There may have been a ‘great thing’ or two (literally) amongst the millions of pages on display at the Geffen; but good luck finding them.  I shouldn’t have to be telling this to Printed Matter (a fabulous art book store that’s a must whenever I’m in Chelsea)—but when it comes to art books (or magazines or zines, pamphlets, broadsides, comic books—or should I say, ‘comix’?), or even the posters, prints, photographs or other visual art itself, the same rules apply:  re-write, re-write, re-write, and edit, edit, and EDIT (goddamnit!—and then proofread). 

I was actually looking forward to this fair; and I have to wonder whether I gave it enough time.  I was only there for two and a half hours; and I probably needed a full afternoon to do justice to all of the booths and zine tables that almost entirely filled the Geffen’s exhibition space.  I should have invested in a catalogue—you almost needed one to negotiate your way through the goods (sic).  But a full afternoon of this would have been exhausting and, had I hit the right string of loser-zines, would have probably triggered a massive migraine.  Let’s bear in mind that there are only so many ways you can display books (including artbooks), catalogues or magazines and published artwork.  I love bookstores and libraries—they offer space to browse and focus even amid the distraction of thousands of titles, to pause and reflect, to breathe.  Here—even more so than at other fairs or conventions—the imperative was to keep moving.  In fairness, I did manage to pause and see (even purchase) a few things; even mustered a personal connection or two.  But I felt weighed down by the poverty of the offerings.  Do I really need to add another half-dozen slender volumes, pamphlets or zines to my growing warehouse of art world ephemera?  Yeah–there just might be two or three things that end up in some gallery or museum–no doubt enclosed and untouchable in some vitrine.  But odds are half this stuff is going to end up over the next few years in someone’s garage or spread over the lawn at a garage sale.

If you were looking for any kind of quality/editorial control, you found it in the predictable places:  Steidl, Mousse, Ridinghouse, MACK, REDCAT, Insane Dialectical Posse, etc.  But it was hard for a newer imprint to make a significant impression amid the aisles of blight.  And then there’s the other matter I discussed in my last post about the Art Los Angeles Contemporary fair:  it’s not enough to be new; it should have something new to say, an original point to make; and it should be fabulous. 

So again:  do we really need this fair?  Certainly we do not need this fair.  Nor, would I argue, do we need more than one or two incarnations of a few other prominent art fairs (I’m thinking about the Art Basel Hong Kong announcement I just got in this morning’s e-mail).  More specifically regarding book fairs:  we could use a fair that placed some emphasis on local literary (as well as visual) culture and afforded opportunities for exposure (and expanding audience, dialogue) for local presses and authors.  It is as important to identify the local ‘voice’ or voices as it is to ‘blend’ (and maybe lose) them amid the global polyglot.  There are quite a few local presses (and writers and graphic artists) who could use our support.  A fair should be more than just another occasion for the eco-catastrophic tourism of the .1 percent.

Quick disclaimer:  this is not to be read as an aspersion on local book/magazine retailer, Circus of Books, which is a treasure.  I only wish the L.A. Art Book Fair had come within a few light years of Circus’s retailing standards.  As a repository of printed porn—which I sometimes fear is an endangered species—it has my enduring respect and affection.