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By columnist Paul Paradis, Art Historian, Specialist Consultant in French Furniture and Decorative Arts
A Stroll to the FIAC
The Foire international d'art contemporain
(FIAC) seemed to be the art happening in Paris this past week. It is the Paris rival to
the younger London Frieze Art Fair and generates a lot of press every year. The historic Grand Palais housed the
main exhibition while the Cours Carrée at the Louvre hosted a smaller portion
of the event. Although
contemporary art (defined by most auction houses and ArtPrice.com as works
emerging since World War II) is not really my thing, I decided to attempt the
FIAC as a way to keep abreast of trends.
Let me qualify that. The
actual term “contemporary art” as defined here strikes me as much too broad and
does not take into account the diversity of styles and periods. The following experience strengthened
this impression.
Saturday was a rainy morning and I mistakenly
left the house without an umbrella. Upon arriving at the Grand Palais, I saw
that the queue of people waiting to enter was huge and growing by the
second. My first surprise: the
event seems to attract a large following despite its steep €28 entry fee and
intimidating über-trendy attitude.
Nostalgia of the spectacular pre-sale exhibition of the Yves Saint
Laurent- Pierre Berger collection last February (also held at the Grand Palais)
seeped into my mind as I contemplated how to bypass the long line. The rain began to fall harder so I
decided to abandon ship. The next day, while clearly under the influence of a
caffeine buzz and nicer weather, I decided to make attempt number two. Arriving at the venue, I noticed that
the line was even longer. Entire families with baby carriages and whining
toddlers were braving the long wait of perhaps several hours. What had I
missed? Feeling frustrated (and
slightly relieved) yet again, I instead decided to have a look at the Tuileries gardens
where several larger installation pieces and sculptures were featured as part
of the overall event.
La maison témoin d’Elvis, Alexandre Perigot 2005
I entered the Tuileries from the side gate on Rue de Rivoli and immediately noticed a large structure of tubular steel scaffolding constructed into the shape of a house. A plaque revealed that the monumental work is entitled La maison témoin d’Elvis (Elvis’ model house), and is by Alexandre Perigot (b.1959). The installation is certainly unusual and suited to an outdoor environment, but the allusion to Elvis is decidedly beyond my comprehension.
A bit further on I reached the central pond of
the Tuileries garden, a bucolic place where small children often play with toy
sail boats, poking them with long wooden sticks as the wind blows them toward
the edge. The green wrought iron
chairs surrounding the pond summon memories of my first French class text books
from junior high school. There
might have also been a friendly Gendarme blowing his whistle at unruly
soccer-playing teens to get them off the grass which is “défendu!”
(forbidden!).
Fortunately, an article in Paris Match had prepared me for
what was to come. A series of 12
tall silver figures bearing mask-like toothy grins and laughing facial
expressions surrounded the entire pond.
Onlookers seemed very amused by them, as they posed for photos for loved
ones, grabbing hold of a tooth of one statue, or imitating the round mouth and
puffed-out cheeks of another. They
resemble something between Pac Man and cartoon versions of the Easter Island
monoliths. Had the public “understood” their meaning, or is the purpose of the
artist simply to elicit the reactions of laughter which I witnessed?
On the plaque describing the work, I read that
the artist is Ugo Rondinone (b. 1964), and his oeuvre entitled Sunrise East. It explains that the installation
represents “the twelve months of the year, an evocation of the seasons and the
inexorable passage of time….at the same time grotesque and sublime, they come
from sources as diverse as masks from a long lost non-western civilization or
Carnival costumes.” Speaking of
the passage of time, I wonder what Queen Catherine de Medici (1514-1589) would
have to say about the grotesque silver friends in the private garden to her
Palace? Or André Le Notre
(1613-1700) who transformed the Tuileries into a “jardin à la francaise” in the
17th century, much of which much remains in place today? It is true that early in the 18th
century, the Tuileries became a display area for the great sculptors from past
and present, when the famous life-size equestrian statues of Fame and Mercury by Antoine Coysevox
(1640-1720) were installed at the western entrance. (Those in place today are
copies of the originals now conserved in the Louvre) However, the sculptures were meant to beatify the gardens
and make them suitable for the young Louis XV who had recently taken residence
in the Tuileries Palace. Their
iconography was recognizable to all and was meant to glorify the monarch. On leaving the area, I noticed that a
vandal had already deeply scratched the descriptive plaque and had written “Out
of the Tuileries Satan” on the upper right hand corner in black indelible
ink. Perhaps a tad aggressive, but
then again, isn’t the work?
