My journey to the culture capital Paris for Art Basel Week 2024 began with a special breakfast in a repurposed boulangerie in the 9eme arrondissement.
On arrival, a brass band seemed serenading us at the top of the street. As the charming, glass-fronted door swung open, I was greeted by two very special art angels, Valeria Diaz Granada and Xanthis Koulariki, who formed the platform Rossogranada, which they describe as an “independent art catalyzer “. Founded in Zurich with the support of Pietro de Rothschild, with representations in Paris and Athens, this dynamic duo are disrupting the gallery model with the most exquisite grassroots and institutional blooms, funding artists to realise complex three-dimensional exhibition commissions across a host of institutions, whilst supporting emerging stars through a curated programme of shows. To this end, they have taken over the most charming historic bakery @laboulangerie.art as a creative incubator, introducing artists and curators to a new audience, such as Emma Witter, an excellent choice to highlight the restorative power of making new things with the discarded, whilst playfully reminding us that art nourishes our souls.
https://parisinternationale.com/#2024-participants
After a brief tour of their inaugural show, I followed this magnificent pair to the opening of Paris Internationale @aaaahhhparisinternationale, the independent fair. Now in its tenth year, directed by Silvia Ammon, this fair has teeth. Like everything else in Paris, this is not just an exhibition but a staged showcase of galleries with a wow factor scenography. Paris Internationale has collaborated with the daring Swiss architects Christ & Gantenbein since 2022, disrupting the traditional conception of fair spaces whilst rediscovering Paris’s architectural heritage. Replacing boxes with walls and using neon lights to delineate spaces whilst illuminating works, their sleek design also sparks a conversation between the fair, the urban environment and our relationship with historic buildings. @christgantenbein Stand-out presentations include Marina Grize’s wistful silver gelatin prints with Kayode Ojo’s analogue line sculptures at Sweetwater, Berlin @sweetwater_berlin ; Lisa Jo’s vital paintings stretched metal frames at Galerie Molitor @galeriemolitor ; the delicate, vertically integrated work – hand grown, stitched and painted – on Jerusalem artichokes by Hatsune Suzuki @galleryvacancy ; and a digital artwork by Ignacio Gatica, after Etel Adnan, tethered to the stock exchange, its mountains moving to the fluctuating metal index at Von Ammon.
The semiotics of that fair got me thinking about Ruskin’s writing, ‘The Stones of Venice’, and why we are all so delighted to flock to Paris for art week – it’s not just the draw of contemporary art but that our visual pleasure is enhanced by its interplay with architectural gems, somehow giving both viewer and thing a new ‘raison d’etre’. Aesthetics are fundamental to this ‘city of lights’, and we work in the visual arts for a reason…
ICA & Musee de L’Orangerie
https://www.musee-orangerie.fr/en
As if anticipating this theme, I had been invited by the lovely Chloe Taltas with the ICA patrons for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to visit ‘Les Nymphéas’ – Claude Monet’s site-specific masterpiece – at the Musee de L’Orangerie, out of hours. Far from the madding crowd, we were treated to a double helix of time in perfect ovals with these works, an actual “Sistine Chapel of Impressionism” in the words of André Masson, guided by the gentle Guillaume Fabius. Offered to the French State as a symbol of peace by the painter on the day that followed the Armistice of November 11, 1918, the ‘Water Lilies’ were installed following an architectural plan in 1927, just months after his death. One of the largest monumental achievements of early twentieth-century painting, the two rooms were designed as a total environment, completing the Water Lilies cycle that began nearly thirty years before and showing them for eternity.
Fabius then gave us a rare glimpse into the curatorial process for ‘Heinz Berggruen, art dealer and his collection’ until 27th January. Structured around the choices, encounters, and affinities that shaped his collection, whilst heavy on Picasso, the show reaches its crescendo in the delicate, musical works of Paul Klee and an exceptionally well-placed Matisse cut out on a scarlet red wall. Fabius also drew our attention to the stunning plaster chandeliers Giacometti made, which I later noticed at the Musee Picasso – ideal compliments to his elongated, shadowy figures.
Le Marais
https://www.place-des-vosges.com
That evening, we would stop into some of the many openings in Le Marais, including Sarah Dwyer ‘Slugger’ at Brigitte Mulholland, a painter with rare three-dimensional abilities who often creates ghostlike plaster appendages to her work. I told the Irish curator, Eamonn Maxwell, that I would love to see Dwyer take over the Irish Pavilion in Venice and wake up all the lyrical ghosts. It’s time Ireland platformed its vast diaspora’s wild, imaginative talent and stopped looking inward. We finished our day at Le Place Des Vosges, where another off-site gathering of like-minded galleries, including the Kerlin, Kate McGarry and The Breeder, showed Glen Goldberg’s quiet, meditative paintings ‘An Other Place’. There, I discovered the lyrical, three-dimensional photographic work of Sara VanDerBeek, something I would have bought on the spot if I had more than a writer’s budget. As with much of the week, just seeing it was enough – for now.
https://www.artbasel.com/?lang=en
All this felt like an amuse-bouche compared to what we would have to digest at Art Basel Paris 2024, with 194 galleries showcasing their finest works in the iconic Grand Palais. This is the first edition of the fair to take place in such splendid environs after three years of renovations by Chatillon Architects, who preserved the original structure. Built by the French Republic for the 1900 Universal Exhibition, the Grand Palais is nestled in the heart of the city, just at the foot of the Champs Elysees, with the Petit Palais opposite and a clear view of the gilded dome of Les Invalides, on the left bank of La Seine. Built after competition, the jury decided to award three architects the prize: the main façade and the nave are the work of Henri Deglane (1855-1931); Albert Louvet (1860-1936) was allocated the middle section – the staircase and the Salon d’Honneur; and the rear section or Palais d’Antin (now home to the Palais de la Découverte) is the work of Albert Thomas (1847-1907).
