Fresh Paint

Eitan Buganim - Los Caprichos, 2009. Digital collage on ink jet print, 21.6” x 19.6”

By Michele Robecchi

In times when art fairs are busy reinventing themselves as ‘international forums’ and ‘cultural, multi-global events’, Fresh Paint, the Tel Aviv contemporary art fair, represents a turn against the tide. Now at its third edition, it deliberately takes place every year in a different location (this year the choice fell on a beautiful two-storey warehouse in the Jaffa port); the air it flares is anything but pretentious, and after some growing pains, it increasingly gained credibility, with now about 95% of the local galleries, including top dogs such as Dvir, Sommer and Chelouche, just to name a few, strongly behind it. This is no minor point, as Fresh Paint is strictly an Israeli affair. It doesn’t cultivate any international aspiration if not in one-way fashion (i.e., to invite the rest of the world to discover the local art). All the exhibitors are from the country, as well as the vast majority of the artists they feature, and the collateral events follow a similar pattern.

Such an incestuous operation, coupled with arguably not the most appealing name for a contemporary art event, according to many was destined to fail from the start, but figures are now beginning to tell heavily in the fair’s favor. The second edition, held in March 2009, had 36,000 visitors over four days, twice as many as the first edition; this year there were 28 galleries exhibiting, as opposed to the 16 in 2008 and the 17 in 2009. While most of the participants agree that the fair is in many ways self-referential, they’re all supportive of the concept, which is to provide a generous exhibiting platform for the Israeli contemporary art scene without the restrictive scope and political games that doom a biennial.

Such exercise in art patriotism has profound implications. Like many cities that are not New York, Berlin, London or Paris, Tel Aviv has to deal with the sobering fact that the vast majority of well-known local artists no longer live there. With the tendency of organizing national-themed exhibitions still rampant, 20 or so usual expatriated suspects are regularly cast to meet whatever curatorial vision generates the occasional ‘Art in Israel Now’ group show. Needless to say, on these occasions, a social take is infinitely preferable to a personal one, and as a result those who decided to stay the course or express a less opinionated voice on the politics of the day are condemned to lag behind their peers. Fresh Paint’s mission, although not stated in so many words, is partially to rectify this. Old forgotten stars are celebrated, youngsters are endorsed, and mid-career artists are treated with respect. For the local player, Fresh Paint is an opportunity to catch up with a small but indeed rich and diversified scene in one shot, but for the visitor from abroad it’s like landing on a new planet. Seldom these days does an art fair not present a familiar face or a few pieces we have seen somewhere else. True to its title in this sense, the Tel Aviv fair is an organizational breath of fresh air. One of the reasons, apart from the opportunity to observe a group of interesting artists and galleries who rarely venture in Europe or the U.S., is the Independent Artists Greenhouse, a section of the fair where 70 or so emerging artists are selected by a panel to exhibit their work on their own. Although there is some structure in this, the resulting exhibition is big, intense, unpredictable, amateurish, and happily chaotic.

Merav Meroody - Dolphinarium panorama, 2010. HDR, digital print, 35.4” x 20.4”

At first glance, the will of covering both the official and the unofficial at the same time looks like a gimmick designed to make everyone happy, but matching the established with this anarchic and ambitious lot who are allowed to sell their work commission-free and at their own price is exquisitely hazardous to say the least. After all, it’s difficult to imagine the likes of Art Basel or Frieze to agree with a similar idea.

Unless you are a regular visitor, there’s no way to tell if the unrepresented can effectively catch the attention of the gallerists in the same building, but the army of visitors, dealers, museum directors, and collectors that hit the fair are all duly introduced to this underworld, with the latter ones tickled at the idea of making a bargain, betting on the future, or conscientiously supporting those who yet have to make it.

The power of the Greenhouse is that it inevitably affects what happens in the upper floor. In such circumstances, for a gallery to present only its big shots would be a serious mistake. They too have to make an effort and balance their stock carefully in order to maintain a sense of experimentation while remembering everybody, who they are, and why.

