Oregon Home Team
Spokane, Wash., painter Lanny DeVuono’s pieces are a twist on traditional landscapes: She uses boxes as canvases, wrapping the painting over five sides, and chooses industrial scenes (think powerlines and factories) rather than bucolic ones. But she does have a common thread with the original landscape painters. “In the 19th century, painting landscapes was a way to romanticize the loss of nature to the Industrial Revolution,” says DeVuono. “That’s relevant today. When I drive to work every day, I see development eating up land.”
Sure, Barbara Chen’s smiling, dancing women are plump and cast of heavy bronze, but these fleshy figures look decidedly light-stepping. The Richland, Wash., sculptor credits that to a freewheeling imagination (she pictures poses in her mind rather than using plus-sized models) and a constant stream of music (“I listen to everything from ballet to reggae, world music to opera, and that inspires the feel of their poses,” she says). But more than anything, Chen’s work is a product of happiness. “For me, making art is like making music,” she says. “I want it to be something that I enjoy and that other people can enjoy.”
Christine Clark’s metal-and-concrete sculptures are indescribably intriguing: Their materials are both solid and soft; the curved shapes seem somewhat familiar yet are unrecognizable; a small blip of color catches your eye. And that’s exactly what the Portland sculptor intended.
Douglas Smith makes a living painting places and people he’s never seen. The 30-year-old travels the globe via the Internet, falling in love with imagery from foreign cultures that he reinterprets and incorporates into his canvases. First Thursday-goers, for example, are familiar with the vibrant paintings of monks smoking or skipping that the prolific painter sells for no more than $20 in his booth. (“I want to give everybody the chance to buy original artwork at an affordable price,” he says.)
To Portland woodworker Chris Held, furniture is a way to connect with a past that’s disappeared from much of America. “I work with old materials and weathered finishes to infuse my furniture with nostalgia,” says Held. “I grew up in the sprawling suburbs of Atlanta where everything old was torn down to make room for the new. My furniture represents a yearning for the old, for something that doesn’t smell of fresh asphalt.”
The prints and canvases of Bothell, Wash., artist Carolyn Krieg will launch haunting tales in your imagination. “Most people like my photographs, but some people think they’re scary,” says the 52-year-old, who lives and works in a studio attached to the barn that shelters her rescue-racehorse, Ollie; a goat named Stanley; and Weimaraners, Reynard and Kiefer.