The 44th Arco Madrid art fair that concluded yesterday was a canvas of discussion and debate, small-talk and haggling, stolen glances and returned smiles, laughter and kisses and high heels snuggling up to suede loafers. In addition to these exploits and artful expressions, the event’s organisers even managed to make the ugly old IFEMA exhibition centre look bold and beautiful. Of the 214 galleries showing at the fair, most were from Europe. It felt like a gathering conducted in a European manner, with the contemporary in conversation with the historical. It started late and the food was good; it was happily bourgeois but not without spiky edges; and both art collectors and casual bystanders expecting to be surprised were rewarded with wit, wisdom and some self-regarding silliness. Thank God.
As I walked into the booth showing the playfully grotesque ceramics of Francisco Trêpa at Lisbon’s Galeria Foco, I studied a handsome old Spaniard in a tweed jacket and a cravat as he ran a tentative finger across the spikes in the mouth of a perfectly rendered porcelain gimp mask. I marvelled at Jeanette Mundt’s kaleidoscopic and powerfully abstracted landscape titled “Deerkill” at Berlin’s Société gallery (and wished I had a wall big enough). At Rotterdam’s Joey Ramone gallery, I laughed like a little hyena when I realised that the burning car that Bernat Daviu had painted bang in the middle of a stodgy Germanic landscape – a flea market find – was a Tesla Model S. Yes, it felt like a very European event indeed.
Playing with fire: Bernat Daviu, ‘Memento mori’
Image: Joey Ramone
Later, I spoke to Max and Julia Voloshyn, a couple from Kyiv who founded a gallery in their name in 2016 (it now has a sister space in Miami). They bubbled with enthusiasm about a show that they staged this past autumn, which brought Latin American artists to a curious Ukrainian audience. “There were Ukrainians going to Argentina a hundred years ago”, said Max, waving his long, expressive arms.
The fair itself felt like an expression of artistic endeavour, as pointless or profound as the eye of the beholder or the wielded chequebook deemed it to be. It felt like effort and effervescence; it felt like European excellence. You could be proud and the positive signs could be seen in the strangest of places. Who are you kidding if you think these old fields and forests are finished? And what did we do after this very continental event? We all went dancing at Toni’s. Trump that.
Robert Bound is the host of‘Monocle on Culture’. For more opinion, analysis and insight,subscribeto Monocle today.