The difference between the two sections in terms of presentation and quality is still evident, but both are pervaded by a frenzy of energy that gives the whole event an edge rarely seen in other shows of this kind. Geography and size clearly help (an art fair entirely dedicated to, say, German or American art, would be utterly nonsensical) but with the sole exception of Liste when at its best, it’s difficult to imagine an art exhibition where independency and marketability all happily live together under the same roof.

To reinforce this sense of visual democracy, even the collateral events are somehow uneven, going from the institutional to the provocative. This year the highlights were a solo show of Dror Daum, winner of the 2009 Most Promising Artist Award; ‘Hyper-Vandalism’, which is street art deprived of its rebellious streak; and ‘Third Generation-3G: Contemporary Video Works’, a splendid video survey curated by Edna Moshenson.

Finally, in an attempt to co-opt what’s working for others, a Secret Postcard project not dissimilar to the one that takes place every year at the Royal College of Art in London was also in the program. Attractively priced at an average $50 each, the postcards in question are displayed as if in a museum bookshop and sold anonymously. Only once they change hands, buyers can find out if they’re walking away with a Ron Arad or a hopeful star-to-be. Which, in a way, sums up well the spirit of ‘Fresh Paint’. Art has to be accessible, even at the risk of being removed from its pedestal.

A small diversion, a week after Fresh Paint, Tate Modern in London celebrated its 10^th anniversary with ‘No Soul for Sale’, a festival of independents that brought together 70 non-profit spaces, collectives, and private-funded institutions from all over the world. Conceived as something in between a fair and an exhibition (here we go again), it was nicely installed following the method used by Lars von Trier on the set of Dogville (2003), with the assigned exhibiting spaces marked only by a red-taped square on the floor. For three days the Turbine Hall became the art equivalent of an Arab market-noisy, busy, funky, and full of stalls of attractive variety. Many commented that never had the Tate looked so alive. The intention was undoubtedly intelligent and in many ways successful, and yet if the viewer would go past the general effect and focus on the single pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, a sinister feeling would start creeping in. Along with novelty and immediacy, independence is a tricky value. If the intention of ‘No Soul for Sale’ was to focus the spotlight on the ‘pure’ side of contemporary art, the one made of ideas, autonomy, and diversity, than it failed. This is not clearly imputable to the curators. The Charley gang, when it comes to put together these editorial/exhibiting projects, adopts a relatively passive stance. This is it, it’s what is around, and now it’s for you to decide. It would be like blaming the pollers for the electoral results. But some of the exhibitors at ‘No Soul for Sale’ gave independency a bad name. Their idea of alternative is not to explore new formats or create an outlet for things that otherwise would be overlooked. They’re there for shameless self-promotion, or to build a ramp that would lead them to better jobs. And the fact that the event was taking place at the Tate looked like the ultimate rite of passage toward a dimension of lost innocence. In comparison, the mood at Fresh Paint was honest although equally energetic. Independency alone is not enough. People who occupy disused spaces to offer an alternative to the system should make sure to have something to say other than they’re great.

To draw a comparison between two such remote events as an art fair in Tel Aviv and a convention in London is admittedly a bit of a stretch, but it serves as a reminder that in contemporary art, quality is at home either in the commercial or independent world if there’s integrity. Fresh Paint is far from being perfect, but it has all the cards to succeed if it manages the delicate process of opening up to a broader audience and not getting corrupted.

Michele Robecchi is an Italian writer and curator based in London. Former managing editor of Flash Art (2001-2004) and senior editor at Contemporary Magazine (2005-2007), he is currently a visiting lecturer at Christie’s Education and an editor at Phaidon Press, where he has edited monographs on Marina Abramovic, Francis Alÿs, Jorge Pardo, Stephen Shore and Ai Weiwei.