In the spring of 1977, Studio 54 opened its doors at 254 West 54th Street in Manhattan. At that time, New York City had just pulled itself back from the brink of bankruptcy, and much of the city was in disrepair. However, behind the dull facade of this famed nightclub, New Yorkers danced to glimmering lights and the disco music craze. The dance floor of Studio 54 was crowned with neon lights arranged in geometric patterns that resembled a sunrise.
But five years before the opening of Studio 54, multimedia artist Rudi Stern had already fallen in love with neon lights. He sought to revive the dying craft of neon in New York City, which he considered a lost art. Stern came up with the idea of offering custom work for people who wanted to design something in neon lighting. In 1972 he opened the gallery Let There Be Neon at 451 West Broadway joining the burgeoning Soho art scene.
By 1976, Stern was widely credited with designing and installing the first-ever neon environment for a disco. His work, infused with a strong artistic vision, landed in Studio 54 in 1978. The nightclub had become more than just a place to party; it had metamorphosed into a hotbed for contemporary culture.
Neon lights that have advertised public places, from iconic diners to Broadway theaters, impregnated the city’s landscape and became part of the city’s memorabilia. For some people, neon signs have vintage associations, while for others, they may evoke sleazy bars and a sense of funkiness, likely influenced by Hollywood movies that portray the gritty reality of New York City in the 70s. In contrast, Stern’s neon lights have also illuminated the glamour of Bloomingdale’s in the 80s.
“Rudi [Stern] instilled in us that everything we work on and lay our hands on should be accomplished with an artistic point of view. Whether it’s a pizza sign or an installation in the Guggenheim, it’s still art, and we should do our best. And that’s what we do,” explains Jeff Friedman, the current owner of Let There Be Neon and long-time friend of Rudi Stern.
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Friedman first stepped into Stern’s gallery for the first time on a bright day in 1977. A mutual friend brought him there and introduced him to “this wild neon place,” always searching for employees. It was all dark. The walls, ceiling, and floor were black, but neon was everywhere. He got hired that same day. Over the years, Stern became his mentor, though he eventually fired Friedman in 1980. He started a small company with someone else, but as his friendship with Stern improved, they decided to merge their companies in 1990. One year later, Stern was ready to move on to focus on painting, light performances, and filmmaking, a passion he dedicated himself to until he passed away in 2006. Friedman then became the sole owner of Let There Be Neon in 1991.
Over the years, Friedman’s bread and butter have been custom neon lights orders that hung in innumerable ordinary and iconic diners and bars across New York and other US cities. He has also created neon lights for theater, opera, television, films, and Broadway shows and has worked with many artists worldwide. In 2008, he produced the largest exterior neon art project in New York City: Laurent Grasso’s “Infinite Light,” a neon sculpture installed at Hunter College and spanned across Lexington Ave and 68th Street. He has also worked closely with artist Douglass Wheeler. This relationship began decades ago and helped open the “PSAD Synthetic Desert III” art installation at the Guggenheim Museum in New York City in 2018. Friedman explains, “We love to do restoration work because it’s meaningful to us.”
In 2022, the Let There Be Neon team helped set up a crowdfunding campaign to restore the 12-foot green and red Irish harp that has hung above the Dublin House bar on 79th Street and Broadway in the Upper West Side. When the bar owner called Friedman for a quote, he discovered that the sign was in such poor condition that the owner would need to sell Guinness for a long time to pay back the repair. Remarkably, within 24 hours, they raised almost $20,000.
“It was impressive how enthusiastic the support was. People from all over the world contributed to the crowdfunding,” Friedman explains, noting the involvement of neighbors, former residents of the area, and even visitors to New York who recognized the sign.
Friedman believes that people are so attached to these iconic neon lights in cities because they are made entirely by hand — in which an electrical current is passed through neon gas at low pressure in a sealed glass tube with a metal electrode at each end. “I think the craftsmanship comes through when you look at the lights. They are not just static pieces; they are electric, draw attention, and feel alive. There are so many things you could do with it,” Friedman says enthusiastically.
