Tuesday, March 11, 1997 | 11:59 a.m.
"We think Jimmy Hoffa's in here," Wes Isbutt says, tapping one wall of the sealed-off room he discovered while renovating his building.
Yet the appearance of a presumed-dead, mob-connected Teamsters boss would be only slightly less surprising than what is going on at Charleston Boulevard and Casino Center: the slow reclamation of what was once a ratty retail-warehouse building into something of a creative center.
Isbutt is the busy proprietor of Studio West, a commercial photography joint that occupies 10,000 square feet on the top floor of the red-brick two-story. Thing is, the place has 36,000 square feet, and it's his plan for the remaining 26,000 that has him leading this tour in the minutes before his first shoot of the morning, something to do with pictures of food.
He's thinking big: a building full of creative people doing their thing. Artists' studios! Recording facilities! Architecture and design offices! In a nod to the building's industrial past as, among other things, a printing-supply warehouse and furniture place, it will be called the Art Factory.
Now he's standing in a blasted and blown-out section downstairs; concrete debris is strewn all over the floor, except the places where there is no floor. Eventually, he says, it will be divided in two; the back half will be an architect's office, and a coffee shop -- sure to be given some whimsical, caffeinated name like Perk U Later or Bean There, Done That -- will face the street.
Around a corner or two -- this place is like a cave system, easy to lose your bearings in -- is an empty space that within the forseeable future will be an art gallery, perhaps hosting shows by the Nevada Institute for Contemporary Art and the Contemporary Arts Collective. Around the next corner, Steve Diskin, owner of the Four Corners art and framing shop, is working his measuring tape, trying to get his space ready for its projected April 1 opening. The tattoo artists are already open in their corner space.
In the midst of the building will be a common area, where architects can mingle with the photographers to the strains of Australian music coming from the nearby studio, which happens to have been rented by a painter who plays, yes, the didjeridoo.
"This is our vision of the whole thing," Isbutt says. "If I'm doing something cool, then the person next to me is inspired. And if the person next to me is doing great, world-class work, then I'm inspired. It's the energy you feed off of."
It is, in short, the sort of facility that people have said for years has been lacking in Las Vegas. Alongside the commercial offices will be relatively cheap studio space for artists -- $250 a month for a decent-size cubicle -- and the ability to host special events, such as last week's wearable art fashion show in Studio West.
And it's downtown, within easy distance of the Contemporary Arts Collective and the Enigma Cafe, a neighborhood many are trying hard to establish as ground zero of a new cultural scene.
Isbutt owns the building thanks to the previous owner, one Frank Rosen of Los Angeles. After leasing the ramshackle building to Isbutt several years ago, Rosen was impressed with the energetic photographer's renovations. Isbutt and his staff -- now numbering five -- carpentered a working studio out of the mess.
"There was nothing here when we moved in," Isbutt recalls. "No doors, no windows, no power, nothing." Look at it now! Gorgeous high ceilings with exposed pipes and trusses, skylights, that all-important loft-like urban vibe.
"Frank kept coming by over the years, saying, 'You ought to buy the building,'" Isbutt says. "I'd tell him, 'I'm a photographer, I'm broke.' Finally, he came by a few months ago and said, 'It's time for you to buy the building.' I told him, 'I'm a photographer, I'm broke...' But what happened was, he made it happen. He financed it." Isbutt has owned the building since Feb. 9.
And he's sinking considerable resources into the renovation, which is in various stages. While the coffee shop is a long way off, construction workers are finishing off the stage in the common area. There, improve theater classes will be held.
"He's kinda stuck his neck out," says interior designer Derrell Parker, whose Innerplan agency has been a tenant in the building for several years already. "At the same time, that's the only way these things get done. I think it's a great idea; I hope he can pull it off."
"This'll make me or break me," Isbutt admits. "Every dime I make I use to pay my employees or put into the building.
"This is a 1946 building, and it has 1946 problems. The plumbing sucks, and the wiring is worse."
The first day he owned it he had to dip $2,500 from his wallet to fix a tenant's air conditioning. Credit Isbutt and his people for doing a lot of the work themselves.
"Most of the stuff we're doing -- except the wiring -- is effort. It's spit and polish and being willing to get dirty and do it."
It's worth it, he says. "There seems to be a lot of energy (for this idea), a lot of need for this kind of stuff."
Diskin thinks so. He had the chance to locate his frame shop in a higher-traffic area, but chose the Art Factory instead.
"I like the downtown revitalization effort," he says. He surveyed his customers -- who tend to be higher-end, Summerlin types -- and they "love the idea. So I'm willing to forego the high traffic for the chance to do this. I figure I'll give it a three-year shot and see if I can be a part of it all."
Attempts to fashion centers of artsy energy generally founder when the participants realize their idealistic bonhomie is no match for hard economic reality of past-due notices. In Isbutt's favor is that he envisions a working center; his tenants will be creative, to be sure, but with a cash flow. Like himself. "What keeps it working is that Studio West is a successful business," he says.
"I'm critical; I'm not just going to let someone in because they're doing cool stuff. They have to have more going on. There are millions of artists in the world. What makes you different? Well, what makes you different is that you're good and motivated."
Again, like himself.
"I never say die," he says.
He does, however, say, "Ah, my food stylist is here." Time for the morning shoot; tour over. Food pictures pay the bills, after all, unless it turns out there's also a lot of cash sealed in the Jimmy Hoffa Room.
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