At home in Portland, Oregon with Chris and Toni Chandler
"We'd rather leave a place empty till the perfect puzzle piece comes along."
Good morning,
I was recently in Portland photographing the art studio of Chris Chandler, a letterpress artist whose stark, graphic work has the spatial sensibility of Bauhaus design or, perhaps, Russian Constructivism (we share a love of both). Chris’s work is rich with bold lines and shapes wherein sharpness effortlessly sidles up against curves. It is wrought with the help of a Vandercook proof press, a workhorse invented in 1909. Each object in his studio—thoughtfully and artfully arranged as if in a museum, tidy and sparse—seems a beacon of a bygone era still gracious enough to serve us today. After shooting his marvelous work space I was curious if Chris’s honed in studio aesthetic would also echo within his living space, so he let me visit his domestic realm.
For some reason I assumed Chris’s home would be a space in which Bauhaus met Constructionism (then fell in love with dapper Dada, only to eventually leave Dada and commit to Industrial, with an occasional smooch from Pop) in some tangled affair. Those were the strands I picked up on in the presence of his artwork. I was wrong to assume anything, however, because when I visited Chris and his wife Toni’s home it was nothing like the bright, modernist, nearly industrial interior of Chris’s studio. Instead, there was so much radiant, time-worn, dark wood, an almost gothic-romantic spectrum of art and objects, and a far-from-the-city feeling.
Nestled into a green hillside, bordering a large swatch of trees, Chris lives with his wife Toni and their two young children. Blending stylistic forces, their home is a personal mash-up intended, it would seem, for rest and resetting, recharging, coziness, play and comfort. For the kids, there were nooks galore; nooks so fanciful and generous in detail and intentionality it made me envious—not so much for the rooms exactly, but for childhood itself. The kid’s spaces were magnetic, but because both children were struck painfully shy in my presence, I decided it was intrusive to photograph their private rooms, so I left them out of this REALM issue.
Among nearly ceiling-high collections of records, the art of many friends and musicians, audio equipment, books, religious ephemera, vintage objects, and vernacular photography, there were, of course, trains and cakes and dinosaurs and video games, markers of pleasure and play. Toni, who works in the world of hotels and hospitality, has imparted a distinctly feminine, old-world aesthetic into their home; there is not the stark minimalism of Chris’s studio space, but a shared, commingled aesthetic of both their sensibilities, all infused with objects notable for their references to personal lineage, personal interests, and particular comforts.
Hello! Chris, I’m familiar with you as a letterpress artist, but I know you had a previous career as a tour manager and sound engineer. How did your career in music affect where you now call home?
Chris: I was still touring full time when we bought this house. The appeal was the seclusion and peaceful setting. After living on a tour bus, coming home to a house surrounded by nature was a wonderful break from the crazy, tour-lifestyle.
Toni, I know you work in the hotel industry and am similarly curious if that career has affected the way you live at home.
Toni: I used to iron every bedroom’s bedding with perfectly curated amenities. We would have bands stay with us while on tour, too scared to sleep on the bed, let alone pull back the covers and mess up the sheets. I’ve come to terms that our home isn’t a hotel; it’s meant to be lived in.
Did you both know this was the right home for you when you first encountered it?
Toni: Chris was actually in Portland placing an offer on another place when we finally got some photos of this house. This was pre-smartphones, so they were emailed to me at work in NYC. They weren’t staged photos; in fact, they weren’t good photos at all, but I fell in love immediately. It was like nothing we’d seen. I called Chris and told him to get out of the house he was bidding on and to get this one: this was our house, and he trusted me. I wouldn’t say it was my style or Chris’s either, it was just the perfect blend. The walk-in shoe closest didn’t hurt either.
My favorite vignette of your home is the stairwell. I love its peachy, mottled walls, the collection of dangling rosaries and the portrait of a man in India staring down from above. The combination packs a punch! Could you tell me about your collection of rosaries and religious objects?
Toni: Rosaries keep finding their way into our lives! The first, a clay rosary, was from Chris’s parents, who picked it up in San Miguel, Mexico. The coloring and texture felt good against the Venetian plaster walls of the staircase; not a practical place to hang anything really, but it worked. The smaller, wooden rosary is from one of my favorite housekeepers at the hotel. She brought it back from Ethiopia while visiting her family, as a gift. The largest rosary is from Italy and hung in my mother’s bedroom for as long as I remember. She recently passed, and I knew I wanted it for our home.
You once rented your house to have a television crew shoot in it. Did you end up seeing the show, and what was it like to witness your personal space being “lived in” by a fictional family?
Chris: The premise of the episode was about a young boy that was possessed by a demon. A scene showed another demon breaking through the window in my son's room and kidnapping the little boy from his bed. I can’t imagine my son watching that and ever getting a good night sleep in his room again.
Toni: I was most excited to see that a zucchini cake I made sitting in a glass covered cake stand was in a prominent scene!
You’ve interspersed your collection of artworks with humble, personal family photographs going back generations. How do you decide how to pair ‘artwork’ with your personal, lineage-related collection of photographs?
