Comments on: To the furthest verge http://londonkoreanlinks.net/2007/10/17/to-the-furthest-verge/ English language resources for Londoners (and others) interested in Korean culture Mon, 01 Dec 2008 22:32:31 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=abc By: Philip Gowman http://londonkoreanlinks.net/2007/10/17/to-the-furthest-verge/#comment-229050 Philip Gowman Sat, 13 Oct 2007 22:21:19 +0000 http://londonkoreanlinks.net/2007/10/17/to-the-furthest-verge/#comment-229050 As you might have gathered from my postscript above, at the appalling Bridge Art Fair in the Trafalgar Hotel the emphasis was more on the fairground than the gallery. Having a day job, I was unable to attend the afternoon preview and instead went to the evening reception, which had a mixed attendance, from your average Joe to those who seemed to think that the event was part of the London Season. Many of the female visitors were using the occasion as an opportunity to show off their legs and their latest cocktail frocks -- some were even sporting the sort of hats you normally see at a society wedding. Meanwhile the immaculately coiffed chalk-stripe besuited menfolk confidently cruised the floors, their obligatory pink shirts clashing with their perma-tanned faces, somehow managing to look nonchalant and predatory at the same time. In such a horrific scenario one needs a bracing snifter to give one dutch courage, but the only drinks to be had were in the street level bar (three floors below my own main area of interest), where you had to sustain a barrage of rather empty electronica music in order to gain your prize. One or two exhibitors in the bedrooms upstairs had sensibly laid in their own supplies. Navigating between the floors required squeezing into the elevators, which were illuminated by rather painful-on-the-eyes blue fluorescent tubes, or climbing the cramped and sweaty back stairs, where at least you could appreciate the legs being so generously displayed by the would-be it-girls. As for exhibition space, exhibitors had to choose between leaving the bed in place, thus making the room even more of a crush, or removing it entirely (goodness only knows where all the surplus beds were piled up) leaving in place the headboard oddly fixed to the wall. As for the bathroom, some exhibitors chose to use it as a store room, while others elected to make use of the extra display space, balancing art works precariously on the vanity units or in the shower cubicles. Whether buyers get their cheque books out in such conditions I somehow doubt. Even enticing them into the rooms was a challenge, as it was nigh-on impossible to see from outside the room what was on offer within. It is to be hoped that the organisers have a radical re-think of the venue should they decide to re-run the fair next year, because I cannot imagine that the exhibitors got value for money for their space. As you might have gathered from my postscript above, at the appalling Bridge Art Fair in the Trafalgar Hotel the emphasis was more on the fairground than the gallery. Having a day job, I was unable to attend the afternoon preview and instead went to the evening reception, which had a mixed attendance, from your average Joe to those who seemed to think that the event was part of the London Season. Many of the female visitors were using the occasion as an opportunity to show off their legs and their latest cocktail frocks — some were even sporting the sort of hats you normally see at a society wedding. Meanwhile the immaculately coiffed chalk-stripe besuited menfolk confidently cruised the floors, their obligatory pink shirts clashing with their perma-tanned faces, somehow managing to look nonchalant and predatory at the same time. In such a horrific scenario one needs a bracing snifter to give one dutch courage, but the only drinks to be had were in the street level bar (three floors below my own main area of interest), where you had to sustain a barrage of rather empty electronica music in order to gain your prize. One or two exhibitors in the bedrooms upstairs had sensibly laid in their own supplies.

Navigating between the floors required squeezing into the elevators, which were illuminated by rather painful-on-the-eyes blue fluorescent tubes, or climbing the cramped and sweaty back stairs, where at least you could appreciate the legs being so generously displayed by the would-be it-girls.

As for exhibition space, exhibitors had to choose between leaving the bed in place, thus making the room even more of a crush, or removing it entirely (goodness only knows where all the surplus beds were piled up) leaving in place the headboard oddly fixed to the wall. As for the bathroom, some exhibitors chose to use it as a store room, while others elected to make use of the extra display space, balancing art works precariously on the vanity units or in the shower cubicles.

Whether buyers get their cheque books out in such conditions I somehow doubt. Even enticing them into the rooms was a challenge, as it was nigh-on impossible to see from outside the room what was on offer within. It is to be hoped that the organisers have a radical re-think of the venue should they decide to re-run the fair next year, because I cannot imagine that the exhibitors got value for money for their space.

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