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Kaoru Arimas exhibition "Natural Freedom" is unorthodox. Approximately 200 works on paper are shown in piles through which the gloveless viewer is invited to browse. There is no checklist. Everything is untitled, loosely grouped by theme, and stacked on hodgepodge surfaces. Available seating includes camping chairs and a tatami mat.

Handling the drawings is titillating, an intimate discovery, even under the benevolent supervision of the gallerist. Arima uses a variety of paper: found newsprint, looseleaf, and thin grayish sheets of what he unapologetically calls "poor quality paper." The textures feel raw and precious to the touch. The artist’s lines and washes are exquisite. At their best, his drawings bristle with an awkward sexiness or an elongated mannerism. In one drawing, a seraph of a boy reclines on a grassy plain. In another, a couple is locked in an erotic embrace, mouth cupped to ear. Other series are clumsier, such as those with hokey earth-mother motifs or hackneyed statements ("The Present is Past and Future") that are reminiscent of De La Vegas New York sidewalk chalking. Arima, who solely works on paper, claims that he edited substantially for this show, but the sense of the artist’s stream of consciousness remains.

In keeping with the collectivist activities of the collaborative Art Drug Center, which he founded in 1996 and is now run by a younger generation, Arima added a curatorial twist to what he calls his "solo show with other artists." These works by other artists, installed on the walls, on a makeshift pedestal, and on a laptop on the floor, include an animated short by a promising student named Ryo Hirano, a framed painting by Shunsuke Imai, and childish, painted rocks by Tai Ogawa. The end result of this busy eclecticism — informal stacks of drawings, mismatched furniture, brightly colored rocks — is a cross between an innovative way to experience art and a rummage sale. Regardless, Arima’s most masterful drawings shine through, brighter for all the noise.