But there is a theme that runs through this “film“ and
through many of his recent works: tails. He says this very earnestly, the
way other artists talk about the reprivatization of memories, of the
politics of the body or post-figurative strategies for painting. Ochiai
talks about tails – bushy, striped, wagging tails; about the black and
white skunk tail, or the violin case the girl in his “film” carries on her
back, and how much this violin case reminds him of a tail. “I love the
unnecessary; things one doesn’t really need,” he says, and for a moment,
he doesn’t seem tired anymore. Ochiai is smiling now. “Like this little
scratchy sound in the music. It’s actually totally superfluous. For me
it’s the most important part of the music. Or August! No one needs August,
nothing important happens, everyone’s on vacation and just hangs around,
but for me it’s the decisive month.” He stands up and comes back with a
calendar on which he has listed the days of August – and only the days of
August – until the year 2049. “Tails are like that: if you have to, you
can cut them off, like with dogs. They’re not really important,” he says
and lays a clay tail in his lap – an edition he made for his last
exhibition in Tokyo. He says quietly, “It’s called Tail Tale.”
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Tam Ochiai in his studio,
Photo: Adam Broomberg & Oliver Chanarin
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Tam Ochiai’s scrapbook psychedelia is effective: the longer
you listen to his sparse explanations, the more you feel as if you’re
sleepwalking through one of his pictures, lost in reverie and
timelessness, like one of the child-women who look down from his paintings
with melancholy eyes – unless they have fallen unconscious.
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Tam Ochiai, 2005,
Photo: Adam Broomberg & Oliver Chanarin
If it were to rain cats from the ceiling of his studio, one would be only
slightly surprised. Ochiai says that cats were the heroes of his first
book, also called Tail Tale, which is so far only available in Japanese.
It’s about two cats who sit in a café and stuff themselves full of
eclairs, gugelhupfs, chocolate croissants, Black Forest cake and other
“superfluous” things, while discussing the latest trends in tails. “So,
what’s the fashionable tail this season?” is a central question but all
his detailed descriptions of colours could make a painting themselves.
About a litre of Entre Deux Mers wine later, we’re sitting in Ochiai’s
favorite bar, the Pink Pony, where the waiters seem to neither recognize
nor understand him. He sits silently and looks at the people who assure
each other that they all look especially great on this day. Apropos of
nothing, he says he feels a bit like Kafka: “Isn’t it crazy to live in
Prague and speak German?” Tam Ochiai has grown even quieter. He watches
and says nothing, until he suddenly exclaims, pointing at a boy who’s just
sitting down, “That shirt up there – it makes me want to go home and
paint. Look at how the blue and white stripes contrast with the brown
sweater of the girl behind him.” Later, outside, the bill has been paid,
and he’s not going home after all. The boredom doesn’t seem great enough
yet, and the studio will have to wait. Ochiai says he wants to walk now,
just walk.
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