Creativity is a paradoxical pursuit: The craft of making requires vulnerability and a certain kind of tenderness or openness to the world around us. At the same time, putting our work out in the world today can take a shit ton of courage and tenacity. This is a space to shine a light on the folks who are straddling these tensions and making us all a little better with their art.
“Get a sign that tells a story” is the motto for the celebrated neon-sign maker and artist Evan Voyles who lives in Austin, Texas, so it felt like kismet as we were searching for the right piece of art for Brené’s podcast studio, where so many stories were shared over the 179 episodes that were recorded there.
When Brené received a photo from her friend Fern Santini of a 6-by-6-foot Texas-shaped sign with the words “Squat ‘n’ Gobble” lit up across the front, she knew she had found the one. “Texas-shaped signs this large are hard to find. I only know of a few,” Evan says. “In terms of what it means, the viewer will have to decide. I like to think that the words on the signs mean different things to different people. Everyone has their own take.”
There is a story behind every sign, including the first one that Evan bought, for $20 on a back road of New Mexico in 1987. “That’s when all hell broke loose,” he says with a laugh. After that first find, Evan transformed from a general antiques dealer to a full-blown neon-sign artist and vintage-sign collector. He’s made at least 500 signs over the past almost 40 years and has another 400 vintage signs in his collection, which he hopes to house in a neon museum, a project he has been dreaming about for years and feels close to coming to fruition.
I hope my signs make people’s heads spin, their jaws drop, and want to turn their car around because they feel so drawn to a place because of the sign.
Many of the Yale-educated artist’s sign work sets iconic South Congress Avenue in Austin, one of Brené’s favorite cities, aglow — the Hotel St. Cecilia’s “Soul” that casts a pink hue over the swimming pool of boutique see-and-be-seen hotel, outside popular eateries like Home Slice Pizza, Joann’s Fine Foods, and the Yeti flagship store. Whenever a restaurant or business closes down or changes hands, Evan usually gets the chance to come back and claim the sign. “There are a lot of stories of the death-defying acts I have gone through to get a sign down,” he says.
When it comes to collecting, Evan is especially interested in one-of-a-kind sheet metal signs that come from mom-and-pop shops, especially ones made by craftspeople in the town where the sign originated that have been painted over again and again — even better if all the information of every versions of the sign just bleeds together. “For me, neon signs are about basic communication between humans. I hope my signs make people’s heads spin, their jaws drop, and want to turn their car around because they feel so drawn to a place because of the sign,” he says. “Does it make you feel something? That’s what I am after.”
