Subject: HazArt Sender: jya@pipeline.com (John Young) The New York Times, September 1, 1996, The City, pp. 1, 8. Is This Man Dangerous? The Portrait Artist In an Age Of Zero Tolerance. Inside the Quality Of Life Wars. By Jane H. Lii It is nearing midnight, Saturday, and Times Square is pulsating, with mostly positive energy. Tourists and locals seeking to extend the night flock to the glittering lights blazing Broadway. Sailors in crisp uniforms rollick among vendors of love potions and three-card monte players. Lovers lock lips under the flashing neon signs. The crowd is good news for the dozens of portrait artists -- most of whom are Chinese but with a good mix of Russians and Albanians -- stretched around the corner of 49th Street and Seventh Avenue. Some scurry around, enticing passers-by with samples of their work. Robbyn Hasberry needs so such encouragement. After a quick survey of the different styles, she sits in front of Ylli Harunj, her lips parted in a slight grin, her face turned three quarters to him. But before Mr. Haruni can contour Ms. Hasberry's cheeks or pencil in a sparkle in her eyes, a police officer moves in. "Can't stay here!" he growls. In a New York minute, the artists scatter, leaving Ms. Hasberry and other customers scrambling in confusion like a flock of sheep without a shepherd. Minutes later, as the police disappear, a sense of order resumes. Mr. Haruni sets up 20 feet from his original spot and motions to Ms. Hasberry to sit again. "Why should they chase you like a dog?" the customer asks. "Don't they have anything better to do?" In many cities around the world, street artists are given sanctuary in busy tourist districts, like Piazza Navona in Rome and Montmartre in Paris. They are rated by their ability to limn the customer's likeness on paper. But here, a prized skill is the ability to sprint from the police. In recent years, as the city and business groups have moved to sweep the streets of debris and hustlers, the question has been raised: Is the spontaneity and rawness that makes New York well, New York, also being swept away? Should the artists -- whose gravest offense may be the bruising of a customer's ego -- be lumped together with hawkers of fake Gucci bags? Most nights, a cat-and-mouse game goes on. For the nomadic unlicensed artists, it is both a nuisance and an insult, a painful reminder to some of how far they have fallen since they were respected figures in their homelands. There, they maneuvered with authorities to skirt censorship. Here, they work officialdom for the right to bark for $20 bills. Some say they give themselves up to police on certain nights to be allowed to work on others. Relations between some officers and artists are knowing and sometimes even affectionate, as if both feel victimized by bizarre choreography. To the city and business leaders, the issue is not so much individual wrongdoing as it is environmental control. "Portrait artists come when the streets are most crowded," said Gretchen Dykstra, president of the Times Square Business Improvement District. "These are the times when the streets cannot bear that kind of immobile congestion." Tom Cusick, president of the Fifth Avenue Association, which manages the Fifth Avenue Business Improvement District, says crime is also an issue. "The relationship is ancillary," he said. "The vendors create an atmosphere where pickpockets can flourish." Mr. Cusick said larceny had dropped 63 percent within the B.I.D. since it was formed three years ago to cover 46th to 61st Streets on Fifth Avenue and 57th Street between the Avenue of the Americas and Madison. He said this has paved the way for business investment. "When the vending was completely out of hand four to five years ago, Fifth Avenue was a mess," Mr. Cusick said. "There were going-out-of-business signs all over the place. Now, there is virtually no store available to rent within the B.I.D. area." But others see all street artists, including those who do portraits, as an integral part of the city's cultural life. "There is a vitality and an unmediated relationship between the artist and his audience," said Mary Schmidt Campbell, the dean of the Tisch School of the Arts at New York University and Commissioner of Cultural Affairs in the Koch and Dinkins administrations. "There are not enough cultural institutions in the city to contain all the talent. When you eliminate the artists, you eliminate the charm of the city." Rise of the Peddler Squad The chase has gone on for decades. But in recent years, the city has put restrictions on vendors -- and has placed portrait artists, and those who sell art prints, in that same category. This, combined with the Giuliani administration's "zero tolerance" policy, has made it easier for the police to arrest the artists and confiscate their tools. The street artists, led by Robert Lederman, a Brooklyn-based painter, are appealing a Federal decision that upheld the city's policy. The case is gathering wide attention as a collision between quality-of-life issues and First Amendment protection. "Drawing on the street is a form of freedom of expression protected by the First Amendment," Mr. Lederman said. "By requiring artists to get a license, the city is abridging that freedom." In 10 years, the Peddler Task Force, which works from the Battery to 59th Street, river to river, has ballooned from one sergeant and a half-dozen police officers to one lieutenant, six sergeants and 34 police officers, said Lieut. J. J. Johnson, its commander. Their working hours have expanded, too, from eight-hour shifts to 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Regular uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives