I love the Armory Show. It's a boatload of art, and plenty of it is quite good. And this year, as it is every other year, the Armory serves an ancillary purpose for me. It fills the gaping hole left in the wake of the Whitney Biennial. Don't misunderstand me. I liked the Biennial. It has a job to do, and it gets it done. It always leaves me wanting more in one way or another though. This time around, the dearth of painting in the show was shocking, and I was still recovering. It was telling that I took almost no photos of paintings at the Armory. I was too engaged with the work to be bothered with my camera. This is gonna be a scattershot walk through some of the highlights. You might want to duck.

Greg Bogin, unidentified painting.

Wendy White's painting in the back closet at Leo Koenig was a highlight even though it had been hanged upside down before the gallery assistant corrected it. Right side up was much better. I'm practically ashamed (OK. Not really.) to say how much I loved Greg Bogin's work that was hanging on the outside wall at Koenig. His metallic hot rod spaceship paintings boost my rockets every time. I can't help myself.

Stef Driesen had a nice dark abstract on display. Unfortunately the gallery that installed it placed it on a wall that wasn't conducive to varied vantage points. It was either up close or nothing. A shame, but I got over it as the painting just kept sinking into its own darkness.

I'm sorry to say that I didn't write down which gallery was showing the brain buzzing Ara Peterson. The work made me think of what might happen if I was staring at a Bridget Riley about 20 minutes after the Ambien kicked in. Trippy.

Nothing but hearts for Katharina Fritsch's floor sculpture at Mathew Marks. I don't think there was a person in that room that wasn't smiling. Looking closer though it was all coins, wheat, and snakes. Very Ten Commandments.

It's easy to get stuck on whatever media Tara Donovan happens to be using, but it's a mistake to ignore the deft hand she displays in the realm of composition. Also, It doesn't seem to matter what size she's working in, the silver wrapping paper sculpture was a small one but it packed a beautiful punch.

Ara Peterson, installation view of unidentified work.

To get to the end I'll go back to the beginning. One of the first and best pieces I saw at the Armory was Stephen Vitiello's Whispering Corners (CGT mix) at The Project. I've never seen or heard anything by Vitiello that hasn't knocked me out. This piece is one of the best I've heard from the artist. Sampling the sounds at the Whispering Gallery at Grand Central Station he captures what was, for a moment, the holy arc of the now only to send it forward in time. And there it was, almost prayerfully frozen in its glorious repetition.

And this is why I love the Armory Show. For all the glitzy hubbub that surrounds it, the fair can provide moments like the one I had with the Vitiello piece. Ignore all the crap, the crowds, the "speedboat's glide", and you'll be fine. I was. Just look at the art. All else is, well, not art. Onward.

Katharina Fritsch, unidentified floor sculpture.

Stephen Vitiello, Wispering Corners (CGT mix), installation view.

Ernesto Burgos (at Cynthia Broan) Cross Eyed, 2007, Mixed Media on Paper, 22 x 30 inches. Courtesy Cynthia Broan Gallery.

This artist is getting his MFA at NYU, and had a solo exhibition at the gallery several months ago. Sadly, due to the Chelsea real estate market, Cynthia Broan's lease on her LOT-EK designed space is being bought out so that the building can be knocked down for new condos. She plans to reopen in New Orleans.

My favorite Zürich Gallery, Galerie Römerapotheke, showed excerpts of conceptual projects by Jana Gunstheimer, including excerpts from her project "Status L. Phenomenon" at the Art Institute of Chicago in which the L stands for loss and is a set of works documenting an inexplicable (and fictional) loss of status for rich people in the city of Chicago. Those readers lucky enough to live in Berlin can see her work in an exhibition opening later this week at Filiale. Their booth also featured beautiful black white and gray paintings and works on paper by Marcel Gähler.

Paco Pomet. Two graphite on canvas works. Photograph by Barry Hoggard

Paco Pomet. One oil on canvas painting and one graphite on canvas work. Photograph by Barry Hoggard

Galería My Name is Lolita Art from Madrid showed gouache and ink works by Teresa Moro of furniture from previous art fairs such as ARCO, and I discovered a new artist who really pleased me, Paco Pomet. His paintings are oil on canvas, and his "drawings" are graphite on canvas.

