Art Basel itself is an amalgamated cluster of expositions – various sections across multiple buildings and locations (Art Galleries, Art Unlimited, Art Statements, Art Parcours, etc). The VIP previews of the fair itself were extended over three days this year, but by art world law, the earlier you can get in, the better. Start with the multi-pronged ‘Big Basel’ but don’t forget about the peripheral satellite fairs and Basel’s fantastic museums.

Jitish Kallat Epilogue (2010/11) Photo courtesy of Art Basel

Art Unlimited takes place in Hall 1, where each booth is dedicated to a singular artist. Philip-Lorca diCorcia showed a seemingly endless collection of tiny Polaroid photographs, each one as impressively interesting and magical as the last. Also making an impact in perpetuity, were rows and rows of photographs of partially eaten round bread by Jitish Kallat. The cratered roti crescents represented changing lunar cycles, memorializing the artist’s father by touchingly recreating every moon of every night he lived. Ragnar Kjartansson showed a number of hilarious canvases, a series of painted self-portraits in his skivvies usually involving piles of beer bottles or the effects thereof. Each of the 144 works was painted in sequence for every day of the Venice Biennale. Also, a video by Tony Morgan called Resurrection showed the ‘life-cycle’ of a steak in reverse. Starting with each bite exiting the mouth of a man, the steak continues to be  uncooked on a stove, uncarved from a hanging butcher’s carcass and finally the film climaxes with the un-demise of the poor cow who magically comes back to life. Nina Beier’s work, Tragedy, was the first work I have seen of its kind: a dog performance piece. Yes, dog. Delightfully absurd, a trained dog would be formally escorted to the booth and instructed to ‘play dead’ on a spotlighted oriental rug for several minutes, melodramatically performing its own demise. Other favorites included an awe-inspiring monumental canvas by Rudolf Stingel, and copper works by Walead Beshty performatively hand-marked over time by art handlers, the hidden heroes of the art world.

Nina Beier, Tragedy, 2012. Image courtesy of Laura Bartlett.

The first preview at Art Basel Galleries is best described as storming the beaches at Normandy – no surprise there. Once you survive the line to get in: a funnel-shaped sardine can of aggravated VIPs and a fusillade of flying Hermes handbags, the traditional gallery section of Art Basel becomes a billionaire version of ‘Supermarket Sweep’ with a majority of big deals happening within the first few minutes of the fair. If you prefer a less hara-kiri inducing experience at the fair, I would wait for the bloody waves to subside before entering the labyrinth of the Hall 2.

The Art Basel Galleries is much like a black hole  – in an Ikea. Hall 2 is a seemingly endless circular maze of gallery booths on two floors surrounding the sunny sanctuary of the exhausted hordes sipping champagne in the atrium. As a general rule, you will find more established galleries on the bottom floor and younger spaces on the top floor, where I like to retreat to, as it is slightly less chaotic and more interesting. If you want to see it all, check off sections of a map, or will inevitably end up orbiting around the same booths in a sensory-overloaded daze. Take a few coffee breaks to absorb what you have seen, and don’t forget to write things down. There’s nothing more frustrating than trying to find an artist again months later when you have failed to write his or her name down. Googling ‘artist + mechanical + seagrass + installation + artfair’ has haunted me for years (Seriously, who are you? That was the coolest thing!)

Art Basel 43 Halle 2 of Messe Basel. Photos courtesy of Caroline Claisse for Art Observed.

Upstairs Galerie Anhava’s ear-catching booth featured a fantastic work by Grönlund +Nisunen, gleaming ball bearings rolling from side to side on a seesaw. The work creates both the visual and auditory effect of a crashing ocean tide. The monster fan in me spotted some great little beasts at Regina Gallery: post-apocalyptic plush toys by Evgeniy Antufiev and intricately lush and gruesome work by Wangechi Mutu at Victoria Miro. Yves Tanguey’s ‘Witches’ were also a feast for the eyes as they jolted and hummed back and forth downstairs. David Zwirner’s booth by far was the overall favorite alongside big boy contenders Spruth Magers, Marian Goodman and Sean Kelly.

