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Of his recent body of large-scale mixed-media works on canvas, Tony Evanko says, "For me this work represents in an abstract way the transition that occurs in societies and art during a technological shift." His juxtaposition of preindustrial and post-technological processes and materials underscores the point: He dusts photocopier toner onto prepared canvas through a stencil of dotted lines made with a seamstress' wheel, a centuries-old hand tool. The lines serve as a backdrop to painted ovals, circles or rectangles arranged according to a computer's codification of select poems (E.E. Cummings is a favorite), texts or musical scores. They are done in subtle pastels--baby blue, cashmere-sweater pink, canary yellow and linoleum green, in his own nomenclature--that he says are "reminiscent of the 1950s, a time of post-war bliss." His painted images initially seem to create a regular pattern, but their placement is in fact formally random, determined by a computer program rather than a human trained in aestheti. Because of this illusion of (and allusion to) patterning, and because the dotted lines of toner blur at the edges, the works evoke woven textiles. Evanko's formal education was in architecture; if he had studied painting, he might be predisposed to balance these abstract compositions more carefully. But it's this quality of chance, of change and the unexpected, that makes the pieces visually compelling and melds Evanko's concept with both his technique and the material results. The seamstress' wheel and the personal computer are equally important to these works, which therefore question the notion of progress, of our ostensible march toward a brilliant finale, and toy with the viewer's expectation that duplication assures regularity. The artist's decision to let the computer decide the placement of his images lends mystery to his patterning. John Eric Byers, a Portland-based furniture maker, takes a more intuitive approach to pattern. His first solo exhibition in Portland is composed primarily of mahogany spheres, 9 inches in diameter, hand-carved and painted with motifs that he says are inspired by textile patterns--squares, diamonds, stars, circles and stripes. The balls would be at home on the nose of a seal or in the hands of a juggler: They have the frivolity and fun of a night at the circus and are a lighthearted addition to his generally serious oeuvre of painstakingly crafted furniture, such as the two dressers in the exhibit. Composed of stacks of hat-box forms, the dressers have the sway and height of a graceful female figure, reflecting Byers' respect for women's fashion. "Looking at couture fashion has given me an aesthetic sensibility," he says. "There is a sense of elegance, proportion and form." Like the spheres, they are finished in layers of milk paint, resulting in a seductive, aged-looking surface. Although Byers attempts precision in his patterns, he finds beauty in the imperfections and character that result from hand carving. "I always thought dressers were kind of magical," Byers says. "You're always interacting with them, opening the drawers to find the stuff inside." Thus, an important chance component in Byers' art takes place after the piece has left the artist's domain, as is the case with most art (or craft) with a physical function, as well as its aesthetic, intellectual and emotional ones. The user provides the furniture with new life and therefore with additional meaning as a cultural artifact and source of information. Although Byers has no more than a loose sketch of a piece's surface decoration before he begins to carve, his hand-painted patterns are more consistent than Evanko's, whose formal randomness is part of the point. These artists' intentions and their results are very different, but they share an interest in chance, pattern and the pleasing meditative quality of repetition. |
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