In the early 2000s, I attended an exhibit in Chelsea by the artist David Hammons entitled Concerto in Black and Blue. When you entered the gallery, you were handed a small flashlight that emitted a beam of blue light. You needed the flashlight to perambulate the rooms, which were otherwise pitch black. Japanese harp music played in the background, but it was not soothing, as you might expect, because it drowned out the sounds of movement in the black void around you. All you had to navigate was a tiny halo of blue light, which occasionally illuminated the perplexed face of a fellow patron in your path, who also was trying to make sense of it all, searching for any clue as to what to do next, whilst simultaneously trying not collide with someone else in the same predicament. It was a brilliant metaphor.
After that, I noticed more and more galleries making use of the intimacy of the space to encourage visitor interaction, leaving the “stroll and gawk” model to the museums. In my gallery experiences since then, I’ve worn costumes, stuck my head into strange geometric spaces, sung (badly), posed for countless pictures, and waded through a ball pit filled with foam sex toys.
But the ultimate interactive experience is the one the gallery is most hesitant to offer: touching the art, especially when it is one of a kind. This is what made Abe Shaw’s “The Art of Cutlery” one of the most enjoyable gallery experiences that I can recall. There were over thirty knives on display, from a giant tuna sword to a featherweight parer, and Abe afforded his guests the experience of handling each and every one (except, perhaps, the Goldvein, which no one had the temerity to request).
I’d say my five favorite knives were: 1) a large gyuto by Joshua Prince with his damascus renderings of the solar system; 2) a formidable Nick Anger cleaver, with an interwoven mosaic of damascus patterns that flowed into a stunning integrated handle, which was then ingeniously held upright on an iron wall pivot; 3) a psychedelic collaborative project between Ben Kamon and Si Golraine, the latter of whom used a novel electrical technique to “paint” the gyuto and saya; 4) David Wolke’s “The Sturgeon”, a scimitar-shaped bladed surrounded by jewelry he’d designed using the tiny spherical mounds of caviar as his motif; and 5) an ethereal laser gyuto with honyaki characteristics that the maker (whose name I cannot recall, unfortunately) forged from bloomery iron ore collected from beach sand near his house in Connecticut.
There were no duds to be found — each knife merited the closest examination, and lovely antique brass magnifying glasses were laid out throughout the exhibit for that purpose. Abe did a brilliant job both curating, and then filling in the background story of each knife. It was a relatively quiet Friday evening in Tribeca, as the exhibit is drawing to a close today. This was a blessing, as Abe and I were able to spend a couple of hours enjoying craft ales that he kindly provided and getting to know one another as we waited for my wife to arrive from work. When she finally did, he greeted her with a wine at the door after a tough day at the office, and utterly charmed her as she toured the exhibit. She had very low expectations coming in, and walked out a fully confirmed appreciator of handmade knives.
Kudos to Abe on what is hopefully the first of many “Art of Cutlery” exhibits in the years ahead!