Neon art wasn’t Perry Pfister’s first career. The New Orleans native previously was in the landscape architecture industry, and had visions of helping rebuild the city after Hurricane Katrina. But politics there changed his mind. Then, in 2012 he began a career in neon art, which has its own set of challenges.

“Unfortunately it’s sort of a field that is destined to die,” said Pfister, 34. “The mainly old men that work in the field don’t really want to share information.”

That attitude may have arisen in the 1990s, when the lights nearly went out on neon, literally. LEDs arrived in the 1970s, providing businesses a cheaper, easy-to-produce alternative for light-up signs. By the ’90s, business was tough for neon artists, Pfister said.

“They’re always cagey about people taking their business,” he said. “All these neon workers lost a lot of work in the ’90s, and I think anybody who survived that is really, really cagey about work.”

Adrian Ruiz, a journeyman sign maker for Ramsay Signs, started working with neon in 1978. He has seen the ups and downs of the industry firsthand. The firm isn’t afraid of losing jobs to competitors, he said; work is simply scarce.

“The problem is that we just don’t have enough to keep people working,” he said. “When we had the need, I was always willing to train people. I wish there was more right now.”

Neon signs gained popularity in the early 20th century. They arrived in the U.S. in 1923, when two signs were installed at a Los Angeles auto dealership. Businesspeople took notice that the signs could be seen both during the day and at night.

In Portland, the iconic “White Stag” sign (it now reads “Portland Oregon”) has stood for more than 75 years.

“Everyone has a neon sign they remember,” Pfister said. “It becomes a place marker in the community.”

Pfister’s career path took a somewhat circuitous route. He had worked for two landscape architects before the Great Recession.

“When the recession hit, none of the entry-level (landscape architects) had work,” he said. “I kind of had to start over and went back to working in kitchens, which is what I did in college.”

During this time, Pfister picked up screen printing, which eventually allowed him to leave the service sector. From there, he became fascinated with the letters and typography present in neon signs.

“My interest is more from a nerd standpoint,” he said. “Growing up in New Orleans, there were a lot of neon signs.”

Pfister then found a San Francisco Bay Area sign maker, Shawna Peterson, who helped show him the ropes.

“She told me I was a natural and should stick with it,” he said. “Nobody had ever told me that before, so I listened.”

Soon Pfister’s work with neon eclipsed his work with screen printing. By 2014, his small studio, The Tiny Spoon, was devoted to neon exclusively. He is a one-person operation able to take on both interior and exterior signs.

“It’s pretty difficult to find people who have the level of patience and devotion to being really bad at something for a little while and the level of detail it takes to make it look right,” he said. “It is sort of a quality that is missing from my generation and generations after me.”

Ruiz started his career making neon beer signs in California. At one point, he worked with 12 people on neon signs; now he’s the only one.

“Neon has gone down,” he said. “We are one of the few neon shops still around.”

While cheaper electronic signs have gained market share, neon has seen something of a resurgence due to a desire for nostalgia.

“We do a lot of Regal (Cinemas); that is one of our big accounts,” Ruiz said. “Most of the people who use neon are the people who want to keep their signs the same as they used be.

“Right now it is probably about 10 percent of our work. I do it by myself.”

Neon has its place in the right building and in the right area, according to Scott Waggoner, an Ankrom Moisan project designer. Two of the firm’s recent projects used neon, he said.

“For certain projects, there is a strong reason to bring it back,” he said. “It’s fun. It’s cool. People like the idea of doing something retro.”

Neon has a strong historical tie to some Portland neighborhoods, Waggoner said. Many of the apartment buildings and businesses along Interstate Avenue, for instance, continue to use neon signage.

“The Corso (multifamily) project on Interstate Avenue was all about the history,” he said. “The owners said, ‘Let’s definitely make a nod to that.’ As a new building, we can keep that look going in a modern structure.

“They wanted to do something truly authentic. Neon fit that and does have a pretty long life.”

However, neon isn’t for everywhere, Waggoner said.

“In an area over by the Moda Center, it wouldn’t work,” he said. “That area doesn’t recall that era.”

Despite the shrinking market, Pfister has found a niche by catering to a variety of businesses and artists who have a devotion to that time.

“They want to draw attention to their business,” he said. “To a business, having a neon sign is a major validation. It imbues a sense of establishment.”

Neon also gives viewers a sense of humanity that is lost in electronic mediums, Pfister said. The fact that the sign has an inert gas with electricity moving through it gives an element of life.

“No machine makes neon,” he said. “Even the beer signs that you see are made by hand. They have an element of human error in them. That human error is where character comes from.”

Pfister’s clients long for the tactile feel a neon sign represents, he said. The rapid pace of change in Portland has also led many people to look for items that last. The markers also represent a sense of permanence that has been lost in the digital age.

“LEDs are pretty lifeless,” he said. “Neon is a lot more interesting.”

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