Artist Rachel Harris Debuts at New DTLA Digs Brent L. Smith
L.A. is not known as an artists’ haven, but there’s no doubt it has its virtuosos and mavens burrowed unseen in its gritty boulevards; dwarfed—like the fashion, literary, and garage rock scenes—by Hollywood’s glaring business of cinema. Take note of native Angeleno Rachel Harris, 23, whose first solo art show at the newly-erected Rhabbitat gallery in downtown was as impressive as most artists can only dream. The venue, which sits meek near the intersection of the 101 and 110, was refurbished and constructed by owner Michael Reddin over the last four years. It used to be a machine shop back in the day, and at one point it was even a clandestine headquarters and storage house of medical files for prostitutes (needless to say, there was a lot of restoration to be done). Reddin’s labor speaks for itself, though, as it seems the now neomodern space has always been Rhabbitat—seedy historicity expunged. Rachel Harris’ exhibition was met with some serious buyers during its preview show, selling nearly a dozen of her large-scale, abstract pieces, made from various construction material. The support and enthusiasm for Harris’ work was huge. Unif was in the house, including boyfriend and photographer Derek Perlman (aka Fucktard) who tended the makeshift bar. The place was packed with an air of hippie goth and metalheads with plenty of biker jackets, surfer hair, and occult overtones—juxtaposed by the hip hop hits spun by Shelby Sells. Juxtaposition, in fact, was everywhere.