LIKE A CONDUCTOR'S baton or an editor's red pencil, Simon Evans's roll of Scotch tape is an indispensable tool of his trade. Born in Britain, Evans was a professional skateboarder before his recent relocation to San Francisco, where he reinvented himself as a visual artist. Each of his taped-down creations is a vast map or diagram consisting of handwritten words, found materials, and frequently organic stuff (dead flies, a cigarette butt, and other, grosser things). Everything is carefully labeled, and even the smiles are numbered in 1000 Smiles, a collection of a thousand tiny magazine-cutout grins. Judging by his artwork, you might think Evans had the world's first-ever combined case of ADD and OCD. Each piece is irrefutable proof of his sprawling creativity – his ability to generate a seeming infinitude of ideas from a single germ of a word or phrase. But the rigorous organization of those thoughts belies an opposing impulse: the obsessive imposition of structure on everything, no matter how random the data or how impenetrable the organizational system might seem. Although Evans's works clearly have their own internal logic, it's actually pretty difficult to look at them and see his intent. The World, drawn to evoke a city map with boroughs like Identity and Diseases, seems like a diagram of his own personal brain map, where Jelly and String jostle for space with Lived Experience and Butterflies under Glass. But lest you dismiss these taped-up creations as just a bunch of navel gazing in the name of art, you have to admit that even the parts that don't make sense are still funny. A deep vein of humor and a stubborn refusal to take himself seriously make his material successful, elevating it above the realms of cynicism and irony. Tues.-Sat., 11 a.m.-6 p.m., 395 Valencia, S.F. (415) 522-1623. (Lindsey Westbrook)