I did enjoy Frieze, I really did. The ferry was great and the spaciousness inside the tent made all the difference. And I did see lots that was stimulating.
I mean stimulating in the sense that it awakened my senses. That’s a first for me at a fair. But I also mean stimulating in the sense that it felt good. Art is an addiction. Once you’ve had a hit, you want more, and more, and more. Red flag.
Holland Cotter has it right. There’s something to distrust about it all. Something that’s tied up with the sheer quantity, but also with the blue-chip-ness, the luxury-ness. The one percent-ness. I want to sweep these contradictions under the rug.
I want my art curated. I want my crowds weeded out. I want to see some black teenagers. I don't want street art. I want some Barkcloths from New Guinea. I want my Fat Radish. I don’t want frozen turkey sandwiches union regulations allow. I don’t want a gift shop unless the gift shop are art books only, publications that can’t make any money. Then I want to take a boat that runs on time to arrive home and call it an enriching day.