f you had an eccentric, bohemian, artistically-inclined favorite uncle who owned a house that he turned into a cross between a living conceptual-art installation and the movie set of a film that had Marcel Duchamp as adviser and chief mischief-maker, then you may have an inkling of the singular experience that awaits you at 500 Capp St., the 1886 Edwardian-style Italianate home in the Mission District that belonged to the late San Francisco artist David Ireland.
The house, Ireland's residence for three decades until several years before his death in 2009, is possibly his greatest, most enduring achievement, and his legacy. The building was rescued from oblivion and the rapacious real estate market by Carlie Wilmans, an arts patron and granddaughter of local philanthropist Phyllis C. Wattis, who bought the failing, fragile 122-year-old structure for $895,000 in 2008. She was instrumental in establishing the 500 Capp Street Foundation, which acquired over 2,500 art objects from Ireland's estate, and is organizing a series of talks, residencies and rotating exhibits. Wilmans and her team of conservationist and architectural collaborators wanted a dynamic breathing space, not a shrine or an airless museum, and they've succeeded in their mission. After a construction-renovation-stabilization project that began nearly two years ago, and an infusion of $2 million, the house finally opened to the public last week. To borrow an old art-historical expression: it's way cool.
Ireland, whose art practice embraced sculpture, painting, architecture, printmaking and performance, had a unique take on everyday, discarded objects. He tweaked expectations of materials such as the small mounds of concrete that he molded like play dough into decorative blobs that also provide bases for lamps and candle-holders, as well as filling polished silver dessert dishes that would otherwise serve ice cream; he liked to give the latter to friends as gifts.
The entrance of the modest house is no longer through the original front door but on 20th Street, the former storefront of an accordion-maker who once owned the house and whose sign remains etched in the window. Ireland purchased the house from him for around $50,000 in 1975 - think on that one for a moment. Once inside the foyer, you know this is no ordinary place; you've entered a slightly bent artistic imagination, an evolving canvas orchestrated by an offbeat sensibility.
Climb a creaky wooden staircase and find curving mustard-colored walls varnished to a high-sheen and pistachio-green moldings and doors. In one alcove sits a three-legged chair, defying the laws of physics by remaining upright, with a hole where the seat ought to be. If only these walls could talk, they might speak of an exceedingly delicate restoration without the violence of hammers and nails, where adhesives were gently applied to the plaster with hypodermic needles.
Ireland wittily cultivated the possessions of the previous owner, a salvage project that resulted in "Broom Collection with Boom" (1978-88), an installation loaned by SFMOMA. Evidently, he was a compulsive sweeper who kept a broom handy in every corner of the house. Ireland assembled and linked them together with wire into a tilting, partially open circle. Like an enchanted chorus that escaped from the clutches of the Wicked Witch of the East, they're now tethered with said wire to a half-moon-shaped rock on the floor in the upstairs hallway, in case they're compelled to fly out the window under the spell of a full moon. Ireland also stored the swept dirt and dust - souvenirs of history, perhaps - in a variety of mason jars. Talk about preservation.
In a sitting room in front of a grey hearth, a waist-high lighting fixture with an exposed orange bulb stands by a chair with a sheepskin throw. Hanging perilously from the ceiling where a chandelier should be, over a pair of chairs facing each other across a burled wood table, are two portable propane tanks. They're filled with gas and can easily be prompted to elicit flames. Caution: It's best not to light up a cigarette here. In the bedroom, on the wall above the headboard, an enormous rack of Kudu antlers presides. There are many bleached animal skulls with antlers scattered about the house, holdovers from Ireland's time as an African safari guide. A slate gray industrial sink and cabinet, contemporary design elements also found in the kitchen, aren't as jarring as one would expect; the same could be said of a gray square concrete slab on the far wall. A tan torpedo shape cuts a diagonal across it like the hand of a modernist clock; the torpedo was a prevalent motif in Ireland's artwork.
But it's the dimly lit dining room, which would fit right into the decor of a European homestead in Africa, that's the culmination of the eclectic ambience. A tall, carved chair heads the end of an exceedingly long, very narrow, deep-brown wooden table. The reincarnated workbench, now decorated with metal candleholders set in concrete, was the scene of many boisterous evenings with fellow artists and the aspirants Ireland nurtured. Cabinets around the room are lit from within; spooky and intriguing, their contents are a mix of oddities and sculptures, mementos of travels or experiences dreamed rather than lived. A set of jagged-toothed animal jaws rests on a sideboard; the shelves above contain color snapshots of his life-long obsession, Natalie Wood.
You can spend hours finding telltale objects, old photos, wire sculptures, unconventional furnishings tooled by the artist, restoration detritus, handwritten notes and phone numbers scrawled on the walls. When you go, try to pack in as much discovery as you can; admission is $20. Reservations for the guided group tours are strongly recommended and a must for the next couple of months.
Info: 500cappstreet.org