Perhaps the line spanning the several doorways on Broadway to Broome and around the corner, as well as the usual crowd of self-pronounced VIPs should have been a portentous indication of what the fair itself may be upstairs. While waiting in line is always a safe option, time constraints and impending curiosity meant seeking out another option. The art fair became a night club simulacrum, replete with a discerning door host and a lanky, well-dressed woman at his side. For a minute, I actually thought they would ask whose guest list I am on but my story superseded any potentially stumping questions. I told him my friend was impatiently waiting for me on the 2nd floor, one floor below the Fair's, and it was imperative that I meet her there, to which he laughed, complimented me on the elaborately ridiculous lie and let me in. I will only mention in passing that there was a $5 entrance fee, sadly normal for art fairs, obviously to distinguish them from the otherwise mundane art show.

Needless to say, the upstairs crowd was maddening. With candles exacerbating the heat, the Dark Fair was as chaotic as it was thoroughly entertaining. The booths were literally booths, diner style, in which exhibitors presented either a number of work from artists represented by the gallery, an installation, Tarot card reading and, in one case, a lavish table of fruit free for visitors to indulge in as they sat around the table adorned by a curious take on Manet, depicting busty women reclining in all their glory. Clara Jo's installation was a closed circuit that connected wires to silverware via a light bulb, which required three people to place their hands on each utensil, whereby the third and final conductor would create a current that resonated in the connected speakers. Participants were able to create a rhythmic tune using their own bodies as electrical conductors. Chicago's Golden Age Store presented wonderful small works by sundry artists, as well as art publications by Material Press, Post Present Medium, Pork Salad Press and many more. The candles lighting the booths created a romantic reading experience, to say the least.

Some work was appropriately neon and glowed in the dark, while Zach Feuer Gallery's Tim Lokiec sat at his table, assiduously drawing pictures, while other gallery employees and friends enjoyed the lively company, drank beer and talked to curious visitors. The mixed drinks were $8, discounted by $1 because the bar ran out of ice. Thankfully Milwaukee's Club Nutz and General Store's booth was a simulated restaurant, complete with a cheese board, champagne and ice water. Though I never quite figured out whether this was for public consumption because my persistent request for water came with a complicated explanation. The fire department did eventually come to inspect the situation only to conclude that everything was not, in fact, a hazard.

The opening night of the Dark Fair was a perfect prelude to tonight's Earth Hour, an invitation to turn off all the lights from 8 to 9 pm, all across the globe. The Dark Fair's atmosphere, somewhere between a sweaty nightclub and an ambient meditation room, was the perfect antidote to the business-as-usual fairs, presenting great art and clever installations while keeping the lights dim and the crowd curious.

Alejandro Diaz, Naked Artist Inside, neon.

Just like last year the first gallery I came upon was the always rewarding Daniel Weinberg. Also on board were some instructive Chris Martin paintings. I say instructive because I'm still in the process of getting his work. I'm happy to say that his insistent rhythms are starting to work their way in though. And what's not to like about a gallery that shows the twin sons of different mothers, James Sienna and Daniel Zeller. I've never seen a bad piece by either of them and yesterday was no exception. The only disappointment this year was that Weinberg didn't have any works by Luke Whitlatch. I was counting on the gallery for my fix. His paintings were a highlight last year. (Somebody give this guy a show in NYC!) All, of course, was forgiven because the people at Weinberg are so nice and their artists are, oh, so very very good.

Roberts and Tilton made another strong showing this year with artists Kehinde Wiley, Barry McGee, Adam Pendleton, Becca Mann, and well, pretty much every artist they had on the wall. The gallery's Julie Roberts wins the "We Encourage Photography" award for the day. I fell in love with the Jimmy Baker installation, Potential Unlawful Combant, and inquired as to whether I might take a photo of it. Not only did Roberts say, "Yes.", but she actually asked me to help her move the table and chairs out of the way so I could get a clearer shot. Hmmm. Intense respect for the viewer and the work. A fine thing. All I can say is "Thank you." Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. This, kids, is what it's all about.

At Mary Goldman, Alejandro Diaz had me laughing out loud with the juxtaposition of his bright neon Naked Artist Inside and the lo-fi approach of the cardboard sign format. There were also some nice Robert Pruitt pieces in the back corner. Unfortunately, my liking them is all that I remember about them. The art fair memory daze had apparently started to set in and I was only at the end of my first fair.

Jason Adkins, unidentified work.

