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If the idea of swinging back to the psychedelic 60s while holding tight to the high gloss, rainbow-colored aesthetic of Japanese anime of the late 90s sounds at all appealing, Deitch Projects may have a purple and black striped shag rug with your name on it. The heavily layered, multimedia show “After the Reality” curated by Hiromi Yoshi attempts to tackle the concept of a “post-reality” world via video, paint, collage, animation, photography and a beaded curtain or two, now complete with a neon lighting scheme. Whether you appreciate the broader, somewhat divergent cultural themes present here or no, the overall success of Yoshi’s selection lies in the merit found in each of the individual works by Japanese artists. |
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Yoshitaka Azuma, Dissolute Daughter #5, 2006. Gesso, acrylic ink, gouache and oil on canvas, 46 x 36 inches. Courtesy of Deitch Projects.
If the idea of swinging back to the psychedelic 60s while holding tight to the high gloss, rainbow-colored aesthetic of Japanese anime of the late 90s sounds at all appealing, Deitch Projects may have a purple and black striped shag rug with your name on it. The heavily layered, multimedia show “After the Reality” curated by Hiromi Yoshi attempts to tackle the concept of a “post-reality” world via video, paint, collage, animation, photography and a beaded curtain or two, now complete with a neon lighting scheme. Whether you appreciate the broader, somewhat divergent cultural themes present here or no, the overall success of Yoshi’s selection lies in the merit found in each of the individual works by Japanese artists. In all four rooms of exhibition space, the walls are tightly packed with images, videos and found objects that are every one of them replete in detail and/or cultural import. The resultant gallery visit is undeniably satisfying, if a bit overwhelming, and at every turn. The walk throughout may well feel mind-expanding thanks to the art alone—with or without the acid trip.
In the work of Yoshitaka Azuma in particular, what at first appears to be simple portraits from afar are, upon closer inspection, layer upon layer of collage to be soaked up and decoded by the viewer. The artist’s use of a white background against which he sets his chaotic amalgam of highly patterned image fragments is ideal since it at least provides the viewer with the benefit of a sharp silhouette from which to work inward—where possible—in sorting through all those kaleidoscopic ingredients. The payoff is more than worth the effort. Each piece is aesthetically stunning and uncompromisingly vibrant, while also clearly readable. The mushrooms, elephants, heeled legs, dolls, chickens and clasped hands that make up these unusual likenesses successfully double as delineators to help make sense of the unbridled layering of pattern upon pattern.
In the farthest room of the exhibit, the video work of Taro Izumi outshines all the rest. When first confronted by his piece Lime Lake, in which the artist serves as both sole actor and creator, the jump-cuts inevitably disorientate the viewer. But eventually, the motivation of all this camera action becomes clear. As each version of the filmmaker appears onscreen in his various hooded sweatshirt outfittings, the shadow of a superimposed hand poises itself and slaps the figure flat—into no more than the pile of the clothes that he donned that round. Another jump cut and an alternative Taro Izumi appears upright, but he too is swatted down like all the rest. The pile of clothes grows as more and more slapping sessions take place—that is until the video loop begins all over again.
The artist claims that the inspiration and motive of the piece has to do with his own insecurities as a filmmaker and, more generally, as an individual member of society. The theme of each of Izumi’s “otaku” worlds—of which this loop is an example—is the feeling of isolation within one’s greater social environs. If you’re feeling awkward in your own particular context, so are these guys. At the same time, they’re the ones getting flattened and inexplicably extracted from their physical forms as a harsh result. We apparently have it pretty good by comparison.
On the adjacent wall of the exhibit’s video room, Izumi puts an even more disquieting situation on display. Here, the pairing of Ronald McDonald and Colonel Sanders (don’t exactly) grace the screen as they feed each other non-descript, but decidedly unappetizing processed food in a continuous, front-on long take during which all they can do is snicker about it. This parody and comment on fast food culture is by far the most disturbing and immediately accessible video work present in the exhibition. If it is indeed “after the reality,” those still present no longer consider fat and calorie intake threats to be anything but laughed off. This reality though, however much “after” it actually is, hits close to home. It successfully paints not just the Ronald McDonald hamburger, but the act of modern consumption as nothing short of the grotesque.
In meandering one’s way through the exhibit, the visitor will eventually happen upon the least trippy room in the house—the purple Enlightenment room, which he or she may have noticed from the gallery’s Grand Street entrance. Enlightenment, as a collective of Japanese artists, is directed by Hiro Sugiyama and has chosen here to paper every wall with digital prints of monkeys, roses, eagles, gold framed mirrors, human faces, skeletons—you know, the usual. Atop this unconventional wallpapering job hangs C-prints and DVD projections in sporadic and sparse succession, but the purple vinyl backdrop very much remains the main attraction here. In fact, the only other competitors for attention within this particular Deitch Projects setting are the various clashing sound murmurs from nearby video loops such as the collective’s Magritte-inspired take on science fiction fantasy. In this projection, a faceless blonde has her every feature replaced by a scene of otherworldly forestry and a soundtrack reminiscent of the later episodes of the Twilight Zone. As the planets fly out of her emptied out, forest-face, and as she still takes the time to sit there and fix her disembodied hair, you almost have to wonder: “What would Magritte say?” But then it’s obvious; this is as surreal as it gets.
From the moment you step foot into the neon-lit project space for this summer show, you have to know that you’re in for something good or, at the very least, for a decent throwback.