Over a century, this venue was both an international showcase of the French cultural scene and host to the world’s greatest exhibitions and events. As I enter, I think of Ruskin and whether people who inhabit buildings in the future unconsciously perpetuate their original purpose or cumulatively change it. I look up at the blue sky through the vaulted ceiling and feel like a canary in a gigantic birdcage. I think about what we are all doing here, how different it is in nature to Frieze, and whether I can look patiently and kindly at the works displayed. I am suddenly starving, but I doubt we will have the opportunity to stop for lunch. I see a familiar art advisor walk past with a client, catch her eye and smile, but I do not dare interrupt. She will have studied a large portion of this show’s content weeks in advance and is now marching with purpose to claim her prize. How am I to pick? Will my experience of this fair be defined by the art or the people I stop to speak to? Am I supposed to identify a theme?
To begin, I am blasted by something brilliant: a large mixed media work by Alvaro Barrington at Thaddeus Ropac. Frayed strips of blood red, ebony, white and earthen fabric are set into thick plywood planks. Five fans – three on top and two below – are whirring at its edges whilst buyers and sellers congregate beneath. It is magnetic, bombastic and I am blown away. I think of how hard everybody in this place is working, trying to survive in an economy that is so fragile with wars raging. Despite this, I don’t think it is frivolous that we are here; I think it is important. I think about survival and all the things that were carefully protected during the previous world wars so that we can enjoy them now. I remember Barrington saying at his recent opening at the Duveen Gallery in Tate Britain, “I grew up in a culture where it was really about erasing hierarchies, where we’re all participating in cultural production.”
Although his background could not be further from this city of lights, born in Venezuela to Grenadian and Haitian migrant workers, Alvaro Barrington was raised between the Caribbean and Brooklyn, New York, by a network of relatives; his work resonates with a city founded on the ideals of a republic. His approach to painting is similarly inclusive – embracing non-traditional materials and techniques such as burlap, concrete, cardboard and sewing – and infused with references to his personal and cultural history. His work looks like something you could inhabit, and it is architectural.
Then, at PACE, I was stilled. This year’s booth was designed by the painter x, who took plum wine across all panels. For this, two large works by Kiki Smith, a bronze in turquoise patina and a series of gilded mirrors, stand out like jewels. With no details of works included, potential buyers must engage with the gallerists on the stand. It feels human in scale and conversational; unsurprisingly, the stand is full. Next, we stop at Andrew Krepps, seeing a rare work by the much-overlooked Eileen Agar (Target, 1982), sited beautifully next to a small bronze by Julien Creuzet, with a spray of wildflowers balanced on a fine, supportive arm, casting elegant shadows on the wall. Entitled ’so long ago, with bent backs, we struck the fresh earth with our feet, so long ago before our breath our ancestors invoked. Let us pray (the archaeology of our future desires)’ (2024). Again, I wish
Upstairs, I was drawn into the Galerie Pauline Pavec, by the work of Juliette Roche – ‘Loge de music-hall’ (Circa 1918). A small, surprisingly bright painting, popping with lemon yellow and candyfloss pink, depicts a surreal gallery of rectangular-faced musicians like dancing sherbet lollies. It was so wonderfully bonkers and ahead of its time, as were the portraits and self-portraits, unusually depicting a full spectrum of subjects. “Juliette Roche is indeed one of those artists – often women, in fact – whose rediscovery is helping to challenge the overly uni-vocal narratives of modernity”, said Christian Briend, Chief Curator of the Centre Pompidou. Married to Albert Gleizes, and therefore eclipsed like so many other women artists, Roche left Paris for New York because of the war and took part in Dada activities with Duchamp and Picabia. Upon her return, she co-founded the Moly-Sabata artists’ residence in Sablons, but it was not until the 1990s that her role in the history of modern art was reviewed. This was on my mind as I stopped at Ann Agee’s ’Everything Must Go Vases’, (2024), a riotous mixed media installation variously entitled ‘Cubist Dutch Tulip Vases’, ‘Purple and Yellow Striped Contrapposto Vases’, and so on. Precariously clever, it seems art history is a medium to play with – just as the line of books set into concrete at the Galleria Raffaella Cortese by Francesco Arena seemed to represent more about this moment than we could say.
I ran into some kindred spirits, equally exhausted. Late lunch? Yes! We stepped out into the glorious sunshine and ran to Marius et Jannette. A tradition.
