And so ends another Frieze, where art lovers from across the globe gather to admire each other’s horn-rimmed spectacles, regulation black attire and wacky hairdos. Like so many creative events held in the capital, Frieze isn’t so much about looking at interesting artwork as being seen to be looking at interesting artwork. The fair is held annually at a temporary hangar in Regent’s Park and is essentially a spectator sport where leggy blondes eye up wealthy collectors on the make. Don’t even attempt to crash the Deutsche Bank Wealth Management Lounge.
When will contemporary artists get it into their diamond-encrusted skulls that the public are immune to their shock values?
For all of Frieze’s upmarket pretensions, the sight of icily self-conscious fashionistas feigning interest in the bits of detritus that pass for art these days is quite amusing. Do they realise how ridiculous it all is? Actually, that’s not fair. I did spot some decent art at the Masters tent, and I’ve no doubt there are plenty of buyers looking to add to their portfolios – I mean collections – but on the whole it all feels a bit, well, affected, which isn’t always a bad thing, especially if you fancy a laugh.
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