Downstairs at Western Project was a knockout color-burst of a sculpture by Jason Adkins that I couldn't quite stop looking at it. Plus, I'm a total sucker for art that involves pallets. The main cube resting on it's pallet seemed to be saying "We're ready for transport." It worked from just about any angle, covering everything from the mercenary to the political. Awesome. When I spoke with the gallerist he mentioned that Adkin's paintings (not on display) stand in sharp contrast to the shouting colors of his sculptures. He was right. When I checked the gallery's website I found evocative gray-centered abstracts. I think that if I saw his sculptures and paintings in the same room my body might just implode. A good sign. More, please.

Actually, I'd say that about the LA Art Fair in general: More please. They were in a smaller space this year, so there were fewer dealers. No matter, what I found there packed quite the punch, certainly enough of one to catapult me into the rest of my day.

Muzi Quawson, Swimming with Diamonds, Woodstock, New York, 2002, Duratran in light box.

Muzi Quawson's Swimming with Diamonds from Yossi Milo Gallery was one of the few good nudes on view at Pulse. This British artist took a picture of a nude woman swimming a shimmering pool in Woodstock, New York. The backlit duratran light box emphasizes the glimmers on the water. The rough and rippled texture of the dark water contrasts well with the smooth and soft texture of the woman's pale skin. It is strong photo in which formal devices compliment the nude. It joins a long history of photographers like Robert Mapplethrope who see the nude body as one visual note to harmonize with other formal elements as they create the symphony of a captivating work of art. They do not deny the erotic appeal of the nude. However, this appeal isn't the work's only selling point. There is a soothing serenity in Quawson's photo as this woman soaks in this glistening waters.

Mark Denis' Art History Major from 2008 epitomizes the genre of the disappointing pornographic nude. In this painting, a young girl lifts her shirt in a formally evocative Girls-Gone-Wild pose. The background is Michelangelo's Sistine ceiling from Rome. The warm color of the girl's skin clashes with the pastels of the ceiling. Perhaps, there is a certain ironic appeal in juxtaposing this self-conscious flash with the seat of the Vatican, a bit of Cancun in the middle of Rome. But it is a heavy handed iconography that brings focus back again to the appeal of the pornographic. Whereas the symbolism of Quawson's work was one of a radiant aquatic providence from the worries of the world, Denis relies upon the attraction to the flash. Such works prove that the feminist enterprise is still desperately needed.

Marc Denni, "Art History Major", 2008, oil on canvas, 36 x 38 in.

Terry Rodgers's painting The Resonance of Undergrounded Reality from Amsterdam’s TORCH Gallery was a stirring figurative work that addressed these questions of sexuality and pornography with a striking visual scene. The viewer beholds a group of half clothed magazine perfect men and women. They indulge in the joys of alcohol, cigarettes, perhaps drugs, and a luxurious interior. There is a marvelous ambiguity about what is precisely going on in the scene. It could be a brothel. It could be a night club. It could be private party. The work displays a powerful mastery of the photorealist style. Each strand of hair is visible as are the small sparkles on the wine glasses and jewelry. The haunted faces of all of these revelers suggest that despite all this hedonism, something is missing.

Terry Rodgers spoke very eloquently about his intentions regarding this work:

"The paintings are not meant to judge or criticize. I am looking closely at who we are, the density of influences upon us, the mistakes we make, and the recognitions that occur in trying to navigate a universe with no sign posts. The figures in my paintings often are seen at a moment where some recognition or self-reflection seems to be taking place. These moments of recognition are metaphors for grappling with the unknown. Perhaps something is missing from their lives and they don't necessarily know what it is. They are metaphors for the search. My reaction to the figures and their gestures is sympathy, not judgment.

My hope is that ultimately these paintings show fragile, genuine human beings trying to make something of what they are confronted with. Each of them is unique in their individuality—in their hair, their eyes, their lips, their hands—and they are all separately struggling and often finding merely surface solutions and ephemeral escapes to the timeless riddles of consciousness."

Terry Rodgers, "The Resonance of Ungrounded Reality", 2008, oil on linene, 66" x 88."

Pornography was recently addressed in a long and stimulating column of this art blog. I agree with the author that sexuality is not something we should fear in that predictable American and puritanical fashion. However, it is an open question whether valorizing pornography as a form will actually advance this enterprise of nurturing a healthier sexual paradigm in America.

