The Chuck Magazine Los Angeles Art Week Scene Report, 2025
The Chuck Magazine Los Angeles Art Week Scene Report, 2025
AVERY WILCOX
AVERY WILCOX
March 5th, 2025
Los Angeles, a city famous for telling the truth. The real, hard truth about LA is that it's a mirror. It’s the only place where you’re often shown what it is exactly you’re meant to do here. I started Los Angeles Art Week week staring at my best friend dressed entirely in a clown suit and makeup. We were across from each other in a booth at Swingers after the Deitch party. Around two in the morning I started making threats. I had had a lot of mezcal prior. That Monday night fever dream seemed a comical premonition for the week I was about to have. Always sat across from clowns, but somehow kind of in on the joke. This year was chaotic, and the work was latent for clarity. This is the official Chuck Magazine LA Art Week Report, see you next year.
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The Hockney painted pool at the Hollywood Roosevelt – Felix Art Fair’s home since 2018 – shimmered as it always does, but the “POOL CLOSED” sign underlined that sinister rumor that someone died in it days prior. Achilleas asked our friend Anna, who was sitting in Gallery 12.26, what it would take for her to jump in even after the “fecal accident,” per the sign. “Honestly not much, $35 and an Arnold Palmer?” Honesty is an invaluable luxury during Art Week, when you think you’re hearing a true remark, hold it tight.
There were other ominous signs everywhere. The Frieze Flat Tire conspiracy that affected the following but is not limited to: Chuck Magazine journalists, Klein Design Firm associates, and Smart Objects gallerinas. And, of course, the bizarre redundant Instagram posts from fairs and galleries leading up to the week, insisting that “as a community” we need this. Meaning, continuation of the fairs as planned in the wake of the destruction of the Los Angeles wildfires a month and a half prior. Naturally, Frieze and Felix were still going to happen, there is always too much to gain in comparison to calling them off. We shared so many rooms that week with people who had lost everything, and the subsequent trepidatious social contracts between all the players of the art world led to some interesting outcomes. I thought the presentations were very placating, lots of soft, beautiful, inoffensive works. So many paintings I saw felt detached from their meaning, as if it existed ephemerally somewhere else, outside the chaos of the fairs. There seemed to be efforts made to humor that buyers really do want the painting equivalent of a wine spritzer right now, post fires, post immediate uncertainty, post capital-W woke. Maybe it was because last year the work was so scary, or because people were playing it safe with their temperament.
What cut through the noise for me at Frieze were two works from Galerie Max Hetzler. A Louise Bonnet, and an incredible painting of a Chuck E. Cheese by Jake Longstreth. But regardless, the kids had fun, which I think is more important than any of us who are concerned with the art world really give credit to. A friend from high school remarked to us in the David Kordansky booth, “the vibe is chill…it’s cool that there’s like, kids here, but there’s also like, a place set up if you were tripping.” Gagosian installed Chris Burden’s Nomadic Folly (2001), which was a hilarious addition to the fair. She later apologized in an instagram dm for being deep in a k-hole when she saw us.
Of shows that opened during Art Week, many of the artists were approaching visual impressions of things somewhat imperative to the experience of Los Angeles – cars, guns, starlets, harlots, flowers, velour sweatsuits, religion, assassination, depravity et al. – good on the galleries for leaning into LA playing itself. Wet Reckless at Michael Werner and Battle of the Carmens at Smart Objects showed so many paintings on velvet and jersey, which poignantly highlighted the impressionistic effort of the works. The through line of the week for me was that the less things made sense, the closer we were to God. Things were smudgy, suggestive and layered, sort of like cave paintings. I felt like I was seeing a shift back to basics in subject matter. Maybe we’ve outdone ourselves with the overwrought metaphors and virtue signals of rigid temporal morality. The standout for me was Shelley Uckotter’s Moviestar at Matthew Brown. Uckotter’s works are entire cinematic worlds of their own. We should be so lucky to get to see them above yellow shag carpet and underneath glinting chandeliers. That show is up through March 29.
