Do not p-p-p-pick up a penguin
At Frieze London, Palace Enterprise gallery is drawing crowds with its mass of lovable inflatable penguins. The birds (2017), a sculptural work by the Danish artist Benedikte Bjerre, comprises a large group of walking helium foil balloons in the shape of the aquatic birds. There is a serious point to the playful piece, which is priced between €40,000 and €60,000. “The work offers reflection on how we all take part in a larger global system of distribution,” according to a gallery spokesperson. Put simply, the birdie mass draws attention to the climate crisis. But the inflatable installation is also prompting other cute penguin comparisons. “The penguins may also remind us of the queer couple in an Australian zoo,” said a gallery spokesperson, highlighting the love story of Sphen and Magic, two male gentoo penguins in Sydney who raised two chicks together. Bless.
Sister act: Jennifer Binnie (left) and Christine Binnie, two-thirds of the Neo Naturists, create a moment of calm amid the Frieze frenzy Wilma Johnson
Neo Naturists find their inner tree
To celebrate her Frieze debut along with her recent signing by Richard Saltoun Gallery, Jennifer Binnie was joined by her fellow Neo Naturist sister Christine Binnie on the gallery’s stand as the two echoed the yoga pose of the female figure in Jennifer’s dramatic new painting, Tree. “We’ve all been doing the tree together since 1982, so it’s nice to come full circle and take a bit of live yoga to Frieze,” says Wilma Johnson, the third founder of the Neo Naturist group. Unlike most of the trio’s performances, most notably their most recent one at Tate Britain’s Women in Revolt exhibition, this one was enacted fully clad.
Will Jarvis is on hand to offer support to chocoholic fairgoers
Survival sweetener is golden ticket
Chocoholics visiting Frieze London are in for a treat as staff from the art app Gertrude are handing out free Tony’s Chocolonely bars at the entrance—ideal for those with a sweet tooth heading to the fair. The confectionery stunt is a canny way of getting fairgoers to sign up to Gertrude, which is offering a special “Frieze week survival guide” in partnership with ArtReview. Will Jarvis, the company’s chief executive, was on hand dishing out the choccie bars, ironically quipping: “Two years ago [with The Sunday Painter gallery], I was giving Will Smith a private tour of Frieze—now, I’m doing this.” His efforts were paying off though, as scores of people signed up (with most opting for the dark chocolate). Thumbs up.
Best foot forward? Our correspondent embarks on a new career as a shoe model
Marina’s got feet of quartz
Visitors to the fair can literally step into the shoes of Marina Abramović at Sean Kelly’s stand, which is showing the performance artist’s Shoes for Departure (1991/2017). The imposing footwear is made from pure quartz crystal and carries a price tag of €150,000. “The boots isolate you from the magnetic forces of the earth. They mentally teleport you to somewhere else,” Kelly says. Abramović has previously instructed the public to “take off your shoes and, with naked feet, put on the two crystal shoes, close your eyes, don’t move, and make your departure.” The Art Newspaper’s correspondent (pictured) kept his socks on, unfortunately.
Breaking out in a sweat
Blurred boundaries between production and consumption are ramped to the max in Jenkin van Zyl’s Sweat Exchange installation on Edel Assanti’s stand. A seemingly innocent sauna is transformed into a gruesome sweat extraction factory with scary pink bodily fluids coursing around its walls and handy dispenser taps promising a direct hit. Inside, Van Zyl’s film transports viewers into a desiccated dystopia in which this hallucinogenic elixir hydrates a manic go-go dance performance, enacted by a monstrous artist-doppelgänger. Any perspiring fairgoers had better make sure they’ve cooled down before taking a seat in this chamber of horrors…
The Secret Gallerist: Anonymous reports from behind the scenes at the fair
The booth opposite (impossibly chic, European, and want nothing to do with me; I blame Brexit, naturally) popped their first bottle of Ruinart at approximately 3.47pm yesterday—not that I immediately checked the time, made a mental note, and realised that it is indeed champagne o’clock somewhere in the world. Full disclosure: my colleague and I followed suit at precisely 5pm; it is important to establish boundaries in this life.
With the excess of bubbles and needing to spend some alone time gently weeping in the privacy of a cubicle—violently hungover/the celeb spotting was lacklustre today/the sheer sight of Rishi Sunak walking past my booth this morning—I have been frequenting the bathrooms so often that I feel obliged to switch between the two sites at either end of the tent for fear that the galleries positioned next to the facilities assume I am powdering my nose.
It is vital that one gets in one’s steps when confined to the few square metres of a booth all day, so this enables me to stretch my legs and glide down the aisles pretending to send emails on the go, when I am in fact typing down gibberish into my notes app to avoid unwanted small talk.
