Here's the story.

Some of my favorite stories and most remarkable discoveries are those that reveal themselves unexpectedly.

The Jersey Shore Art Center on Main Street in Asbury Park at the gateway to Ocean Grove is one such extraordinary place.

It's a hidden gem that feels like a chance discovery even though it's been standing there all along.

This building was built in 1897 and a few years after that it was featured in the World's Fair and it was Neptune High School and it's unbelievable that it's a high school.

Who has a grand staircase in a high school?

Eventually though, some 60 years after the Neptune High School was celebrated on the world stage, the world forgot about it.

I think what happened is when Neptune, the population in Neptune grew and all these suburbs started popping up.

As soon as they built the Neptune Township High School and School, they decided to shutter this because it just didn't provide a purpose anymore.

It was just too expensive to maintain.

I believe the later stages of the school's existence, there was problems with the second floor, safety issues.

And then it just fell into disrepair.

It was abandoned and a lot of people, kids, I hear stories of kids telling me, kids that are now adults, used to break into this place and hide and whatever.

There was a big giant hole in the roof.

Birds had gotten in.

Nature starts taking over.

It almost feels like the place starts realizing its death is pending and it just stops.

It's a time capsule.

And it was going to be sold, the land, and torn down basically.

So Senator Palaia came to Dad and said, "I have another thing for you to do."

And he showed Dad the art center.

And I remember one Thanksgiving when Dad decided this was what he was going to do, Brendan, who was in sixth grade, we came to see the building.

And the building had holes in the floor, pigeons flying around, holes in the roof.

And Dad said, "Can't you feel this?"

And I'm like, "Oh my God, what is he getting himself into?"

And Brendan goes, "Oh, Pop-Pop, I see what you mean."

And I'm looking at Brendan and I'm thinking, "What do you guys see?

I don't get it.

I don't get it."

Salvation for the old Neptune High School came in the form of Herbert Herbst, a retired phone company employee and local with a passion for history, a dedication to community, and a flair for persuasion.

My grandfather, yeah, we called him the Herb, the golden tongue he had.

There was an energy about him where he knew how to make someone feel important.

And then Senator Palaia said, "The Board of Ed will sell it to you for a dollar.

Are you interested?"

And, "Yes, yes, yes."

And that's the story that I heard.

Herbst along with the Ocean Grove Preservation Society embarked on a mission to not only rescue the severely damaged building, but to also transform it into a beautifully restored venue dedicated to visual and performing arts.

Well, a dollar well spent if you ask me, because it's just benefited so many people over the years.

I couldn't tell you where I'd be if this building wasn't here.

There's not enough room where artists can have subsidized rent and be able to work without limits based on their income, which as we know is very much, very often not very much.

There should be more places like this, especially in this area where the art community is so vivid.

This building is just so essential to who I am as a person and my childhood.

It's so unique and that's what makes it so special.

And I remember empty studios and now we got a big waiting list, you know, because the word's out.

If you consider that our spaces are so affordably priced and you're just starting out, you're just learning and if you're just learning the ropes and you're just developing, what better place than to have it at a school where everybody develops their dreams and their passions here and they all have different directions in life and they all have different ideas that they are going to follow once they leave these doors.

This is one of my pieces right here.

It's the temporary boat of the relics of the elephant god.

That has a very Hindu feel to it.

I'll show you another one.

This is Nagaraja and Ganapati carved out of black walnut and maple with some deer antler and mother of pearl and whatever.

I have boxes full of stuff.

This is the most elaborate walking stick here.

And that's mahogany and maple and it's fragile because of the tentacles sticking out so I told people if they buy it, they should hang it on the wall and then use it when they have dinner with the governor.

As often as that happens.

Yeah, exactly.

My name is Robert Edward Duncan and I signed my work either Little Bobby Duncan or LBD and I paint, draw, carve, paint murals, a lot of portraits.

I learned not to have a limit, put limits on stuff.

I remember the day, I was 28 and I was in Texas painting a mural at Rice University and I rode there and back on a bicycle and I was riding back, I said, "I trust myself.

I trust my instincts.

I certainly have a good eye for color."

And so there's no worries and there are complaints and somebody can say you made me look fat but I believe that I'm doing really well and I don't overthink it.

If something funny pops up, I love to include funny stuff and whimsical stuff in there.

If I put a battery in, the eyes glow red.

And this went with a costume I made.

I lived in Houston for a while and the costume was a suit of plastic armor that made me 8 and a half feet tall.

And I walked around with the cape and this armor and this and I had people chasing me, wanting their picture taken.

I had a drunk lady grab the neck of my costume and pull herself up because she wanted to see if there was a machine inside or a human being.

A human being, right?

Yeah.

Yeah, yeah.

Sort of.

How long have you been here at the Center?

17 years.

Yeah.

I came doing community service for a DUI and I never left.

They taught me how to plaster and I plastered the whole third floor.

It took 3 and a half years.

