When Only a $19 Cocktail Will Do

By Mollie Chen

Earlier this week I handed over four monstrously large checks - funds begged, borrowed, and parent-gifted - to secure my new apartment. Seeing that much cash flow out of my veins was disconcerting, to say the least. So what is one to do to console themselves in their newly bankrupt state? Pretend to be rich and fabulous, obviously.

Wednesday night, I tagged along with my roommate Allidah - the only person I know who can make 1950s school marm duds look chic - to the opening of the Whitney's "Summer of Love" exhibit. Allidah, who is equal parts domestic goddess, Southern loyalist, and art expert, works in the Whitney's Education department. We navigated the crowds of pewter-haired donors, glittering society madams, and consciously rumpled hipster/artists/groupies to get a glimpse of psychedelic album covers, Richard Avedon photographs, and Janis Joplin's wildly painted Porsche. After awhile the combination of multiple light shows and the flashing of diamonds and scarlet soles was enough to leave us dizzy and, frankly, in need of a cocktail. Thankfully, the Whitney is right by that bastion of Old New York - Bemelmans Bar, in the Carlyle Hotel. After the relentless hipness of the opening, it was refreshing to step into the cozy, dimly lit cavern.

Copycats

A take on John Currin's "The Pink Tree"

One of the things the Materialist never found a chance to do in SE Asia was pay a visit to one of the many "copy houses" that can be found in every large Vietnamese city.

The Materialist first heard about these copy houses from her friend Quang, whose family is from Hanoi. Every year, thousands of art school students graduate college and are left looking for work. Unlike in the States, however, where the guarantee of an apparently endless parental drip and sporadic work as a web designer are enough to keep one in Starbucks and a loft in Greenpoint, Vietnamese art graduates have to be more resourceful. The result are strips of copy shops, each staffed with a half-dozen or so former art students, who will copy literally any painting, photograph, or drawing--from Johannes Vermeer to Inka Essenhigh and back again. All you have to do is bring them a copy of the piece (you can also choose something from one of the art books they have in-shop), and they'll paint it on canvas for you: a 1' x 1' painting is $15, a 4' x 4' is $60, and a 6' x 6' is $120. The copies are startlingly good, and unsettlingly accurate.

The Materialist needs $12,500!

"Spring/Summer" by Asuka Ohsawa. Click the image for a larger version

So the Materialist was going to write about this Indian designer she's become infatuated with, but such things will have to wait because the Materialist has more pressing matters to consider, specifically: her need--stat!--for $12,500.00!

Many years ago, when the Materialist was in her 20s and more energetic, she used to spend her evenings going to small artistic co-operatives looking for new talent she could buy on the cheap. Back then, the Materialist was living a life of white-collar, liberal-arts poverty and suffering daily humiliations and belittlement as an assistant editor in book publishing, which remains the worst and most soul-crushing job the Materialist has ever had. After a long week of standing over the Xerox machine, copying Robert Caro-length books page by page because the company she worked with was too cheap to send things out to Kinko's, the Materialist found that the only consolation life offered was buying a nice work on paper, which is where her current troubles began.

New Art City

Shimon Minamikawa Courtesy of Mizako and Rosen

Last week, after the Armory Show ended, the Materialist had a lovely and dishy dinner with Elisa Uematsu, her friend from Taka Ishii Gallery in Tokyo. Elisa told the Materialist that her colleague Jeffrey had just opened a new gallery with his wife (a former director at Tomio Koyama Gallery) called Misako and Rosen. (The Materialist loves the muted acrylic paintings--of people, of telephones--by Shimon Minamikawa.)

There aren't nearly enough galleries in Japan to hold all the talented young artists who deserve representation, so the Materialist is not only very happy that Misako and Rosen have stepped into the void, but also awestruck at their temerity and bravery--starting a gallery, after all, is not for the timid or cautious, and starting one in Tokyo is even harder.

So here's to you, Jeffrey! May Misako and Rosen live long and prosper. And this is the last posting about art in Japan. For now.

Arms and Armory

Sunday afternoon, and the Materialist was in her favorite position (supine) on her favorite piece of furniture (the bed) reading her latest favorite novel (Vikram Chandra's SACRED GAMES), when the phone rang.

"I'm at the Armory, and everything here is crap!" came Paolo's drawl on the other end.

