When I found Automorphosis director Harrod Blank in the parking lot of Milwaukie's Pietro's Pizza,  he had his giant frame tucked under the hood of his prized art car, a VW bug adorned with more designs, sculptures and odd bric-a-brac than most consignment shops. He was casually retooling the bug to keep it primed for its constant treks across the country, trips Blank takes to document the movement(s) of art cars like his. 

On Saturday the Pietro's lot was hosting a live rock band and eight or nine other vehicular sculptures, most made by local artists that we've all seen here and there, motoring around town. 

Portland window-painter Scot Campbell was in the lot, showing off his newest work-in-progress, a brass-covered van/sculpture that, like most car-artists, he uses for everyday transport. Campbell has lived in Portland for years and makes his living designing advertisements and decorations for store windows (including those of Pietro's) which he then hand-paints. 

"Ripper the Friendly Shark", a 1982 Nissan Sentra turned rolling polyurethane shark, isn't at this particular car show, but every car here has a bumper sticker commemorating Tom Kennedy, the Portland native who drove the "Shark" around town until his death in 2009.

These kinds of local art cars are why Blank does what he does: seek out new members of the subculture, film them and find venues like Portland's Clinton Street Theater to get the movies shown. 

Inside Pietro's, Blank speaks with an infectious passion for art cars that makes me, in particular, want to convince people to check out his film, that they might find out for themselves how much wild, courageous energy these people put into their automobiles. 

Blank is a large, sun-tanned Californian with a wide-brimmed hat and a rapid demeanor. "People ask me," he begins,  " 'Harrod, do you want art-car people to seem crazy to the outside world?' I say, 'No. Despite the fact that some of us are certifiably crazy, I don't want people to think that all art-car people are crazy, because they're not. I think everyone's crazy, it's just they don't show it. Everyone hides themselves behind their normal vehicle, but if you'd gone into them, seen their lifestyle and their values, you might think they're crazy. Some people think watching TV all the time is crazy.'"

Automorphosis plays like a 76-minute smorgasbord covering the breadth of people who do art cars. My one criticism of it is founded in my desire to get a closer look at each artist. People who make art cars are inevitably originals, among the real fascinating people in the world. How does a man like Blank find all of these people, and how to choose which ones make it into a finished film?

"I see them in the newspaper, they see me in the newspaper, or I hear about them word of mouth. We're talking a lot of years to gather these contacts," he says. "I'm interested in characters who had made a transformation, because I think it's healthy. If you have the balls to show yourself to others, then you're gonna be confronting them, and your issues, and their issues with you, and it's right there on the front. And I think that makes you grow."

"Do you find something particularly American about art cars?" I ask.

"I think it goes back to that desire for attention for being you who are, for being an individual -- that is an American, almost a narcissistic, concept, to want to flaunt your identity. To expose yourself to others for being unique. In Europe I've been criticized that this is a narcissistic, American movement." 

He pauses.

"Flaunting is the key word, because it is flaunting, it is exhibitionism. If you took away all the people on the streets, it would be just for yourself to enjoy. But obviously a lot of these people [in Automorphosis] are doing this as a form of protest against the status quo of the automobile. This is a rebellion, a subtle rebellion -- you're not supposed to do this. You have the desire for attention and at the same time this huge expression."

"Are there communities in the US that don't allow art cars or that require special permits?" I ask.

"I've been pulled over by more cops than you can imagine. Over a hundred times I've been pulled over, interrogated, questioned and ticketed in some cases. Carrying an unsafe load, being a public nuisance -- whatever the hell they can give me a ticket for ... having something obstructing my view. That's just harassment, nothing more. That is changing, the definition of what an art car is is changing.

"You raised the question, 'Where is this desire for attention coming from?'  Well, it's different for everyone. But, in general, people want to be loved, people want the approval of others. These people are really rebelling against the normal values of society -- that's probably the underbelly of the whole thing. You can ask these people, 'Are you rebelling against the automobile industry?" And every one of them will say, 'In a way.'  And that's the other issue. Automobiles are disgusting, they're horrible, horrible things. I hate the car, that it pollutes and is nasty to work on. But if you're gonna do it, and gonna have cars, than art cars are healthier for the community than normal vehicles."

"Have you seen many of Portland's art bikes?"

"This is a great city for bikes, man. I put some bikes into the movie because those guys with those bikes can't afford a car, so they have to do it with their bikes. There's a guy named Slim Buick in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn who's making a documentary on art bikes. The point is you do it any way you can."

"The fact that you shot (Automorphosis) on sixteen millimeter makes it stand out, because it's very good-looking. There's a sense that anyone can kind of pick up a digital camera and push people who love film out of the market."

Blank sighs, "I can't (shoot sixteen millimeter) anymore. Burning Man, the film, I'm working on, is gonna be film and after that it's over. I'll tell you why, because there's no more venues for these types of movies to play on film. There's too many movies -- even good movies -- not enough venues. In the past you might get a small theatrical run, a TV deal -- none of that's happening. But as far as the quality of the work? I could die and go to heaven knowing that I did it as well as humanly possibly with what I had."

Automorphosis is playing at the Clinton Street Theater all week. On Sunday, June 27 it will be followed by the companion doc Oh My God It's Harrod Blank! a movie about Blank and his obsessions made by David Silberberg.  Blank  and his art car will be here until Wednesday, when he'll head to Reno to show off the bug in a museum.