The Frieze London art fair is on until tomorrow. It’s a moment every year when the capital sashays with added confidence and you spot vast migratory herds of international art people sporting their distinctive, tricksy footwear. On Wednesday, the opening day, the temporary pavilions erected in Regent’s Park were crammed with eager buyers and numerous voyeurs parading the aisles. And here’s the first thing that I learned this week: not everyone thinks that the world is in crisis. While I was talking to a gallery owner, a man barged into the conversation, asking, “How much is that painting?” He was informed that the price tag had been £125,000 but that it had already been sold. “Do you have another one?” he pleaded, sporting the kind of stress face that I have only adopted when arriving at the wine shop to discover that its doors have just that second been bolted. He scanned the stand. “What about that one?” he enquired, jabbing his finger at another work. “That was £35,000 – but it’s also sold.” The man walked off, dejected that nobody would take his cash.
Every year I have breakfast on the first day of Frieze with the same art publicist because he always has the skinny on the market and some good stories too. This time was no exception. He told me that one of the companies that he represents had opened a new gallery in a European capital – a space with no shopfront but rather tucked away on the first floor of a historic building. And here was the good bit: his job is to make sure that nobody writes about it. It’s going to be a secret, the location revealed only to the spenders of this world. Anyway, the address is…
On Monday and Tuesday, pre-Frieze, I was at Bloomberg Citylab in Amsterdam, an annual conference organised by Bloomberg Philanthropies that brings together mayors, civic leaders, urban planners and academics. It’s all super slick and a little scripted, and every mayor is perfectly media trained – although the off-stage conversations are more nuanced. One mayor had some frank words to say about the rhetoric on Ukraine that he was hearing. First, he said, cities that had taken in refugees were gaining willing workers, many of whom were taking unpopular, humble jobs. So, providing shelter to Ukrainians should not be presented as an act of charity but as a boost to the hosts’ economies. Second, many of these refugees would never return to Ukraine as their lives would become entwined with their adopted homes. This meant that while he believed that the talk of rebuilding Ukraine was important as a sign of solidarity, many small towns and villages would ultimately be abandoned. There would not be enough people returning to fill them up again.
Talking of cities and making homes, a quick plug. This week I interviewed Slovakian architect Petra Marko about a book that she has co-authored, Meanwhile City, which looks at how temporary interventions can reinvent a city. It’s a practical, inspiring guide and it has lots of pictures. The title is going into lots of European bookshops with a design bent but you can also find out more at meanwhilecity.milk.sk. I think that you’ll like it.
While in recommendation mode: Enric Pastor, former editor of AD España, has brought out a new Spanish-language interiors quarterly called Manera. It’s chunky, packed with Spanish residences and talks to a changed world of home-making in which sustainability and the things that surround us have taken on greater significance. You can find out more at maneramagazine.com and there’s an Instagram account too.
But back to Frieze. Despite the white walls of the pavilions, it’s easy to become visually overwhelmed. There’s too much to take in, so you’ll suddenly find yourself cruising past masterpieces, Roman statues and complex installations while distractedly pondering whether you could get away with all those shoes that look like glittery pigs’ trotters. You have to find a space to pause (may I recommend lunch at the pop-up Ham Yard Restaurant?). Or stop and talk to the gallery owners.
At the Ingleby stand I chatted with Florence Ingleby, who started telling me about some of the works that she was showing, including small, circular pictures by Antiguan artist Frank Walter, who died in 2009. Walter was an untrained artist and his talent has only been recognised following his death; that he lived his later life as a recluse and had extreme delusions of grandeur had never helped matters (he called himself the 7th Prince of the West Indies, Lord of Follies and the Ding-a-Ding Nook). Anyway, many years ago, Walter would regularly travel to Britain but on one trip was refused entry and was sent back to the West Indies. At this time he painted a series of small circular paintings – the view, real or imagined, out of a porthole window. And so, with Florence’s storytelling, a picture no bigger than a saucer stood out from all of the grand canvases. Words had made me see. The visual blur, freeze-framed for a second.