Through the eyes of an aspiring so-and-so with an all-weekend-pass-having-painter sister.
The second annual Atlanta Art Fair has already come and gone. It feels like a mere five months ago I was there for the inaugural event in October 2024, where all of the attendees browsed each booth slowly… eyebrows raised and lips slumped with impressed expressions. At Pullman Yards once again, even more people piled into the opening night than last year.
Whether it was the excitement of a first time or the pieces hanging on the walls had more “umph”, there was a spark last year that I could not find this go around. Nonetheless, there were still amazing pieces, kind people and strong drinks. Here are some pieces that I loved.
There were so many Black people speaking passionately. I couldn’t tell if they were the artists or they ran the booth, but their outfits were fresh (that would have been so cool to document what people wore to the opening) and the work behind them was always really good.
South Korea was represented well, which makes sense as the third most spoken language in Georgia (after English and Spanish). I’m not sure how word like that gets all the way across the world, but it was cool to see. My heart still beats for Frieze Seoul, which I have drafted a blog post about like 30 times, by the way.
The blog/personal section of this post starts here, featuring a winding, self-critical tangent~
As someone with social anxiety, I am not one to mosey off when my sister, with work in the Black Women in Visual Art booth, gets in conversations with a slew of artists. I don’t even know how to chime in, so I just kind of stand around silently, smiling as if I know what they are talking about. Sometimes she would walk away with them and I would grapple if I should follow her like a puppy or just stand there frozen in time (I chose the second one, which was probably the worse option. Surely there are more options here). Artists are people too, I know, but I learned to view artists through the more critical or ass-kissing variety (Art History degree; Mod/Con Gallery & Museum internships). I ask to come to these things with my sister to network and see cool things that interest me, but how do I network with an artist? They walk around just as stereotypically as you think, but nicer– Super cool, like they just popped in after leaving a bar nearby and wanted to see what all the noise was about. You wouldn’t even know that they have work at the event worth tens of thousands of dollars and they are able to sustain themselves in New York City. All I can think to say is my name and to ask them where they are living currently. I’m sure they wouldn’t want to tell me about their work, and if they do, I am terrified to ask. They come in, chat with other artists that they know, ask where the after party is, and then leave. And we leave with them, me as quiet as I ever was, my sister speaking boldly to them. Sometimes I can’t tell if they are close friends, if this is their first time meeting IRL, if they actually even like each other.
You would think that I would at least know a few people that she doesn’t know that well, like gallery owners here and there. And you would be right. I passed by at least six galleries/museums that I interviewed for, and that got a bit too depressing, so I stopped looking up at what institutions were representing each booth. What could I say to them? “Hi, I interviewed with you last year/this year/a couple of months ago”… Maybe that would have been fine actually. I just felt so much embarrassment about it. And for the owners that she knows and I don’t, her and I are constantly forgetting and reworking how she should introduce me for networking purposes. Yes, I intended to be a curatorial assistant upon graduating in 2019. Yes, jobs seem to be requiring master’s now even though that was not as strong of a push for the curatorial assistants when I was interning at these institutions (3 out of the 4 assistants literally did not have master’s. The fourth one I can’t remember. Maybe she didn’t either!). No, I don’t have my master’s, and I hardly think being a curator is something I want to do anymore, but I can definitely see myself as being in a similar field. No, I can’t even get a job in the art world, so I’m an administrative assistant in a different industry.
The cherry on top was I spotted someone who interviewed me very recently. Of course, he was a friend of my sister’s, and she asked him repeatedly why I did not get the job. He claims that he doesn’t remember me, thank god. I brushed that cringey conversation off of my shoulder, and all the other times that we bumped into him, I spoke to him like our first time meeting was that very night and not at a large executive table where ultimately I did not get the job.
Aside from the artwork, speaking with friendly people, seeing an array of Bravo celebrities, and ending the night with the best tater tots and fries that I have ever consumed, this event was truly a showcasing of my biggest fear– being rejected! I didn’t want to say the “wrong” thing to an artist, or to a gallery owner that I have interviewed with, or to strangers, or to people I literally know and went to school with that I saw and pretended I did not see them. Because what if I say something and they can’t hear me, or they make a judgmental face, or they respond rudely? But then I am stuck in a constant loop of being the silent sister who smiles and nods when instead I could be someone who ventures out to say hi or compliment their shoes or extend a hand just to say that I interviewed for them and I love what they have in their booth. I even saw a gallery owner that I interned for the summer of 2017. My elaborate and imaginative “what if”, of interrupting her conversation all for her to not remember me, pushed my courage into the corner. But what if I go up to her and introduce myself and remind her that I was the one going to study abroad in Switzerland the month after my last day at the gallery? And that she was really happy for me? And maybe I can stop by the gallery and tell her all about my experience? Ugh! I am so frustrated with myself. This whole second half of this blog could have been a diary entry, but I can type faster than I can write.
I came back to AAF on the last day, and was told that last year, it was basically empty. Now, I am squeezing past people and waiting to step inside booths. I went to see the SCAD booth, that I somehow missed on our route the first night, and a few other booths that I just wanted to see again. Familiar faces hugged me, smiled and waved at me, and in those moments I remember that it’s so nice to be recognized, welcomed, “accepted”, and if I do extend myself and someone responds awkwardly or unkindly, there are still people that reach out to hug me and ask how I’ve been. And then after those moments I clearly forget to be brave, I guess.
All in all, the event was cool. I grow to like Atlanta more and more with each passing year. One day, I will walk into the AAF and be ready to run my mouth and face rejection! I’m gonna need another drink.
Best,
Kennedy
Kennedy 
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