Marilyn Keating and Debra Sachs didn't need fancy.

Cheap: yes. Brimming with potential: most definitely.

When the two were scouting for a house to turn into a funky, comfortable haven, they turned to an unlikely spot - Gloucester City.

The hard-nosed dock town fit both criteria just fine.

And since they purchased the unassuming spot on Broadway, two fairly remarkable things have happened:

First, the house that 20 years ago featured dead pigeons and a thick layer of dirt on every surface has been shined up to be a showplace.

And second, the former teacher and telephone installer have fallen into careers as public art specialists.

On the art:

They met at Moore College of Art in Philadelphia, where Keating, who grew up in Levittown and Willingboro, was a sculpture major, and Sachs, who hails from Worcester, Mass., studied painting.

But their degrees didn't exactly win them immediate placements in their chosen fields, and the list of the non-art jobs they have held is, at the very least, eclectic: cabdriver; teacher; pizza, balloon, and organic produce deliverywoman; gaslight-restoration specialist; electrician; handywoman.

"We've each done more odd jobs than I can remember," said Sachs, the more gregarious of the genial couple.

Both Keating and Sachs always had art projects going, and in the late 1980s, Keating scored a $5,000 commission - just big enough to support her taking a leave of absence from New Jersey Bell.

From there, their business bloomed. Keating gained enough contacts to quit her phone company job, and Sachs began earning income from toys and other works she sold at craft shows.

They freely admit they never set out to do what they're doing.

"We've survived long enough as artists that people thought we'd be good at it," Sachs said. "And now, we're really focused on making our living on public art."

In 1996, Keating got her first major commission. Along with two other artists, she began work on art for the soon-to-open River Line, the light-rail system that will link Camden and Trenton.

Keating worked on sculptures and narrative tiles, mostly with a nature theme, for the light rail. In all, the state spent about $650,000 on art for the project - Keating isn't sure how much she earned, but it worked out to a "nice middle-class living."

Sachs and Keating have also collaborated on works at the PATCO High-Speed Line station at Ninth and 10th and Locust Streets in Philadelphia - intricate columns and 100 yards' worth of tiles of different kinds of feet walking.

A jigsaw mosaic representing various aspects of life in Haddonfield is set for installation at that PATCO station in the spring.

Even with such major projects under their belts, their business is still a gamble. The two formed a company - South Jersey Museum of Curiosities LLP - so they could purchase health insurance.

And though their reputation is building, finding work is a chancy venture. Currently, Sachs and Keating are at the tail end of their commissions and focusing much of their energy on finding new work.

"Nothing is sure," Keating said. "We'll probably have to do odd jobs again."

The uncertainty is worth it, the pair said.

"We really do love the public art best, even though it's a pain sometimes," Sachs said, explaining the often-drawn out process of dealing with boards and executives and the public. "There's a high level of complication, but you're also enhancing an environment, making art a part of the everyday lives of people who wouldn't have it otherwise."

On the house:

From the outside it is neat but unassuming - on the city's busiest street, wedged next to a gas station, white with green trim, red accents painted around the door and two stone lions out front.

But inside, it is all riotous color and unexpected touches: the handmade wooden bird chandelier, the old catcher's mask on the wall, the painted cat banister head, the wardrobe full not of clothes but of toys and craft supplies, otherwise known as "The Cabinet of Everyday Alchemy."

From the bargain-basement deal they bought in April 1983 for $39,000, dirty dishes still in the sink, Sachs and Keating have created a marvel.

Curled on the sofa in their purple living room with cream star tiles on the ceiling and old chestnut wood cabinets lined with books and collectible toys, they explained their approach to the projects that fill every corner of their home.

On joint works, they design together, with Keating, 51, handling most of the construction work and Sachs, 50, doing virtually all of the finishing.

Keating's work is more narrative, Sachs explained. "She's a storyteller."

Take, for example, her Superhero Skeleton Dog with his bobbing head, cool goggles and definite personality.

There's also And He Takes Out The Trash, a towering wooden sculpture with women and clothespins and baskets and children and birdhouses.

Sachs is a bit more abstract - her wooden sculpture Joined at the Hip is two curvy pieces of wood joined together.

Art is everywhere. And it's always changing.

"We've pretty much converted every square foot into something usable," Keating said proudly.

Sachs jumped in: "But things are always getting redone around here. Marilyn's very restless."

The 21/2-story house has three separate shops: one for pottery, in the sunroom looking out on Broadway; one for wood and metalworking, in the basement; and one for forging and welding - a 50th birthday present for Keating - in the garage.

Even their yard is an arty retreat. Think cantina, think circular flowerbed with black-and-white tiles made by their friends; think two wooden ladies with green and white mosaic shirts, purple skirts and plants on top of their heads.

Off to one side is Keating's hideaway, an octagonal wooden hut with a cushy green hammock for her and comfy green pillow for Ellie, the couple's poodle-lab mix.

Sachs and Keating always had envisioned themselves trading in their Gloucester digs for something bigger, more posh. But at some point, they said, they realized they didn't need or want to move up.

"Gloucester City is home," Keating said. "We feel like we belong here."

Sachs nodded, then laughed at the sudden roaring from the sky.

"You create your own heaven," she said. "Even if there are a million planes flying overhead."