Jean Baudrillard once observed that "at the heart of pornography is sexuality haunted by its own disappearance." Sexuality is a physical and emotional dance with the other. Pornography eliminates this engagement with the other and replaces it with the one way interaction with a ghost image. The cool touch of the keyboard pales in comparison to the warm touch of the lover. Something is deeply absent in the pornographic experience.

As Rodgers might put it, engaging with the other as lover is one of the timeless riddles of consciousness. Pornography strikes your commentator as an easy way out and a surface solution. Recent conversations in the gay community focus on the sequestering in a virtual closet. Many "down low" men now limit their experience of same sex desire to imagery on a computer screen. For them, pornography operates as a mechanism of sexual denial. This is but one example of the way in which pornography can inhibit rather than foster healthy sexuality.

But Porn sells - and it sells very well. The good and provocative work of Rodgers and Quawson's works was outnumbered by many pieces in the pornographic region of Denis. it is not the best work. At the end of the day, it demonstrates the underlying problem of appointing the art market as curator during art fairs. Although it may be a tired example of the market's flawed judgment, Van Gogh never sold a painting during his life. These porn pictures at Pulse smacked of the category of art that sells well in the moment but lacks the aesthetics and iconography to merit enduring memory in the art world - which is ultimately resale value.

Then, I hit the booth of PPOW, featuring a large baroque painting by Julie Heffernan and a couple of happily fluorescent / airbrush works by Mala Iqbal.

While I know many of us had our doubts about Saatchi Online as a participant in the fair, I was pleased to see a semi-abstract painting by Haeri Yoo, some of Amy Stein's photography referencing the conflict of people and animals at the edges of urbanization, and the photographs by Dana Lauren Goldstein.

Cordy Ryman at DCKT Contemporary

Speaking of doubts, I've heard a couple of people say they weren't sure if the inclusion of Parsons MFA students was a good idea, but it was one of my favorite booths, including a hilarious video by Matthew DeLeon in which he poses in front of a projection of straight porn, trying to place his body in the woman's position as she has sex with a hot bodybuilder type.

Morgan Lehman devoted their entire booth to sculptural work by John Salvest, including my favorite, a slice of a door with rubber bands around the doorknobs called (I believe) "Kitchen Fetish."

Envoy featured an installation of paintings / collages by J. Williams III in the back of their booth, and across the aisle was a two-channel video installation by Paul Mpagi Sepuya titled "Christian" and inspired by the photo shoot for the seventh of his "Shoot" zines. At the end of my visit to the fair, Christian happened to be working the coat check when I picked up my coat, allowing me to complement him on his participation in the project.

Monya Rowe's elegantly installed and curated booth included new paintings by Angela Dufresne and Larissa Bates plus a sculpture by Mark Schubert.

DCKT Contemporary celebrated a new acquisition for their artists stable, Cordy Ryman, with several hybrid painting / sculpture works, and featured a combination beer cooler / dune buggy by Ryan Humphrey titled "Drinkin' and Drivin'." I spotted a number of people walking around the fair while drinking Budweiser tallboys from said cooler.

Finally, Nathan Larramendy Gallery deserves kudos for devoting its booth to a politically important rather than feel-good solo exhibition, Richard Ross's "Architecture of Authority."

Lilibeth Cuenca Rasmussen present a musical performance at the Renwick Gallery tonight at 9pm "with a variation of genres electronica, punk, rock and hiphop with her own lyrics and like the ever changing Mis United her costumes changes for each new music piece." Renwick Gallery just took down an exhibition of documentary material accompanying Rasmussen's previous performance project there, A Void; a set of creative reenactments of historical performance art peices originating in date form 1958 onwards. James Wagner has written on Rasmussen's previous work here.

(Grant Haffner, East 27, acrylic, marker, pencil on wood panel, 2007)

I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best,
I can't keep track of each fallen robin.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
that's all, I don't even think of you that often.
-Leonard Cohen

Last night this blogger decided to try something new. After given word-of-mouth of the Pool Art Fair's opening night at the storied Chelsea Hotel, I wandered from my own Chelsea digs to take a peek at what the fuss was all about. Already having fair fatigue on Day 2 of NYC's Art World Meltdown 2008, I thought to myself, "Well, it can't hurt to take a look, can it?" I was wrong. It did.

