Tadashi Kawamata is one of my favorite artists. Not simply because the work is somehow architectural but because much of it surprises by appearing to have been thrown up in secret. Though obviously sanctioned there is an illicit quality to it. It’s dirty, rough, and seemingly improvised out of found materials—though obviously the work of such an acclaimed, grant-receiving artist is not carried out this way.
I have no problem with such appearances. The problem arises from the manner in which such appearances toy with reality when the reality is clearly not one’s own, but merely mined for shock value.
The appearance of Kawamata’s “Favela Café” at Art Basel, when looked at as a point along the timeline of his work, would seem to make perfect sense. But it doesn’t. Apart from being a distasteful sleight to actual favelas, it’s too literal, more like a set design for a crass drama about the rich inhabiting the slums. This obviousness runs counter to his earlier works.
