« The Simplicity Factor | Main | Tokyo Visions »
April 09, 2006
KaiKaiKiKiiiiii
Two nights ago I casually met Takashi Murakami and Aya Takano at this opening party, which is at once rather absurd, and completely expected. Somehow I suppose this is a related extension to my previous post, in particular about not being impressed by things, and about being able to work with anyone. There is one caveat I might add to this previously stated precept, and that is that the rule breaks down when the artists in question have reached a level of relative superstardom that puts them (and their fees) out of our reach. These cats are surely within this category.
It’s strange how small Japan is. As Toshiko and I mused, had this party been in any other country, particularly in the US, somewhere like New York perhaps, the likes of us would certainly not be in attendance. Oh no, it would be exclusively invite only, there would be a hefty door fee, and Lucy Liu, Kirsten Dunst, and Sophia Coppola would be hanging around. Yes Sophia, who made that film whose name I don’t need to mention that goes nowhere in terms of exploring the absurd / expected duality of a foreigner’s experience in Japan.
No but seriously though, I was literally told all of these people were in regular attendence at other Murakami-related openings in the US. In Japan however it’s a small audience, there are basically no foreigners save for perhaps one eccentrically dressed jet set art patron on tour, and certainly none that speak Japanese. So you stand out, you can be introduced to the well spirited, oyaji-like Murakami-san by your friend, and have him tell you jokingly that you ought to often use the phrase 逆にヤバい to surprise Japanese people with your fluency, while otaku superstar Mr. dances in his underwear somewhere in your peripheral vision.
It’s kind of a time warp every time I go visit my old home in the US and see the smattering of arty design books from the late 90s and early 2000s that I used to be fond of on my old bookshelf. One of the major ones there is Murakami’s Superflat. I even went and re-read its introductory philosophy when I was last in my old bedroom. I remember seeing that exhibition in LA’s MOCA when it came through. It’s strange to think that I hadn’t even yet been to Japan at that point, and for what it’s worth, many of the things I saw in that show were probably a spark to investigate even more, and eventually to end up here.
And now Aya Takano shows up at our Donuts show on Saturday and personally hands Alex and I passes to go see her Parco exhibition again. If you understand Japan you’ll get my response to this turn of events: Fucking absurd, yet completely expected.
Posted by shane at April 9, 2006 03:08 PM