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The Fortnight Kitchen was conceived one particularly hot
New York summer
evening on a bench outside a struggling bar/gallery on the Lower East
Side (Manhattan).
The frustration of two years of sluggish economy with its inexistent
opportunities
and the termination of current paths – Mioko’s extended internship at
MoMA
and Noa’s graduation – begged the question “why not create something of
our
own?” At first, an economic model was conceived, but when we introduced
the
concept to Hattie both she and Mioko were quickly drawn to the
conclusion that such aims would only curtail our true goal in
establishing this virtual “cooking ground”, which is doing what we
love, what we want to do, what we were already trained to do, and
actually did in the safe confines of academia: seek, select,
scrutinize, and
synthesize art: curate exhibitions. Not when we “grow-up”, when we are
in our fifth decade, our fourth degree and our
ultimate position, but right here, right now – practically under-aged,
somewhat under-educated, and clearly non-budgeted. And while we realize
that
this may not be our best work (hopefully not – to quote an artist
friend of ours: “if you’re satisfied with your work you might as well
kill yourself”) we strongly contend that it has validity – to use one
of Baudelaire’s metaphors: consider this the idiosyncratic, current
icing on the more substantial cake of our careers. It is also following
Baudelaire’s reasoning that we decided to focus on emerging art – on
the art of our schoolmates, our colleagues, and our friends; and just
as they find the time – in the hours outside their current McJobs – to
paint, photograph, construct, document or tape, so can we not only find
the time, but are virtually compelled and driven to seek, select,
scrutinize, and synthesize their work; to stand there in the forest and
listen as their trees fall.
We each decided to focus on our area of interest; Noa
likes to trace the cultural, philosophical and aesthetic paths that
pass from one artist to another; Hattie’s interests lie in more verbal,
conceptual areas; and Mioko, as a designer, is concerned primarily with
objects, their inner voice and the spatial and human relations they
compel. All three of us enjoy the live, pedestrian-level, day-to-day
contact with art and the people who produce it. A Korean artist,
referring to one of her ink paintings, once told one of us: “everything
about my work is still alive; the ink, the paper...it is
like a living dragon, morphing in front of your eyes”. There is so much
to
be said for dealing with something so raw, un-documented and
un-canonized – all three of us thrive
at the thought of playing with the dragon.
It was Hattie who suggested the three-city division model; and so we find ourselves of our time, of our place, of our generation, and of our bent, sharing a kitchen and (ideally) offering a new dish every two weeks. To whom? Hopefully to anyone who is curious about art, emerging artists, and the curatorial craft at its bare form, with all the seams and creases in plain view. November 2003 |
