The vast spaces of Le Grand Palais are awe-inspiring, with an airy and liberating feel due to the abundance of room surrounding the stands. Yet, there are still miles to walk, an infinite number of exhibitors, and endless delights to discover. From technical and screen-based work, through sculpture and objects, to traditional oil paintings, the varieties of art are enchanting, astonishing, and sometimes even mystifying. You’ll find monochrome, dark and moody pieces, as well as ebullient and colorful works. Some are classical and restrained, while others are eccentric and unfathomable, perhaps even to the artist themselves.
Speaking with gallery owners about works that catch your eye is essential. Hearing the stories and discussing the art reveals layers of narrative or insight into the creative journey. The connoisseur might already know many of the artists on display or at least be familiar with their stylistic quirks. For those new to the scene or casual visitors, it’s important not to be shy; merely strolling around or just observing won’t give you a full experience of Art Basel. Everyone I spoke to was happy to chat, offer insights, and provide prices. This isn’t just an exhibition—it’s a business. Even the most prestigious galleries are eager to encourage sales. They may appear posh, but they are all expert salespeople.
I didn’t intend to write a “story,” but a narrative emerged, and I find it fascinating. As someone from the fashion world, I’m naturally drawn to stories that I can relate to my own industry. Early on in my exploration, a massive tapestry caught my attention. The piece was woven and embroidered, inspired by ancient parchment maps. At first glance, it seemed familiar, but it was actually a completely creative invention. The craftsmanship and intensity of the work were of couture standard, harking back to the grand tradition of tapestry, from the Bayeux Tapestry to Grayson Perry.
This led me to focus on artworks within the exhibits that linked to fashion, particularly those involving sewing, embellishments, and the “petite arts,” and how artists adapt old techniques to create new works. One piece, a huge wall hanging made entirely from bottle caps connected by tiny wire links, from a distance resembled a disintegrating couture fabric. Thousands, if not millions, of tiny “sequins” were sewn together, draping across a massive wall—yet the whole thing was made of metal. I inquired about its transportation, and it was explained that, like chain mail, it could be rolled up and easily moved. This was El Anatsui’s Timespace (2014), from Jack Shainman Gallery, New York.
Next, my eye was drawn to a massive map that stretched across an entire wall of the stand. On closer inspection, it turned out to be entirely embroidered. The intricate work, with deep, opaque embroidery even on the plain ground of the countries, must have taken months to complete. This was William Kentridge’s Porter Series: Carte de France Divisée en 86 Départements (Dancing Lady) (2006–2007), mohair and silk tapestry, from Lia Rumma, Milan.
Further along, two pieces were crafted from white wool. One depicted a textured image reminiscent of snow and mountains, while the other featured gold thread knotted into thick and thin strands, hanging across the frame as a still life of white wool and dull gold. These were Sheila Hicks’s Altocumulus (2023) and Conversation Diagonale (2024), from Alison Jacques, London.
Entering a section through curtains of narrow black satin ribbon, the weight and movement of the ribbons created a barrier. The artist intended for viewers to shoulder through or carefully push aside the ribbons, rearranging them or parting the fringe, though still encountering some resistance. Solid, heavy doorstops, moveable around the space, added to the sense of interaction. This installation was by Doris Guo, from VI, VII, Oslo.
Another large installation featured tiny elements that initially conjured the image of sequins, but upon closer inspection, revealed themselves to be the glittering teeth of razor wire. Combined with the fluidity of printed fabric, this piece tricked the eye into thinking it might be embroidered, but it clearly was not. This was Assemble the Disappearing, Site 1, by Lungiswa Gqunta, from Whatiftheworld, Cape Town. Throughout the exhibition, there were other pieces that, at first glance, appeared to involve printed fabric or embroidery, but upon closer inspection, revealed themselves to be something else entirely. One such example was a beautiful woven hanging made of photographs zig-zagged together with thread, many of the ends left loose, creating a floating fringe effect. This was Hunter Reynolds’s Felix Bead Curtain (2018), from P.P.O.W., New York. A panel made of linen, silk, gilded bronze beads, and more was breathtaking—this was Lina Iris Viktor’s Procession of the Solar Angels, from Pilar Corrias.
A standout display simply featured the word “Voilà!?” in huge letters made of fabric, a soft sculpture by Bruno Zhu from Whatpipeline, Detroit.
Finally, I must mention the Louis Vuitton installation, which was entirely dedicated to their collaborative work with Frank Gehry. It was magical, showcasing everything from maquettes for buildings to limited-edition handbags, scent bottles with stoppers made from Murano glass, and vivid sketches. I spent a long time admiring the installation and chatting with the wonderfully informative and engaging team at the stand. Of course, the huge fish visible from every corner of the Grand Palais was a feature, but it was the beauty of the ideas and the installation as a whole that captivated me.
This was my first Art Basel, and it was absolutely worth every moment of my time. The exhibition revealed, in so many ways, the close ties between art and fashion.