First of all, there's several things Pool needs to do immediately to not drown in stagnant water. First: promote the show. Since it is a showcasing of unrepresented talent, the fact that I only heard about it through word of mouth means much better work needs to be done on the part of the promoter, Frere Independent, which also oversees the DIVA fair. As I walked to the entrance of the hotel, there on the glass door was an 8 1/2" x 11" color flyer. Now I know this is an independent, D.I.Y., and very grassroots show, but any casual person walking by would never have known anything was going on. I do think a trip to Kinkos might have sufficed. Secondly, the opening night was less about showcasing the actual art to possible collectors and interested galleries than a casual hangout of the artists' friends. In multiple cases I couldn't even get into the cramped and crowded rooms because there were so many people loitering and blocking the works, drinks in hands, cigarettes to mouths. Yes, smoking was prevalent. To say that this was an unprofessional atmosphere is not an understatement.

Three artists' works stood out strongly from the rest-- Grant Haffner, Don Porcella and Debra Drexler. First, Grant Haffner in Room 230. A fantastic reworker of angles and planar landscapes, he juxtaposes intersections of sky with the open road. Through the use of a highly solarized color pallette, he really brings his images to life, as well as through adept canvas preparation. The surfaces really captured your eye. Add to it that the room was professionally hung, with an artist that was engaging and enthusiastic about his work while easily sharing his knowledge with the viewer gives extra brownie points. Make a note to examine the tilting power lines. At any moment you feel that they might topple. Haffner's horizons appear to extend as far as the eye can see, with no end or beginning. Very relevant work referencing our open-ended existence.

Next up, Don Porcella, also in Room 230. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw his little encaustic Frankencreatures and ghost floaters. There was something wildly fun and at the same time obnoxious, (but not overly so), about his pieces. I felt like I was back in grade school, trading sketches of the snotty nosed kid in the front row back and forth. With each layer of waxy buildup, Porcella's storytelling is whimsical and touching. At times he goes a bit too far for my own liking-- almost a kitschy Clown College-like quality-- but he steadies the course in the end, feeling much more like the "Ghostbusters" Marshmallow Man has been subdued and is now a delicious Smore.

Last, but certainly not least, Debra Drexler in Room 128. I was extremely impressed by her work. Her painterly hand is magnificent. From side to side, I traced the motions of each of her broad-brushstrokes. Her pallette is soft pastel against an underbelly of dark tonalities. There is a "damaged goods" quality to these works. I feel that she has a great mastery of self-reflection and examination in each of her pieces. References to dreams and memory abound. As a professor at the University of Hawaii, you can tell how much the tropical surroundings are beginning to become an influence in her work. In her "Pool of Reflection piece," nature is guarded, but yet the solitary figure contrasted against a dark tree root base is exposed in all its fragility. Fantastic stuff.

Pool runs through Sunday at 8pm. Bring your best Sid Vicious and check it out.

The Chelsea Hotel is located at 222 West 23rd Street in Manhattan.

“… experts at the Fed believe that the sub-mortgage crisis may have bottomed out with the recent Bearn-Stearns buyout by JP Morgan Chase bank, but critics of the government’s involvement in the buy-out are calling it a bail-out…*”

I click off the radio as I pull into the parking space, and listen with half an ear as Peter explains to me the latest episode of his new favorite TV show. Michelle is buckled up in her car seat, and I have to go to the back of the van and unload the stroller.

“Now hold my hand Peter,” I say while trying to push the stroller down the parking lot towards the mall with my free hand, “and remember, if you don’t feel well, say something, we don’t want a mess on the floor like last time.”

The doors slide open and we enter into the wide fluorescent expanse of the mall. They just moved to a new location, and while the new space is much more open and clean, it lacks the charm of the old location—admittedly though, the old place was getting a bit dilapidated.

Brightly colored plastic things vie for our attention, and Peter begins to wrench his hand from mine, running in the direction of the first thing that catches his interest. In the middle of Kinz Tillou & Feigen is a bright monitor with acid test colors flashing across the surface like a demented screen saver.

“Jeremy Blake,” I think to myself, while Michelle coos in appreciation in the stroller. This is the first time I’ve seen one of these in person, and I can understand why they’re tempting. A lot of the new digital stuff seems more designed for functionality than any kind of attractiveness—too bad about the poor Blake though, visionaries always die young. I make a mental note to recharge my iPod when I get back home.

