I wasn’t exactly holding onto my cash for dear life this year, as I have in past New York Art Book Fairs. I’ve been to enough book fairs and had to move enough times: no more 20 pound monographs for shows I’ve never seen, no more zines of doodles that didn’t make the artist website. From here on out, I’m not taking so much as a business card.
I think the book fair is consolidating, too, because it feels like there’s less crap this year, and the crap is at least not disguised as a book. With over 370 booksellers/antiquarians/artists/galleries/indy publishers, I’m probably projecting, but I swear there are fewer piles of overdesigned charts on newsprint and more T-shirts with doodles. Yay. This year I saw plenty of books which, if not for my apartment, I’d very much like to see added to my local art library, my friends’ bathrooms, communal workspaces, and my dream mansion of the future. With bleeding eyes, here’s that selection: