The 41st edition of FIAC is now over, the leading art fair brought 191 galleries from 26 countries into the vast space of Paris’ Grand Palais. FIAC welcomed 74.567 visitors over the five days of the fair. A record!
The FIAC-athlon: under a great blue sky, this year was confident, unfuzzy, and very worthwhile. As a proof the french collector François Pinault is said to have bought 37 artworks at FIAC and (OFF)ICIELLE held at the Docks – Citée de la Mode et du Design, in one morning only. From the Grand Palais to the Docks -at the other end of the city-, Paris was vibrating, with satellite fairs, countless openings, book launchings and fun nights in arty clubs.
What they wrote about the FIAC:
– 10 of the best artworks at FIAC 2014: lists a few of the most absorbing works on view at the fair.
– Interview: Michael and Susan Hort, influential patrons of young talents, tell us what they bought at FIAC, and why.
–Sales Report: Amongst the most expensive artworks, we can find Christopher Wool’s Untitled, sold between 2.300.000 and 2.800.000 euros, Untitled (S78-1) by Gerhard Richter, acquired for 2.200.000 euros. Three artworks by Anish Kapoor were sold for more than 2 million euros.
And last but not least:
– Julien Prévieux wins the 2014 Prix Marcel Duchamp: the french artist was nominated with his video installation “What Shall We Do Next?“, and has been awarded €35,000 and a solo show at the Centre Pompidou in September 2015.
– Camille Blatrix wins the prix de la fondation d’entreprise Ricard. The winner’s work is purchased by the foundation, and then donated to the Centre Pompidou in Paris: won for his white metal sculpture that appeared in the exhibition “L’époque, les heures, les valeurs, l’attention.”
FIAC was a success, and the OFF was so rich (OFFicielle, reopening of Picasso Museum, opening of the Vuitton Fondation, reopening of La Monnaie de Paris) that many didn’t even spend some proper time in the Grand Palais… Paris was definitely, last week, the international artistic capital.
We hope to see you at FIAC next year!
Let’s be honest: there is no way we can show you everything that caught our eyes unless we publish a full catalogue. PAD London, now in its eighth year, is a little gem carefully showcased in the heart of Mayfair. 61 galleries from 10 countries show an eclectic selection of works: design, art, jewels, photography, antiques and tribal art objects sit well together at this fair.
Patrick Perrin, founder of the Pavilion of Art and Design, says “PAD is mine, it’s what I like”. He adds: “”PAD is mine, it’s what I like,” he says. And as if to balance the statement, wisely adds: “It’s very nice, very friendly, and there’s not too much pressure. We can be like this because we don’t have to fill a huge space – we’ll never leave Berkeley Square – so it’s not about selling booths to anyone we can get. I check absolutely everything. I think very carefully how the galleries are positioned next to each other to make them look their best. The people who come are all people I like… PAD is a way of life: a glamorous life, yes, but PAD is a feeling. To me it’s épidermique…” (Source)
Valentin Loellmann at Galerie Gosserez.
Dominic Harris at Priveekollektie Contemporary Art | Design
A collection inspired by Brancusi – Galerie Negropontes
Tobias Mohl – Adrian Sassoon
Bouke de Vries – Adrian Sassoon
Ranya Sarakbis’ pendulum – smo gallery
Julie Pfligersdorffer – galerie Gosserez
Paul Cocksedge’s desk in front of Christopher Le Brun’s painting
Until 19 october – Berkeley Square W1 – London
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© Sidney Regis
Let it shine! This month is about shedding LIGHT on art, collecting, events,… We are also proud to unveil “The Dark side of Light”, the latest works by Sidney Regis. Last but not least, discover our Art & Light concept! Enjoy!
– ART & LIGHT
– The dark side of LIGHT by Sidney Regis
– ART events
– What’s trending
– ART Basel: your survival guide
– Collecting ART: how to recognise new talents?
Market & Fairs
Great article by Merel Bem. (Click here to see the original). She describes very well the works from Dutch artist Mark Nettenbreijers.. If you don’t speak Dutch.. Images will speak for themselves. Mark came to photography later in his life. He has already been nominated for prestigious awards and participated to great fairs… Let’s keep an eye on him!
Dit zag ik nog: het werk van Mark Nettenbreijers, en Mark Nettenbreijers zelf, in The Ravestijn Gallery in Amsterdam. Zijn tentoonstelling Rise & Fall bestaat uit een aantal grote zwart-wit foto’s van tijdelijke magie in het bos. Iedereen kent ze: onbeduidende plekken die door toedoen van het veranderlijke licht ineens veranderen in sprookjesachtige taferelen. Zonnestralen steken als lansen door het bladerdek en verlichten stronken, struiken en stammen, alles wat zo-even nog donker en vormeloos leek staat plotseling volop in de schijnwerpers.
© Mark Nettenbreijers: Rise & Fall VIII, 2013
© Mark Nettenbreijers: Rise & Fall XV, 2013
Naar die momenten is de fotograaf op zoek, wanneer hij in zijn eentje door het groen dwaalt, alleen tijdens de lente en de herfst, de overgangsseizoenen waarin het bos niet helemaal vol is, en ook niet helemaal kaal. Zal hij ze … ‘spiritueel’ noemen? Hij wil het eigenlijk niet, blijft dralen bij dat woord, maar uiteindelijk: ja, spirituele momenten zijn het, daar op de Veluwe en in een enkel Frans bos. Hij zegt het zonder op te stijgen.
Wat overblijft zijn de foto’s. De momenten zelf zijn snel weer verdwenen. Nettenbreijers vangt ze razendsnel op kleurenfilm en bewerkt de beelden met behulp van computer tot ze contrastrijk zwart-wit zijn, tot het kanten gepriegel van varenbladeren mooi afsteekt tegen de donkere achtergrond en een mollig ondermaats loofboompje met witte bladeren staat te pronken tussen rechte reuzen van naaldbomen. Hij blaast de foto’s op tot ze weliswaar niet levensgroot zijn, maar toch zo groot dat de kijker zich erin kan verliezen, voor even in die wonderlijke, knoestige wereld vol grillige en ragfijne details.
Mark Nettenbreijers: Rise & Fall.
Nog deze week te zien in The Ravestijn Gallery, Amsterdam.
© Mark Nettenbreijers: Rise & Fall XVI, 2013
© Mark Nettenbreijers: Rise & Fall IX, 2013
© Mark Nettenbreijers: Rise & Fall XVII, 2013
If you missed this exhibition, read the great article, written by ArnauddeG (link here). We do enjoy his chronicles a lot.
The first piece is Pistoletto’ La Gabbia (the cage). As usual Pistoletto is witty, so witty that about 95% of the visitors do not realise it is a piece of art. “Please, don’t touch. It is art, says the guard. Oh really, is it art? says an astonished tourist”. I have stayed 10 minutes in front of it, and only one person has stopped. Poverino Michelangelo!
The imprisonment in the second piece, a video by Diana Thater, is more provided by the set up of the screens, pentagonally circling around visitors, than by the films themselves. At this point, I am already fed up with all the philistines standing between the screens and the projectors – after a day of Perrotin’s contemporary art vulgarisation, I feel that la coupe est pleine when it comes to dealing with people and contemporary art. Almost alone in this space now, I quickly immerse myself in Thater’s world of superpositions. Gesperrt, ich fuehle, despite the swan swimming on the deep blue sea. The piece is titled Chernobyl. What the hell are the swan and the sea doing here? No comment
One cannot really comment on Bill Viola’s Hall of Whispers, slow, high quality resolution images, sinking you in the videos, as usual. It has to be experienced, a bit like the top floor of Collection Lambert in Avignon, designed by Claude Leveque. The title is funny though. Hall of whispers, for a video installation that shows five people on each side of the room, with gags, trying to speak. But why the hell do they also close their eyes?
Back in the light, and a more usual setting. Raphaelle Ricol’s Malgre la difference is brilliant (pictured). Watch the photo. So self-explanatory. Note to self: explore the rest of Ricol’s works. The opportunity is given to me subito: Sans titre (gaz et telephone) is a lot less witty than the first piece, which, btw, has been massacred by the editor of the leaflet, who only shows half of the painting, and therefore takes away completely the message
The four paitings by Iranian artist Ahmed Alsoudani look like a Bacon study that has met a grumpy Gilles Barbier. Not my cup of tea
Boris Mikhailov on the leaflet looks like a gay icon: again, the editor has chosen to show two sailors with their pompoms, enhanced by subsequent colouration of the photo. Not the best choice of topic, Mr Editor, Mikhailov is the contemporary Arbus, not Mapplethorpe! But Mikhailov technique is quite clear. Just that it has been a long time since we heard about USSR. And I am clearly not a millenial…
Bertille Bak’s video looks like a photo by Stephane Couturier. I don’t understand the piece by Mona Hatoum that follows. With such pieces, one needs an explanation on the piece itself, not on the artist. My favourite by her remains the string of swings presented a couple of years ago at the MacVal. Then Pinault’s blue eyed girl, Ethiopian artist Julie Mehretu. I have never been so fond of her work, and I don’t really understand the rapport between the pieces presented here and imprisonment. Is it more subtle, such as Mehretu being the next artist presented in Versailles? Ooops, sorry, I promised myself I will not go there
Most of the videos with sound here are presented with headset – I would have preferred the sounds to intermix, like in the basement of the Palais de Tokyo. That would have been an acoustic imprisonment
Temps mort by Mohamed Bourouissa. I can stay there for hours. At first, I wonder why the quality is so poor. Then I realise it is filmed with a mobile phone, and meant simply to describe the usual Parisian life, and directed at someone who is locked away. In prison. And lives a temps mort. This is the most powerful piece so far. Everyone passes by. No one gets it. I feel like shouting; instead I transform myself in mediateur – and summons people to sit down, watch and listen. Not much success, I am afraid
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s Old Persons Home is amazing, especially given two of these people move – they are all on wheelchair. But more striking is the mix of people who seem to co-habit in this pensioners’ home: all religions, all nationalities, all dignities. A contemporary Noe’s Arch? A Russian girl in the corner is patting the resin head of one of Yuan and Yu’s characters. Oh, creepy!
The collection of works by Llyn Foulkes reminds me of John Stezaker, who I believe is regaining momentum on the art scene. Tellez video installation looks like Pinault-owned Vezzoli’s video with Sharon Stone and BHL playing the Clintons, that has been widely exhibited. Inside though, it is more Gillian Wearing-like
Yet another Hirst’s pharmacy
Then I feel like a voyeur in an interior designed by Kristian Burford, half-way between a failed Maria Pergay designed house, and something undescribable. I am less charmed by the pieces by Justin Matherly and Chen Zen. And Tetsumi Kudo. And Alina Szapocznikow – sort of 3-D bacon, with a negative twist. And Maria Marchal, the message of whom I don’t really get
Fortunately, before the end, Frederic Kunath shows a welcome piece, the Past is a Foreign Country. Mix between recklessness of tropical shirt, head imprisoned in a snowball and focus, almost locked-in face of the Duane Hanson-like character, is he really trying to forget the past?
Last piece, commissioned for this exhibition, White Elements, executés à Wavre, by Belgian duo Jos de Gruyter and Harald Thys. Beyond the wit of the title, I don’t understand the overall piece. Perhaps here again, a dedicated explanation would have been a good idea
At the end, I buy the catalogue. Funny, one of the authors is Marie Darrieussecq… Again, no comment
All in all, was really worth seeing, mainly for the video by Bourouissa, the pensioners’ home by Yuan and Yu and the discovery of Raphaelle Ricol. One big regret is about the curation, as often: not enough explanations on the pieces themselves. And as everyone knows, contemporary art has at least three levels of comprehension: first, the aesthetic one – less obvious in most videos or the most innovative pieces; second, the do-I-understand-what-the-artist-means one; and third, the do-I-agree-with-the-artist’s-point-of-view one? I am afraid, I only went one and a half level down on average here. But I don’t feel I have been taken for a ride
A triple tour
Oeuvres de la Collection Pinault
La Conciergerie, Paris
Source: click here
This article was written by Jonathan Haber and has been posted on our blog with his consent. Enjoy reading it!
Photography has finally outgrown smart phones. With Thomas Ruff, even Mars looks small by comparison.
Make that ma.r.s., short for NASA’s Mars Reconnaissance Survey—and the source of high-res images for some equally high-tech photo-manipulation. The planet’s surface looks dizzying enough on its own, thank you, but Ruff overprints it in two colors. Put on the cheap 3D glasses, the kind with red and green lenses, and you can imagine walking right into its craters. Unlike the prints and the gallery, they barely contain you. A second series runs taller still. At just under eight feet, the swirling abstractions have lost any hint of their origins as photograms, beyond their ghostly contrast between black and white.
They also typify a serious strain in photography. Make that all too serious, with large prints and global aspirations, much like the commercial pressure toward oversized installations. I recommend checking out Darren Almond on a busy day. He may not literally take your breath away, but he may well leave you wondering about the status of life on earth. Yet the impulse to manipulate space and time can still keep one guessing, maybe especially when a photographer has the sense to return to native ground. Meanwhile Letha Wilson creates her own ruined landscapes as a geologic map of America, on a more intimate scale, after photographing grander ones.
