Laxma Goud
September is busy for the art world in New York. Hometown galleries open their most important shows, and a cluster of fairs bring together collectors and galleries from around the world. The Armory Show, which gathers more than 200 exhibitors from 35 countries at the Javits Center from , is the largest, and it remains an unparalleled opportunity to sample the global art scene.
But while dealers and artists alike may believe in art for art’s sake, they also have to make it work as a business. And that business, at the moment, is wobbly. Though it remains enormous, this year’s Armory fair, the second since its acquisition by Frieze, is slightly smaller than last year’s, and it’s really anyone’s guess whether collectors will buy. So it’s no surprise that most of the galleries approached this year’s Armory conservatively, reaching for brightly colored, easily approachable art in well-worn 20th-century genres that will translate to Instagram. (There are also many dead artists, whose markets and perch on art history may seem more reliable.)
Along with several special sections, including Focus, curated by Jessica Bell Brown to highlight artists from the American South, there are enough fine artworks here to keep you occupied for hours. Eric Firestone (416) has a particularly strong group show; there’s an exquisite Raymond Saunders painting at Andrew Kreps Gallery (104); and the array of Gee’s Bend quilts and monumental Thornton Dial installations in the Platform section is a fair unto itself.
The real problem is the sheer size of the place. It’s almost impossible not to feel overwhelmed. So Walker Mimms and I went in early and chose 13 exceptional booths to look for. Your experience will differ, but it’s enough to get you started. WILL HEINRICH
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The late-career or deceased Indian artists in this booth contribute surprisingly liberated, and often nightmarish, takes on color and sex. K. Laxma Goud of Hyderabad, born 1940, takes center stage with small but unsettling voyeuristic scenes in etching and crayon. Others employ a vigorous, three-dimensional segmentation on canvas, almost like scar tissue, to define the lines of their human figures. For instance: the slatherings of red polyvinyl acetate, an early version of acrylic paint, that outline the “Stricken Monk with Cat O’Nine Tails” (1968) by Lancelot Ribeiro (1933-2010) of Mumbai and London — a gory and bizarre painting not to be missed. MIMMS