Galerie Anhava: Grönlund + Nisunen, Wave of Matter, 2012, mixed media. Photo courtesy of Galerie Anhava.

Basel ain’t just Art Basel, or ‘Big Basel’. Devote at least one day to the satellite fairs: LISTE, Volta and Scope – in that order of importance. LISTE, the Young Art Fair, the rebellious step-child of Basel, shows galleries less than five years old and artists under 40. Perhaps over shadowing the art itself, it was held this year in the bizarre Warteck franken-building, a multi-purpose space that is a labyrinth of mismatched staircases and tiny rooms from which performance artists would occasionally tackle visitors. The most memorable works were a deconstructed bird’s nest presented twig by twig in a table-top vitrine by one Nico Vascellari at Bugada & Cargnel (Paris) and Matthew Ronay’s intensely blue beaded sculptures that resembled sea creatures at Luttegenmeijer (Berlin). At Volta, the sleek, small and more commercially shiny satellite fair, was well worth the handful of star booth booths by Galerie Mario Mazzoli (Berlin), Ebb & Flow (London), Magrorocca (Milan), Jarmuschek+Partner (Berlin) and especially Lawrie Shabibi (Dubai). Lawie Shabibi’s curated dialogue between Shahpour Pouyan’s intricately decorated missiles made from antique armor and Marwan Sahmarani’s lush, expressionistic gold leafed paintings of battle scenes stood apart as a beautiful and poignant demonstration of war as a luxury good. Scope Basel is worth a quick visit to hunt for the modicum of good galleries hidden amongst the rough as well as the big lawn and quiet café flanking the tent, perfect for sunning and sipping an iced espresso on a much-needed break.

Shahpour Pouyan at Lawrie Shabibi. Photo courtesy of Lawrie Shabibi.

For god’s sake, go to the Fondation Beyeler. The exhibitions that coincide with Basel are world class to say the least, and the museum itself is breath-taking. The surrounding Swiss countryside will be a much needed retreat from the chaos in the city below and well worth the 20 minute tram ride. The Renzo Piano designed building is embraced by its surrounding landscape including: a mirror like lily pond, a charming café, a changing sculpture garden, the endless vista from a gazebo, green rolling grassland and a mooing cow to top it all off. Their permanent collection is one modernist masterpiece after another, including a room with an elegant pairing of Rothko and Giacometti – which was truly pure beauty.

This year’s impressive Jeff Koons exhibition paired with the bizarre and dreamy Phillip Parreno show did not disappoint. I ogled every gleaming Celebration series sculpture including the, ahem, swollen and massive Balloon Swan (Magenta), which has never been exhibited before, and an infamous Hanging Heart (Gold/Magenta), gleefully hung at eye level. The candy-like canvases and giant kitsch works from Koons Banality series were hilariously distasteful and his vacuum cleaners, well, as banal as ever. By stark contrast, Phillip Parreno’s exhibition expresses the exhibition itself as an object, manipulating visitors through museum space while employing works on paper, film and site-specific installations. Parreno’s robotic lily-pads created by soundwaves greet visitors upon arrival who in turn walk away with a free DVD which can only be viewed once before it self-effaces. Leaving the biggest impact is Parreno’s hypnotic film, Marilyn, which places the viewer as the subject with the use of a POV camera. We hear Marilyn’s sinewy voice describe her hotel room and close-ups of her inky pen move across Waldorf-Astoria paper – as if we are writing it. Heightening the sense of intimacy, her iconic image is never revealed, the camera angling placing the viewer as ghost. Abruptly, Marilyn is revealed to be an artificial one, her handwriting created by an eerie robot and her hotel room a film set – even her voice created by a computer. Parreno successfully implants the viewer into the soul of a dead woman and then reminds us she was never there to be possessed in the first place.

