Along a St. Louis Park bike trail, there's a time capsule, a witty take on technology by an artist who jokingly calls himself "Phone Banksy."
High on a noise barrier along Hwy. 100 just south of Minnetonka Boulevard hang 94 telephones, dating from the 1920s to the cellphone era.
There are rotary phones. Trimline phones. Shoe phones, duck phones, football phones and toy phones.
They're in red and yellow, blue and black, gray and gold and office beige.
The installation, which began modestly a couple of years ago, kept growing. So did its fans, including the City Council, which last year adopted a resolution officially adding the guerrilla project to its stable of public art.
And only now has the artist publicly revealed his identity, although he noted with a laugh that all his neighbors already know who he is.
"I'm the weird guy on the block," said Dave Gatzmer, a painting contractor with a quirky sensibility.
The 54-year-old Gatzmer makes his living straightforwardly painting walls and ceilings, but he's always been an artist. In his younger years, he drew illustrations and comic strips for Twin Cities alternative publications that have since expired, such as City Pages, the Twin Cities Reader and Pulse.
Later, he got into giftware, turning out oddball mugs, crazy bottle stoppers and kitschy kitchenware. His home is filled with toys, old phones, gag items and superhero posters. A classic Cadillac is in his garage.
"It's kind of turning into Pee-wee's Playhouse in here," he said. (Also with a laugh. Everything Gatzmer says is with a laugh.)
Phone fascination
With the inside full, what else was there to do but take things outside?
Gatzmer had noticed that every time he had a party, guests were fascinated by his unconnected rotary phone. They'd pick it up and use it as a prop, staging imaginary conversations.
One day he went out to the nearby bike trail, hammered a post in the ground and mounted a phone on it. It immediately got a reaction.
"People were posing with it, taking pictures of it," he said. Next step: Get out the ladder and mount a few phones on the wooden noise barrier, where the constant hum of traffic on the highway serves as a sort of eternal dial tone.
Gatzmer dubbed the work WALL TCS: Worthless Analog Land Line Tele Communication System, and set up a Facebook page where he posted anonymously. He mounted a metal box on the wall where people could drop off phones for him.
It didn't take long for the Minnesota Department of Transportation (MnDOT) to wonder what the heck was going on with their wall. They contacted the city, which quickly took up Gatzmer's case, ultimately leading to an agreement with MnDOT and the council resolution adopting the installation.
"I think it's incredible," said Mayor Jake Spano, who was a working sculptor before he got into politics. "This is a great example in the spirit of subway art — Basquiat and Hockney and the people who came up doing art in places you wouldn't expect it.
"That's what's so great about this piece — the spontaneity, the unique location. You're not expecting it," Spano said. "These are like these little gems that bring you pleasure and enjoyment and spark a discussion. And I think that's what art is all about."
Before adopting the piece, the city sent out a notice to everyone in the neighborhood about the installation, asking for comments. As a resident, Gatzmer was on the list of those asked for their opinion.
"So I wrote, 'I think it's great!' " he said. With a laugh.
One rule: He won't pay
For a long time, Gatzmer disclaimed responsibility for the installation. If anyone saw him mounting phones, he'd say he was just a technician.
"You know, like Clark Kent is the only one who can get hold of Superman," he said.
But friends knew, and started sending him phones. In fact, that's his only rule: He won't pay for a phone.
"If your uncle's into golf, you kind of know what you're going to get him for Christmas every year," Gatzmer said. "It kind of turned into that."
One friend sent a red phone in the shape of a woman's high-heeled pump. Another contributed a phone said to have been used by the FBI for wiretaps. A contractor buddy who was tearing down a mansion sent a half-dozen phones with exotic labels such as "butler's pantry."
"Every one has a story," Gatzmer said.
On a recent visit, St. Louis Park residents Lou and Lyn Culbert stopped by on their bikes to view the piece.
"I love it," Lyn Culbert said. "It's something interesting. I like when people think outside the box." Lou Culbert mentioned that they'd just gotten rid of their landline and could drop it off.
Wall not going on hold
Gatzmer said he loves the "tactile experience" of old phones.
"Now, you can't tell someone to rot in hell and slam the phone down on them," he said, with a laugh.
He's obviously enjoying himself. But Gatzmer also wonders whether he's created a Frankenstein's monster.
"I'm worried it might turn into a part-time job," he said. "I can't spend every weekend putting up phones!"
But it hasn't felt like a job yet. For now, Gatzmer — aka Phone Banksy, aka the technician for WALL TCS — has no plans to put the wall of phones on hold.
"It's fun!" he said. "It keeps growing and expanding. I didn't expect any of this to happen. But it's really cool when art can keep evolving."
John Reinan • 612-673-7402
