculptures—fashioned entirely from car scraps he's welded into all sorts of creations: Transformer action figures, mosquitos, a nine-foot replica of the Eiffel Tower.

The front yard, surrounded by a chain link fence, was decorated with one of his larger pieces, a ten-foot battle tank manned by a skeletal figurine.

"What's the story with the guy in the tank?" I asked.

"That's Terminator," said Lenny. "You can't stop him. You can't kill him. You can't destroy him. He just keep going."

"Do you relate?"

"No, I'm not like that guy," said Lenny. "You can destroy me."

There were two additional sculptures behind the tank—an oversize grasshopper and a Statue of Liberty torch. I asked why they were grouped together.

"This guy, he came to New York on a cruise ship," Lenny explained of the insect. "And they drop him off at the Statue of Liberty. So he took the torch."

We entered the museum. The dimly-lit, two-story warehouse space is vast; the perimeter is crowded with Lenny’s creations.

We started at the front. He had fashioned a cannon, the Twin Towers and a replica of the NYC skyline entirely from car parts.

We moved on to a series of Transformer characters, an obsession of his. Some are exacting replicas from the movie series, like Bumblebee and Optimus Prime. Some are his own fantasy creations, like the Transformer wielding a gas nozzle. "You can call him 'Pump Attendant,'" said Lenny.

My favorite in this series was the NYPD Transformer. The seven-foot robocop had a propeller fan affixed to its left arm. I asked about the fan.

"That's to cool off his fist!" said Lenny.

NYPD Transformer with self-cooling fist

I admired a Chinese dragon, a miniature aircraft carrier, a helicopter, a steam locomotive, a six-foot dragon fly, a pair of cockroaches, a model of the Verrazano Bridge and a small replica of the Staten Island Ferry.

I asked about his process. Sometimes the car scraps inspired a sculpture, said Lenny. Sometimes he'd get an idea for a sculpture and then find the car parts to make it a reality.

The parts were supplied by a friend who collects scrap metal from auto repair joints all over the city and sells it by the ton to junk yards. Lenny traded used mufflers for whatever parts he needed from his friend.

Two of Lenny's favorites are life-size statues of Barack Obama and Michael Jackson fashioned from fenders and mufflers.

Barack Obama, Michael Jackson and a random knight

But the museum’s showstopper is in the back: a 15-foot space craft that took four months to fabricate.

"It's the Staten Island Space Shuttle!" said Lenny.

I took a peek inside. He had even installed seats and controls.

"I flew this one time," said Lenny.

"Yeah?" I said. "Where did it go?"

"Space!"

Lenny noted the vehicle's countdown timer. "I have to put that on, for the next launch, coming soon," he said. "Hopefully you come back to see the launch. Sometime next year. Right from here. You think I should cut a hole in the roof first?"

I agreed that the mission might fare better if there was an opening in the warehouse roof. "Are you going to go up in it?" I wondered. "Or send somebody else up?"

"You can be in it!" said Lenny. "Take your little camera, your little phone, record everything. Document everything for me."

"That wouldn't be a bad way to go," I said. "I could die satisfied."

"No!" he said. "No, you don't die. You don't trust my work?"

"That was just a joke," I said. "Of course it's going to be an amazing journey."

After the tour, we sat down to talk. You know what else is amazing? Lenny's story.

Mr. Prince was born in Georgetown, the capital of Guyana, a small country between Venezuela and Brazil known for its dense rainforests. Lenny's dad left for Canada when he was a baby. Lenny’s mom, an alcoholic, took him back to her village in the jungle hinterland when he was small.

He lived in a shack, caught fish from the river, grew vegetables and ate fruit off the trees. "I pretty much raised myself," he said.

He doesn't miss village life. "When you come from dirt-dirt-dirt bottom, it makes you appreciate everything," he said.

