Mexico City Art Week diary: “Feelings off, hustle on”

Mexico: behold the land of meat-heavy taqueria chains, Lucha Libre acrobats, and, as we all know, the “Viva La Vida” relationship between Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, and now, so I keep hearing, another Soho House! Oh! And my ex.

It’s also where, for one week of the year, the art world flocks to Mexico City art week. I’m here to work on the booth at Zona Maco Art Fair.

I received an unsolicited WhatsApp photo of me *spotted* at the airport gate by a certain gallerist and friend of Plaster – talk about private view. Every time the art world travels to another spot on the global art map, it feels like a Gossip Girl (Chica Chismosa?) reboot: BA premium economy Zöe’s and Chlöes, Bimba y Lola strap showboat babes and debutant collector Dads accessorised with a kid or two taking Mexico by a rather expensive storm. Despite the lack of Brad Pitt- and Raf Simons-tier celebs (cry), international art world greats were spotted, including Stuart Shave from Stuart Shave, Jack O’Brien from London art’s finest, and Sean Kelly from Sean Kelly. Not to mention House of Gaga gallery’s director Luisa Fernanda, who was caught buying sunglasses for a fabriquéd whale by artist Cosima von Bonin.

Let’s be honest, pit-stopping to do emails at a private members club is kind of a slay (yes we use ‘slay’ professionally – also ‘chic’). The new Soho House in Mexico City was great (though its art collection was… mixed). I hate (love) to admit it but the endless eye candy of impossibly beautiful poolside socialites certainly set the tone for the week. A colleague of Laurie Barron’s was overheard mumbling, mouth agape, that the Soho House guests were all “ripped” as he was dragged away into an Uber. He’s not jealous, just an aspiring paramour. (That colleague was me).

So. Many. Events

By day, it was manning the booth at Zona Maco art fair. By night (every night, all night), it was events, and lots of them. Ubering became a sport. I took so many that my rating plummeted. The reason?: “I feel like ciao is just like… global,” said a friend of a friend (of a friend) after greeting our Uber drivers with ‘ciao’. It was later confirmed by residents that ciao is, affirmatively, “not a thing” in CDMX.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” was the phrase uttered as V-VIP event lists were passed from gallerist to collector to artist to art-adjacents to potential one-night stand(s). Top tip from a gallerist: “Something in me knew I should compliment the chic-woman-wearing-sunglasses-with-blue-Chanel-handbag in the dimly lit unisex toilets at Soho House.” After which he was invited to an exclusive party the following night at a venue “promisingly” named Casa Versailles. He didn’t go but it’s the invite that counts.

The first art fair party was for Feria Material. It featured black-eyes, Radiohead and edge-core, chain mailed, winged angel, DJ-goth types. Tickets for the Zona Maco X Artsy party sold for a converted rate of £83.66 – I scheduled my entrance for 5 pm. I was early for once and no one was there so on to the next. Conversely, the LagoAlgo party was on a lake and VIPs cattled onto the island. Can everyone swim?

Surprise, surprise, gallery-hopping is also a thing here – *rolls eyes*. The weak attend one or two; the strong girls go to all. “Feelings off, hustle on,” as my friend kept saying. We found ourselves at General Expenses gallery for Maggie Petroni’s ‘Traumacore’ – relevant; Galeria Mascota were representing the London cohort: Emily Kraus and Victor Lim Seaward (can’t escape them!); Deli gallery showed Motoko Ishibashi, purveyor of uncompromisingly visceral and anime-influenced paintings; Llano Gallery in La Laguna warehouse was “giving Hackney Wick”, observed one reveller after also spotting a Simon Lee tote (archival?). After hopping around the galleries, I’m just gonna say what we’re all thinking: no more sculptures of antidepressants, please. We’ve got enough real ones in our tote bags xo

Let’s talk about painting

As soon as one enters any art fair – this time Zona Maco and Feria Material – it’s only a matter of time before one stumbles over ones love of painting. But then I almost knocked over a sculpture by Roberto Fabelo Hung during install and I’m reminded of the time when art critic Avelina Lésper went viral by breaking a $20,000 glass sculpture at Zona Maco (2020) and reportedly claimed it “added to the work”.

Someone, though I can’t quite remember who (I can), told me that “sculpture is what you fall back on when you step back from a painting”. Presuming that’s true, the momentum of the “success medium”, as Isabelle Graw puts it, depends on whether that painting is actually good.

