I’ve been to enough book fairs and then subsequently packed had to move apartments enough times that I wasn’t exactly holding onto my cash for dear life this year, as I have in past New York Art Book Fairs. No more 20 pound monographs for shows I’ve never seen, no more zines of doodles that didn’t make the artist website. I wouldn’t take a business card if I didn’t have to, I decided. I’m approaching my bookshelf with more criticality this year.
I think this probably happened to the book fair, too, or fellow New York customers, 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 less 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 dream mansion of the future. With bleeding eyes, here’s that selection…
