Last Saturday, we cruised over to the Gary Baseman art opening at the Corey Helford Gallery in Culver City. At first glance, the opening seemed more like a rave than an art show -- a sea of hiply dressed scenesters with bottles of Stella in hands danced, mingled, and drank. Techno and House music blared at deafening decible levels while lights flashed with each pulsating beat. A line of hopeful teenagers looking for some kicks on a Saturday night stretched alongside the gallery for a block or so. Indeed, there was a peculiar air about this show.
Baseman wore a long black ceremonial robe, hinting at the finale of the show -- a performance piece that displayed the metamorphosis of his beloved chou chou out of a coccoon. For those who don't know what a chou chou is, here's a picture:
I wasn't too familiar with Baseman's name prior to a month or so before the show, but instantly recognized his work from features in Juxtapoz and even the boardgame Cranium; Baseman exemplifies how an artist's style transcends his name. Baseman's drearily vibrant artwork slaps his viewers in their faces, recalling the best moments of Ren and Stimpy. Baseman reminds his audience that they are never too old to believe in comic book worlds full of wacky cartoon characters and vibrant colors. 10 girls walked amidst Baseman's Tinseltown as props, dressed in wardrobes inspired by his work, physically bridging the gap between our world and his.
Weasling my way through the sea of people, I finally stepped inside the gallery. Polychromatic paintings graced the bare white walls. It was delightful to see sketches and paintings of the characters that roamed outside. A sacred shrine to a chou chou even stood in the corner of the gallery, suggesting that we, like Baseman, ought to worship the whimsical worlds and characters we create.
Back outside, I gravitated toward a set comprised of a fairytale-esque tree, another one of Gary's characters, and a photographer. I happily stood with my girlfriend, struck a pose, and collected a free polaroid.
If this show were any premonition of what's to come from Baseman's imaginitive mind, then I'd rather live fulltime in La Noche de la Fusion than the good ol' U, S, of A anyday. Hell, I don't think there's a happier place on earth than La Noche de la Fusion. Disney CEO Bob Iger could learn a thing or two from Baseman. Screw Disneyland, I'm going to Carnivale this year.
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