FRIEZE

I went to Frieze for the first time this year. I went because I felt I should. Every year at art college the tutors say oh you should really go to Frieze or Zoo and I, self-confessed exhibition junkie have not. Firstly there is the cost and then, to be fair I go to all the commercial galleries anyway and see the work how it is meant to be seen rather than stuffed in a tent. But there you go, I felt I should and compelled myself there, half on a whim when my Friday afternoon became unexpectedly available. I was unprepared. It was packed. I never knew that many people were interested in contemporary art (obviously they are if money is involved). There are also, disturbingly, men in suits. I don't think I have ever been witness to a man in a suit in close proximity to contemporary art, surely the laws of physics mean that one should spontaneously combust or something? As an art student one is aware of being at the bottom of the pecking order. In normal circumstances gallery workers are usually quite happy to talk to students. They may have been the only people through the door that day. At Frieze however, everyone shoves past you, giving you disdainful looks for being in the way. Another problem is the number of cameras about, both professional and amateur. I am firmly against cameras in art exhibits. It means no one actually looks at the art, let alone thinks about it. They are just interested in taking a nice photo of it. Frieze is not about the work on show, it is about the cameras. I was caught on film in the Lisson Gallery space. It was distracting, I had to focus on looking suitably nonchalant and intellectual whilst perusing an Angela De La Cruz. I have no idea what I thought about the work at all. You can even commission Ryan Gander to take a portrait of you looking at an artwork in such a way as part of his Frieze Project, We Are Constant.

Frieze is that place where the aura of an artwork is finally removed and it becomes product. One gallery displayed an Andreas Shutze vase in green and brown. I noticed lurking casually behind a door an identical vase in a different colour combination, seemingly in case a collector expressed an interest for the piece but felt in didn't co-ordinate with his sitting room colour scheme, it could be whipped out by an attendant. Everything when packaged in to these small partitions becomes domestic sized. Like a sculpture but feel its too big? At Frieze you can buy the limited edition machete. The general consensus amongst galleries seemed that the best thing to do was to pack in as much work as possible, despite how bad it looked. I lost track of the number of times a decent bit of sculpture was lost amongst a load of bad painting. And then in the centre of everything are the gallery attendants managing to look both casual and awkward, evidently unnerved by being centre-stage. There is also the odd sense of deja-vu created by the fact that the same artists are represented by different galleries in different countries often showing similar or the same work. I lost count of the number of times I saw Mark Wallinger's self-portrait (elephant), one could even purchase a mock up as part of Stephanie Syjuco's Frieze Project Copystand: An Autonomous Manufacturing Zone. The most annoying trend was for galleries to write artist names on the wall next to their work in pencil and compete to see who could have the worst handwriting. It was surprising how few galleries tried to buck trends. The gallery that stood out the most for me was an unknown one based in Milan called Zero. Its exhibit, appropriately enough, comprised solely of a tiny painting in the midst of their white cube. It depicted a puff of smoke emerging from a pair of hands, evoking the illusionary skills of both the magician and the artist.

Frieze is also, of course about the people watching. Another project, Players by Kim Coleman and Jenny Hogarth, screened live CCTV footage of the fair , presenting the audience as the spectacle. I observed Grayson Perry in full Clare Regalia presenting a new work in Victoria Miro. He had bell s on his shoes so keeping track of him was relatively easy. I also saw Andrew Logan in White Cube. Actually I probably passed by many more famous arts persons but managed only to notice the flamboyantly dressed ones as I was becoming increasingly dazed and confused. I had gone to Frieze with a cold which was turning out evidently to be a mistake. I was feeling increasingly ill but was determined to get around everything as I had paid so much to get in. I also, unfortunately couldn't afford any refreshments. I kept on seeing women wearing fluorescent pink and it made me feel more dizzy (I know fuschia is in this season, but fluorescent pink?). So I trudged on, staggering through a trendy fashion shoot and unnerving an acquaintance I had bumped into by grabbing hold of their arm for support...