biscuit gallery1周年に寄せて〜奥岡新蔵氏によるテキスト

“Just as artists are expressers, galleries too are expressers”—I believe in this type of thinking, and in that sense, looking back on the trajectory of biscuit gallery as it marks its first anniversary, I find that there is also one form of expression, creation, or perhaps an output of conviction to be found there.

While artists primarily demonstrate their identity through their works, where does a gallery’s individuality reside? What distinguishes them from others, makes them stand out, characterizes them, and how is this expressed? Of course, the answer may differ from person to person, but if I were to give one example, I would say it is the aesthetic sensibility of the owner or director—namely, the presence or absence of regulations that operate in the selection of artists, and I believe it is through the very act of creating exhibitions as a space.

So then, among the many emerging galleries, what is the identity of biscuit gallery in particular? To put it somewhat obliquely, it seems to me like a voraciousness toward the times. The ability to grasp, analyze, and map the Japanese art scene as it is currently being formed and unfolded, and moreover, the greed at the root of the action of accomplishing these things at a large scale and pace—this seems to be the charm and source of strength of biscuit gallery. Starting from the pure and innocent question “What kinds of artists exist in this age, now?”—this gallery engages in style-making while resonating with the times. Therefore, its scope of operations may at first glance seem too broad for one gallery to handle, but it is not a matter of impropriety; when one raises one’s perspective a bit, things appear differently.

For instance, there is a player called Vitamin Creative Space that was born in the early 2000s in China. This space studies the relationship between Chinese traditional philosophy, thought, culture and contemporary art, and develops activities that mash these together. Now both the space itself and artists who started their careers there have come to stand on an international stage. The “slightly higher perspective” I mentioned earlier refers to precisely the kind of worldview that this player possesses—in other words, a vantage point from which one can look down upon the relationship between the global world and one’s own local self.

Currently, it seems to me that our worldview is becoming extremely seamless, borderless, and is being redefined into one global mass society. Since the 1980s, discourse on diversity has been cultivated through the language of Edward Said and others; net culture and metaverse-like thinking suggest new integrative notions of place from a world separated by mass, and through the emergence of global-scale issues and other such accumulations, connections are being formed with “the world across the sea” or “the world that seemed unrelated to us,” and in this way, I feel we are newly acquiring the personal pronoun “we who live in a global world.”

Precisely because of this, in doing anything, world-standard benchmarks and rules are now increasingly demanded. And this necessity for an awareness of that “larger worldview” is surely the same for art. Contemporary art is without question a field that has been born, spread, and maintained on the basis of the West; nevertheless, the doors themselves are of course also open to non-Western regions, and one could say that the distance between the global (=Western) and the local (=non-Western) has drawn much closer than before. So then, when standing on such a larger stage, and when engaging with art from the position of being Japanese, what kind of attitude becomes necessary? I would suggest that learning too much from Western players does not necessarily bring only benefits. When one takes a step or two forward toward the world, there are already countless players there, and they are firmly supported by the ground of their own (that is, Western) art history—thickly edited and accumulated over a long period of time—and all discourse proceeds according to it. In other words, I worry that no matter one’s intentions, the more one learns from Western players and the more one acts on that learning, the higher the likelihood that it will be perceived merely as imitation of “those people” over there.

I have digressed considerably, but the topic was meant to be about biscuit gallery’s expressiveness and the breadth of its artist selection. Building on what I said earlier, one of the things necessary for art players is the recognition of a “larger worldview.” And next, I believe, comes confirmation of positioning—an awareness of being in the local of Japan, in a place that is after all only one part of the world, and the question “Of what I possess, what can I activate in order to compete in the larger world?” I apologize for the roundabout manner, but what I mean to say is that biscuit gallery’s activities over this past year are a kind of exploration.

When one seeks to compete in a larger world, and when preparing for that, what is necessary—as the preceding discussion makes clear—is to know the world around oneself. And the work of a gallerist is largely realized together with artists. A PoC-like action of “in order to enter the world art scene, first know the contemporary art and artists of one’s own country in this age”—this seems to me to be what biscuit gallery has been practicing through this past year. The “voraciousness toward the times” I mentioned earlier is, in other words, nothing other than the energy for thoroughly studying the age in which one lives and the artists who exist within it. Returning to the opening phrase, it may now be obvious, but biscuit gallery is depicting something based on the thoroughly orthodox theme of contemporary art of this country and this age—this is how I understand it.

Shinzo Okuoka

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