ART IN A TIME OF BANKRUPTCIES | April 25th 2008

Faith-Ann Young

When the economy wobbles, does the art market tumble? Faith-Ann Young investigates at New York's Armory show ...

Two hours into preview night at the Armory Show on March 26th, gallery representatives were visibly jittery. And for good reason: sales that evening would tell them whether the foundering economy had affected collectors' buying stamina. With the word "recession" ringing in everyone's ears, the signs were ominous.

Though they have surged in popularity over the past decade, this year a handful of art fairs, including PULSE London, have suspended operation, citing economic uncertainty. By preview night at the Armory Show, sales predictions were grim.

But though those first few hours were sluggish, by 5:30pm, buyers were buying (however cautiously and deliberately) and champagne was being poured (sparingly, perhaps). And gradually, Pier 94 transformed into that familiar and alluring beast: the grand New York art preview. It was a standard dealer-patron feeding frenzy: smartly suited men paced, gallery directors fawned, foreign accents lilted, and--crucially--checkbooks slid from silk-lined pockets.

But few galleries took risks this year: cheap thrills stood in for political grit and psychological depth. Deitch Projects had covered the walls of the V.I.P. lounge in psychedelic rainbows of colour, courtesy of assume vivid astro focus (Eli Sudbrack's collective). And though Tracey Emin's work at Lehman Maupin and White Cube was in vibrant neon tubing, it failed to electrify. Some galleries that habitually shine, such as Matthew Marks, seemed disappointingly demure.

"There was no spectacle," said Jack Shainman, though his own booth was made eye-catching by Jonathan Seliger's towering, carrot-coloured aluminium statue of an Hermes bag, and Nick Cave's sculpture resembling some cross between a person, a Christmas-tree and an overloaded coat-rack. But Mr Shainman was right: nothing at this year's Armory paralleled last year's 20-ton mirrored garbage truck, by Mierle Laderman Ukeles.

And for all that the fair lacked in visual impact, organisers found it similarly anti-climactic from an economic standpoint. Giovanni Garcia, the show's communications manager, said that the number of attendees (52,000) and sales revenue ($85m) were roughly the same as last year.

But many consider these soothing numbers, given the economic climate. Maureen Bray, director of the Sean Kelly Gallery in New York, claimed to have had success: "We had a very strong fair. While there was much talk about the current economic situation, we found that it did not affect our success. Buyers responded well to good work--they did not hesitate to acquire work that they felt strongly about," she said.

London's White Cube gallery sold all three editions of Tracey Emin's scrawled message in neon tubing ("I Promise To Love You"), for $110,000 each. At Matthew Marks of New York, Andreas Gursky's $1.2m "Pyongyang II, Diptychon" sold as well. And all three editions of Paul McCarthy's $450,000 cherubic "Mimi" sculptures went, according to Roger Tatley of Hauser & Wirth.

The few galleries that deviated from the "sort-and-hang" presentation strategy--ones that instead fostered a coherent theme--seemed to fare especially well. At Hauser & Wirth's booth, designed by Martin Creed, every piece sold out, with prices ranging from $60,000 to $150,000.

Work from the world's most elite artists may have been popular as alternatives to investments in stocks or real estate, but works by mid-career artists seemed to languish on the drywall. John Schmid of Shane Campbell confessed that "with the recession, people were buying differently. At Miami Basel, people were buying impulsively--people didn't have to think twice. This year, people were more suspicious and asked about the pedigree of the artist."

Dorsey Waxter, Director of Greenberg Van Doren Gallery reported four sales between $93,000 and $275,000 and a slew of cheaper sales, under $10,000. But she said that the middle-bracket market seemed a harder sell this year.

Adam Sheffer of Cheim & Read seemed unsurprised: "In a lagging economic climate, there's always a shake-out," he said. And considering the banality of much of the art this year, such a shake-out may not be unwelcome.

But as the hours passed, fear dissipated into folly, ties were loosened and glasses clinked. "Art fairs are the high school dances of the international set," Linda Yablonsky, an art critic, once observed.  Kristin Scott Thomas looked on as Takahashi Murakami and Don Rubell chatted. A Malcolm Gladwell look-alike sauntered around Lehman Maupin. Lapo Elkan pretended to be a rock-star, prowling through the aisles with his crew of leather-clad bad boys. Germans cried prost! on one couch; Frenchmen santé-ed from another. In one of the bars, stiletto-heeled models sipped champagne through puckered lips, precariously close to a Jason Rhoades chandelier that glowed with neon slang words for female genitalia.

The fair's attendees looked like revellers in a guiltless gilded age. But they would do well to remember the roaring 1920s and the glittering 1980s: such moments of frivolity can be decadent preludes to a fall.

(Faith-Ann Young is a New York-based associate editor for RCRD LBL and a senior editor for Mog. She contributes to Monocle, Preen, Blender and Dazed Digital.)