Art in Regent's Park

Frieze London opens for its tenth edition

The Frieze Art Fair returns from New York to London this Thursday, bringing together 175 of the world’s most innovative contemporary art galleries in a bespoke temporary structure erected in Regent’s Park. Exhibitors will come from 35 countries including Argentina, China, Columbia, Hungary, India, Korea and South Africa. Furthermore, this year the Fair includes two exciting (if a little overdue) new sections: Focus and Frieze Masters.

Focus is only open to galleries established after 2001, each of whom are invited to curate up to three artists’ works at the Fair, while Frieze Masters, which will run in parallel with the main festival and require a separate ticket, will present “a contemporary perspective on historical art”. That is to say, for the first time, Frieze will sell old as well as new art.

Over 90 galleries from territories including Spain, Lebanon, Turkey and Brazil will exhibit works “ranging from the ancient era and old masters through to art of the 20th century”, a decision praised by the Guardian’s art critic Jonathan Jones. “Lo and behold,” he writes, “the art world has discovered that time is not flat. We do not occupy an eternal present. There were artists before we were born, and there will be artists after we die … New art is not an orphan: it is the child of history. Frieze Masters will make it easier for everyone to see that.”

Frieze curator Sarah McCrory has commissioned five site-specific pieces for this year’s Fair. One, a structure which explores the “use-value” of art by providing a forum for artists who produce food, chaotic dining events, performances and talks has been created by Lake District-based Grizedale Arts and the Yangjiang Group collection. Another will see a section of Regent’s Park smouldering as a field of incense burns to suggest contemplation and reflection (Joanna Rajkowska), and a recreated crime drama scene by Asli Çavuşoğlu will interrogate the parallels between murder mystery production and the destructive decisions taken when making art.

The Fair will also boast films, talks and a Sculpture Park curated by Clare Lilley, Director of Programme at Yorkshire Sculpture Park, alongside gourmet food, workshops and a Family Space. Although the primary function of the Fair is to sell the works exhibited, most visitors will attend as spectators rather than prospective buyers. In fact, Frieze stopped publishing sales figures in 2006, for this and other reasons. Tickets are limited “to ensure the best experience for all visitors”, but for those not lucky enough to get a ticket, the Sculpture Park is open free to the public.

Frieze London will be in Regent’s Park from 11-14 October.

"The Maids" by Paula Rego, a Frieze Master. Image: Frieze.

Philip Maughan is a freelance writer in Berlin and a former Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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There are only two rules for an evening drink: it must be bitter, and it must be cold

A Negroni is the aperitif of choice in bars everywhere from London to Palermo - and no wonder.

The aperitif has the odd distinction of being the only alcohol that can always rely on a sober audience: it is the opener, the stimulant, a spur to the appetite for good food and good conversation. This preparatory beverage is considered the height of sophistication, and certainly nobody labouring in field or factory ever required a pep to their evening appetite. Still, to take a drink before one starts drinking is hardly clever behaviour. So why do it?

One reason is surely the wish to separate the working day from the evening’s leisure, an increasingly pressing matter as we lose the ability to switch off. This may change the nature of the aperitif, which was generally supposed to be light, in alcohol and character. Once, one was expected to quaff a pre-dinner drink and go in to dine with faculties and taste buds intact; now, it might be more important for those who want an uninterrupted meal to get preprandially plastered. That way, your colleagues may contact you but they won’t get much sense out of you, and pretty soon they’ll give up and bother someone else.

The nicest thing about the aperitif, and the most dangerous, is that it doesn’t follow rules. It’s meant to be low in alcohol, but nobody ever accused a gin and tonic or a Negroni (Campari, gin and vermouth in equal portions) of that failing; and sherry, which is a fabulous aperitif (not least because you can keep drinking it until the meal or the bottle ends), has more degrees of alcohol than most wines. An aperitif should not be heavily perfumed or flavoured, for fear of spoiling your palate, yet some people love pastis, the French aniseed drink that goes cloudy in water, and that you can practically smell across the Channel. They say the scent actually enhances appetite.

Really only two rules apply. An aperitif should be bitter – or, at any rate, it shouldn’t be sweet, whatever the fans of red vermouth may tell you. And it must be cold. Warm drinks such as Cognac and port are for after dinner. Not for nothing did Édith Piaf warble, in “Mon apéro”, about drowning her amorous disappointments in aperitifs: fail to cool your passions before sharing a table, and you belong with the barbarians.

On the other hand, conversing with your nearest over a small snack and an appropriate beverage, beyond the office and before the courtesies and complications of the dinner table, is the essence of cultured behaviour. If, as is sometimes thought, civilisation has a pinnacle, surely it has a chilled apéro carefully balanced on top.

The received wisdom is that the French and Italians, with their apéritifs and aperitivos, are the experts in these kinds of drinks. Certainly the latter are partial to their Aperol spritzes, and the former to such horrid, wine-based tipples as Lillet and Dubonnet. But the English are good at gin and the Americans invented the Martini. As for Spain, tapas were originally snacks atop a covering that kept the flies out of one’s pre-dinner drink: tapa means lid.

Everywhere, it seems, as evening approaches, people crave a drink that in turn will make them salivate: bitterness, the experts tell us, prepares the mouth to welcome food. The word “bitter” may come from “bite”, in which case the aperitif’s place before dinner is assured.

I like to think that a good one enables the drinker to drown all sour feelings, and go in to dinner cleansed and purified. Fanciful, perhaps. But what better lure to fancy than a beverage that exists only to bring on the evening’s pleasures?

Nina Caplan is the Louis Roederer Pio Cesare Food and Wine Writer of the Year

Nina Caplan is the 2014 Fortnum & Mason Drink Writer of the Year and 2014 Louis Roederer International Wine Columnist of the Year for her columns on drink in the New Statesman. She tweets as @NinaCaplan.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times