Olga De Amaral Fondation Cartier
Admission: I am biased about the left bank, where my mother had an atelier. We could sit side by side with a glass of Morgan at Les Deux Magots, then wander the Rue de Seine and surrounding tributaries of galleries and independent boutiques to our heart’s content. Another excellent reason to go south of the river in Paris is the Fondation Cartier, now celebrating its 30th anniversary with a sensational, prescient retrospective of the 92-year-old artist Olga de Amaral.
Like her Eastern European counterpart, Magdalena Abaknowicz, Olga de Amaral was a central figure of the Colombian art scene and Fiber Art but is only being discovered by Western institutions (ah, yes, there is the theme). The exhibition brings together nearly eighty works made between the 1960s and now, an almost unbelievable treasure trove of El Anatsui proportions, many of which have never been shown outside of Colombia. Beyond the vibrant gold leaf pieces for which the artist is renowned, the exhibition traces her earliest explorations and experimentations with colour and textiles, all spot-lit like fine jewels, whilst casting the most exquisite interplay contrasts: light and dark, high and low, heavy and ephemeral.
Aside from the excellent pairing of this artist with a jewellery brand that sets the gold standard – ok, I adore Cartier – this exhibition boasts the most spectacular scenography. Like so many top-level presentations in Paris, our sense of discovery was heightened by the glimmer of light across the supernatural surfaces of Amaral’s textiles, suspended in the throbbing darkness and the interplay of shadows on the floor. I found in that space a rare, mysterious exhale – perhaps relief – in seeing another exhibition by an underrepresented female artist of the highest order – like my encounter with those lofty Abakaans at the Tate. If the world does not see you, build your world, and believe me – the people will come.
‘I live colour. I know it’s an unconscious language, and I understand it. Color is like a friend, it accompanies me.’
Olga de Amaral
https://www.museepicassoparis.fr/en/practical-information
On the first floor of this newly renovated museum, dedicated to Picasso, is a small exhibition “Jackson Pollock: The Early Years (1934-1947)” which revisits the early career of Pollock’s relatively short life (1912-1956). Curated by Joanne Snrech and Orane Stalpers, the exhibition focuses on several key moments in his artistic and intellectual development during his formative years, calling our attention to notable figures in his orbit (Charles Pollock, William Baziotes, Lee Krasner, André Masson, Pablo Picasso, Janet Sobel). It highlights the intensity and singularity of his work in its various dimensions (painting and working with materials, printmaking, sculpture) before the moment when he systematised radical new drippings in 1947. The show’s catalogue states, “Jackson Pollock and his gestural painting are emblematic of the triumph of American art following the Second World War.”
Immaculately hung, dispels the lone wolf myth and acknowledges how Pollock’s work was marked by the influence of regionalism and Mexican muralists. We see documentation of his interest in the art of frescos, from the Italian Renaissance to the Mexican mural painters. We learn that Pollock travelled across the United States, accompanied by his friends and family, to see the most recent creations of José Clemente Orozco. Then, in 1935, he began working in the Federal Art Project mural department – a program the American Federal government developed to support artists. I stop at this. Even governments on their knees understand cultural capital. Then, in November 1943, Peggy Guggenheim hosted Jackson Pollock’s first solo show at the new Art of this Century gallery. The New York Gallery Museum, which opened in October 1942, stood out for its groundbreaking scenography designed by the architect Frederick Kiesler. Once again, in Paris, I am reminded that presentation is everything. Always dress appropriately in case you are invited out to dinner.
Much later that night, we end up at a house party, which is, in fact, a show, with two young artists in the apartment speaking about their work. Ever professionally, we listen and engage, and I hope to see the first painter, Peihang Benoit, again. But we are tired, and we have seen too much. I’m reaching a point of saturation, a point of nothing if not critical, a point of contention. I asked the second artist, who had printed the outline of a mountain on some beautiful rice paper, to tell me a little about his process. What camera does he use? Is it digital? Can he explain how the chosen materials relate to the concepts he is discussing? Does he paint with pixels? He stares blankly at me and starts talking about the mountain again, and I ask him again to explain his process.
A lady beside me interrupts and says, “I don’t like the direction of this conversation; I mean, who asks an artist about their process? It’s very offensive.” I hadn’t taken much notice of her before because she was dressed like a prostitute, so frankly, I wrote her off. She was wearing an ill-fitting skintight red dress, boobs sticking out, and she had the kind of exhausted nonchalance of someone who has been drinking all day. She raised one eyebrow at me, and I wanted to ask her whether she understood that we were in the city where the photograph – le daguerreotype – was born and that the advent of photography completely changed the history of art, the course of modern art, and led us to where we are today. I wanted her to ask whether she had seen Sugimoto’s show at the Hayward Gallery or had ever heard of Gary Fabian Miler, but I knew there was no point. She wanted to be offended.
That is the biggest problem we face in the art world today: if we cannot ask questions, where on earth do we go from here? Out to dinner, but not at Hotel Costes, as new management have its staff dressed like hookers, who write other women off, because, apparently, we are asking the wrong questions.
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Art Basel Paris, Art Basel Paris 2024