With Thomas Ruff, you may feel manipulated, because you are. From only a few feet away, his Mars looks all but flat. Yet to experience a crater’s actual size, one would have to step back. And photograms, by definition, are the direct imprint of objects, on a photosensitive surface exposed to light. Whatever happens on this scale to the thing itself, from Man Ray to E. E. Smith—or its ghostly forgetting? Is it worth the artist’s grand gesture, all to bring photography closer to László Moholy-Nagy, the origins of abstraction, and fine art?
Not that photography was waiting till now to think big. Ruff turned monumental twenty-five years ago, with faces too cropped to count as portraits rather than presences. Thomas Struth captures museum interiors at nearly life size, to put the institution and viewer alike on the spot, while Thomas Demand projects his paper models on much the same scale. (What is it with these Germans named Thomas?) Even Richard Misrach has felt the temptation to print his American landscapes larger than before, including his new beach pictures, like an overworked artist’s summer vacation. Grandeur has become the norm in other ways as well, as with displays in series for Bernd and Hilla Becher.
It can mean a grander time scale as well, as with the camera obscura for Vera Lutter—or with long exposures and seven continents for Darren Almond. Thierry Cohen, for another, photographs familiar skylines under glittering skies, but the skylines are dark, doctored to dim their artificial lights. He shot the stars from a different location, halfway around the world, then merged them with the city, as if nature had taken its revenge. (Cohen shares a gallery with Lloyd Ziff’s photographs of Robert Mapplethorpe and Patti Smith from 1968 and 1969, and that means in retrospect competing with the best of them, but they will never, ever look so innocent again.) Does it matter that Cohen’s stars would in fact have shown above the city at just the right time? Maybe not, any more than it matters just what Ruff used for his photograms, for photography is thinking big.
But why? One answer is simply the technology that makes this resolution possible, and I do not mean the iPhone. (See, the devil made me do it—or at least made me buy larger inkjet printers.) Painting since Abstract Expressionism and Gerhard Richter has supplied models as well, as have Minimalism’s theater and Postmodernism’s assault on the natural. Ruff, Demand, Cohen, and Jeff Wall are all staging rather than documenting the world before them. Without the glasses, Ruff’s colored streaks look downright painterly.
Photography always had aspirations. “Faking It” at the Met went back before Photoshop, including the leap into the void from Yves Klein that erased his safety net. “Photography and the American Civil War” shows the medium reaching for an impact from the very start, with stereo views of the dead. That does not even count conventions borrowed from painting, such as posing soldiers with their weapons. Later, Alfred Stieglitz was at the center of American Modernism, and he was never just taking pictures. With another recent trend, keeping Polaroids alive, photographers may seem nostalgic for simpler times—but the slow pace of “instant photography” rebels against snapshots in its own way.
Do monumental prints, then, merely update past excesses for big markets? Maybe, but money changes everything. If you think of Ruff as lobby art, you will not be surprised to find his Mars in the lobby for Gagosian up on Madison Avenue. It you think of him instead as shooting holes in convention, transforming Modernism into manipulation, you can relish the beauty and the transformation. Then again, if you worry that collectors now take pride in seeing through conventions, too, who am I to argue? Sometimes the most vivid pictures are shallower than they appear.
Darren Almond is in a position to know about life on earth. The British photographer manages to cover all seven continents, from polar ice under an icy-white sky to tropical waters bathed in light. One can cross the planet just by turning one’s head. Judging by the distances and the dates, he must have moved fast, but he sure took his time along the way. He often worked by moonlight, the exposures taking up to an hour. Another photo shows the traces of planets or stars, in broken but still perfect circles in the sky.
They are breathtaking enough—and not only because of scale, although the show has room for only sixteen. (Hey, there are plenty bigger out there these days, when art in search of sales is so often out to impress.) They are also very much composed. One sees the drama of a waterfall from behind a black outcropping and a long horizontal of jagged cliffs from the air. A bright river rises up past bare branches and its own shallow eddies, before disappearing behind trees beneath distant mountains. Woods make their dark cross like a scar on a verdant plain.
In each case, the foreground invites one in while keeping one out. The cliffs could be a flyover with nowhere to land, the bright river the start of a journey in some epic trilogy yet to be filmed. Almond’s forbidding point of view no doubt helps determine the size of the prints: anything smaller would make contemplating danger easy—and anything larger would immerse one in the landscapes, as in Chernobyl for Diana Thater. Almond’s own video installation two years back purported to describe a monk’s “walking meditation,” but there is no easy walking or meditating here.
