Tape is on a role

From adhesive art to duct-covered fashion statements, Portlanders can't get enough of the household staple

Thursday, January 19, 2006

STEVE WOODWARD

The Oregonian

Not just dark and light. Duct tape also comes in three dozen colors, including fluorescent, and it definitely holds Portland together.

Duct-tape wallets. Duct-tape art. Duct-tape rock bands. Duct-tape songs.

Avon, Ohio, home of the nation's biggest duct-tape manufacturer, may have its annual duct-tape festival, complete with parade and bands. But Portlanders are elevating duct tape to artistic, musical, fashion and countercultural stature not usually associated with the humble household adhesive. Chalk it up to Portland's love affair with things DIY, anti-corporate, industrial and quirky.

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"A lot of people are doing duct tape these days," Stenson says, "but gaffer's tape has so much more potential."

Try telling that to Mona Superhero, Portland's -- and perhaps the nation's -- premier duct-tape artist.

"I really love tape," says Superhero, reclining on a couch beside a vivid self-portrait filled with whimsical hot-air balloons, a white rabbit's foot dangling from an earring, an orange masking-tape swimsuit and puffy, white clouds fashioned from strapping tape.

"I almost cried the day when I discovered strapping tape," she says.

The former stripper and cabaret promoter, who once dreamed of becoming a Playboy bunny, picked up a roll of duct tape in a Virginia hardware store one day a few years ago and began crafting portraits of musicians: Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead, Marc Bolan of T-Rex, jazz trumpeter Miles Davis and others.

Superhero's 2003 art show at the Aalto Lounge attracted the kind of notice that now enables the self-taught artist to charge from $400 to more than $1,000 for her pieces. Nevertheless, though the 35-year-old woman no longer strips for a living -- "My knees are shot" -- she admits to occasional nightmares over the stability of her new career.

"I'm going to have to start stripping again," she laments to herself in her nightmares. "This duct-tape thing just isn't working out."

Not to worry. She's on solid ground, at least until May, when she has a show scheduled at the Rhys Gallery in Boston .

--- (snip) ---

Steve Woodward: stevewoodward@news.oregonian.com




Tape is on a role From adhesive art to duct-covered fashion statements, Portlanders can't get enough of the household staple Thursday, January 19, 2006 STEVE WOODWARD The Oregonian Not just dark and light. Duct tape also comes in three dozen colors, including fluorescent, and it definitely holds Portland together. Duct-tape wallets. Duct-tape art. Duct-tape rock bands. Duct-tape songs. Avon, Ohio, home of the nation's biggest duct-tape manufacturer, may have its annual duct-tape festival, complete with parade and bands. But Portlanders are elevating duct tape to artistic, musical, fashion and countercultural stature not usually associated with the humble household adhesive. Chalk it up to Portland's love affair with things DIY, anti-corporate, industrial and quirky. --- (snip) --- "A lot of people are doing duct tape these days," Stenson says, "but gaffer's tape has so much more potential." Try telling that to Mona Superhero, Portland's -- and perhaps the nation's -- premier duct-tape artist. "I really love tape," says Superhero, reclining on a couch beside a vivid self-portrait filled with whimsical hot-air balloons, a white rabbit's foot dangling from an earring, an orange masking-tape swimsuit and puffy, white clouds fashioned from strapping tape. "I almost cried the day when I discovered strapping tape," she says. The former stripper and cabaret promoter, who once dreamed of becoming a Playboy bunny, picked up a roll of duct tape in a Virginia hardware store one day a few years ago and began crafting portraits of musicians: Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead, Marc Bolan of T-Rex, jazz trumpeter Miles Davis and others. Superhero's 2003 art show at the Aalto Lounge attracted the kind of notice that now enables the self-taught artist to charge from $400 to more than $1,000 for her pieces. Nevertheless, though the 35-year-old woman no longer strips for a living -- "My knees are shot" -- she admits to occasional nightmares over the stability of her new career. "I'm going to have to start stripping again," she laments to herself in her nightmares. "This duct-tape thing just isn't working out." Not to worry. She's on solid ground, at least until May, when she has a show scheduled at the Rhys Gallery in Boston . --- (snip) --- Steve Woodward: stevewoodward@news.oregonian.com Š2006 The Oregonian