At the beginning of the fair H Beagle was sickened by abstract expressionism, mimicry and a tribute to paintings from the Caribbean. The lack of artists among the galleries made him think Roald Dahl was probably right and they were there with their backs nailed to the wall. He imagined he was trapped in an Ikea art catalogue aimed at aristocrats, as paintings were sold by slick suited wolves with straight backs and appalling haircuts. The type of bad taste one can only get away with through genius. This was not a crystal bohemia. This was a shopping mall and in the orgy of individual commerce, everything goes.