One cannot even find one’s way around. The pictures are not arranged geographically, like a National Geographic special or guided tour, and their titles, although specific when it comes to place and time, do not bother to name the continent or nation. The tropics and star trails are in Hawaii, the waterfall in Iceland, the river in Colorado, and the grass in New Zealand, but I know only because I have access to the Web. No human beings are visible to call any of them their home. The dislocation extends to time as well as space, but then time is space when one can simply turn one’s head. The long exposures give the appearance of broad daylight under a full moon.
The exposures also make photography a science experiment, much as it was in its origins—not excluding an experiment on the gallery-goer. An exotic device, on display along with the prints, is said to measure electromagnetic radiation. Its foil sheets and glass jar could come right out of an antique laboratory. The whole show resembles a research report by extraterrestrials on their first visit to planet earth. Conversely, if the places look utterly uninhabited (or downright uninhabitable), one could oneself be approaching a distant planet. I told you right off that breathing might be difficult.
If it sounds more than a little pretentious, it is. It is also representative of the latest twists and turns in the notion of the sublime. These visions are not mutually exclusive, just as Abstract Expressionism helped to create fresh interest in the Hudson River School, but they are distinct all the same. A spiritual and esthetic ideal in its origins, the sublime took on a sense of nation building in nineteenth-century America, of self-making in the time of Jackson Pollock, of ego-tripping for Matthew Barney, and now a kind of ego-undoing in the hands of an upmarket gallery and an inward-looking photographer. Where painters like Asher Durandor F. E. Church set their scale in contrast to mere humans, Almond excludes people—and where they poised on the edge of a continent, he crosses all the continents on the way to another world. Get out your spacesuit for a trip to earth.
Letha Wilson reaches some impressive heights, too, and why not? She did, after all, shape them herself, from plywood, museum board, and cement. Well, maybe not entirely, for each work entails actual photography, from a mythic American landscape. Wilson looks up close at rock faces and vegetation, from New England to the country of sagebrush and salt flats. She pulls back, too, for horizontal clouds above a slowly rising horizon. And then she adds her own.
The photograph comes first, at a gallery known for the medium, and nothing succumbs to the trend for the oversized and overstated. At its simplest, a storm cloud folds up like a fan, as it to promise relief from drier weather. More often, paper provided a mold, with photography later laid over or peeking through. Two mountains appear through neat circular holes in an apparent rock face, which owes its variations to four colors of poured concrete. Nothing at all appears where a smooth diagonal of wood once crossed another mold, but C prints layer the irregular surface without creasing. The fictive landscape might have evolved in geologic time.
Titles like Photogram New York (Colorado) or Salt Flats Cement Dip instantly announce a hybrid. Copper Pink Sand Dunes does so more subtly, since the copper pink refers to a sharp dab of paint. Yet the titles also imply displacement—a work not entirely at home outdoors or in. It says something that one has cliffs up close and peaks at a distance, but nothing in between. Displacement may simply go with the territory for the Badlands of outlaws. Here, though, an artist had to create it.
For an American, not to mention anAmerican artist, there is always something defining about the great outdoors. There is also something hard to live up to. This is, after all, the Maine of Winslow Homer and the west of the Hudson River School—where even a cement dip shares takes on the translucency of light and sky. Photograms, here too pierced by flaps and photos, recall Surrealism. The media also draw on both collage and Minimalism, like a slim column with the Grand Tetons sticking out from either side. The photos take on the physical heft of what they represent.
At least one can imagine that they do, while stepping up to inspect the damage. Wilson echoes a common theme in politics and photography, much as when Misrach encountered lunch tables on salt flats: disturbance of the land colors American, environmental, or human history—and a contested history at that. Wilson’s hybrids also suggest how, for many, the very idea of nature is always a human construction. A few years back in Socrates Sculpture Park, she built on minimalist geometry to stage the ideal of a community garden. Now the image itself stakes out a physical terrain, as another successor to the machine in the garden.
The environment sure looks more natural than in the gallery’s previous show. It also looks far more human. Lynne Cohen photographed offices and community centers, from 1971 to 1988, finding but with no hint of employment or community. She found walls lined with birds, clouds, and moose heads, but they chased out the people long ago. More often than not, even during a war game (Play at Your Own . . .), one can hardly put one’s finger on just what is out of place. Maybe that is because, for once, it is the world one knows all too well.
Click here to see the original article.
Matthieu Humery, director of the photography department at Christie’s, answered some questions for L’express (click here to read the article).
The Photography market is still very young -less than 40 years old-. However some artists have made it to the Top 100 artists -like Andreas Gursky- and the fact auction sales fairs are dedicated to this medium shows the increased interest from collectors.