I used to be a real hard-ass about art fairs. In 2006, when I was still at the Village Voice, I wrote a column titled “Feeding Frenzy”, in which I called them “adrenaline-addled spectacles … perfect storms of money, marketability, and instant gratification … tent-city casinos.” They still drive me crazy and wear me out, but now I see them for what they’ve always been: Big sleepover parties where people sniff each other’s scents and make connections in a hurry. Artists get a chance to make a little money, and critics — almost by accident — get to see galleries we might not otherwise have the chance to visit. So I’ve corked my blowhole.
This season, I went to the three big art fairs and breezed through several smaller ones. People always ask, “What did you see?” and I answer, “I have no idea.” I don’t go to fairs to look at art, because you can’t spend more than ten seconds with any one piece. I go to gauge group temperatures, glean what’s going on in other scenes, get an overview of stylistic tendencies, eat free food, and get out of my office and my own head.
- Ask an Art Critic: Jerry Saltz answers your questions about Art Fairs and what's hot right now... go to
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