"Hi, Paolo," sighed the Materialist. Earlier, Rupert, Paolo's boyfriend, had called to share his own (less than thrilled) feelings about the show, as well as to give the Materialist a hazy and repetitive lecture about her art-buying habits, and how her continued indulgence in them would surely result in a penurious and miserable dotage.

The Materialist SCOPEs it out

Tokyo's Takefloor 404 & 502 space at the Armory Show in New York City

Last Friday, the Materialist ditched work for the Armory show, the annual art extravaganza that descends upon New York on what is invariably the coldest weekend of the year.

Because the Armory show has grown more successful by the year-and because art itself has become, in the nauseous words of one of the Materialist's acquaintances, a "hot liquid commodity" (Yuk!)-the fair has inspired a number of satellites, including Scope and Pulse, which nip like puppies for fairgoers' attention, and which every year grow larger and grander themselves.

The Materialist's Favorite Magazine

Maybe it's because the Materialist is in an acquisitive sort of mood (more on that later), or maybe it's because she's preparing for her trip to India (much more on that later, and by the way, thanks for the great info, Globorati!), but she suddenly realized she hasn't yet mentioned one of her absolute favorite publications, Art It, a bilingual (Japanese-English) quarterly that's the single best resource to the contemporary Asian art scene the Materialist has encountered. Although they do the expected very well--Q&As, reviews, etc.--what the Materialist really values is the magazine's ability to authoritatively cover the continent's up-and-coming art scenes (China, Korea, and most recently, India), along with their dedication to exploring the work of young artists, not just the same established names recognizable from the auction circuits (although their interviews with Yoko Ono and Hiroshi Sugimoto, among others, have been some of the most interesting the Materialist's encountered).

Gerhard Richter re-does Gerhard Richter

Sorry for yesterday's image-less entry (is there anything less satisfying than reading the Materialist's inches of gray, gray type about Hockney, but not actually getting to see any of the new work itself?)-but after going back and forth with Hockney's L.A. gallery, his studio refused to release a publicity image unless the Materialist coughed up $150! (The Materialist is all for artists getting paid for reproduction rights-online or in-print-of their work, but can't help but feel deeply, deeply irritated nevertheless.) In the meantime, here's a link to the U.K.-based Gilbert Collection, which last year exhibited some of Hockney's recent works on paper from 2004; same landscape, but without the almost stunningly vivid richness of the oil paintings. (By the way, thanks to Hootie for reminding the Materialist of Hockney's great portrait show last year at LACMA; it did indeed travel--to the National Portrait Gallery in London, but the show just closed January 21.)

California Dreamin' with David Hockney

As a child, the Materialist was lucky enough to have parents who, although not exactly forthcoming with television, sweets, store-bought toys, and junk food, were unfailingly generous in their purchase of books. Every weekend, the Materialist would travel with her father to the local second-hand bookstore (Kelmscott Books when they lived in Baltimore; the Strand when they lived in New York) and be allowed to buy a couple.

When the Materialist turned six, her mother gave her a lovely monograph of David Hockney's early drawings and famous pool paintings, those blue-blue canvases that evoked California in color as truly and knowingly as Joan Didion's essays did in words. The paper was thick-cut (some pages were thicker than others) and had a smooth, silty touch, and the Materialist loved to flip through it.

The Children's Hour

Untitled #200, Netherlands, 2004, Helen van Meene Photo courtesy of Yancey Richardson Gallery

It's cold here in New York, and while just last year-when the Materialist was younger and noticeably peppier-the cold seemed invigorating, something minty and energizing, it now feels as enervating as the sort of sodden heat the Materialist hates, making it a real struggle to heave her lumpen bod out of bed in the mornings and off to work.

Nevertheless, the Materialist likes the brisk weather, because it means (should she actually get herself out the door) she can walk long distances without sweating, and because half the city isn't parading around wearing outfits that only two percent of the population should be allowed to wear. She also likes it because cold means late winter, and late winter means the Armory, one of the biggest art fairs in the country, which in turn means that the Chelsea galleries are always full of great shows timed to the Armory, and there's a mood of tingly anticipation in the air.

A few years ago, the Materialist was in the good habit of visiting Chelsea once a week, clomping her way from gallery to gallery, looking longingly at works on paper that she could never afford, as she was, at the time, fiercely unemployed. These days, the Materialist ventures west far less often than she'd like, but when she does, she is always reminded, anew, of the pleasure of looking.