Other openings oscillated between half buttoned up or shitshow. Someone brought a toucan to Hauser, Michael McGregor did a keg stand at Albertz Benda, and you couldn’t see shit at the Barry McGee opening at The Hole. Whatever, let the skate rats shoulder to shoulder with washed up skate dads fill the gallery for a night. I’ll go back when the fumes from all the tagging have dissipated.
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Everyone knows it, and everyone’s game. The official Chuck opinion is that Uhaul Gallery was the indie darling of Art Week. Los Angeles loves a well marketed underdog to co-opt, which is exactly what we did. Twenty three instagram stories and one Chuck bumper sticker later, we’re basically in business together. The gallery is composed of Jack Chase and James Sundquist. Their inaugural show was in May 2024 in New York. In total they have produced seven Uhaul Gallery endeavors including their LA installment, Drive-In. We met them outside of Post-Fair, it was an easy sell for us. The show included Chuck favorites Olive Diamond, Julian Pace, and Matt Reiner. Drive-In’s small, thoughtful works were a nice balance to the visual branding of the truck and gallery. Reportedly, first to the Art Newspaper, which didn’t publish this, then to Chuck, they sold the entire truck to one Larry Gagosian…
In the end, the fairs are most important for getting bodies in the room, setting the scene for sales and conversations that people are otherwise reluctant to have in gaudy, traffic ridden, sweltering Los Angeles. Exemplified by the week, Hollywood and the art world have a funny relationship with funnier overlap. “I’ve had a crush on him since Seabiscuit,” says a Matthew Brown gallery girl on seeing Tobey Maguire again at the World Series of Art Poker party. Considering all that overlap and Los Angeles’ obsession with beauty, greed, and entertainment, you would think the West Coast would rank higher than third or fourth place in the American art landscape. We have so much fun here, and it’s so easy for things to be beautiful all of the time. It would make sense for artists to come from frigid New York in droves. Too much sunlight probably. The cracks people don’t want you to see too easily exposed by the reflective glare from all the stucco or refracted light from a pool you can look at but not touch. Though if you look hard and long enough in these makeshift mirrors, you might be able to sort out what it is we’re meant to make of all of this.
Thank you: Frieze Art Fair, Felix Art Fair, Uhaul Gallery, The Apple Pan, Paris Texas, Dylan Kaposi, Tula Goodman, and Donald Judd
Los Angeles, a city famous for telling the truth. The real, hard truth about LA is that it's a mirror. It’s the only place where you’re often shown what it is exactly you’re meant to do here. I started Los Angeles Art Week week staring at my best friend dressed entirely in a clown suit and makeup. We were across from each other in a booth at Swingers after the Deitch party. Around two in the morning I started making threats. I had had a lot of mezcal prior. That Monday night fever dream seemed a comical premonition for the week I was about to have. Always sat across from clowns, but somehow kind of in on the joke. This year was chaotic, and the work was latent for clarity. This is the official Chuck Magazine LA Art Week Report, see you next year.
The Hockney painted pool at the Hollywood Roosevelt – Felix Art Fair’s home since 2018 – shimmered as it always does, but the “POOL CLOSED” sign underlined that sinister rumor that someone died in it days prior. Achilleas asked our friend Anna, who was sitting in Gallery 12.26, what it would take for her to jump in even after the “fecal accident,” per the sign. “Honestly not much, $35 and an Arnold Palmer?” Honesty is an invaluable luxury during Art Week, when you think you’re hearing a true remark, hold it tight.
There were other ominous signs everywhere. The Frieze Flat Tire conspiracy that affected the following but is not limited to: Chuck Magazine journalists, Klein Design Firm associates, and Smart Objects gallerinas. And, of course, the bizarre redundant Instagram posts from fairs and galleries leading up to the week, insisting that “as a community” we need this. Meaning, continuation of the fairs as planned in the wake of the destruction of the Los Angeles wildfires a month and a half prior. Naturally, Frieze and Felix were still going to happen, there is always too much to gain in comparison to calling them off. We shared so many rooms that week with people who had lost everything, and the subsequent trepidatious social contracts between all the players of the art world led to some interesting outcomes. I thought the presentations were very placating, lots of soft, beautiful, inoffensive works. So many paintings I saw felt detached from their meaning, as if it existed ephemerally somewhere else, outside the chaos of the fairs. There seemed to be efforts made to humor that buyers really do want the painting equivalent of a wine spritzer right now, post fires, post immediate uncertainty, post capital-W woke. Maybe it was because last year the work was so scary, or because people were playing it safe with their temperament.