He moved back to Georgetown when he was 15 and got a job in an auto repair shop. When he was 18, his father sponsored his visa and he came to Brooklyn. He found a job working in a Staten Island muffler shop and lived in a tiny trailer behind the garage.

"I loved it though," he said. "After where I came from? My own trailer!"

Lenny learned the muffler business and saved his money. Eight years later, he opened his own shop.

The business did well. 15 years passed, and all that time, Lenny was strictly a muffler guy. Until 2012, when a relationship ended. Lenny was devastated. What happened next surprised him more than anyone.

"I had a burst of energy," he said. "We all experience that, but it's how you channel that. You can go positive, or you can go negative. Which will you pick? You can destroy yourself, destroy other people, or you can do something great."

He remembers welding his first sculpture, a four-foot Tyrannosaurus Rex: "I looked at it and said, 'Wow, a creation.' And then I said 'Ok, what else? What next?'"

Lenny took to closing his muffler shop at 6 pm and welding past midnight. The sculptures got bigger and more elaborate.

"I just keep going," he said. "I question myself, 'What is going on here? Where this come from?' Sometimes you have stuff in you that you didn't know you have, until the situation arrives. You don't even know your strength."

Within a year, Lenny had created a large body of work. He opened the museum to display his creations. He charged a $5 admission and sold branded ball caps and tee-shirts.

Schools sent classrooms of children. The museum got listed in guidebooks including Lonely Planet. Tourists came from around the world. He got commissioned to create a 20-foot praying mantis for the nearby Snug Harbor Cultural Center.

“Franics the Praying Mantis” at Snug Harbor.

The buzz was great for his muffler shop. "It set me above everyone else in this industry,” he said. “I'm not a regular guy. I'm the Lenny guy. It catapulted the business."

And then, as suddenly as it started, the inspiration dried up! Lenny hasn't made a sculpture in years. These days, when the workday ends, he goes home. "Watching TV programs, that's about it," he said.

"I find it very weird, that you were this fountain of creativity..." I started.

"And then it stopped!" he said.

"Maybe you need another tragedy,” I suggested.

"That's alright," he said. "I knew it was going to stop. That's why I was going so fast. I knew I was against time. I knew it was going to dry up! Not the skills, but the passion."

"I don't believe that," I said. "That you can have all this passion and energy—"

"And then it dried right up!" Lenny insisted. "Because, you see, it's not a natural passion. It's one of those fake passions. Well, I can't say fake. It was a negative energy that created the passion. So once the energy is gone, the passion is gone."

When the pandemic hit, Lenny even lost interest in the museum. Visitors are still welcome by appointment, but most folks who see his sculptures these days are muffler shop customers. They bring their kids.

Lenny recently started sharing the space with a group of remote-control mini car enthusiasts—Staten Island guys who come by twice a week to repair and race their toys. They've dubbed the warehouse "Autobot Raceway".

I asked Lenny what he might do next.

"What I plan on doing? You're going to love this," he said, indicating the vast collection of sculptures. "I'm going to take it all and crush it!"

We whooped with laughter.

"Crush it all!" he repeated.

"That makes me very happy!" I said.

"Crush it all and make a ball!" he said. "There's trucks that crush metal. You can make a square or a ball. But I think a ball is better. A big ball! The ball might end up being maybe 20 feet. And then the best part, you're going to like this part, I'm going to be in the middle. Where my sculpture goes, I go. I'm going to be in the middle!"

We thought about where he could install the giant ball. The Staten Island Ferry Terminal in St. George would be perfect, I suggested. It could sit in the big passenger waiting hall, where the aquarium used to be.

"That's what I'm saying!" said Lenny.

"Would you be alive inside?" I wondered. "Would they feed you through a little tube?"

"Yes," he said. "And people could watch me through a glass."

"What would you eat?" I said.

"After-life food!"

"What is that?"

"I dunno yet!" said Lenny. "We'll get to that. But first I'd like to crush everything. Crush it all! That'd be cool, right?”

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