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5 of 5 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A Guide to the Beginnings of a New Art Form, May 10, 2007
It wasn't enough to have regular dolls like Barbie or G.I. Joe. Some people had to go messing around with the dolls instead of leaving them as they were. They melted and remolded the limbs, or they substituted a speaker or a model of a radio for a head, or they gave G.I. Joe an orange afro. This was only about ten years ago, and the dolls were coming in from Asia. "It was as if artists were taking toys that I remembered from my childhood and imposing an adult aesthetic on them," writes Paul Budnitz, "They were cute, scary, hip, violent, scarce, expensive, and beautiful." Budnitz, a film-maker with a fine arts degree from Yale, was so taken by the strange dolls that he went to Hong Kong and started a toy company to manufacture more. In _I Am Plastic: The Designer Toy Explosion_ (Abrams), Budnitz has provided three hundred lovely color pages devoted to his obsession, both the designs made by his firm Kidrobot and by many others who are participating in a lively new art form. And if the prices for these items on e-Bay, for instance, is any indicator, there are lots of enthusiasts just as obsessed.
Budnitz asserts that these are true works of art, but that they have an unusual canvas, usually bright, smooth plastic assembled in parts. They come in limited editions, like prints, and many buyers are interested in collecting sets. Because there are so few made, the artists are free to take risks and make something very strange and otherwise commercially infeasible. The artists wind up putting their own money up for production, and spending their own time to sell their sculptures, when of course they'd be happier just being artists. It's a risk, and they want their customers to take a risk on buying, too, and buying just because the offered toy is "really, really weird." Weird they certainly are, and often laugh-out-loud funny; these are generally cartoonish creatures, although some are scary. Often they are beautiful, and the lovely pictures in this book will make anyone want to see the real objects. A set from Devilrobots inexplicably titled "Maffy Kubrick" looks like gumdrops of different colors with smiley faces. Devilrobots also manufactures cubes that come in mock tofu boxes, but the cubes of tofu have faces (usually unsmiling) and are driving around in little bumper cars. Lots look like they would fit into Japanese monster movies, for instance. There are bunnies here, too, mostly in the form of "Smorkin' Labbit", a puffy rabbit figurine whose cuteness clashes with the cigarette in its mouth. The labbit in each of its incarnations is physically identical, except for its paint job, which might be garish, pastel, plaid, or bondage-themed.
There is page after page of whimsical figures, full of color, with molding revealing fine detail. The people who produce these objects obviously love their work. The people who collect them, and pay premium prices, obviously love them, too. I certainly would be more interested in viewing a collection of these pieces than I would a host of items from the Franklin Mint. I didn't know a thing about designer toys before I opened this handsome book, but it is clear that this is a trend that will continue. Perhaps _I Am Plastic_ will be a foundation document for an established art movement in the future, to show the movement's Golden Age, but it stands on its own as a fine introduction into a very odd artistic and commercial endeavor.
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