The new installation at the Moo Deng Gallery—“Peppa’ (In Three Acts)”— appears, at first glance, to be made from imitation peppers.
So perfect in its gleam, in its wax coating, calling to be touched and verified, that the artist Mr. Kinoshita—whose first name has been removed from public records—wanted to assure his audience that the peppers were real and replaced each morning before the museum opened in a daring now infamous move on opening night.
He took a yellow pepper from under the lights, sounding off an alarm, and brought it to his mouth were he took a large bite, eliciting gasps, and placed it back to its original position, a hole exposing its seeds, its hollow.
“Every time you see this piece,” he told the crowd, after swallowing chunks of pepper, “It will be different. A-new. Like the supermarket employee who makes minimum wage, who restocks the shelves with peppers like these day after day, all over the country, to present a product to an imaginary consumer. This is no different, except that—well: this is art!”
Every five minutes a timed mist showers the peppers from above to lend authenticity, droplets of water traveling down curves, collecting at the bottom of the container.
Mr. Kinoshita goes a step further by providing spectators with a small plastic bag they are told to have opened by the time they reach the piece—sending many fingertips a fumbling.
“You’re given a bag you’re expected to fill but I want the audience to go home empty-handed, to soak in the feeling of not being able to put anything in the bag. To be denied something banal. They become apart of it. In a way, it’s performance art,” Mr. Kinoshita said.
As a result of its nature, the piece cannot be sold or made a profit from—an infinite form, never complete, site-specific, made of perishable products, a notion that delights Mr. Kinoshita.
“This isn’t an original piece, you know? It’s just bringing the supermarket, the everyday, into the art market. I didn’t create it, no. It’s been here since the beginning of human time. I agree with my critics: it’s derivative, it’s like an art project one makes in grade school, but there is a context for this to exist. We must take the time to look at the world with care and consideration.”
He reflected for a moment, stroking his chin with his index and thumb.
“And so what happens next? After they leave, after the peppers go bad, after it becomes garbage? The new ones arrive, it continues. But one day the piece will not exist. Nothing will. Not even the memories. There are no ghosts.”