Jeff Koons, Balloon Swan (2004-11). Photo courtesy of Fondation Beyler.

The Kunstmuseum is often missed by those who attend Basel every year, which is a pity as it has some of the most elegant Calders on display and an extraordinary permanent collection, starting with the early Renaissance and impressing through the centuries, culminating with contemporary masters like Bruce Nauman and Gerhard Richter. This year’s exhibition, ‘Renoir: Between Bohemia and Bourgeoisie: The Early Years’ completely changed by opinion on Renoir, a painter whom I had previously deemed a bit too pink, saccharine and nostalgic for me surprisingly did some of his best work from the mid 1860s to the early 1870s, including a stunning Japonais Still Life with Bouquet and almost abstracted, breathing landscape L’Allée au Bois. One of my best meals I had was my solo lunch at the Kunstmusuem’s café in its sunny courtyard, surrounded by Flavin, Calder and Rodin.

For those who intend to brave it next year, hear are a few more essential tips to surviving the week and making the most out of your trip:

Art Basel starts (and ends) at the airport. That means looking fabulous bright and early – and ready to schmooze. The first big VIP party I attend is at Heathrow, Gatwick or London City Airport – as the London art world flocks to check in, the people-watching starts before security. Last year after sharing a laugh over a cup of coffee in the waiting area with a still-drunk-from-the-night-before artist I received a bottle of Chanel No. 5 duty-free perfume and an invitation to an exclusive party. Not bad for 7 am. Considering that finding out the best parties and making sure you are invited to them admittedly takes up a large percentage of one’s effort and mental capacity in Basel, this was a very good start. This year was no different, upon arriving with my partners in crime to France – and after a brief realization that we are supposed to be in Switzerland (a short walk across the hallway) we met a gentleman who would be our tour guide stroke inside man for the following few days, thanks to the attractive charms of my friend.

You absolutely must have a VIP pass. This gleaming card gets you and one lucky friend into everything for free: every fair, every museum, every exhibition, every ride and every fast track. At least one member of your party must be in possession of this sleek little baby to do the week right. Only the super VIPs hold the highly coveted black VIP pass, which is valued like gold dust and gets you BMW car services. If you see it flashed, you ought to go try and make a new friend. With all the VIP passes in circulation, the question ‘do you have a VIP pass’ becomes ‘what colour is your VIP pass?’ It may take some mild charlatanism, but it’s not hard to get your hands on this essential wingman. Some early-goers will pass on their cards before heading to the airport and exhibiting galleries sometimes keep a large cache of cards ‘just in case’ which rarely get distributed. Once you are listed as a Basel VIP, you can register to guarantee future passes as well. Make friends, plan ahead, use it and then pay it forward.

Take a free ride. There are a ton of free shuttle services between fairs and major events; and if you miss the cars labeled ‘Art Basel | LISTE’ or ‘LISTE | Volta’ all you have to do is ask. Usually the shuttles leave every fifteen or so minutes and drivers are really flexible and friendly. If you do get your hands on a black VIP pass, you do need to do some planning for your BMWs because the rules change every year and the lines for the cars grow quickly as events conclude. Don’t be afraid of (gasp!) public transport. The Basel tram system is the quickest, easiest and cheapest way around town. It’s clean, efficient, well marked and stays open relatively late. Ticketing is based on an honour system where you buy a number of rides and punch in before boarding. Taxis are extremely expensive and not always easy to find – so taking the ten minutes to learn the tram map will be infinitely useful. Considering this year I found myself pressed against Jeffery Deitch in a crowded tram car, if it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.

