If you’ve ever wondered what it might feel like to step inside someone else’s imagination, Pasaquan is your doorway. Tucked into the quiet backroads of Buena Vista, Georgia, this place isn’t just art—it’s a world. Painted walls stretch into the pine-scented sky, mosaics blaze in the sun, and every corner feels like it’s whispering: come closer, there’s more to see.
Dusty and I pulled in expecting a roadside curiosity. What we found was a cosmic folk-art playground that refused to let us walk away unchanged.
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The Visionary Behind Pasaquan
Pasaquan is the life’s work of Eddie Owens Martin, better known by the name he gave himself: St. EOM (pronounced “Ohm,” like the sound you make in meditation). Eddie’s early years were rough—he left rural Georgia as a teenager, ran off to New York, and lived among the swirl of art, mysticism, and survival.
But in the 1930s, Eddie claimed he began receiving visions from otherworldly beings he called the Pasaquoyans. They told him to go back home and build a site where spiritual traditions, bold color, and flowing energy could all collide. And so, in the 1950s, he did just that. For thirty years, he poured himself into transforming his mother’s old farmhouse into something between a temple, a playground, and a psychedelic dreamscape.
The result? Six acres of murals, mosaics, and towering figures that still pulse with energy long after Eddie’s passing.
Walking Through Another World
From the moment we parked, it felt like the earth tilted sideways. The entrance alone—painted posts and bright gateways—was enough to let us know we weren’t in rural Georgia anymore.
Every wall tells a story. Every archway feels like a portal. Totemic figures with wild hair stretch skyward, while sand gardens and painted mandalas invite you to sit still and listen. There’s no blank space anywhere; even the quiet corners are alive with symbols and faces.
Dusty caught me staring at the same wall for way too long, tracing little swirls with my eyes until she finally laughed and said, “You’re not gonna figure it out, you know.” She was right. Pasaquan doesn’t give you answers—it hands you more questions. And that’s the fun of it.
Why Pasaquan Matters
Sure, you could call it a folk-art site. But really, Pasaquan is a living reminder of what happens when someone commits fully to their own vision—whether the world understands it or not.
Today, Columbus State University and the Pasaquan Preservation Society keep the site alive and thriving. Walk the grounds, and you’ll find guides eager to share Eddie’s stories. Stand still long enough, and you’ll feel why the Smithsonian ranks Pasaquan among America’s most important visionary art environments.
It’s colorful, it’s chaotic, and it’s strangely peaceful all at once. That’s the magic.
Practical Tips for Visiting Pasaquan
Check the hours: They’re usually open Fridays through Sundays, but times shift seasonally.
Bring water & good shoes: South Georgia heat is no joke, and you’ll want to wander every inch.
Take your time: Most folks stay an hour or two, but if you’re the kind who sketches, journals, or photographs, you could lose half a day here.
Ask questions: The volunteers know stories you won’t find on any plaque.
Make a donation: Entrance is usually free, but tossing a few bucks into the jar helps keep Eddie’s dream alive.
Echo’s Corner: A Whisper of the Pasaquoyans
Legend has it Eddie’s “Pasaquoyans” weren’t just visions—they were spiritual guides dressed in vibrant robes, showing him symbols from lost civilizations and future worlds. Some say if you stand in the sand garden at dusk, you’ll catch the flicker of robes in the corner of your eye, as if the Pasaquoyans never left. Whether it’s imagination or something more, well… Pasaquan leaves room for both.
Final Thoughts
If your travels lean toward the offbeat, Pasaquan belongs on your list. It’s not a stop you just “see” and move on from—it’s one you feel in your bones. Eddie Owens Martin may have passed decades ago, but his colors, symbols, and questions still hum through every wall.
When Dusty and I left, we carried more than photos—we carried that curious, slightly dazed feeling you get when a place rewrites your sense of what’s possible. And that, to me, is the true heart of travel.
📸 Want to see more? Click here to view all my pictures from Pasaquan.
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