I glance back at Freight and Volume where some small quirky works by Jim Lee are on display in front. They bear some resemblance to products I’ve seen from Richard Tuttle before, but I still can’t help but love the rough-hewn and off kilter precociousness. Peter, of course, can’t be bothered to glance, while Michelle seems to be drooling slightly. At least she’s content.

We head up to the Saatchi-Online booth, where they have some things culled from local entrepreneurs. Saatchi-online is like one of those E-bay stores that just facilitate transactions between small-time merchants and consumers, and I’m glad to see that they’re supporting the local economy here.

The sales staff informs me that they picked people who were just getting their start for this display, and that all proceeds will go directly to the manufacturers. Saatchi is a big brand though, and I sometimes wonder whether or not it is more about them, than the work they are supporting. While I’m distracted talking to the sales people, Peter starts picking at the sales tags on the walls, which are, shocking for such a big company, hand written. I have to hurriedly pull Peter away from the store though, and in my haste forget to note the works-- I do, however, have some fond memories of these linear geometric abstractions.

I push the stroller forward slightly before I practically run into a clear glass booth where inside a woman is demonstrating a brand new toaster. She’s a representative of Arts Corporation, a cooperative that specializes in creating unique electronics that display their own functionality. The display item imprints the name of the company on toast, but I learn I can order my own custom toaster that will imprint my name on the toast. The sales person offers Peter a bit of toast, but he is completely absorbed by the demonstration video on the side of the both, and I think Michelle has fallen asleep.

We’ve barely made it into the door here, and I can already feel myself getting fatigued. Nevertheless, we push on past PPOW, where I see they have a nice large Julie Heffernan piece and some Carolee Schneeman photos. Around the corner is a curious display of piled up military figures, which Peter immediately goes wild for, but I guess that’s the sort of thing that catches a young boys attention. It’s one of the few overtly political things we see that day, but I’m a little non-plussed by its GI Joe bravado.

We head up the way to Alexander-Ochs, a German outfit, oddly specializing in Chinese items. The sales staff seams a bit bored and I politely chat with them while Michelle gurgles and stretches her arms out towards a series of simplified heads on plinths. The woman working there informs me that their gallery has been doing incredibly well with their Chinese merchandise, and that their company has been involved with that market for over eleven years. They’ve actually been expanding into quite a few locations like this one, she says, though she is a bit surprised at how slow business is today. I look around and realize that the floor is a little empty for a brand new mall. Maybe business will pick up over the weekend.

Peter, who is easily drawn to colorful things, spies a bright orange wall up ahead with a rainbow colored stripe painting by Tim Bavington and a large red plastic sculpture out front. I run to quickly catch up with him, and brought face to face with some goopy day-glo abstractions by Ali Smith at Mark Moore. It’s a Californian establishment, and the place gives off the sunny, good vibes you’d expect from that kind of brand. That doesn’t mean, however, they shy away from a bit of the sinister side—Allison Schulnik’s painterly image of a psychotic clown adds a tastily demented edge to the bright outlook, and I practically have to swat Peter’s hand away from the painting.When I look over their desk I spot another Julie Heffernan. Her stuff seems to be popular.

Unfortunately, Michelle is getting a bit fussy, and starting to whimper, so we head on down the way looking for a place to rest. Surprisingly, the Parsons New School has a booth here showing off the quality of their program. I’m grateful, because not only are the student volunteers friendly, but they offer a brief place to rest. Brandon Nastanski, who has designed his Reading Room display, offers Peter a book to distract him, and I have a small glass of wine with him in the back room. Michelle, fortunately, calms back down and begins surveying the surroundings with eager eyes. The Reading Room has a nice personal quality to it, and I’m won over by its uniquely personal charm—if only there were more relaxing spots like this here.

We get going again, passing by a small drink stand selling Grolsch where it appears that they’ve sponsored a display by Jade Townsend. Townsend is a great craftsman, but his recent concern with consumerism has lead him to produce things that are beautiful in themselves, but wear a bit thin intellectually… this collaboration with Grolsch only seems to confirm that sentiment. Above a table piled full of white-washed hand made items hangs a chandelier of empty Grolsch bottles. Peter starts crying out that he’s thirsty, and I have to remind him that these are adult drinks, and we’ll get something for him later.