As Jacques Lacan puts it, the sinthome – meaning ‘suggestion of a truth’ – is that a painting’s success is based on one thing: gesture (or was it money? I forget). In a dense commercial market like this, authenticity can be hit and miss, as one slightly disturbing text painting read: “In Gold We Trust, It Is Better To Be Rich Than Poor.”

Standout works of the week

Paintings of Zac Efron touching himself; two Alex Katz paintings; a painting that read “good boys love NPC” (true); four oversized metal noses; a painting that said ‘Online Deadline’ (also true); a painting that said ‘conceptual art is dead’ (huh?): and a performance piece in which a Zona Maco fair coordinator was seen shouting at their technicians, one of whom had broken their finger installing the Starbucks cafe. Sometimes performances feel so real…

Notes from the booth

Those high-heel gaiter boots from Zara (Y-project-meta-type boots that look like the bottom of a trouser leg – just buy some trousers hun); anything Issey Miyake (good for travelling because they’re already creased); Zara’s dupe version of said Miyake look; New Balance trainers for bouncing booth-to-booth and knee-high (dependent on your height) cowboy boots were on literally everyone. Also general art-vomit collaborations including Basquiat x Coach, Hokusai x Dr Martens and fake and/or real Kusama x Louis Vuitton.

I write this sitting awkwardly smiling as influencers pose in front of our artwork; rich people don’t move out of the way; some galleries manage to fit their booth in a Rimowa (maybe the new lifetime guarantee gives them confidence that their artwork will be protected?). A gallerist was seen charging their Juul 2! I thought smoking was back despite the oversized no-smoking signs…. Tequila/mezcal cocktail makers from the brand 1800 Tequila provided general erotic value according to one VIP coordinator; I’m impartial, of course. Also, in future, can Zona Maco kindly provide water, not Tequila, stations please? Every gallerist had shrivelled up by the end of the week.

Feria Material notes

Material girls! (Read my Madonna article if you haven’t); One gallery was spotted with eight tequila bottles, two Stella Artois and one Monster can on their table juxtaposed with a branded Corona chair backlit by an artwork saying “the soft animal of your body” – I hope they’re okay. Another gallery plugged in a UE Megaboom speaker to their booth for the vibes – haven’t seen one since 2017.

Highlights (the theme is ‘ex’)

Recently set up Galerie Pepe (ex-space and ex-boyfriend of House of Gaga gallery founder, Fernando Mesta), were showing Sadao Hasegawa’s paintings with an airbrushed feel (but actually brushed, thank God) to them. Sexually charged and desperately vulnerable. Also chic fabric-but-looks-like-plaster walls with an enormous rug centre stage. Cosy. It’s been noted as the “coolest gallery in Mexico” – I’m nodding.

Jack O’Brien’s show, ‘Love Triangle’, at Aro Gallery was a moment for queer contemplation as we fetishistically gaze through tubular artworks that altered the exhibition’s architecture. ‘Aro’ is Spanish for ring and I’m glad they put a ring on Jack’s work this Valentine’s. It was in this old religious storage unit where nuns practise and artists dwell. Naturally.

‘Sex’, ‘Fear’ and ‘Death’ were words that occupied my Thursday morning when we visited ex-London resident Isaac de Reza’s studio romantically positioned opposite the house featured in the film Roma (2018). Pictures of his ex were also featured.

As we contemplate exes, perhaps the best place for mulling over heartbreak (or relief) was the unforgettable, hard-hitting performance by Alex Baczynski-Jenkins named Untitled (Holding Horizon) to mark the end of Feria Material. Amidst the most swag audience Mexico City has to offer, dancing bodies became intertwined over a durational three hours. Their movements occupied a dimly lit warehouse soundtracked by a live DJ who managed to effectively mix a rendition of Halo by Beyonce, now my song of the week (last week was Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake: Op. 20, Act 3: No.24, Scène).

There was an afterparty that aligned with London’s Fold and/or Unfold attended by everyone who was anyone. It was a smoking inside, portaloo-equipped, triple shot, hot-box of chaos and as far as art world parties go, I was there for it.

As you can probably tell, my week felt like a month. It’s a sad reminder that good things do, in fact, come to an end. But now I think I’m moving to Mexico so this is actually my goodbye – ciao!