Stev’s art: Shaken, not stirred BY MAGGIE KNOWLES

First off, let’s drop the last letters: There is no "s" on the end of Una (which, in Maine, transforms it to Un-ers — hardly fabulous) and there is no "e" on the end of Stev (though it’s still pronounced as though there were — why use five letters when four works just fine?). Secondly, you know him. Even if you are not an Unaphile, you have caught a drive-by glimpse of his trademark shoulder-length silver hair and thick black-framed glasses. Maybe you assume he is the owner, for he is miles away from the typical Fore Street bouncer. Yet there he is, ageless gatekeeper to what continues to be Portland’s "place to show off your Citizen Jeans." What you don’t know is that this bouncer-by-night is an artist, and his talent is as surprising and delicious as the Bing cherry at the bottom of your Cosmo.

His bedroom/studio is a throwback to Bohemian Paris — no TV, computer, phone, or any modern-day distractions. At first blush, the guess is that he is a writer. Milk crates swollen with books are stacked high against the wall and newspapers lie in wait on the floor. Then you notice his desk. There are paintbrushes where pens should be and piles of his artwork outdo themselves against the brunch light that slides through the window.

But does his "other job" inspire his art? Does he spend Sunday recreating trendy martinis on canvas? No and no. Stev’s current passion is a style he serendipitously discovered a few years back. In a nutshell, he transfers images from the Sunday Times onto a board via an acrylic medium — it is a sophisticated version of what you did with Silly Putty. He harvests wonderful colored images (the travel section is best), lays them on a surface, paints over with acrylic, and then rolls off the back layer of the paper leaving an abstracted version of the original image. He layers and mixes images to sate his sculptor’s need for texture.

There is a fine line here though — one image too many and the newspaper turns into a muddy mess.

Stev’s recent favorite is a small narrative called "Expulsion from the Garden." Though thousands of artists have recreated this ancient moment, Stev’s collage, depicting Eve alone, focuses on her turning away with a slight smile as she imagines the Manhattan studio she can now rent without that immature Adam.

This transfer process creates work that feels like faded Renaissance frescos. While softly pleasing to the eye, they stimulate the mind as well. Images appear like ghosts, faces peer back at you. Stev loves this phenomenon because the invisible world becomes visible, and that to him is the essence of art.

So what is the essence of avoiding bar brawls? "I respect drunks’ space. They really don’t like you closing in on them," he says in his intellectually smooth voice. Most of the tiffs at Una involve the ex-husband and new beau (and all their friends). Stev will usher them outside where "it is no longer our problem." And other than a random drink being tossed in his general direction, he has never been hit. Knock wood.

Deciding to go to MECA after a divorce in the mid ’90s, Stev focused on sculpture. "Hammer in the Bath" caught my eye immediately as I walked through the room. Stev fondles the hammer’s handle with a smile. "He’s been in too long; he’s all raisiney."

One collection he would like to continue is Cowboys, some of which were shown at June Fitzpatrick gallery in the late ’90s. He makes these funky pieces by painting over copies of old black-and-white photos. My favorite is Stev himself, circa 1970, looking like a young Dan Ackroyd. He peers down at the viewer with an air of raw confidence, his round sunglasses masking any emotion except that of, "I’m in charge." This is the same gentle-yet-effective aura he possesses while leaning on his stool at Una.

Stev has always worked with his hands. Prior to finding his way to art, he was a master hand-sewer at Beans, concentrating on moccasins and hats. He pulls a few examples of his work from the closet. He runs his finger along the curve of stitches at the toe of the shoe. "I could do about 20 pairs a day. The really fast sewers did about 35." I hide the tear in my pants that I cannot even begin to think about how to sew shut.

The man before me, in a word, is inspiring. He’s an artist because he can’t help but make art. It is everywhere — piled on the floor, hanging from the walls, tucked in the corner. His creativity literally flows around the room. As we chat, he pulls a collection out called "100 Days, 100 Dreams." Not skipping a day, Stev created a journal of sorts, his Thursdays and breakfasts all represented with images that made the front page for some reason — and like a good front-page, I can’t put them down.

Maggie Knowles can be reached at margaretknowles@yahoo.com.

Call Stev about his artwork at (207) 772-7181 or stop by Una on Thurs. through Sat.