Yes, I was in The Hamptons this weekend on business, la-ti-da, la-ti-da. (I also watched Annie Hall twice, and apparently just quoted it, ha.) I would love to report a chic weekend in white linen by the cool ocean with a cocktail in hand, but oddly enough, this was probably the least chic art fair I have ever attended. The main problem was lack of ventilation and broken air conditioner in a white tent under the blazing hot sun. It was 100 degrees in there, no air flow, and humid to boot. The heat was all anyone could really talk about, and I saw more than one collector walk in, laugh, and walk back out. I imagine they all had summer homes filled with breezy sea air and icy Arnold Palmers to return too. Can't blame 'em.
I arrived in a full length dress that looked fantastic when I left my apartment at 6am that morning (I know) but by the time I arrived at Sayre Park, Bridgehampton, was stuck to my back, wrinkled, and about as unhappy as the girl wearing it. But my dress and I regrouped in the portable restrooms(!!!!), put on some gloss, and did our best to charm the soggy socks off the cranky and dripping gallery owners I've gotten to know in the past few years.
We tried our hardest, we all did. Lots of smiles and sarcasm and enthusiasm over what amounted to really wonderful work. But there is a reason that art of this nature is best viewed within the confines of thick walls, ideal temperatures, and spectacular lighting. It's a bit spoiled, fussy, and deserves your utmost attention. I did see a gorgeous Judy Pfaff piece, though.
Heat or no heat, it was a fantastic weekend. How could it not be? I spent the rest of it on a deck facing the ocean drinking white wine from the freezer and laughing with new friends. I finished a book and made a killer salad and got a sunburn like you wouldn't believe. Cheers, July. Bring it on.