Continuing my Sunday stroll past the pyramid of
the Louvre to the Cours Carrée, I approached the glass and steel cube-shaped
pavilion of the FIAC, dead centre. The contrast of the industrial materials
against the carved stone architecture of the grand space was blinding. If the
FIAC is about making a flash, then it succeeded. The line for tickets was surprisingly short and I realized
that the one ticket granted access to both this pavilion and the Grand Palais. This strategy had completely eluded me,
and I cursed myself for having wasted time on the two earlier failed attempts
to enter the Grand Palais first.
I, of course, bought the ticket.
The show had everything that I expected, from gaudy to thought
provoking, all wrapped into one. A
colorful stand (Galerie Alain Gutharc) richly designed by Christian Lacroix
featured over-sized tires from construction vehicles with multi-colored plastic
molten around them, a mobile with molded rear car headlights in various
materials, and a wall sculpture resembling huge yellow Chiclets.
A rather impressive stand from Mumbai (Prescott
Road Gallery) displayed intensely colored glossy photographs, one of a morphing
Mogul palace hovering mid-air (Yet Inherited, by Turhar Joag), and
another, a series of a woman in a red shall or sari in various phases of
movement in front of a skyscraper (by Surekha, b.1964). Two dioramas (by Hema Upadhyay,
b.1972) the size of jewel boxes
with mirrored backdrops, covered by spaced layers of pierced photos depicting
luxuriant plants, flowers and birds dazzled this onlooker with a desire to
escape into the lush netherworld inside.
Shaken from my reverie by the increasingly large and boisterous crowd of
curious art lovers, I decided to make a last-ditch attempt to enter the Grand
Palais.
By Sunday afternoon the line had doubled in
length and I realized that even the ticket holder’s entrance had a sizeable
crowd. With a resigned sigh I
decided to brave the experience, since after all, it was the last day. Once inside I was not disappointed. The
grandeur of the space is completely breathtaking regardless of the
content. The elegant green-painted
art nouveau iron structure and domed glass roof evoke a modern industrial
cathedral. A two hour stroll
confirmed my initial impressions that the FIAC is about in-your-face boldness,
with the occasional delicate surprise.
A dealer from Moscow (M & J Guelman Gallery) displayed an orange
public garbage bin with the outline of a human figure in lotus position
protruding from the back as if passing through a malleable rubber material.
Famed designer Philippe Starck glided
by as I exited the stand and I almost mistook a group of janitors clad in
fluorescent orange jumpsuits pushing a bulging garbage trolley for a work of
art. I sighed with relief at the
sight of good old fashioned 20th century abstraction at an elegant
stand (Galerie Applicat Prazan) featuring important works by Jean-Paul Riopelle (1923-2002) Muscles Perreux and Georges Mathieu (b. 1921) Bataille Japonaise. What is the connection between these
lyrical works of the 1950s to the garish plastic creations witnessed
elsewhere? As I said earlier, the
overly general term contemporary art baffles me.
I left the Grand Palais feeling a bit saturated
and philosophical about the meaning of art. How many of these works will people still be admiring in 200
years? It’s hard to say. The FIAC has tried to dispel the snooty
image of contemporary art for the rich, intellectual happy few, and judging
from the attendance, they seem to have succeeded. The results recently published on ArtDaily.org are
impressive: the fair attracted over 80 000 visitors in five days, a 23 %
increase over last year. Anecdotal
accounts have depicted sales as robust, although there is a general consensus
that collectors are more discerning and careful than previously. I guess that perhaps it’s about time
for me to stop navel gazing and get with the program?
