I think we can all agree that there are too many art fairs. We could almost stretch that to say there are too many fairs, period. We generate too many products – most of them of an astonishingly brief life-span, and worth still less of anyone’s attention; and consume far too many of them, wasting an unacceptable amount of time, energy and resources in the process, and generating an unacceptable amount of waste. Art fairs might just be the hallmark of waning western civilization – the sunset of this geologic age as we head into the full-on Anthropocene. We certainly don’t need most of this stuff.

But, as Lear in his pathetic wisdom might put it, ‘reason not the need.’ It’s what we want and richly deserve. The closer you are to the art world, the more intensely you feel it (and, when you get right down to it, the players who are really moving the stuff rarely show up at any fair outside Basel; the artists actually making it will likely skip the openings). We pout and kvetch, complain about the shlep and that we have nothing to wear. And then we go. And it’s Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion all over again. I mean ArtForum. I mean – was that so bad?   

It seems almost churlish to complain – especially considering this blog was partially instigated by an art fair. (There were other factors considered – and the instigating fair was not Art Basel, or even Art Basel Miami Beach; but that’s more or less the gist of it.) And there’s always something to see – even if it’s only ‘where they are now,’ as we observe galleries appearing and dropping off the roster of exhibitors, artists moving in new directions and shifting gallery allegiances, or new and old faces in the roundelay of gallery directors and personnel. But it’s not just ‘they’; there’s always someone new; and once in a while, a real discovery. (I first encountered Julian Hoeber’s work at a fair – Blum & Poe made a showcase for him in their fair space – and it was a break-out, revelatory moment. And the beat goes on: Hoeber’s Paris gallery, Praz-Delavallade was represented here, with what appeared to be a showcase of another L.A. artist, Matthew Chambers – less revelatory, but another unpredictable turn for the artist, with what looked like abstracted, appropriated imagery, rendered in something that looked like sprayed felt. (I always wonder how toxic some of these materials are.) I had my eye out for Matthew Brandt; but notwithstanding what was out or what I might have missed, René-Julien Praz (who was there), and his partner, Bruno Delavallade, clearly have an eye for L.A. artists. (They represent, among others, Ry Rocklen, Amanda Ross-Ho,and Jim Shaw and Marnie Weber.)

Obviously what draws us to fairs is a compulsive appetite for the new; and ALAC is no conception; but rediscovering the old – whether as an old forgotten friend or something seen fresh in a radically morphed context can amount to almost the same thing. I didn’t need to look at any Warhols; but I enjoyed coming upon an Alan Saret chartreuse ‘cloud’ floating above the Alden Projects space. My companion for the evening was complaining about seeing “the same old shit,” throughout the spaces, whether local or national and international; but you don’t really go to these things expecting a paradigm shift or to radically reshape one’s entire perspective on contemporary art or the art market.

It’s also great to see some of our local galleries (and it’s hard to reach all of them regularly) shining with their best. I hadn’t been to 1301PE for quite a while (just one of those things…); and their selection reminded me just how essential they are. There was a marvelous Pae White fabric hanging (EVAL 2) glistening with bronze and gold that made me think of a mad collision between the LeBrun/Gobelins tapestries of The Getty’s Woven Gold Louis XIV-era exhibition and Mies van der Rohe. Ana Prvacki’s Music Stand was silent but wickedly expressive – genius. Speaking of fabric, Channing Hansen showed a more structured knit ‘painting’ (in black-and-white) at Marc Selwyn. And am I just regressing into a moment of Paco Rabanne nostalgia, or was I alone in developing a crush on the Rosha Yaghmai hanging of tinted eyeglass lenses and an electric storm resin-fiberglass unfurled ‘awning’ exhibited at Kayne Griffin Corcoran. I’m mad for the merest suggestion of windswept winter and waterscapes; and, alongside some classic John Divola photographs, Gallery Luisotti showed an amazing multi-processed multiple-exposure inkjet print by a CJ Heyliger – a real discovery. Julia Haft Candell showed some cunning ceramic work at The Pit, an off-the-beaten track gallery in Glendale – which was a discovery in itself.

It’s also wonderful to see work from the art world well off the ‘beaten path’ in the global sense. I’m talking about the Southern Hemisphere. Obviously there’s a lot of art coming out of Sydney, Melbourne and Victoria – but how much of it do we actually get to see outside of London and New York (at, uh, fairs)? Probably my own damned fault for being so obsessed with the Australian Open and the survival of the Great Barrier Reef. But the Sutton Gallery showed some brilliant work in clay by Matt Hinkley and some Jet Stream visionary graphic and mixed media sculptural work by another artist I’d never heard of – George Egerton-Warburton. You could hear the wind whistling through the eucalyptus stands – and I drifted out to the night with that wind in my ears. Or was it the smoke machines in front of the entrance? We have a couple more days to figure it out.