Scene LA: The Vending Machine Gallery
Photography by Sierra Skinner.
Try as we might to deny it or work around it, the production and presentation of art has been co-opted by the fiscally empowered elite.
We’ve been contending against a rapidly worsening accessibility crisis in the arts, with barriers to entry becoming progressively egregious and obvious. Many of us can’t even get in the room these days, let alone buy or sell a piece. Those most sincerely invested in the arts can now barely afford to participate. Reclamation of our collective power starts with rethinking the limitations imposed upon us and making creative use of our sparse resources by utilizing abandoned buildings, materials, or in this very special case- an out of use machine.
We speak about these frustrations often with an unfortunate defeatist air, not much to really be done when the means to do anything at all come at a price far too high to stomach amidst overdue bills and mounting debt. All this rumination and discourse only goes so far without activation. So imagine my delight when I heard that some particularly ingenious friends had purchased a busted vending machine and were rallying an impressive crew of artists to fill the slots with original work intended to be purchasable by even the most strapped for cash amongst us. A simple yet radical challenge against the inaccessibility of the art market meets a stacked group show lineup – I couldn’t miss this one.
So it all started the way most nights do in this congested city: a struggle to find parking immediately followed by entry into an overcrowded bar. Except this time, the exhaustive line to get a drink was overpowered by the even more populated, red carpeted queue to view the infamous machine that brought us all out on an unseasonably tepid Thursday night. Thanks to the mischievous ingenuity of masterminds Cole Walton, Parker Richardson and Waylon Derderian, the Vending Machine Gallery made its eagerly awaited debut.
This felt notably different from any other opening in both set and setting, most palpable in the degree of buzzing excitement. Elsewhere, at standard gallery openings, we are no more than glorified loiterers destined to end the night with only pocketed free beers and story posts of our favorite pieces to show for it. Nevertheless we persist in showing up because presence is powerful, and what we may lack in funds we make up for in populous. The legitimacy of individual participation in the arts is not (nor should it ever be) contingent on purchasing power, but it sure does feel good to know you might not walk away empty handed for once.
Every friend I bumped into greeted me with a shout of “Look what I got!” as they opened their palms with all the endearing enthusiasm of a child displaying a precious object. It was like a curated communal show and tell: one friend showed off a hand freshly adorned in a ring from Kai Sugiyama, another brandished a hand painted tech deck by Sympathy Dropout, the next revealed a questionable vape with unknown contents that I would not condone consuming courtesy of Tino. I was just in time to snag the last of Keilani Mariko’s engraved metal “FUCK ICE” little trees, with all proceeds going toward buying out local vendors amidst ongoing ICE raids. The list of readily purchasable and uniquely affordable works goes on, ranging from zines and prints to sticker packs and toys.
An obvious crowd favorite was the Doggie Starter-Packs provided by the delightfully idiosyncratic mind of Dillan Conniff. I will not soon forget the joyous sight of seeing both friends and strangers proudly brandishing fluffy ears and personalized collars at the function, acting as living conduits of the art and freely interacting with the artists. Witnessing the collective sigh of relief from inhibition on nights like this is what makes it all worthwhile.
The difference is palpable when likeminded peers are the ones pulling the strings of events like these-the freedom to move about a space like you belong there because you are the intended consumer, even if just for the night. We as cohorts are finally empowered to channel our preexisting emotional investment in the arts into actual ownership, to be the collectors for once. The usual stuffiness and restrictions of contemporary gallery spaces falls away, allowing us to return to a sense of unjaded and open connection
Not to mention the usual pressure put on artists to pander to an out of reach and often out of touch aristocracy in order to turn a profit. Combating the restrictiveness of this marketability mindset in the process of creation starts with rethinking the target audience entirely. Cole cited this as a key incentive behind the show: to challenge artists to think beyond this limitation and break free from the usual gallery constraints. The other reason?
‘Just to throw a party honestly.’
Both noble pursuits, and both successfully executed. I danced, I laughed, I interacted more than I’ve gotten to in a long time, and I walked away with both a new prized possession and a sense of pride in the innovative spirit of my community. This proactive reimagining of a commonplace machine facilitated a night of liberation for both consumer and creator alike, proving that accessibility is key in remedying the alienation brought on by commodification.
I’m already impatiently waiting to see where the Vending Machine Gallery pops up next, and you should be too.
