Escaping Artist

Who knew that going to art fairs could be fun? This past weekend nyc hosted the March madness of art fairs, openings, special events, and self-indulgent parties, all of which were crunched into the span of only four days. Each fair opened lazily at noon, and all were strewn carelessly around Manhattan. Trying to make an appearance during visiting hours at every event felt like the scavenger hunt from My Man Godfrey: completely absurd. Divvying up my weekend days, grouping the shows by like neighborhoods, organizing the fairs by importance, armed with my makeshift press pass, and resigned to the fact that one person can only see so much, I set out.

Without rushing or suffering from visual overload, I actually found that while I ruined my feet for the weekend, I enjoyed the whole spectacle. Not out to buy or to mingle either, I simply wandered the fairs with my camera and my curiosity. I ran into a few friends, saw Nick Cave at the Armory and Fred Wilson at The Art Show, talked with a good many gallery workers, and watched a tourist knock over a sculpture in his great hast to photograph a brightly painted naked woman. Though the champagne at the Armory cost sixteen dollars a glass, the people and even the shows themselves felt less ostentatious than last year.

(A William Kentridge collage from The Nose)

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Paolo Ventura Winter Stories at Hasted Hunt

A little over a year in New York City and I have learned a thing or two about the cities art scene, but not nearly as much as I need to know. Though it was not my intention when I moved here, I have started edging my way toward becoming an insider though an opportunity I happened to find in a profession I didn’t study—art criticism. While I originally thought about it as an extension of my blog/thesis, a way to continue practicing writing critically, it has become the dominant perspective from which I see art. At a meeting of Whitehot writers a few weeks ago, as we discussed ideas for the new Op-ed column the magazine is planning, I realized I was the only artist there. Though I know the magazine is a mix of artists, critics, and art historians, I didn’t suspect the artists were so greatly outnumbered. I also found that compared with those who have been art critics living in NYC for over a decade, I am obviously drastically less informed. As talk floated around the table about press lunches and advanced screenings, I felt that the knowledge I have so proudly gained in the past year is just the tip of the gossip iceberg. When asked for ideas for Op-ed subjects I drew a blank—suddenly I was being asked to formulate opinions about the aspects of the art world I try my best to write around in my reviews.

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Learning to speak up happens in stages.

In undergrad I spent my time listening acutely during critiques to those professors and students who had already mastered the art of bullshit, articulation, and the clever dissection of ideas and artwork. In graduate school I became the conversation starter, enjoying how interesting conversations can be when you direct where they go. Teaching became another kind of public speaking stress, where you are expected to know in advance the correct answer to every unexpected problem. Presenting your work to an audience is a challenge as your voice is the only voice, and when it reaches a deadend there is nothing but your own desire to avoid embarrassment to redirect it. Interviewing an artist is stressful in a completely new way, being an odd combination of planned questions and improvised discussion. Avoiding the nervous trap that prevents from happening what should be an easy conversation about something both parties know a good deal about, seems key. It was a special kind of torture to slowly transcribe this 45-minute interview, as I heard every verbal blunder, stutter, and hesitation more times than I ever dreamed of having to. In the end it was a fantastic experience, and when whittled down to its core, a good interview.

Viola Interview

My latest review has made me wary of group shows, as writing about one makes my job a good bit harder. At least my editor appreciated my “clear focus,” precision that took weeks and a lot of editing to (hopefully) find. Though feedback always trickles in slowly and in a non blog related form, as always, it is quite welcome. White Noise at the James Cohan Gallery.

I wonder who thought art fairs were a good idea: investors, collectors, rich folk shopping for a new painting for the dinning room, museum directors, or gallery owners? It was certainly not thought a great idea by the makers of art, even those egotistical enough to dream of being the highlight of such a gathering of stuff, would never call it an ideal space. I could not help but wonder about this as I wandered through the Armory Show this past weekend. I was curious about the event in general, I wanted to see how it compared to Art Basel, for though I guessed it would contain many of the same galleries and artists, in the post-economic meltdown I thought the vibe, perhaps translating into the overall aesthetic, might be different—more subdued and less extravagant?

I was relieved that this event was less costly than Basel, students could enter the maze of portable white walls for a somewhat reasonable price, the ticket included admission to both piers (92 & 94), but one was more than sufficient to become completely visually overwhelmed. I wondered as I wandered how the spaces were chosen and how the galleries chose their representative artists. Judging from the odd juxtapositions and the decorative, tasteful quality of the art I made my guesses. This lead to my amazement that someone, somehow, somewhere, decided this was a good idea.

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