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Deep in the pine barrens of southwest Georgia, St. EOM, fashioned a folk-art
environment like no other. I don't care how jaded you are; a visit to Pasaquan will shock and delight you. Unfortunately, though tens of thousands make the trek to lesser environments like Howard Finster's Paradise Gardens, few know of Pasaquan.
My hope is that this column is some small step toward righting that wrong. (To further raise St. EOM awareness, I have been known to don Pasaquayan garb on Halloween. Hey, I try.)
An afternoon spent amongst the hand-wrought totems and buildings of Pasaquan is like being trapped in a box of neon-hued crayons: There is no escape from the frenzy of color. But color alone is not what defines Pasaquan.
More than anything else, it is the spirit of the late St. EOM that pervades this sacred space.
Hustler, pimp, architect, gambler, pusher, builder, fortune teller, prostitute, mystic, visionary ... St. EOM was a strange amalgam of seemingly disparate personalities.
Born to sharecroppers in Marion County, Ga on July 4, 1908, and ostracized both by his flamboyant dress and sexual orientation, St. EOM (a.k.a. Eddie Owens Martin) ran away from home at 14. During travels that took him to such exotic locales as India, Burma and New York, he learned the ways of the streets; selling his body and his art to make ends meet.
While living in New York, Martin spent as much time in museums and libraries as he did in the street. He regularly toured the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He rummaged through the eastern religion book stacks at the public library. He devoured book after book on the lost civilizations of Atlantis and Mu.
During an extended illness in 1935, Martin had a vision of a deity whose hair reached from his head to the sky. Compelled by his vision, Martin recast himself as St. EOM of Pasaquan.
In divining this new religion, St. EOM borrowed liberally from Sikh, Mayan and Egyptian cultures, but the central tenet of his new religion was a Samson-like belief that hair was the center of man's being. St. EOM held steadfastly to this belief, although he had more hair coming out of his ears than his head by the end of his life. To create his antenna to the gods, St. EOM bound his hair in turbans and coated it with boiled rice syrup, insuring it would reach Don King-like heights.
Despite his affinity for the exotic, he returned home each year to help his family bring in the crops. But it wasn't until 1957, after both his parents were dead, that Martin took up full-time residence at the family farm just outside Buena Vista, Ga.
Flush with proceeds from a flourishing fortune-telling business, St. EOM began to build the 4-acre walled compound that became Pasaquan. He used the simplest of materials: Sherwin Williams housepaint was his medium and concrete was his canvas.
A tour of the grounds is a humbling experience. Prototypical Pasaquayans with upswept hairdos are everywhere. In the land of the Pasaquan there are no
incongruities: religious imagery shares wall space with oversized genitalia. Christianity and Buddhism coexist. Traditional aesthetics are re-invented: Faces and bodies share neither color nor size.
Surprises are everywhere. Upon closer inspection what appeared to be a geometric abstraction is actually a hermaphroditic torso (that's a body with girl and boy parts, y'all).
St. EOM continued work on his Pasaquayan homeland until his death in 1986 when the property was willed (ironically enough) to the Marion County Historical Society. Now, those that ostracized St. EOM are entrusted with the upkeep of his architectural and artistic legacy.
After years of deterioration, the environment has been stabilized. Gwen Martin (no relation) lives on the property and oversees its upkeep. She has big plans for a St. EOM celebration this fall.
Though, the work of preservation is the most important task at hand. Many of the wall reliefs have been re-painted, much, much more remains to be done.
During my most recent visit, I asked Ms. Martin how she managed the re-painting while insuring the integrity of the initial work. "Children," she said. "Schoolkids are our best painters. They stay between the lines and don't try to get too fancy.
Adults can help by joining the Pasaquan Society. Members receive year-round admission to the grounds among other perks. Send a check for $25 to P.O. Box 427, Buena Vista, Ga. 31803
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