Switzerland is expensive. Just accept it – accept that and every freebie you can muster. Art fairs in Basel give away tons of expensive art magazines and publications if you are willing to lug them around all day, so leave some extra room in your suitcase if you are so inclined. The first VIP days are filled with free canapés and drinks for the savvy fair attendee. Drinking as much free champagne as possible might offset the cost of your 90 Swiss Franc lunch – right? (I certainly tried.) The best freebies can be scored in the early days and early hours of every party – so be on time. This year’s Art Basel 43 Vernissage was followed by a great garden party at Vitra Design Museum where the drinks were plentiful until late – thanks to the intimidating fact that it was held in Germany (in actuality a 10 minute shuttle ride away) and that the weather was a bit damp. Those who feared not a bus ride nor stilettos sinking into the lush grass were rewarded with a dance party under a Buckminster Fuller geodesic dome and the opportunity to sip Campari on Jean Prouvé patio furniture.

Insofar as drinking that free booze is concerned, remember it’s a marathon – Day and night. So eat well, pick one kind of drink and stick with it, make sure that drink isn’t red wine, and don’t forget to leave a bottle of water on your hotel nightstand before crashing into the pillow because tomorrow will be another very busy day. Dress day to night  – and don’t you dare take a nap – you will inevitably miss the best party of the year. You haven’t done Basel until you have stumbled into (or out of…) a hotel room at 6 am. Hats off to the exhibitors who work every single day – as they certainly aren’t the first ones to leave the party either. There seems to be general understanding that since none of us in the art world decided to become politicians that having a good time is expected, as long as you remember this final rule: What happens at the Kunsthalle, stays at the Kunsthalle. There are few things more sacred than this in the international art world.

Your counselor, hard at work.

I’ve always had a problem titling my artwork. My question is how much should an artist “give away” through the title of an artwork? And when viewing a piece of art, how much should the title alter your overall perception?

Down with shoulds! There’s no one-size-fits-all way to go about making titles (or anything else) in art. What you might do, instead, is think about what questions your work sets out to answer, or what the work explores or implies, and then title it accordingly. If you work in series, you can go the #1, #2, #3 route to give the viewer a clue to your methodology. Likewise, if the collected works of Lewis Carroll inspire you, you could name your pieces after characters in his stories. If your work is about the rejection of systems, refuse to title it. Artist Nina Beier reserves the right to change the title of her work long after it has left her studio, proving that it’s possible to think outside the white box of tradition.

Yes, a title can alter the viewer’s perception of the work. Done skillfully, a title will enhance the comprehension of a work because it will shine a light on the artist’s thinking or working process. It can be used to add a kind of value, to denote homage, or—if you’re really good with words—as the punch line to a joke.

Nina Beier, Modify, as needed, 2011. Installation view, MoCA Miami SONB/IV 2011, Photographer: Steven Brooke

I know I am not that talented. But I am driven to be an artist. Money is not a problem. I’ve queried my friends and it seems as though nobody else has a dirty secret like this. They all seem very confident in their abilities. What would your advice be for me? Changing careers is not an option.

What a horrifying and complicated dilemma. Here you are, financially secure but artistically faltering, asking your friends if they’ve ever felt anxious about their talent in order to commiserate, and none of them will own up to a moment of fear. How sad.

It’s not really a dirty secret to feel like an imposter sometimes (or to admit to it) unless you are an insecure and competitive bastard who feels that a bit of emotional honesty somehow places you at a disadvantage in the imaginary Great Race to the Top. I was talking with Mark Bradford at a press event the other morning and he confessed that right after winning the Macarthur “Genius” Fellowship he would swagger into the studio thinking, I just won the Macarthur, I know exactly what I’m doing…and then he would spend the rest of the day stymied, locked in the mental and emotional struggle that is required to produce a great work of art. If Mark Bradford—you know, the guy who won $500,000 because he’s just that damned good—can feel troubled and unsure in the studio then you can, too. So let’s set your friends aside for the moment. I’m more concerned with the Donald-Trump-alike you have in your head, the one with the bad comb-over who keeps telling you that you’re fired.

The artist Mark Bradford in front of his work.

Your query points to quite a few of the murky areas of contemporary art production: What is talent? How do we measure it? Who decides? And also: Is a person who is not talented any less deserving of the title of artist? Can a person who has little talent grow into an artist of serious consideration? All of these questions are excruciatingly subjective, but that doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of our time.