And after that, well, while I was doing that, I always had space in the building because I was painting those paintings on the third floor of Ocean Grove.

And finally, when the last space on the third floor was rented, it was a yoga school at the time, I was away on vacation, they moved all my stuff down here and said, "We got your new studio."

This is the best.

It is the best ever.

You like being in this space.

Oh, I look forward to coming here every day.

Why is it important for artists to have a studio?

Oh, wow.

The studio is a sacred place that you go into and you contemplate.

And everybody's different.

Some artists go in their studios, they shut the door and they do their thing.

Some artists, like Patricia upstairs, keeps her door open, come on in.

And I think that's where she gets her motivation.

Yeah, I love that I have this space that is truly just my own.

Like, you know, Barbara and I put this wall up here, but it's so lovely having her right next door.

I can shout over if I need a cup of tea or if I want her to make me something to eat.

But then on my side here, I love that I can make a mess and it's my mess and it's not in anyone else's way.

And I have all of my favorite things in this room that are indicative of who I am as a person and what I like to make as art.

So yeah, I love it.

Especially my darkroom, which is a wardrobe from 1898.

I'd like to fill in the building and meet some of the artists.

This is Robert Piersanti.

I call him Bob.

Hi, Bob.

So tell them about your studio.

Well, we're a little messy right now because we're always working.

But the newer stuff there is that abstract stuff.

I spent about a dozen years in Jersey City painting portraits of local people in a pop art style.

And you can see that reflected in some of the work.

When I was a younger guy, I was an illustrator for magazines like Entertainment Weekly and New Yorker and New York Press, things like that.

How long have you been down here?

Before the pandemic, I started Renton Studio, but things have picked up around here now.

So I'm glad we're back into a busy schedule here.

Five years, I guess.

This place has come back to life after the pandemic.

It was really a dreary time when I first came in here.

But wow, so much energy and such good people, good performances at the theater.

A lot of dance classes happen here.

Joe Borzotta and I run the drawing classes on Thursday mornings.

And just a really great scene, a lot of good people, and I'm able to keep doing my thing.

What do you think of this space?

It's terrific.

I could always use more space, but I love the whole vibe of being in this old 1898 high school.

And it's got a lot of character, you know?

Also I like the camaraderie of other artists and musicians and dancers in the building.

It makes for a good vibe.

Is this place haunted?

Any former students ever?

Yeah, I don't like to stay here at night by myself.

And when I open some of the doors, I hear, "Hey, Bob."

Like it's talking to me.

My name's Robert, but a lot of people call me Bob.

So there's a bathroom door that I open and close at night, and when it opens, it says, "Hey, Bob."

So I think it's good.

Most artists need the society of other artists.

And one of the great things when I lived in Houston was every weekend there was an opening at a gallery.

And since I knew all the artists, or most of them, it was people I knew, and we shared materials, we shared...

I mean, just seeing another person's work that's very different from yours adds to your senses of stuff.

And plus, Christian Quiscard, great photographer, I mean, and a really nice guy.

The music, when David Brosselon is playing the piano and you can hear it wafting through the building, it's wonderful.

And it's possible that there's an energy, a creative energy, that's inspired or fed by the other energy of the artists here, 'cause everybody's doing something different.

Why is it a positive experience for artists to create in a community as opposed to by themselves?

I feel like it's truly...

There's an energy shift.

So like I was talking about earlier, right?

How it's so lovely to create.

It's completely different energy when people are in this building and when they aren't.

And either can lend, just depending on what you need to get your work done.

But when I come into this building and everyone on this floor has their doors open, we can also bring our dogs here, which is lovely.

So it's like sometimes there's dogs running around in the halls, which is so fun.

But it's just such...

It's truly... You can feel the energy shift.

It's like a palpable energy shift when everybody is here working.

And you hear everyone's music and like...

I don't know.

It's just...

I can't explain it.

It's just like...

It's truly like you can feel the energy from someone else's creation almost flowing into your room like a wave.

It's really wild.

That's the thing.

Working in a home, you're always bombarded by life.

And when you come here, it's like that's outside those doors.

In here, it's all about what my mission, my dream, and what my art is going to be.

And I think that's one of the things I think is sacred to this is that this is a very...

I don't want to say siloed space, but a space that you can focus.

Some people, like me, I'm more quiet.

I like a little bit of solitude.

And everybody's different.

But when I put it out there that we are going to do open studios or the exhibits, even the shyest ones, the quietest ones come out.

And it's really lovely to see them interacting because you would think that they would be interacting.

But I guess people assume that they're all talking to each other all of the time.

And that's not the case.

Me as an artist, I used to do art alone.

And then I had to force myself to do art in a classroom with other people.

It really took me out of my comfort zone.

I had to really get used to that.

And I learned to really love it.

I loved the feedback, just the energy.

So I tried to take that into the classes when I started teaching the classes.

Because I would see that.

There's a me.

There's somebody that doesn't really want to show the work.

