Degas Of Datsuns Art Car Definitely ‘Makes A Lot Of Statements’

Cheney Cowles Museum standing pristine and stately in Browne’s Addition has a little competition just next door.

It’s no Monet. It’s a ‘70 Datsun. A loud, rusted, rolling, piece of … art?

Just ask the owner. “The greatest piece of art in the world is the art car,” Patrick Walsh waxes.

It’s an attention-grabber. Maybe it’s the little lizard. Or the steer skull it lounges on. Or the crazy-colored nudes painted on the hood. And that coat of bumper stickers likely helps.

Walsh, a 36-year-old physical rehabilitation nurse, calls this $150 chariot the SS Minnow, and declares it the visual savior of Spokane’s dull, crumbling streets.

“It really brings joy and happiness to people’s boring, mundane lives,” he says.

Tall order for a sport wagon.

Standing in front of the museum, Walsh praises his prize while a “Porn Star” decal tries to flap free with the wind. There are gazillions more.

Like “My Kid Beat Up Your Honor Student,” “Beam Me Up Hale Bopp,” “Fish Naked” and “Hunt Each Other” plastered next to “NRA.”

And the biggest paradox of all: “I Hate Bumper Stickers.”

“And I did,” Walsh says. “Then I realized they were about free speech.”

Of course, there’s his paintings. Those acrylic additions include a rainbow-hued school of fish swimming on the door. And there’s art that’s, um, auto erotic.

“The female nudes have about 10 coats of clear gloss on top,” he trumps.

He squeezes behind the wheel. Dog-eared copies of “On the Road” and “Trout Fishing in America” are jammed between the dash and windshield.

The seats shake and squeak as the wreck rattles and sputters a first gasp. “It’s a little noisy, but nothing a little duct tape can’t fix.”

And he’s off. At the McDonald’s on West Third, everything’s calm at the speaker when Walsh orders his chicken nuggets. But at the window, the cashier about swallows her headset.

“Wow,” she gasps.

Downtown, concern creases the brow of a woman driving a shiny-new Volkswagen. She keeps the Minnow firmly sighted via rear-view mirror.

“A lot of people will take a quick glance, then they’ll look away,” Walsh says. “They’re afraid to look at it.”

At a North Side intersection, the driver of a big, brown sedan spies the Minnow. Stunned, he jets from the turn lane, careening the wrong direction onto one-way Division. A passenger is glued to the window like a suction-cup Garfield.

“I think my car disturbed him,” Walsh says with glee.

A sleek, silver Mercedes stops next to the Minnow at a stoplight.

“Watch this,” Walsh cackles.

A gray-haired woman looks at him, jerks, then turns away. She’s smiling, but her face is as red as the traffic light.

Walsh stops in front of the Mojo Monroe espresso bar. Everyone inside stops, eyes like bike reflectors.

“It’s unique,” says Alissa Bishop, who managed not to wear her latte despite the encounter. “It makes a lot of statements.”

Wherever Walsh drives, he leaves a cloud of rust, exhaust and mayhem. He sees humor in all this. But he says it’s also serious work, and wrestling with his muse is no joke.

“I know nothing about art, really,” he says. “I think being an uneducated artist is a blessing. Not knowing the rules, I have no rules to break. I’m limited only by my imagination and the size of my canvas.”

Walsh began his drive to become the Degas of Datsuns in 1987, while visiting his brother, an art student in Venice. He hung out with tortured souls in Italy and Paris, and decided this was for him. When he spied his first Jackson Pollock painting, he decided this genius gig thing wasn’t so tough.

“I scoffed at it,” he says somewhat regretfully. “I told myself right then, anyone can be an artist.”

He returned home and spent $2,000 on art supplies. Since then, he’s had some success. His work has been exhibited a couple times in Seattle galleries. Walsh moved to Spokane two years ago.

His apartment brims with his works. There’s a lizard painting, inspired by a trek to Australia. And lots of bold, bright, geometric trout - he fly fishes about 50 days a year. “To me, trout just exemplifies life and beauty.”

He’s working on a blackened, Jurassic-looking spine attached to a sharp-nosed skull. He says it’s a coyote.

“I collect river kill,” he explains. “I just started that series. I have more bones in my car.”

He’s still looking for his gallery debut in the Lilac City. But who knows? Maybe there’s an empty wall at the museum next door.

“I’ve seen the car, and it’s certainly an added attraction to Browne’s Addition,” says Cheney Cowles Deputy Director Larry Schoonover, sounding diplomatic.

Any artistic impressions? “Um, not really.”

Laura Thayer, the museum’s curator of collections, says she gets the Minnow’s vibe. “I grew up with a family that restores old cars,” she says. “That’s kind of what led me to the museum biz - this art of restoring. I think the car is really incredible.”

Is it art, though?

“It’s pretty similar to what artists in the ‘60s and ‘70s were thinking,” she says. “Warhol, Lichtenstein, Claes Oldenburg, Robert Rauschenberg … It wasn’t just a frivolous movement. It was a direct response to culture in America.”

So there.

“It gives me a sense of pride,” Walsh says of his rig. “It’s my artwork. It’s who I am.”

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: 2 photos (1 color)