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Rev. Jen’s eviction makes L.E.S loads less weird

A view of the Troll Museum, emptied of its essentials. Photo by Sean Egan.
A view of the Troll Museum, emptied of its essentials. Photo by Sean Egan.

BY SEAN EGAN | This week saw another nail pounded in the coffin of the weird and wonderful Lower East Side of old, as the venerable Troll Museum (122 Orchard St.) was forced to shutter its doors.

For two decades, the location also functioned as the apartment of the museum’s curator, performance artist/writer/elf Rev. Jen Miller — a well-known figure in the Lower East Side arts community, and a frequent columnist for this paper. Miller, who also notably founded the long-running “Anti-Slam” open mic night, was evicted from her home earlier in the week, after failing to pay rent for months.

Volunteers constructed a chain, to easier transport belongings down flights of stairs. Photo by Sean Egan.
Volunteers constructed a chain, to easier transport belongings down flights of stairs. Photo by Sean Egan.

This unfortunate incident comes at the end of a long and troubling year for Miller — who has chronicled the specifics candidly and hilariously in our pages — which has seen her and her loved ones suffer both personal injury and illness.

A self-portrait by Rev. Jen, which was shown at “Fur Flies” — a 2015 exhibit of her work, alongside that of Ryan Michael Ford. Photo by George Courtney.
A self-portrait by Rev. Jen, which was shown at “Fur Flies” — a 2015 exhibit of her work, alongside that of Ryan Michael Ford. Photo by George Courtney.

On June 23, Miller (while clad only in a bath towel) received an unannounced visit from a City Marshal — who informed her that she was being evicted by her landlord, then forced her to leave the premises hastily. Miller maintains that she wasn’t given warning, and that blame should be placed on the part of the landlord and the courts. She is also seeking, in court, to obtain a three-month stay in the space.

After five days of homelessness post-eviction, the afternoon of June 28 — a muggy, dreary day appropriate for the somber occasion — found friends and fans taking a final pilgrimage to the Troll Museum, in order to help its down-on-her-luck curator pack up. The landlord had granted Miller an opportunity to clear out her possessions between 10am and 4pm, before she was to be locked out of the apartment for good. In response, Miller blasted a press release via her Facebook page calling for people to help “pack up one of the last magical places left in this f**cking greedy city” and for the press to witness “bohemia kiss the Lower East Side Goodbye.”

Arriving on the scene a little after 1pm, much of the Troll Museum’s dismantling was accomplished. Dozens upon dozens of troll dolls and accouterments had been hastily packed into boxes and bags; much of the art had been removed from the walls as well.

One of the last emblematic pieces of Troll artwork left on the wall of the Museum. Photo by Sean Egan.
One of the last emblematic pieces of Troll artwork left on the wall of the Museum. Photo by Sean Egan.

Friends of Miller came and went; throughout it all, Miller was perceptibly distressed, but also remained sort of above it all, finding the ability to crack the occasional droll joke and to greet her friends warmly — mostly while smoking a vape pen from the perch of her flamboyant pink couch (gifted to her by a porn director, she was quick to note).

This group of around a dozen friends, as the afternoon wore on, formed a brain trust/moving crew of sorts, as they counseled Miller on how best to go about packing up, and tossed around ideas on how to deal with the impending eviction. Musician Jen Tobin was able to secure a van to transport belongings, while others found spaces or volunteered to store stuff at their homes — all while helping to pack up valuables like art, journals, and tapes, in addition to the plethora of trolls.

“The Lower East Side is gonna have the funnest party taking my sh*t off the street,” Miller quipped, looking around at all the stuff she wouldn’t be packing up. “Does anyone want any plastic cutlery?” she called out with a faint laugh while rummaging through her cabinets.

As the 4pm deadline approached, movers formed a chain of sorts, speeding up the transport of things from the sixth floor walk-up to the van on the street. Stacks of Miller’s DayGlo, troll-filled original paintings filed out, alongside quirkier mementos, like a conspicuous DVD of so-called “midget porn” (which Miller said was the most disturbing thing she’d ever watched, and which prompted an awkward Genius Bar visit after jamming up her disc drive).

Rev. Jen stands outside her former building with friends, post-eviction, rocking a Barbie Ouija board handbag. Photo by Sean Egan.
Rev. Jen stands outside her former building with friends, post-eviction, rocking a Barbie Ouija board handbag. Photo by Sean Egan.

“All right people, let’s get the hell out of this shebang,” she instructed as the last of the essentials was brought out, leading the ragtag group of compatriots downstairs behind her — pausing only to pose for one last group picture under the disco ball outside her apartment. This flurry of activity ended — as so many of Miller’s columns do — with the impromptu movers and the Rev. herself headed across the street to neighborhood watering hole Lucky Jack’s. The van waited parked outside, ready to bring the quirky treasures within to their uncertain final destinations, leaving a Lower East Side a little less lovably strange in its wake.

“Let’s make the Lower East Side great again!” the group exclaimed while taking a photo under the disco ball, immediately after vacating the apartment. Photo by Sean Egan.
“Let’s make the Lower East Side great again!” the group exclaimed while taking a photo under the disco ball, immediately after vacating the apartment. Photo by Sean Egan.