Toni: I love mixing mediums and styles while still connecting them to make a cohesive collection. I’ll sometimes hold onto a particular piece, frame or photograph for years before finding the fit; it’s like building a puzzle. Everything has a meaning or connection; we rarely add things for purely decorative sake. We’d rather leave a place empty till the perfect puzzle piece comes along that fits for us.
Chris: Honestly, I take more of a minimalistic approach. I have a few of my favorite pieces and photos prominently displayed but my wife has the sensibility of making it work all together.
Do you talk with your children about the art you live with?
Toni: We do to some extent, without making it an art history lesson yet. They definitely have their opinions about pieces, which they like and why. They’re observant of other art when we’re out and about, recognizing similar pieces. We try not to emphasize the monetary value of the pieces—we don’t want them to think of them as precious—allowing them to be objective. I feel it’s important to showcase their own art alongside. Leo had a ‘kitchen gallery’ showing one of his collections for several months that took up a whole wall--he was very proud.
What’s your most beloved collection at home, and why?
Chris: My record and book collection. I go to both in times of joy and celebration and also to help me get through the lows.
What do you do at home that you wish you did more often and would recommend others do as well?
Chris: I get up before the family to have a little time to myself to read while drinking coffee in the living room. I need that peaceful moment to think about my designs and projects; it helps me focus before the day gets crazy. The living room with the fireplace, dark wood and original windows showcase the views. Looking out the windows, surrounded by trees and green space, is always relaxing for me.
If your home was an album, what would it be?
Chris: Nick Drake’s Five Leaves Left.
Have you ever learned something that abruptly changed your thoughts about home or how you live? What did you learn?
Chris: We did learn that a previous owner died in the house. He wasn’t found for a couple of weeks and his cats got hungry and started to eat him. But that didn’t change anything. Well, only to be sure to keep our cats well fed.
Yikes! I do not like the sound of that. What’s the very best advice you ever received on how to co-habitate with another person?
Toni: Chris’s father gave us some advice when we first moved in: a home should always be in flux. Art, furniture, décor shouldn’t ever stay stagnant.
Do you have any boundaries/rules at home accessing virtual spaces for yourself or your children?
Toni: We got pretty lucky with our kids; we never had to edit or child proof our home for them. They have always been very respectful, considerate and cautious, and that goes the same for their rooms and belongings too. The kids will post the occasional sign on their bedroom doors that the other isn’t allowed to enter but it’s usually short lived.
Delving Deeper…
Find out more about Chris’s letterpress work and Neu Haus Press. Take a studio tour if you’re in Portland; it’s worth seeing his large-scale letterpress pieces, plethora of music posters, and unique collection of tools—in person. Each object that Chris uses to make letterpress prints is imbued with care and use, and is (at least to my hyper-sensitive self) loaded with energetic presence.
Etymology Interlude…
Type (noun)
Originating in the late 15th Century, type means "symbol, emblem," from Latin typus "figure, image, form," from the Greek typos, meaning "a blow, dent, impression, mark; figure in relief, image, statue; anything wrought of metal or stone; general form, character; outline, sketch."
The root of typos is typtein, meaning "to strike, beat."
As early as 1713, the noun “type” was extended as the invention of printing blocks made of metal or wood came into use. Now letters or characters carved on their faces, usually in relief, adapted for letterpress printing usage, also were known as ‘types.’
By 1842, in English, type came to mean “general form or character of some kind.”
By 1888, type also was used as a verb, meaning “to write with a typewriter”. It’s wild to think that as new technologies were invented—a handwritten symbol, replaced by a printing block, and then a little typewriter stamp—the word itself changed meaning. however. In 1836 type meant "to symbolize." This origin of symbolize can be traced back three hundred years, to 1590, when it seems to have meant "to foreshadow.”
Words tell such stories, don’t they? They are endlessly changing, as is our technology.
Consider Home…
A space that, like a good tool, will hold up through many decades, improve with time, develop patina, and make you curious about the eras before your own. The best architecture will outlive us. In that sense, buildings, rooms, and even furniture may have an animistic sensibility or spirt, something the Dutch trend-forecaster and textile design academic Lidewij Edelkoort believes as well. Her calm, metered conversation about intelligent design on the Time Sensitive Podcast absolutely delighted me with it’s wisdom and directness. I really feel like you’re going to like this one.
For further delight, I recommend viewing the Hungarian Film My Twentieth Century, streaming on Kanopy. It’s a whimsical, evocative film about separated twin sisters aboard the Orient Express on New Year’s Eve in 1899, a century that fully realized the use of electricity as well as the invention of the railroad, telegram, cinema, and yes, the Vandercook letterpress—creations that changed how we perceive and engage with space, time, place and information/story. My Twentieth Century was released in 1989, when Socialist rule in Hungary transitioned to democracy—another transformative threshold.
My last recommendation this month, especially if you’re interested in understanding spatial dynamics, design and book or printmaking, is to look into Fortunato Depero and his 1927 masterpiece of graphic design and bookmaking—Depero Futurista. Chris has a copy of it front and center in his living room, and told me it’s where much of his inspiration is born on his quiet mornings at home before work. It too made my jaw drop and my hands shake with a serious dose of beauty. Sadly, it’s out of print, but—here you can enjoy, at least virtually, its gorgeous spreads and innovative spatial concoctions.
Until next time,
Airyka