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WHEN EVERYONE IS A PHOTOGRAPHER, WHAT MAKES FRIEZE'S PHOTOGRAPHY WORTHY? 

If nothing else, the photography at Frieze London make us feel like we’re part of an elaborate in-joke. I mean, really—who doesn’t love a good deconstruction of deconstruction? writes Riddhi Dasgupta.

Photography courtesy of Julia Scher/Frieze


October is art’s ultimate power month, but November is when we’re still unpacking it all— the hits, the misses, the hype. So let me tell you about how walking into Frieze London for the first time felt a bit like crashing an exclusive members-only club—some are smugly sipping martinis, and many are name-dropping. I showed up feeling quite fancy with my media invite, wide-eyed and trying not to spill my drink on the metaphorical carpet. It didn’t take long to realise that my position at the fair was a bit like the medium I came to write about: photography, the budget airline end of fine art. Serviceable, sure, but not exactly the preferred choice. 


Photography’s struggle for legitimacy is nothing new. Since Baudelaire famously declared it a “refuge for failed painters,” the medium has wrestled with its identity in the art world. Walter Benjamin's The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction posited that photography’s reproducibility stripped it of the “aura” that traditional art forms possess. Susan Sontag, in On Photography, framed the medium as a clever thief, appropriating reality rather than a creator in its own right. Critics have consistently positioned photography as art’s rebellious younger sibling—occasionally charming but not to be fully trusted. Pierre Bourdieu’s theories on cultural capital add another layer to the debate. Bourdieu argued that art forms perceived as requiring specialised knowledge—think opera or painting—are valued precisely because they’re not accessible to everyone. Photography, on the other hand, became ubiquitous as consumer cameras hit the market. While this accessibility was democratising, it also made distinguishing “real” art from amateur snapshots trickier. So my question was, when everyone with a camera phone is calling themselves a photographer, what separates the art fair-worthy photograph from the deluge of digital dustbin material? 


Billy Childish painting at Lehmann Maupin, Frieze London 2024. Photo: Linda Nylind/Frieze


Art fairs like Frieze move beyond just selling art: they also shape what counts as art in the first place. Art historian Hans Belting sees these fairs as cultural gatekeepers, deciding which works get legitimised and defining market trends. Arthur Danto’s theory of the “art world” comes into play here, suggesting that an artwork gains its meaning from the institutions and critical conversations surrounding it. Frieze doesn’t just exhibit; it shapes the conversation, cementing what contemporary art is and what it can be.


Photography, therefore, faces a unique challenge at fairs, because it must prove that its reproducibility does not detract from its artistic depth and that its ability to capture and convey meaning holds cultural weight comparable to more traditional forms. It has to fight harder to be seen as something other than a budget choice—a delicate balancing act between meaning, mastery, and a touch of market-savvy. A photograph at Frieze can’t just be a pretty picture; it’s must become a statement, a provocation, a marketable asset. Krauss’s notion of photography as a “post-medium” practice resonates here, as successful contemporary photography transcends its own medium to engage with larger cultural or theoretical questions. 


As I entered the fair, one of the first exhibits that grabbed my attention was Bani Abidi’s Fragments from a Nightmare (2024). Presented by Experimenter Kolkata, a gallery from my hometown, Abidi’s work dives unapologetically into the heavy social ruptures surrounding Israel/Palestine. Inspired by Bruno Munari’s 1944 poster Seeking Comfort in an Uncomfortable Chair, she plays with irony in a series of self-portraits, awkwardly draped over mid-century German designer chairs. These pieces aren’t just quirky props; they carry the weight of a complicated past, evoking Germany’s tangled history with eugenics and exclusion. Abidi’s photos ask us to sit with the unease of spaces that project beauty and comfort but were never made with everyone in mind. Her work digs into both historical and current struggles for identity and belonging, confronting the fight for recognition in a world still layered with inequality.



From left to right: Bani Abidi, Still Lives With Margin of a Newspaper, 2024, courtesy of Experimenter Bruno Munari: Seeking Comfort in an Uncomfortable Chair, 1944, courtesy of Domus


In the same realm of political commentary, Isaac Chong Wai’s Falling Reversely (2024), showcased by Blindspot Gallery, hits hard with a powerful take on institutional violence against Asian communities. In his work, Wai invites us to think about resistance through striking collective body movements. Here, photography is used in tandem with performance art to dig deep into themes of identity and solidarity. 


Isaac Chong Wai, Falling Reversely, 2024]


Equally compelling were Gauri Gill and Rajesh Vangad’s collaborative pieces from their series Fields of Sight (2013-ongoing), shown by Vedehra Art Gallery. A striking blend of photography and Warli painting is used to confront environmental devastation head-on. Their work takes us beyond romanticised landscapes, offering a raw, unfiltered look at spaces scarred by pollution and neglect. Gill’s photographs capture these harsh realities, while Vangad’s intricate Warli illustrations layer cultural narratives and mythologies right onto the image. It’s a new language for talking about the environment. 


Project native informant shows Hal Fischer’s Gay Semiotics series, an equally playful yet incisive exploration of visual codes within the gay community. With a mix of signifiers—from handkerchiefs and keys to the iconic fashion "types" of the time, like "basic gay," "hippie," and "jock"—Fischer draws from structuralist theory, serving up a playful but pointed analysis of identity. His photographs are commentaries on identity, community, and the power of visual language. 



From left to right: Hal Fischer, Street Fashion: Basic Gay, 1977,

Gauri Gill and Rajesh Vangad, Breathing Rain, Living Fields, 2024


I also couldn’t help but linger over Takashi Homma’s Tokyo and My Daughter at Taro Nasu’s exhibit. It felt oddly homely — an intimate tribute to the bond between people and the urban landscape of Tokyo. Homma’s photographs encapsulate a tender familiarity, capturing the girl—a friend’s daughter—across various everyday settings. Maybe because it broke away from the usual detached gaze we get in contemporary photography, Homma’s work draws us in, offering a tender, personal view of the city’s life. It was warm, a beautiful reminder of how photography can blend private stories with broader cultural narratives. 


Takashi Homma, Tokyo and My Daughter, 1999-2010. Image courtesy of Taro Nasu


Before I made a beeline for the shopping area, I had to check out Galerie Lelong’s group presentation on femininity. It showcased works by Ana Mendieta, Yoko Ono, Martha Rosler, Pinaree Sanpitak, and Nancy Spero. Mendieta’s Untitled (Facial Hair Transplants) (1972) particularly caught my attention—it’s a striking performance piece where she transfers her friend’s facial hair onto her own face. It’s raw. It messes with traditional beauty standards, making us confront the fluidity of identity in the most physical way. 

Ana Mendieta, Untitled (Facial Hair Transplants), 1972


So, what then makes a photograph worthy of being shown at Frieze? 


At its best, a photograph at Frieze makes you pause and question your assumptions. At its worst, it’s just another pretty picture with a hefty price tag. But when everyone and their grandmother is a photographer, the ones that make it to Frieze aren’t just documenting—they’re distilling, deconstructing, and daring us to see differently. And if nothing else, they make art critics feel like we’re part of an elaborate in-joke. I mean, really—who doesn’t love a good deconstruction of deconstruction?


 

Riddhi Dasgupta is a London-based writer & third culture kid who loves exploring the intersection of market, creativity, and society. She has a background as a marketer and fashion creative, plus an MA from King's College London in Cultural & Creative Industries.

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