A stroll through a high caliber, “blue chip” art fair as seen from this clueless collector. I know my art, but sure can’t play the collector part.
The Basel Bully - the collectors, the blue chip galleries, the aspirational-affluent - takes on the art market uninitiated.
Art Basel Miami was a bully to my senses. The fair, the 15 satellite exhibitions, the whole production from pre- to after-party was a twitching muscle demanding the submission of all assets - spiritual to financial – to its needy desire. It wanted to perform for me; I to perform for it.
Overheard: "You wouldn't happen to be VIP? OH, you're not?! As I've been hearing, John, (taking a quarter turn to his left away from Non-VIP Person) the blogs have been saying that you have had the most active backroom at the fair. . . What's the champagne for?" "Everything sold, of course." (cork pops, both smile).
From my 5′4″ shortstuff standpoint, the fair’s muscularity was palpable. For the moneyed and the art afficonado who frequent this premier event, politesse was remarkably passee. A push here a body check there? Yeah rah! A point on the score board. . . .
The Basel Labyrinth where clans of collectors lurk, waiting to strike a move. (photo credit Artnet.com)
I’m a feisty woman who works assiduously to achieve the utopia of perfected self esteem (HEY, we all got dreams), yet the labyrinthine passageways that cut in and out of the exhibition booths threw me right off that path. I could not contend with the pulsing, ornery crowds. At every corner, I was knocked into, clearly sized up by teems of fellow fair goers, gallerinas, collectors, and would-be elite. It’s all so performative, theatrical, which seemed unusual until I realized I had gone from the sidelines (art historian) to a main participant in the art market game.
The Basel Blood Clot at fair's entrance. In just moments, toes will be stepped on, glares will be shared, and an aggressive nudge will strike the unsuspecting
In one weekend, I leapt from art appreciator to art speculator. And so I became arthletic. I confronted the Basel Bully head on. I pushed back, got sassy with the gallery assistant who wouldn’t share a work’s price with me, and best of all, I remained positive, knowing that the market can only destroy the artist’s intention, the aura of the work, if I let it.
How would you carry yourself in the art market environment I described? Would you be disenchanted by the money, the affluence, the art-as-object for purchase mentality?
**As a side note – and I’m ashamed to admit this, though not really – I dropkicked some art. That’s right, there was a work installed on the floor and when I walked across the exhibition space, I heard the sickening crunch of art under foot. Crunchy, cracky, shattery, art explosion! My quick reply to the jaws on the floor, “Sorrrry. But it’s probably not safe for the art to be there.” Classy, uber classee.
