This summer, for the second year, Coney Island is getting a creative makeover. Since 2004, the thrill rides, hot dog stands and clam shacks of America's most fabled—and faded—beach resort have been getting new signs painted by artists from Ryan McGinness and Jules de Balincourt to Rita Ackerman, Nicole Eisenman and Ronnie Cutrone. Called the Dreamland Artist Club, and organized by Creative Time and the artist Steve Powers, the effort now also includes game booth prizes by the likes of Lawrence Weiner and Sol LeWitt, along with a wacky hang-out space called the Dreamland Artist Clubhouse (1206 Surf Avenue), where one can pick up a map and start the tour. Recently, we spoke with Powers about sign-making, Coney Island and its history of fun and filth.

A lot of people think Coney Island is a dump. Did you think it needed some sprucing up?
I had no prejudice against it. I first started going there because there were so many nicely hand-painted signs, so much visual energy, and I would just go and take photographs. A lot of what people avoid, I really enjoy. It's a rough piece of real estate, and I find it romantic.

Your own work is influenced by signs, but what made you start painting them at Coney Island?
Around 2003, I noticed that some of my favorite signs had been replaced by newer vinyl versions, which are a lot cheaper. I decided I wanted to offer my services and paint signs, for free, and just try to stem the tide of that while inserting myself into the visual liveliness of the area. Then Creative Time heard about it and it went from there.

What signs were you painting?
The first ones were for the El Dorado bumper cars and then I did, like, ten different signs that were all for things that are bad for you—like a slice of pizza, a cup of beer, hot dogs—so it was fun to do.

You also painted cars for the Cyclone, the famous roller coaster.
The Cyclone is amazing. I think I broke my back on it last year, so I've moved on from there.

How did you and Creative Time pick the other artists?
It really came down to choosing people who we thought would understand what Coney Island is about, and had some kind of connection with it, either in their work or in their personality.

Like who?
Jack Pierson is a great example. One of the things he does is work with letters in ways that aren't necessarily nostalgic, but evoke emotion. He made something perfect. [His sign, above a vacant space, said "Some day," but is no longer there.] Also, Ronnie Cutrone is a Brooklyn native, and a lot of his work is influenced by Coney Island. Gary Panter resides in East Flatbush, which is pretty close. But that doesn't mean their work is any more powerful than the work by others, like [Otavio and Gustavo Pandolfo, known as Os Gemeos] from Brazil.

Did any of them find it hard to create work for, say, a hot dog stand?
Not really. It was like asking artists to relive a childhood memory. Coney Island is as simple and primal as that. It's about the promise of fun and pleasure, and everyone can respond to that.

It's not so clean and wholesome, though. There is, after all, a booth called "Shoot the Freak."
True, what I really loved about the place is that it had this veneer of being a family resort kind of area, but it's really just completely filthy and rundown. The best way I can described it is that Coney Island is the id of New York, this very dark, strange, wonderful place.

There are all sorts of plans being floated around to redevelop the area. What do you make of that?
I don't know anything about what's going to happen. But I've been talking with people there for a dozen years, and they're all dying and thirsting for it. If it's good for them, it's good for me. I'm just a passerby; I paint signs. There are a lot of people who've put in a lot of years keeping Coney Island alive, and I'm more interested in hearing what they have to say than what I have to say.