Sarah Lucas has a cracking good time
Sarah Lucas has long been enthralled by the suggestive and artistic potential of the egg. Her Two Fried Eggs and a Kebab (1992) is now a late 20th-century classic and this week also marked the London debut of her performance 1000 Eggs: For Women, a participatory piece that invites anyone who identifies as a woman to hurl eggs against a wall.
This latest iteration of a work that has splattered gallery walls from Berlin to Beijing took place in the basement of TJ Boulting gallery in London’s Fitzrovia, where a long linethat included the artists Sue Webster, Abigail Lane, Rachel Howard and Polly Morgan, Frieze Sculpture curator Fatoş Üstek and the legendary punk musician Viv Albertine all whooped and cheered as they created a yellow yolky mess on a formerly pristine gallery wall. This impromptu abstract is one of multiple egg-themed works in the gallery’s group show Un Oeuf Is Un Oeuf (until 16 November). Sounds egg-ceedingly fun.
Mirror man: Appau Junior Boakye-Yiadom is showing off his drumming skills—from behind the safety of a cocoon of screens Louisa Buck
Artist drummer keeps talent hidden
Glenn Ligon, who has selected Appau Junior Boakye-Yiadom for Frieze’s Artist-to-Artist section, describes his protégé’s work as a “call and response with the viewer”. And he’s not wrong. Boakye-Yiadom’s installation of a drum kit bearing the enticing sign “Here Soon” pushes audience anticipation to the max. Partial relief is at hand when every day at 3pm the artist fulfils his promise by taking to the drums for a 35-minute performance. However, the catch is that he almost completely conceals himself behind a series of mirrored screens, playing with the idea of the artist as a source of spectacle and entertainment. The only way it is possible to catch a glimpse of the source of this syncopated sound is by nosily poking your head around the back of his carefully assembled barricade.
Two wheels good (unless it’s raining): Marc Spiegler gets on his bike Gareth Harris
Marc Spiegler looks for deals on wheels
The former Art Basel global director Marc Spiegler is cutting a dashing figure around London town, whizzing from gallery to gallery on his hire bike bedecked in bright pink boots. Spiegler was spotted in Bermondsey mid-trek, telling all about his art marathon across the capital. “I started at Albion Jeune, and then I did Sadie Coles on Kingly Street, then Modern Art, then Kate MacGarry, Emalin and Hales in Shoreditch,” exclaimed Spiegler. He then popped over to other key spaces such as Maureen Paley and Carlos/Ishikawa, snaking his way to Whitechapel and ending up at Tate Modern. “I then stopped riding my bike because it was pouring down with rain,” he relayed, describing with a heavy heart how the (crappy) British climate brought a hasty end to his art odyssey.
Open Wound gained an extra dimension thanks to Tate Modern’s drains Photo: Larina Fernandes; © Tate
Tate show is a (brief) stinker
There was much talk on the opening morning of the way in which Mire Lee’s Open Wound permeated Tate Modern’s cavernous Turbine Hall with a spirit of dystopian decay. However, the pungent and decidedly putrid smell that was queasily interpreted by visitors as a brave move by the artist and gallery turned out to be not a bold curatorial decision but the result of Tate’s drains backing up because of heavy rainfall. By the evening private view, though, full fragrance had been restored.
When art imitates art
Fans of the BBC TV series Industry are relishing the return of the hit drama focused on the cut-throat activities of a group of young graduates trying to make their mark in London’s investment banking sector. During season three, however, our ears pricked up at the mention of a certain art fair when Harper, a key character in the show, starts a new job at FutureDawn, an ethical investment fund. During a gossipy tea break, office workers can be heard uttering: “She thinks she’s Meghan f****** Markle because she swans into the Broadstone Place entrance in Chiltern when actually she’s very second-day at Frieze.” What shade.
The Secret Gallerist: anonymous reports from behind the scenes at the fair
Word to the wise (or simply those without a gallery director sorting them a VIP pass): a Thursday First Preview combined ticket for London and Masters comes in at a hefty £245, so catch bedraggled gallerists (me) who are leaving the fair after a challenging day as they are (I am) very susceptible to handing out said VIP passes in a frenzied attempt to close whatever goddamn sale they (I) can. Business aside, lend a shoulder to cry on after a day of little to no sales and those VIP passes can also be yours—for the small price of indulging the ramblings of an anxious art dealer, that is.
An Uber driver the other night politely feigned interest as I drunkenly explained to him how the art market’s “softening” has led to an alarmingly slow day. As I was already a few champagnes (three negronis, seven cigarettes, two emails addressed to the wrong person) in at this point, I stumbled out of the cab outside my third stop of the night and insisted I take down his email, promptly sending it on to my assistant at an ungodly hour to submit him for VIP tickets. I’d all but forgotten about it by the time I returned, bleary-eyed, to the tent the next morning, until he appeared on my booth with a Gail’s coffee of thanks for me, saying “I thought you might need this today”. I certainly did. Reader, I think he might be the one. The world works in mysterious ways.