We head down another corridor and I'm confronted with a Japanese boutique-- Nanzuka Underground. Peter obviously likes the headless dancing cubist skeleton, but I'm afraid I have to only shrug. The sales person directs me to a catalogue from Keiichi Tanaami, who does incredible symmetrical psychedelic prints with a Lichtenstein-like flair-- too bad they aren't here.

Michelle, unfortunately, begins to cry, and I have to pick her up and rock her while we walk. When we reach Envoy, a local establishment with a branch on the Lower East Side, her attention is caught by some dangling rubber heads by Marc Seguin in front of an abstract cut-out by Kanisha Raja, and she begins to calm down. I myself, find Ryan Wallace's abstraction on the other side of their booth to have a quiet, but sophisticated presence.

Down the way, a little Spanish store called Espacio Líquido, was offering some clothing for sale by a small collective whose name I cannot recall for the life of me-- they've embarked on a new branding enterprise-- Marx. I couldn't help but get a little chuckle out of that. Peter really liked one of the shirts, a blue button up with imprints of Marx's face all over it, but sadly I think its a little out of my price range... what would Marx do, I wondered....

I didn't have terrible long to think, however, because Peter had already torn about half-way down the hall, and into an open area by the food court. When I caught up to him he was standing in front of a monitor playing some crazy cartoon by Federico Solmi. "See," he says, "that guy in the big hat, he's the Pope, and he sits in front of his computer all day watching something called 'porn' and then he's got these big armies that he leads around to kick butt, and... whats porn?" I could only listen to half of what Peter was saying, because I was quite taken in by the video, and it obviously caught Michelle with its crazy quilt colors, because she was gurgling a happy baby giggle, and then I realized that Peter was attentively watching all of this as well... needless to say, I had to quickly lead him away from TV.

Unfortunately, he really began throwing a tantrum, which, inevitably lead to Michelle crying. Not wishing to make a scene, I dragged the kids out, and we headed back to the van…

In a recent roundup of neon art at the Armory, one writer on this blog observed that no Berlin gallery was partaking in the trend. At SCOPE, meanwhile, there was one enthralling photograph of neon lights on the façade of the Paris Cafe in Berlin. So perhaps now, Berlin too may lay claim to this fashion.

Ereignis 16 - 2.10.2006 can be found in the brot.undspiel booth at the Armory; the responsible artist is Roland Wirtz.

This is no ordinary digital color photograph photo-shopped to perfection. Wirtz turns back the technological clock and exposes this photo using a very large format camera. The glow of the neon tubes depicted in this image is meanwhile enhanced by the picture plane's dark surroundings. The image above will contextualize this unusual machine and process.

Light sensitive paper was put inside this large box and then correctly positioned for a long exposure. Looking carefully at the photograph, one can see the marks of the exposure's extended duration. Flashing red brake lights from the cars passing by managed to register on the paper. The direct exposure is also responsible for the backward orientation of the text. The long exposure exaggerated the darkness of the dim areas and intensified the sign's luminosity.

Depicting light as it illuminates the shadows has a long history in art. Its first great moment certainly belongs to George de La Tour and Caravaggio. In an era of light pollution and excessive artificial illumination, it is perhaps hard to conceive of the time of these paintings in which it was common to do tasks by the very dim glow of a candle. Such an experience burdens these historical works in a way we can only imagine to access.

What we can still learn from the old masters is that contemporary lighting technology powerfully influences the way we see and appreciate art. From my point of view, part of the explanation for the popularity and currency of neon lights lies is the dramatic shift in technology over the past ten years. With the rise of the Internet and the computerization of the workplace, we are now spending the majority of our day in front of electronic screens. If we aren't staring at a computer monitor, we are looking at our cell phone screen, our IPod, or watching a YouTube video at home on our laptop. Most of the twenty first century is passing before luminous surfaces that emit a glowing and subtle light.

It is only natural that these everyday visual experiences of luminosity will shape the gaze and taste for contemporary art. The pale glare of neon lighting feels strangely familiar. Such light is dancing on your retina right now.

