A   S H O T   O F   T R U T H

Whether you think guns (along with guts and God) made America or ruined it, a new exhibit challenges you to look at the larger picture.

by LISA LAMBERT
243-2122 ext 313

What would happen if you combined local artists, Police Chief Mark Kroeker, guns used in Portland crimes and the Interstate Firehouse Cultural Center? Here's your chance to see. Guns in the Hands of Artists, coordinated by artist Brian Borrello, invited 45 artists to turn guns into objets d'art. But the show's purpose is not to court controversy, if that's possible.

"The intent is to provoke thought as opposed to standing at a pulpit," says Roberta Wong, the gallery director at IFCC, where the collection debuts next week.

Borrello echoes this sentiment. "Gun control is hot-button shit," he says, "and you can't get a sensible read on it. It's so inflammatory that I wanted to create more of a meditation on this thing called 'gun.'"

It seems strange that all of the advance hype for the show is so mild. No one wants to touch the pot, let alone give it a good stir. Shouldn't they be using words like "dangerous" or "risky" to describe a group of contemporary artists addressing a major political issue? But the group's fear that Guns in the Hands of Artists will shoot off any sort of debate may originate in a deeper idea about art's purpose. While stressing that the show never takes sides, those involved use words like "multiplicity" and "different perspectives." The artists are presenting personal reflections on an American institution, acknowledging all of its contradictions. They want to expose the shades and variations of their subject, not label it good or bad. "What I hope," Wong says, "is those who expect the worst come away understanding that art has the power to transform the ideas of things."

A prime example is participant Stephanie Speight's approach. In her piece titled Partial Memory, Speight has encased a shotgun in a tower of animal horns from her father's hunting expeditions. "We were raised on venison and bear," she said. "I grew up in a community where guns were in the backs of every truck. They are trophies." Even with that history, Speight hid under her bed the first time she heard a gun blast. She had escaped ever having to fire a gun and so felt nervous about having the disabled weapon in her studio. "Initially, when I was asked to be a part of this, the thought of having a gun was overwhelming," said Speight. "My first move was to conceal it." Eventually the piece became a shrine and a memorial for Speight, reflecting an artist's views that are far more complex than the narrow-sighted beliefs of the NRA or the Million Mom March. "It has really stirred up all kinds of feelings," Speight said. "I like my gun now. I've made friends with it."

There's another reason to scare off controversy from this show: Chief Kroeker. Borrello, after leading similar projects in Washington, D.C., and New Orleans, attempted a Portland version when Charles Moose still ruled as Copus Magnus. But Moose wouldn't allow the city to provide Borrello with guns. Yet Kroeker gave the project his blessing within months of assuming office. "What we have going here is a worthwhile effort by a man who has a good idea about how to use weapons," Kroeker said. "These will be profound statements and a positive thing."

After the Portland City Council authorized the project, armorer John Richards delivered 50 pieces seized from various crimes to Borrello's Alberta Street Quonset Hut and spent a day making them inoperable. Even after Borrello began distributing the guns to participants, Kroeker dropped by frequently to check on the progress.

Both Borrello and the Police Department have invested a lot into Guns in the Hands of Artists. But if the exhibit provokes protest, Borrello could lose Kroeker's support, while Kroeker could lose the city's.

So, is this show explosive?

In the New Orleans and D.C. collections, many of the artists had experienced urban gun violence firsthand, which was reflected in their work. Both events were successful, as the public often shared the artists' critical views. But Portland is quite a different place. Regardless of the odd gun crime, most of the local artists associate guns with nature or commercial ventures, or view them as an abstract debate topic rather than a daily concern.

In Guns as Commodity, Tabor Porter has cast one of his series subjects in wax so that it resembles candy to examine the commodification of weaponry. Another artist includes shotgun barrels in an Ikebana vase, while Walt Curtis has created a piece linking the ejaculatory elements of handguns to the male anatomy. Borrello's guidance mainly consisted of running the guns to the artists, remaining a non-censoring, non-judging curator. "There are lines and boundaries that have to be drawn," Porter said of his Derringer-candy piece. "The politicians have to draw those. I'm an artist. I raise questions."