It's a bit of a late post, I guess I needed a bit of time to digest all the information, and figure out exactly what I was going to say. Contemporary art fairs are a tricky one for me, at least. There is all the excitement, the people flying into town, the parallel events, the whole fanfare. There are myriad well clad hip and intellectual people frolicking amidst some of the best art works of our time. But the whole spectacle left me a bit depressed. I know, it's a cliché. But is this really art? And if so, what does it say about our times? The endless rows of paraphernalia, each a concept, an idea, an ethereal vision, but also an object, a thing, traded like all other things. Stacks and stacks, row after row, of things. Of stuff, really. Defeated by its own mercantile futility.
That’s just me, being a party pooper, I know. An inarticulate one at that, so many more well versed and competent people before me have dwelled on these questions with greater propriety and depth. The fair was wonderful, and everyone was raving about how this year had been much better than the last, and lots of great deals were being made, and how wonderful it was for the city to have such a lively art fair.
This year, as opposed to other years, there was a great deal more figurative painting being shown. Lots of objects and sculpture. And very little video. Perhaps these are trends that are rooted in a natural transition in the history of our art and society, or perhaps curators were just playing it safe because of the economic crisis. I admit I’m too ignorant to know.
But hey, I had a good time, took some cute pics for the blog, and had a beautiful stroll around Regent’s Park in its full autumnal grandeur.
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