also pitch in. Also pitching in are security guards hired by B.I.D.'s. The guards comb the streets nightly and report any portrait artists sightings to base offices, which then alert the police. The guards linger until either the police arrive or a emergency elsewhere pulls them away. The artists are chased nightly, given summonses and sometimes thrown in jail with prostitutes, drug dealers and thieves. But, if a week on the streets with artists is any indication, accommodations are made. Police officers say they do their best to be reasonable; they often serve coffee in station houses after arrests. One recent evening, a young officer walked up to a group of Times Square artists and all but begged for them to stay away until his shift was over. "I don't want to arrest any of you guys," he pleaded. "Do me a favor. It's 11:30. I get off at 12." The artists packed up and shuffled down the block. On his way back to the station house, the officer waved goodbye. Recently, an artist from China who insisted on anonymity regaled her colleagues with details about a recent trip to the station house. The woman said the officer had first apologized for arresting her, then filled in a fake name on the arrest sheet, thus effectively avoiding a court date, a possible fine and community service. But by not showing up for court, she forfeited her chairs, charcoal, paper and frame, which would later be auctioned off by the city. Before releasing her, the officer handed her 20 red roses he had confiscated from a flower vendor arrested in the same sweep. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry," the artist said. "It was awful to be among the prostitutes and drug dealers, even for a couple of hours. But I don't hate him at all. He was really very nice. This is the first time someone gave me so many roses." For the most part, the artists say, there is an implicit give-and-take that has worked well for both sides. The artists say they sometimes sacrifice themselves on certain nights to satisfy a police quota, although the police deny there is a quota system. In exchange, they say, police officers give them a break on nights when business is good, especially on weekend nights, when they would have to be taken to Central Booking and spend the weekend there, much preferable to a few hours in a precinct. Since many artists rest on Mondays, most of the arrests take place between Tuesday and Thursday, afternoon and night. Asked about these arrangements Lieutenant Johnson would say only that the police are vigilant every day of the week. It is impossible to obtain a permit to work on the streets -- no new general vending applications have been accepted since 1993, says Pat Cohen, spokeswoman for the Consumer Affairs Department. The Parks Department has showed more flexibility. For decades, some 30 portrait artists made a little piece of land, West Fourth Street and the Avenue of the Americas, their home, said Annette Lombard, who began her career as a street portrait artist 38 years ago in the Village. But the explosion of craft peddlers and artists from Eastern Europe and China created tensions between the old-timers and the newcomers and the Village community became upset, too. After fierce battles with local merchants and Community Board 2, the artists sought refuge near the Wein Walk near the Children's Zoo in Central Park. The status quo lasted until the early 1990's, when the number of artists made it impossible for pedestrians to make their way to the zoo. Rather than chasing the artists away, the Parks Department last year began issuing 72 monthly permits for Manhattan parks, costing $25. Sixty are for Central Park, four each for Battery Park and Union Square Park, and two each for Washington Square Park and Father Demo Square on the Avenue of the Americas near Bleecker Street. When applicants exceed the limit of 72, a lottery is held. The Parks Department said it also planned to issue permits in Prospect Park in Brooklyn in the future. "This gives the artist a chance for employment, a diversion for other people to watch and immortality to the subject," said Henry J. Stern, the Parks Commissioner. Pride and the Portrait Artist For many of the immigrant artists, it is shameful enough to work on the street, but twice as hard when you wind up in handcuffs. "In China, if a team of police trailed behind me, it was only to provide security," recalled Shen Tao, an interior designer who said he had worked on the prestigious People's Hall in Tiananmen Square. "Here, I feel like a pest." Mr. Shen said he now made a point to hold his head up high after an arrest. "I want them to see that I'm an artist, not a criminal," he said. Back home, many of the artists achieved recognition within their own circles and were even worshipped. Jacob Torosian Aram is known in Moscow (by his Russian name) as "Acop of Arbat Street," the art district. Along the street and in Moscow galleries he is credited with developing the dry-brush painting technique, which uses black oil paint on paper to give the work an airbrush quality and more dramatic contrast. Avner Salidas was a well-known church restorer in Albania. Wang Haiyan was an award-winning young Chinese artist. But none of this matters now. On the streets of New York, the ability to hustle is paramount. "When I first arrived, I just couldn't open my mouth no matter how hard I tried," said Wang Jie, who specialized in Chinese paintings in China. "It took me three months to feel normal." Others never get over the shame. Many say they do not even tell their families back home about their jobs. Even Mr. Torosian Aram, who often finishes his work to the thunderous