Tracey Emin, I Promise To Love You

Coping with probable lovers are Pietro Roccasalva, at Art: Concept (Paris, 1201) and Tracey Emin at White Cube (London, 801.) Roccasalva writes You never look at me from the place I see you so that the second half of the vivid purple writing loops downward and backward. Emin claims I promise to love you in flashy white script, although at Lehmann Maupin (New York, 315) she twists the lighting into a more graphic stance and writes Her Soft Lips Touched mine And Every Thing Became Hard. There are token words made slightly more memorable by their glare – Martin Creed’s Friends and Things, which are white and multi-colored, respectively, and Visibleinvisible (where both words are equally visible) by Cerith Wyn Evans at White Cube.

The trouble with Friends and Things is that they don’t stand on their own as more than garish wall décor, and maybe that is the point, but why buy at an art fair what you yourself could commission from its commercial source? Neon, sculpted into something besides a lonely word, figures more impressively as a medium, particularly in Keith Sonnier’s pink and blue Bundle Pack, formed with metal net at Pace Wildenstein, and as two short inserts in a bent metal pill-shaped sheet at Art in General. The lighting is also shown to its best advantage on paper and framed, as in Fiona Banner’s A-Hole at Frith Street Gallery (London, 210), where adjacent, small uneven circles could be interpreted, from the text in the piece below, as the eponymous item or as navels, or one of each.

There is more – Doug Aitken makes a couple of appearances, with a circular swirl that flashes around and around, and fits perfectly with the life-size pink car-wreck next to which it is mounted, at Galerie Eva Presenhuber (Zurich, 611.) His free-standing white piece that also progressively flickers on and off in various combinations, beautiful and damned (diamond neon) would look appropriate in someone’s simple, cavernous foyer. Among the words and body parts and odes to lost loves, however, is Joseph Kosuth’s W.F.T. #1, in white, at Sean Kelly (New York, 301.) Set against a black wall, the piece would have an effect whether or not it was switched on. Kosuth, maybe best known for One and Three Chairs, here defines the light itself, in a web that spreads from the word Latin. W.F.T. #1 is one of the most interesting pieces at the Armory Fair, to the point that its own complexity prevents the piece from conferring extra validity on all the other neon lighting around the show. Of all the work in that medium, Kosuth’s is the only one at the show where the words and form of the work outshine the material in which they exist.

Galleri Magnus Karlsson had one of the best booths for painting, including de Chirico meets Swedish countryside work by Jens Fänge.

Foxy Production had a strong installation with works by Sterling Ruby (a formica sculpture titled "Headless Dick"), Ester Partegas, and Hany Armanious. Marc Foxx also had a great sculpture by Ruby.

Lombard-Freid Projects featured Cao Fei on the outside walls, and filled the interior with sociopolitical work by Michael Rakowitz (a large table of works from his The invisible enemy should not exist project related to looted Iraqi museums) and Dan Perjovschi's Postcards from America from 1994.

Hauser & Wirth created a room in their booth for a total Martin Creed installation complete with an automated door piece that, despite the signs saying "don't touch" kept getting broken by ladies in high heels with cocktails. They also had a Paul McCarthy pink silicone sculpture titled Mimi that was available in an edition of 6 that could be yours for only $450,000.

D'Amelio Terras had a new take on her pottery works by Nicole Cherubini that incorporated additional sculpture and a C-print. Again, check my photos later.

One of the galleries I never miss at an art fair is The Modern Institute from Glasgow. They did not disappoint, with works by Jim Lambie, Martin Boyce, and others.

Another Glasgow gallery, which had a strong showing in the Art Positions in Miami, is Sorcha Dallas. They had a two person show of skilled and beautiful ink drawings by Rob Churm and paintings and sculpture by Charlie Hammond.

Rivington Arms had a number of smart paintings by John Finneran incorporating oil, enamel, and metal.

Zeno X Gallery filled its booth with excellent painting from Belgium including Raoul de Keyser and Kees Goudzwaard.

Leo Koening had a strong booth with works by Brandon Lattu (a sculpture based on photographs Inigo Jones's Banqueting Room and a large C-print based on digital scans), Kelli Williams (a highly detailed small painting inspired by an Iraqi palace), Tom Sanford, Tony Matelli, Nicole Eisenman, Norbert Bisky, and others.

Stella Lohaus, one of my favorite galleries from last year's Armory Show, had a number of good sculptures / floor pieces by John Bock, Joëlle Tuerlincxx, and Gert Robijns.

That's all for now. Check back later for Pulse, Scope, and other coverage.

Please see Disarmory's website for more information, locations, and times.