LIFESTYLE
COURTESY OF CHRISTOPHER REINER
Christopher Reiner's Vanidiere is a vanity built from a 1956 Frigidaire with sewing drawers, roofing aluminum and miscellaneous parts. It's $5,100 at Pacific Home.
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Waste not is artist’s message
A throwaway society provides Christopher Reiner ample material for creativity
In another life, Christopher Reiner might have been an engineer or inventor devising the next must-have TV set or porta-music-phone-organizer device. Instead, the artist and sometime furniture designer turns his technical and creative skills loose on re-imagining objects of the past while commenting on America's penchant for wastefulness. In a playful way, of course.
Grand opening
Pacific lifestyle furnishing, with pieces by Christopher Reiner:
Time: 6 to 9 p.m. today
Place: Pacific Home, 420 Ward Ave.
Admission: Free
Call: 596-9338
Note: A silent auction will benefit Habitat for Humanity Honolulu.
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His 700-square-foot living space is lined with his inventions, including a lamp fashioned from a 1930s Kirby vacuum cleaner, a vanity combining the legs of 1920s medical equipment and mirror set in a 1930s film canister, end tables topped with old chess boards, and cabinets fashioned of wood from used shipping pallets.
Reiner's art has been featured in the Contemporary Museum's 2005 "Biennial of Hawaii Artists" and the recent ConTempo event at Neiman Marcus, where his "Circumstantial Mood Oscillator" sculpture was auctioned for $2,500. He's created props for film sets and national magazines, as well as boats and structures such as wedding arbors and a mobile tiki bar.
Some of his furnishings, including a vanity in a refrigerator, dubbed "Vanidiere," can be viewed at the lifestyle furnishing boutique, Pacific Home, celebrating its grand opening tonight.
"If I need something, I just make it," he said. "You know the saying, 'If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.' I know I'll like it if I make it."
RICHARD WALKER / RWALKER@STARBULLETIN.COM
Christopher Reiner is pictured at home with salvaged furnishings, standing over a votive holder fashioned from an old oven control panel.
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Reiner has been constructing things from found objects since he was a child, though not crafty things like Mother's Day picture frames formed from used Popsicle sticks, or paper-plate masks.
"I was always taking things apart -- broken vacuum cleaners, stereos -- to see how they work. I love how things work," he said. "It made me aware that there were other ways to use things, other than their intended ways."
Like so-called Army brats, he was a Burger King brat who moved constantly -- he eventually graduated from Kaiser High School -- while his father opened fast-food outlets across the country. That inadvertently fueled his experiments, which extended to tinkering at his desk at school as a matter of self-preservation.
"I was always the new kid at school, and you know, kids can be cruel, so I just kept my head down. I thought that if I just don't engage it would make life a little easier.
"I didn't know that what I was doing was art. It was just what I liked to do."
Reiner's quirky inventions, combined with witty wordplay, make for some humorous titles, such as "Kirbeesha" for a vacuum-cleaner lamp, "Fandalier" for chandelier lighting attached to a fan, and "Princess Self Land" for a canopied cabinet bed sanctuary.
COURTESY OF CHRISTOPHER REINER
A large photo of a chandelier fan lamp, titled "Fandalier."
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He refers to his sculptural method as "spontaneous engineering," and the stuff he works with, grabbed off the streets of Honolulu, is "obtanium."
"On my way home I'll take a detour and check out the neighborhoods," he said, and his wife, Koah, attests to that.
"He won't take the freeway," she said. "He always tells me, 'Be vigilant! I'll look out my side and you look out on your side.'"
"I have a whole network," he said. "People who know, understand or get my work, they're the ones who call and say, 'I saw a sewing machine on such and such a street, or there's a piano on this street.'"
Not that any obtanium will do.
"I don't have much space so I'm very picky about what I collect," he said. "Pre-'70s is where I dwell. Things back then were well made, well designed, made to last. Things that are supposed to be durable today really aren't very durable."
Naturally, he's thought a lot about our nation's consumption habits, and one of his latest art pieces sums up his distaste for waste in its not-so-subtle title, "We'll Have Our Crude and Eat Yours Too ... A Vehicle of Mass Consumption."
In it, a large tank representing foreign policy and bearing an obtanium sign that reads "One Way My Way," drags a smaller vehicle (the nation) in sucking up all of Earth's resources and gambling away our children's future, represented by a tiny silver shoe dragged in the back.
"All my sculptures tend to be political in nature and commentary. I just think people should think about what they throw away and try to be more creative in finding other ways to use things."