Forging a
Revolutionary Heart

What constitutes a fine set of wheels in this day and age? The work of Portland, Maine-based artist Kevin Cyr provides some interesting food for thought. His vehicle explorations inspire topical reflections on mobility, autonomy, freedom, habitat and DIY self-sufficiency in modern times. Best known for his van “portraiture”, Cyr finds charm in the well-worn utility of working vans and weathered recreational vehicles rusted, dinted and beat up by miles clocked up and stories accrued. He paints selected vans (fan pieces) singly, in profile against a solid colour background. The lustre of oil paint on wood combined with the absence of the van’s natural habitat elevates its stature far beyond its day job and perceived worth. Cyr admires the unaffected manner in which these workhorses go about their chores in a culture that places too much importance on status and appearances.

Besides paintings and drawings, Cyr works on sculptural pieces large and small. In a series of life-size mobile sculptural works, “Camper Bike”, “Camper Kart” and “Little Tag Along”, Cyr pits optimism and autonomy over despair by offering fresh perspectives on shelter, mobility and habitat in uncertain times. He reminds us that the flowers that bloom in the cracks of homes can also appear among the weeds, and on wheels. Cyr’s customized mini RV and pop-up tent structures inspire autonomous, nomadic visions of home on the go in defiance of adversity. In times of economic downturn, the affordable housing crisis and environmental uncertainty, choosing the direction of DIY self-sufficiency, resourcefulness and resilience indeed stirs a revolutionary heart. Doing more with less down the path of little environmental impact might even set you free.

Lodown caught up with Kevin Cyr to find out more.

Kevin, what kind of vehicle captures your attention and demands a portrait? 
Character is everything. If a van is too new or if the graffiti is too clean, it’s usually not interesting enough to paint. If it’s too old, it borders on nostalgic and gives an entirely different and unintended meaning to a painting. Working-class vehicles usually have just the right mix of weathered and beaten up. I’m interested in how their exterior tells a story and how they represent a working sector of society that’s less concerned with appearances and more with utilitarian function. 

Your “Köpenicker” van (named, if I am right, after the street it was found on) was one you spotted right here in Lodown’s neighbourhood. What are your impressions of Berlin’s vans and is their swagger different from Brooklyn’s own? By the way, do you leave behind your own souvenir tags? 
Berlin was a great place to visit. I stayed in the Kreuzberg neighbourhood, would take off early in the morning and bike until it was dark. Coming from the States where all vans are either a Chevy or a Ford, it was cool to see different types of Volkswagen and Mercedes vehicles. There’s no other city that has matched the number of graffiti vans as New York, except for maybe Paris, but Berlin had an interesting range: Volkswagen campers for recreation; really artful stencils—like “Köpenicker”—and Mercedes trucks that were converted into apocalyptic looking campers. I also remember an insanely pristine van that had a “PLEASE RESPECT KEEP THIS OBJECT CLEAN” decal without a single tag on it—that would never happen in New York.
No, I don’t ever tag. I’m interested in cataloguing these vehicles, which are representations of the cities they inhabit. My mark making is reserved for the panel and not the trucks themselves. 

Let’s discuss “Camper Bike”, the customized Beijing tricycle with RV modification and accompanying series of paintings, in more detail. The additional paintings are heart-warming and optimistic. Can you talk about this notion of “forging a revolutionary heart”?
The Camper Bike was an idea that evolved over the course of three years and three trips to Beijing. It was a slow evolution that took shape with each visit. The first where I had the initial idea of incorporating a camper and a Chinese three-wheeled bicycle; the second where I started to create a series of drawings and paintings with the “Camper Bike” as the main subject; and the third where I decided to build the life-size piece. I initially built the piece solely as a model for paintings, but quickly realized the impact it had as a sculptural piece.
It’s an amalgamation of both Chinese and American cultures—and the items inside are reflective of that; postcards from the Great Wall of China; a copy of John Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley”; Mao Zedong figurine, Stanley thermos and Coleman camping stove. The title “Camping far out in the wilderness forges a revolutionary heart.” refers to a Chinese propaganda poster’s title, but decontextualized it represents autonomy and self-determination.

The “Camper Kart” is a pop-up camper constructed out of a shopping cart. Could you tell us about this incarnation? Is the shopping cart a reference to the homeless?
The “Camper Kart” was a direct response to the Great Recession in 2008. There was a palpable feeling of doom all around with modern day Hoovervilles popping up across the country. A shopping cart, when seen on the streets, is synonymous with homelessness so it was natural fit. I had also just read “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy and found it interesting that in McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic world the shopping car is the most practical vehicle.

How does the construction process work?
It begins with rough plans. I’ve found that trying to plan every little detail isn’t all that helpful. The building process is mostly trial and error (and a million trips to the hardware store). All the materials are basic items—wood, corrugated metal, windows from local window shops. I’ve tried to salvage old camper parts, but things get too mangled to be useful.
The camper sculptures were definitely designed to be semi-functional which freed me to focus more on form instead of function. They’re more about making a statement rather than creating an actual product, but my goal was always to blur those lines.