An Asian Fantasy
Earlier last week I was rendered breathless upon
entering rooms 5 and 6 at Drouot.
I went completely silent during a cell phone conversation to a friend in
Los Angeles who had to ask whether I was still on the line. The rooms had been
transformed into a stylish museum of gleaming Buddhas, dancing carved stone goddesses and fantastical terra cotta creatures from every corner of Asia. I realized that the prestigious Vérité
collection of Asian sculpture would be on the auction block the following
Sunday. Begun by the Parisian art
dealer Pierre Vérité and his wife starting in the late 1920s and continued by
his son Claude during the 1950s and 1960s, the collection of a mere 91 pieces
contains fine examples of Asian (mostly religious) sculpture from the region of
Gandhara (now Pakistan and Afghanistan), the Khmer Kingdom (now Cambodia),
China, India, Thailand and Tibet.
The room was handsomely decorated with cube-like display units accented
with fusia and bright orange, installed to allow each work of art breathing
space to be admired individually, while also providing the viewer a glimpse in
the context of surrounding related pieces.
Clearly there was quite a budget devoted to this
sale, organized by the auction house Enchères Rive Gauche. One of the most spectacular pieces was
a gilt-bronze Avalokiteshvara Buddha in tantric pose dating from Ming Dynasty
(16th century). The catalogue
explains that this version of the Buddha “is the personification of universal
compassion, possessing one thousand arms and extra pairs of eyes revealing that
he is watching over the infinite number of living things to take care of them.” The representation of the “thousand
arms” is achieved through a series of three rows of arms emerging from the
shoulders of the figure, bearing attributes of the Buddha including a hatchet,
a lotus flower and sacred scrolls.
The top of four superposed heads represents the ultimate form of
Buddha.
Tantric Buddhism originated in Tibet but was
made the state religion of China under the Yuan Dynasty (1279-1368) and the
Tsing Dynasty (1644-1912). Both of
these had foreign origins (Mongol and Manchurian) and the Buddhist doctrine was
more easily accessible to them than the ancient Confucian or Taoist systems of
thought. This sculpture is witness
to the rich cultural exchange which took place as a result.
The dramatic movement of the multiple arms, the
chased details and the sheer depth and beauty of the gilding on the sculpture
are astounding. The ancient
practice of mercury gilding (which dates back as far as the 5th
century B.C. in China) is well illustrated here, although the thickness of the
layer of gold is unusual. This
technique was equally used through the 18th century in France on the
mounts of the finest furniture. It
involved applying a layer of paste composed of mercury, small pieces of ground
gold (or moulu),
and an acid on to the bronze piece, which when heated over an open flame,
evaporated, leaving only the fine layer of gold behind. I was able to observe the underside of
the Buddha and saw an example of extremely fine casting. My knowledge of 18th century
French gilt-bronze is undoubtedly behind my fascination with this piece.
The sale was a success, raising a total of €
3,696,106 for 79 of the 91 offered lots. Our gilt bronze tantric Buddha sold
for €250 000, more than double its estimate of €100 000. Although the highest bid went to a Kmer
bronze of a standing Siva from the 10th century, adjudicated at €600
000, two times its low estimate.
The Parisian museum of Asian art, Musée Guimet, preempted the piece for
its collection. This is a process
allowed under French law for museums wishing to obtain a work of art at
auction. The institution is required to remain silent until the hammer falls,
after which it must immediately announce its intention. The party is expected
to pay the full amount of the final announced bid. Unfortunately, the transaction always leaves behind an
unhappy under-bidder (in this case, the English dealer John Eskenazi) who has just lost the piece after the initial adrenaline rush of
having elusively acquired it.
Sometimes I imagine that Paris might be full of hidden treasures in
important private collections like this just waiting to be discovered. We can only hope and dream for now.