What cut through the noise for me at Frieze were two works from Galerie Max Hetzler. A Louise Bonnet, and an incredible painting of a Chuck E. Cheese by Jake Longstreth. But regardless, the kids had fun, which I think is more important than any of us who are concerned with the art world really give credit to. A friend from high school remarked to us in the David Kordansky booth, “the vibe is chill…it’s cool that there’s like, kids here, but there’s also like, a place set up if you were tripping.” Gagosian installed Chris Burden’s Nomadic Folly (2001), which was a hilarious addition to the fair. She later apologized in an instagram dm for being deep in a k-hole when she saw us.
Of shows that opened during Art Week, many of the artists were approaching visual impressions of things somewhat imperative to the experience of Los Angeles – cars, guns, starlets, harlots, flowers, velour sweatsuits, religion, assassination, depravity et al. – good on the galleries for leaning into LA playing itself. Wet Reckless at Michael Werner and Battle of the Carmens at Smart Objects showed so many paintings on velvet and jersey, which poignantly highlighted the impressionistic effort of the works. The through line of the week for me was that the less things made sense, the closer we were to God. Things were smudgy, suggestive and layered, sort of like cave paintings. I felt like I was seeing a shift back to basics in subject matter. Maybe we’ve outdone ourselves with the overwrought metaphors and virtue signals of rigid temporal morality. The standout for me was Shelley Uckotter’s Moviestar at Matthew Brown. Uckotter’s works are entire cinematic worlds of their own. We should be so lucky to get to see them above yellow shag carpet and underneath glinting chandeliers. That show is up through March 29.
Other openings oscillated between half buttoned up or shitshow. Someone brought a toucan to Hauser, Michael McGregor did a keg stand at Albertz Benda, and you couldn’t see shit at the Barry McGee opening at The Hole. Whatever, let the skate rats shoulder to shoulder with washed up skate dads fill the gallery for a night. I’ll go back when the fumes from all the tagging have dissipated.
Everyone knows it, and everyone’s game. The official Chuck opinion is that Uhaul Gallery was the indie darling of Art Week. Los Angeles loves a well marketed underdog to co-opt, which is exactly what we did. Twenty three instagram stories and one Chuck bumper sticker later, we’re basically in business together. The gallery is composed of Jack Chase and James Sundquist. Their inaugural show was in May 2024 in New York. In total they have produced seven Uhaul Gallery endeavors including their LA installment, Drive-In. We met them outside of Post-Fair, it was an easy sell for us. The show included Chuck favorites Olive Diamond, Julian Pace, and Matt Reiner. Drive-In’s small, thoughtful works were a nice balance to the visual branding of the truck and gallery. Reportedly, first to the Art Newspaper, which didn’t publish this, then to Chuck, they sold the entire truck to one Larry Gagosian…
In the end, the fairs are most important for getting bodies in the room, setting the scene for sales and conversations that people are otherwise reluctant to have in gaudy, traffic ridden, sweltering Los Angeles. Exemplified by the week, Hollywood and the art world have a funny relationship with funnier overlap. “I’ve had a crush on him since Seabiscuit,” says a Matthew Brown gallery girl on seeing Tobey Maguire again at the World Series of Art Poker party. Considering all that overlap and Los Angeles’ obsession with beauty, greed, and entertainment, you would think the West Coast would rank higher than third or fourth place in the American art landscape. We have so much fun here, and it’s so easy for things to be beautiful all of the time. It would make sense for artists to come from frigid New York in droves. Too much sunlight probably. The cracks people don’t want you to see too easily exposed by the reflective glare from all the stucco or refracted light from a pool you can look at but not touch. Though if you look hard and long enough in these makeshift mirrors, you might be able to sort out what it is we’re meant to make of all of this.
Thank you: Frieze Art Fair, Felix Art Fair, Uhaul Gallery, The Apple Pan, Paris Texas, Dylan Kaposi, Tula Goodman, and Donald Judd