Apparently the sign of the Dublin House bar has been there since Prohibition ended in 1933. Let there be Neon had never worked on the sign before, but “I have always wanted to refurbish it. It’s huge and beautifully graphic, and the colors are fantastic. In this case, we contributed whatever extra was required,” says Friedman.
He doesn’t shy away from acknowledging that they anticipated significant press coverage from the restoration of the piece – which they did get. “That is part of our appeal because we want to keep these historic neon lights and signs going in cities,” he says. “You never know when some other sign owner will read about it and think, ‘I’ve got this old sign on the side of my building that I would give to the junkman. But now I could make it come back to life. I didn’t know that was even possible!’.”
Unfortunately, many mid-century neon signs have already fallen victim to the passage of time. The restoration work of this long-standing business – skills taught and passed down only through hands-on experience – helps safeguard the city’s invaluable neon heritage. Each sign echoes a moment in time or reminds us of its passage. “Our philosophy is that we put a lot of heart and soul into restoring these pieces because there is real beauty in bringing something back to life.”
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In 2016, Friedman traveled to Cuba for the first time, following President Obama’s visit to the island and the Rolling Stones concert in Havana. He was aware of the history of iconic casinos with vibrant signage and neon lights in Cuban cities before the revolution, particularly in Havana. On the last day of his trip, Friedman discovered Cuban neon artist Kadir Lopez, who was working on a project to locate old signs in Havana. Along with Cuban-American neon expert Adolfo Nodal, based in Los Angeles, they began refurbishing these signs but needed additional support.
Friedman returned to Cuba a second time and visited their workshop. They had recently struck a deal with the Cuban government to establish a space for a new gallery. In 2018, Let There Be Neon partnered with Habana Neon & Light to provide assistance in refurbishing historical Cuban neon signs and to promote awareness of neon art throughout the island. Unfortunately, this partnership has stalled as relations between the Cuban government and recent US administrations have cooled.
Currently, Friedman is involved in another restoration project. His studio is working on a well-known neon sign of a diving girl that belongs to a real estate industrialist based in New York and located in Seattle. When I asked Friedman if neon lights are experiencing a revival and have stopped flickering out from New York’s landscape, he promptly replied, “I don’t think neon has ever gone away!” Neon signs have been around in the US since the late 20s or 30s, and their popularity exploded following the Second World War and well into the 1960s.
They were threatened by fluorescent and plastic signs when Stern started the company in 1972, yet neon lights have persisted. “There’s always room for something new, but people often think neon is finished. I personally disagree because it’s also an art,” he said. As he speaks, I imagine neon lights as the oil colors on the city’s canvas that paint its emotional ecosystem.
I share with Friedman that four years ago, I reported on a grassroots movement in Spain that documents and preserves the commercial signs of small shops and bars. One of the founders remarked about this disappearing graphic heritage: “If a small business closes and a big chain moves in, we are doomed to repeatedly see the same signs and architecture. We lose commercial, urban, and street diversity.”
“I think it’s a very accurate statement,” Friedman responds. “Unfortunately, the floodgates have opened for New York as well. In Manhattan, the smaller mom-and-pop stores—once part of my client base—are disappearing or being pushed out to the outer boroughs. Real estate in Manhattan is so valuable that who can afford it?” His own business isn’t immune to this trend. He half-joked, “When we first took this space, we were on the outskirts of Chinatown, and now we’re in Tribeca. But we haven’t moved; it’s the real estate.”
Let There Be Neon’s current location is at 38 White St—only two different locations in 52 years of existence. As I logged off from the Zoom conversation with Friedman, I couldn’t help but wonder if it is the neon lights or perhaps the endurance of long-standing businesses that keeps illuminating cities like New York.