And so you kind of work with people.

And they kind of learn to accept it and embrace it.

It's really true.

It's weird.

You think of a building like this and you think it's so massive.

I work at night.

And a lot of times I'm by myself here.

And you'd think it'd be scary.

But it's lovely.

It's lovely when everyone's here and their doors are open.

And you can walk in and chat with the other artists about what they're working on.

And it's lovely when you're all by yourself and you have this solace.

This building just really lends itself to my art in particular because it's a period process.

And this building is Victorian as well.

So yeah, it's just such a lovely place and pairing I feel like myself in this building.

How well did you know Herb?

Every day.

I was with him every day.

I ended up fixing him lunch every day because he thought he was a great cook.

He would put all the, when he cut up a piece of garlic, he would put all the skin and flakes and everything and you'd have to spit them out when you're eating.

And he kept saying, "I'm old enough.

I know better than you."

And finally, he just liked it that I would fix lunch.

What was his favorite thing that you made?

Well, he ate a lot of pasta.

He did make good eggplant parmesan.

And he would bring that in periodically, a big tray of it.

But also, we'd get sandwiches or pizza or, you know, but we cooked a lot because the room three on the first floor was a kitchen.

And so we talked every day.

And we became friends the first day.

And I'm sure he was skeptical because there've been some shady people come through here doing community service, thieves and stuff.

But we hit it off the first day and he was on my side from the beginning.

The first thing he said to me about my work was, he says, "But you're like Norman Rockwell."

And I took that as a wonderful compliment.

Was he an artist of any kind?

He loved the arts, clearly.

Was he an artist of any kind?

He loved, let's face it, he loved the building.

He loved the, but no, he loved the arts.

I had a different experience with him.

He loved the space.

He loved the arts.

He became very involved in our high school musicals.

And did the sets and was on stage.

He loved the arts.

He had some skill in drawing.

Yeah, he would always draw me pictures.

He had some skill in drawing.

He was a draftsman.

But he appreciated, he appreciated the arts.

He kept Bobby on, he kept Bobby on forever.

And he's still here.

He's still here.

But I would say in terms of him being an artist, he used to draw me pictures.

He used to, I mean, he used to really encourage us as the grandkids to love the arts.

He would make sure, he'd say, "Hey, we're having a play coming down.

Make sure you come to this one."

Or, "Make sure you come to this musical."

I mean, I remember as a kid seeing Avenue Q.

Is that a musical a kid should see?

Debatable.

But I think my grandfather wanted us to be exposed to all the types of arts that were going on in the building.

And I mean, he ensured that Ian, Brendan, and I, and Katie, we would draw.

We would participate.

That when we were volunteering, we didn't just volunteer and ignore the show.

After we'd done with the concessions, he'd be like, "Look at what's happening."

And I think that was what opened our eyes to all the arts that were going on here.

Was Herb an artist?

No.

No, he worked for the phone company.

He was a schmoozer.

This building exists today because he was able to twist arms and get checks and pay.

And plus, he got volunteers.

And most of the work was done by volunteers, except for like electrical and plumbing and stuff.

And we even had some plumbers come in for community service.

Did he love art?

Yeah.

Oh, yeah.

He loved the variety.

You know, photographers, music teachers, actors.

He loved that the theater was being used.

And he gave this famous speech before each performance.

If you want to smoke, take your butts across the street, because you can't smoke on the property.

And they had a memorial service in the theater, and the whole town showed up pretty much.

It was a wonderful guy.

I never met Herb, but I think about him almost every day I'm in here.

What do you think Herb would think, having not met him, but heard so much about him?

What do you think he would think of this place now, seven years since he physically left it?

He probably would think it was too bright.

But I'm sorry.

People like to come into a bright place.

I think he would be really happy that it still exists.

And probably more than ever, we have more classes going on, more events going on than ever, and we're showing it off.

I hope he would be pleased.

I really do.

[Music] [MUSIC] I spend a lot of time here, so it does feel like home to me.

I love to be here at night when everybody's gone and I'm just shutting lights off and I'm not afraid.

I don't feel like it's haunted or if it is, nobody's bothering me.

[LAUGH] But I just love it.

I love the quiet and it just sounds really corny, but I just get such a great feeling.

Like, wow, I'm really in this really great space and I feel really lucky to be part of it.

My whole life, you're gonna think I'm crazy.

I have always had dreams about going into buildings, whether it's a house or whatever it is, and just exploring.

Going up the steps, going into all the nooks and crannies.

And it's somehow this building, it's manifested itself into this.

It almost feels like that.

>> Wow, I can't come sure.

>> It almost is.

I can't explain it, but it kind of has filled some sort of a void.

That I do love old, little distressed, dilapidated things.

And I think it just has satisfied that in me.

It's actually real.

[MUSIC] ♪ Oh we are, exactly what you see ♪ ♪ Bruised and scraped our knees Still we find our way ♪ ♪ And some come as quickly as they go ♪