I've always had a perverse love of art fairs as being both the best and the worst places to discover art—best because it's probably there, worst because it's easy to miss. Whether genuine cultural barometers or just yard sales for rich people, there's no denying that the fair is a long way from the chapel of quite contemplation. Contamination may be the name of the art fair game.
And so I've chosen to preview works, which, with a few exceptions, live up to the visual and social noise by being or as premonitions of what had been and is yet to come. And then in the middle of it all there are works, like Julie Dault's yielding sculptures or John Wesley paintings, that speak to the pure unalloyed pleasure of tension and relaxation—metaphors perhaps for the experience itself.
My picks are as follows:
, untitled (hidden in plane view)
, Fraught Times: For Eleven Months of the Year it’s an Artwork and in December it’s Christmas (April) no 5
, 2011Julia Schmidt
, Untitled (car scratched)
, Lost Wax II
, Untitled 23, 8:30 AM–12 PM, July 15, 2012
, Post Good
, Lucid dreaming hangover