I think if you pick apart these issues you might find a way out of your dilemma, as least as far as it stops you from making your work. Grab a pencil and paper and let’s start with the first question: What is talent? Is it the ability to paint an exact likeness, or the skill with which to elicit a particular emotion from an audience? Is it the aptitude and willingness to provoke or shock a viewer? Make a list of your favorite artists, and then try to pin down what makes them talented. What particular qualities does their work evince? And how have they gotten from start to finish? Jot down your notes.

How are you measuring talent? There’s a general assumption that talent is directly correlated with the number of shows you’ve had or the grants you’ve received, but to propose that is to claim that art is a meritocracy. We’ve all met talented people who are overlooked for one reason or another, so obviously that’s not the case. Yet the implication is that a slim CV indicates an untalented artist even while we acknowledge that there are no universals in art. Furthermore, let’s all try to remember that exhibitions and awards are outside validations that, though they may feel good at the time, make for a shaky intellectual and emotional foundation on which to build a life as an artist. It’s worthwhile to really dig into your assumptions here and figure out where you stand on this issue, because it’s going to guide your feelings and your career decisions alike.

Now let’s look at who decides what talent is, because it seems to me that you may have given your power away prematurely, allowing curators, writers, and exhibition coordinators to dictate the terms of the game. Yes, the gallery/biennial/museum route is one path that many artists strive for, but is it the only one available? Further, are all the artists in this most traditional pool talented? A half-day in Chelsea will teach you otherwise; there are many exhibiting artists whose work is boring, derivative and/or ill-considered. So who decides, what is their decision worth, and do you want to let them decide for you?

And now for the last of our questions: is a person of little talent any less deserving of the title of artist? Can a person who has little talent grow into an artist of serious consideration? Let me say that I wholeheartedly believe that to call yourself an artist is to be an artist. You may not be an artist in the same way that I am an artist, and I maintain that this diversity of practice enriches the field. Practitioners like to talk about “the art world” as though there were only one, but to paraphrase John 14:2, this house contains many mansions. And since every artist changes over time, growth is possible, especially if you’re putting in the time and effort.

You were brave enough to open up to your friends, and brave enough to contact me. “Changing careers is not an option,” you wrote, leading me to believe that you are stubborn and focused. Why not use these traits to your advantage? Such characteristics will serve you well in a career in the arts, and might well fuel some interesting work if you let them guide you. Your honesty is exhilarating. Stop looking for outside validation. Let your command of candor strengthen your voice in the studio, and you might decide that you are not as talentless as you once believed.

And if money is really not a problem, please send some to me.

To understand Beier’s oeuvre you have to be willing to investigate, to read, to dig, and to allow other voices to participate.  Her exhibition What Follows Will Follow II at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts is divergent in media but parallel in its concept.  For example, the core of the exhibition consists of eighteen framed chromogenic prints, views of a previous exhibition.  On the wall outside the main space is On the Uses and Disadvantages of Wet Paint (2010), a rollered patch of paint on the wall, repainted every few days with different colors from YBCA’s existing stock of paint.  The Complete Works (2009-10) has a retired dancer re-stage all the dance moves that she can remember, in chronological order.  Beier’s work is iterative and reiterative, making the work perform itself again and again in order to hold a kind of meaning open, for itself and for the viewer.

Nina Beier, On the Uses and Disadvantages of Wet Paint (2010). Paint, increasing dimensions. A patch of paint on the wall iteratively painted over with a different color from the stock of the Yerba Buena Art Center.

Bean Gilsdorf: Let’s start with the basics—your work is so materially diverse. If someone asks you what you make, how do you answer?

Nina Beier: [laughing] Only in America do I get this question! I usually say that my work is conceptually based and takes any form except painting…but I guess that’s not even true anymore. I am wary of self-mediation though, because conceptually conceived work is already far too self-conscious. The art needs to work as a project: to read, to misinterpret, to reinterpret, that’s how you get closer to the idea of a show.

