A year ago, after a decade of patient obscurity, Duran held his first Tokyo exhibition, Bourreaucrat for an Embassy Without a Country. Today he stands before us as the recipient of the Picasso Medal, the highest art honor of the United Nations. From nameless ignominy to--if not fame--resplendent recognition. How did this transformation come about?

Since his earliest Embassy projects in the late 1980s, he has gradually developed a performance project focusing on two themes: the nature of national identity, and the unquestioned notion that states can be represented by a single individual. Duran's embassies are complex site-specific installations. Borderline Writing Apparatus was a food cart mounted with a machine that spewed out stacks of diplomatic textbooks. The Bourreaucrat (a bilingual pun on "bureaucrat" and "executioner") is a giant machine, resembling an enormous pair of bellows. Each morning, an ambassador in full 18th-century attire enters the gallery and, with much ceremonial, switches the contraption into wheezing life.

Duran's Embassies are staffed by just one man: Ambassador Solo. Solo has at his disposal all the paraphernalia expected of a modern Ambassador, with one key exception: he has no country to represent. Whether Solo's homeland has ceased to exist, has never existed, or will perhaps exist at some time in the future, is unclear. What is clear from Duran's installations is the artist's view of Embassies as anachronistic fragments of the state, dubious in their contemporary value.

Duran studied architecture in L.A. and Todai, and worked for several years with Arata Isozaki. His projects reflect his architectural background. Some resemble proposals for intriguing architectural structures, and he has exhibited a certain number of drawings and provocative three dimensional objects as well. But these were merely preliminaries, for Duran's central ambition has always been to represent the subversion of diplomatic institutions by holding diplomatic receptions at various real embassies. For years, his ideas were met with uncomprehending stares from curators, galleries, critics and potential sponsors.

Until last year, that is, when the Aki Ex gallery showed Bourreaucrat to a warm critical reception. Another exhibition followed; Duran was buoyed by his success, but frustrated by his inability to convince a genuine embassy to host his performance. Then, out of the blue, his work was selected for the spring exhibition in Paris. Excited, exhausted and so broke he had to borrow his airfare to France, Duran hurriedly prepared a new piece of Ambassadorial paraphernalia--a mercury filled glass baton modeled after those used in Olympic relay races, symbolizing perhaps the passing of poisonous power. Upon arriving in Paris, Duran was given good news and bad. His work had arrived in more pieces than it been sent. (Several pounds of mercury had leaked into the shipping container. Ick). But he was being awarded first prize in the exhibition: the coveted Picasso Medal. The award also included a cash prize, enough for Duran to pay back his borrowed ticket money. There is, after all, justice in the world.

Back in Tokyo, armed with his UN recognition, Duran found ambassadors fighting to throw open their doors to his performance. If all goes to plan, His Excellency Solo will be in residence this month at no fewer than eight Tokyo embassies, with full pomp and ceremony. It couldn't happen to a nicer Ambassador.