applause from an admiring audience, flushes when talking about his work. "Please don't write about me," he begs. "My job is not respectable." Mr. Torosian Aram relents only after being told by bystanders that his work deserved publicity. "Really?" he asks. "O.K. then." The Bonds Between Artists The immigrant artists form a close bond across ethnic lines to fight their common enemies. They work in large groups for protection, save their colleagues' chairs during police chases and work over one another's paintings when dissatisfied customers demand a refund. At dusk, they converge on China Evian restaurant on West 46th Street, their own Maison Fournaise, the hangout for the French Impressionist artists, for "portrait food": takeout Chinese combination platters. For $5, the artists get soup, rice and a meat and vegetable dish. Though his generosity does not quite compare to that of Alphonse Fournaise, the proprietor who took as payment the paintings nobody else wanted, William Tse, owner of the restaurant, does give each artist an extra container of rice at no charge and lets them use the bathroom. Dinner is eaten in the alley of a nearby office building. Between slurps of hot-and-sour soup, the artists commiserate and sometimes remember the good old days under Communism when the state subsidized everything and all they had to do was paint. But these fond memories are invariably juxtaposed with tales of ruthless persecution -- forced divorces, murdered relatives, labor camps. Sometimes, business deals are made over shrimp stir-fry. On this day, Mr. Haruni, a dissident who fled Albania during its own version of the Tiananmen Square massacre and Ms. Wang talked of setting up a shop in a mall. Mr. Wang, no relation, found out about a sale at Bradlees, where for $6 he could replace a black nylon bag confiscated by the police. And when the spirit is down, Mr. Haruni, who had to study Chinese and Russian in Albania, livens the atmosphere by reciting revolutionary slogans in Russian and singing Chinese revolutionary songs. When business is slow, artists offer discounts. To avoid bidding wars, there is an etiquette involved: the first artists to set up get to set the price. There is friction with the old-time American-born artists, some of whom say the aggressive sales pitches of some immigrants goes against tradition. When she comes to work, around 50th Street and Seventh Avenue, Ms. Lombard makes sure to set up a block away from the rest of the artists. "They are not professional," Ms. Lombard said. "They don't use easels and they chase people up and down the block." But the immigrants argue that the easel is just one more thing to pack and carry during a police chase. Ego and the Portrait Artist While most artists take pride in their ability, the result may not always be welcome, for most customers are not the Claudia Schiffers or Tom Cruises they fancy themselves to be. Ms. Hasberry, whose profile in real life resembles that of the actress Halle Berry, was thrilled with Mr. Haruni's work. But a woman on West 44th Street, whose likeness was closely captured by Mr. Sheng, refused to pay because she said her nose had been drawn too flat and her lips too thick. "It's ugly," she said. "But it's you," Mr. Sheng replied, perhaps a bit too honestly. As the woman walked away in a huff without paying or taking the portrait, a colleague offered Mr. Sheng his complaint- proof trade secret: long lashes, up-curved lips and a thin nose. But most artists have settled for happy middle ground by mixing reality with a sprinkle of fantasy. With wavy shoulder-length hair and a dashing face, Sunny Gondel, a limousine driver, fancied himself a Pakistani Kurt Russell and requested that Mr. Haruni omit the signs of aging on his face. At first, Mr. Haruni painted Mr. Gondel without the bags under his eyes and the heavy shadows that hollowed his cheeks. But as Mr. Gondel went on with his story of an unrequited love that has tormented him for the last 19 years and how it eventually drove him into a life of wild parties and fast women, Mr. Haruni subtly worked in a look of sadness in Mr. Gondel's eyes and dusted a light layer of shadows under his cheeks. "Man, it's me," Mr. Gondel gushed as he was leaving. "It must be hard to love this many women," Mr. Haruni said afterward, shaking his head in part envy and part disbelief. _________________________________________________________ [Box] How to Pose and Maybe Scram Here are tips for customers: 1 Wear darker tops. Light colors reflect a harsh, unflattering shadow onto the face. 2 Face the artist three quarters of the way. A profile is often more flattering than the Uncle Sam "I Want You!" straight pose. But there are exceptions. 3 Slanted, late afternoon sun and street lights cast the most flattering shadows on the face. 4 Wear a pleasant Mona Lisa expression; a toothy smile is hard to hold and looks fake. 5 If you want to look better than you do, tell the artist straight out and work out a middle ground. (Some artists are loath to compromise their artistic integrity.) 6 To protect your ego, never say, "It's ugly." The artist may counter, "But it's you." 7 Expect a session to last between 30 and 45 minutes. 8 Be prepared to run on a moment's notice. Police officers and private security guards may interrupt your session and you can lose your time invested. 9 Warning: Artists scatter quickly, so make sure you follow the right one to finish the portrait. _________________________________________________________ [Six photos] [End] To see photos: http://pwp.usa.pipeline.com/~jya/art1.jpg http://pwp.usa.pipeline.com/~jya/art2.jpg (2 pix) http://pwp.usa.pipeline.com/~jya/art3.jpg (3 pix)