BG: The Extreme and Mean Ratio sculptures and What Follows Will Follow are projects that have the possibility of being unfinished forever. How do you resolve to stay unresolved?

NB: In the gallery now [at YBCA] there is a wall painting, it gets painted over every few days. It’s never-ending and will continue even long after I have a claim for it, because that wall will be painted now, but also will be painted for subsequent exhibitions. So in a way, it will survive for as long as the exhibition space exists. My process is coming from a direct frustration—as artists we want to explore something that is alive, but normally in the art system the work is supposed to have a final destination, and it freezes. On the issue of staying unresolved, I guess I am not the first artist to struggle with fitting a living and changing practice into a framework that demands final answers.

BG: So what is your process?

NB: All the things that are completely unbearable about the system, that’s what I want to work with. The artwork is autonomous despite the attempt to claim its rights. When I look at my existing work it is not uncommon that something has changed since it was made; it could be its context, itself or even me. I respect the authority of the [extant] work, but I like to believe that mine trumps it. I should have the freedom to change it. For example, I’ll change a title if I don’t think it’s fitting anymore.

Nina Beier, What Follows Will Follow II (2010). Installation view of 18 photographic C-prints, various dimensions. Framed photographs of work extracted from the installation shots of a previous exhibition.

BG: You’ve been quoted as having read the theories of Walter Benjamin and Roger Caillois. Do you think of your work as theory-driven?

NB: I read, but not conscientiously, I have to admit. I use writing for inspiration and I rudely mix and match to make it fit my current thinking. But I would hate to think that my work would be an illustration of any theory.

Chris Fitzpatrick: It’s more like dislocated footnotes, to approach without explaining.

NB: I guess you need to have an ideal viewer in mind when working, someone to assign the ability to read both the conscious and unconscious signs embedded in the work. For me this viewer has recently materialized in the form of Post and Chris [gesturing to the others]. Art relies so heavily on its reader, it is hard to ignore when making an exhibition. And since my work ‘is like concentric crates, which depend on where they are unpacked or who looks inside.’ Okay, that was a bad attempt at quoting Chris and Post’s first wall text, but the point is that they are the people who are stuck with making sense of it all, these days.

Post Brothers: Instead, there are points on a map to locate—and to contradict and compliment.

BG: Do you feel you are playing a game with the audience?

NB: No, a game would imply that I have a master perspective and I don’t want to claim that. This exhibition experience could play out in many directions; for example, the wall text [rewritten repeatedly by Chris Fitzpatrick and Post Brothers and replaced throughout the exhibition] is all in their hands. It is a space that welcomes even misinterpretation and contradiction.

CF: Unlike a game, there’s no objective to achieve, it’s not shutting down meaning. But we are playing our parts, if you will, in the play of the exhibition. There are platforms and frameworks, but it’s not the type of exhibition where works arrive finished. There’s a lot to respond to.

NB: My work tends to be built on some more or less logical premise, but it would be really sad if it ended there. I try to start something and there is nothing better than when it is taken on the route of over-interpretation, an attack of the mind, like the incredible places that these guys’ minds can go. It’s what any work of art would wish for.

Nina Beier, What Follows Will Follow II (2010). One of 18 photographic C-prints, various dimensions. Framed photographs of work extracted from the installation shots of a previous exhibition.

PB: There’s a temporal interaction here. The work resists the historicity of a document fixed in time—instead, there’s a translation from one object to another.

NB: The initial exhibition What Follows Will Follow presents a confusion between the object and the image, between the map and the territory. The story of a one-to-one map is told in the press release and consequently in the exhibition space by the staff of the gallery, raising the question—is the retelling the story, or is it a representation of the story? The sequel What Follows Will Follow II is limited to the perspective of the photographer’s lens, but it opens up to its viewers in many ways that its more heavily loaded predecessor couldn’t. Through their processing, the images have become more or less abstracted, in some cases to the degree where all you can see in the dark framed monochrome print is your own reflection.