Elizabeth Goodspeed on the best bits of the New York Art Book Fair

Last Saturday, I spent the day at the New York Art Book Fair. The fair (often simplified to NYABF) was founded in 2006 by indie bookstore Printed Matter, and barring 2020, I’ve attended it nearly annually for ten years – since I was a sophomore in college. Old heads will know that for most of that time, the event was held at MoMA PS1, a sprawling art playground of sorts in Queens whose utilitarian interiors felt more like the Berghain than the Whitney. Visiting NYABF as an undergraduate always felt like a pilgrimage; the long train ride from Providence, followed by the trek to Long Island City, culminating in a cacophony of noise and ink smells. I have vivid memories of spotting graphic designers I’d admired from afar IRL for the first time, and blowing through my food budget for the month on one of their prints. I’ve gotten pickier with what I buy every year – a girl can only own so many compendiums! – but it remains both an eclectic source of inspiration and an exhausting spectacle to behold every year. Since 2022 the fair has taken place in Chelsea (at the same venue where it was first held in 2006) at a four-storey venue with a rooftop, and the energy of the floors gets notably more kinetic the higher up you go. While the ground floor has the Hauser & Wirths and the Boo Hoorays, set up at ample tables with $1500 posters from exhibits long-past, as you venture upstairs, the tables get smaller, the books get cheaper, and the room gets much, much louder.

Walking around NYABF is a great way to put a finger to the breeze of creative production. By my survey, newsprint and Riso are still king, while the preferred merch format seems to have evolved from dad caps and tote bags to bumper stickers and knit scarves. Admittedly, even as a self-appointed trendspotter, the sheer quantity and scope of work on display makes it hard to identify any overly specific themes. In fact, you see a little bit of pretty much everything at NYABF. I saw tiny books and giant books, books about porn and books about religion, books made of wood, plastic, and glass, and books on typography of all kinds – even a collection of letters found in dog shit (a second edition!) Other favourites included Plates, Page Bureau and Related Department’s new magazine on criticism, a zine of increasingly unsettling Shrek plushies by Kurt Woerpel of TXTbooks, Parque de las Botellas a publication on nostalgia and place by Michelle Hernandez Vega, and Out of the Grid, a book featuring 100 Italian zines from 1978 to 2006 from Milan-based publisher Sprint. Worth mentioning as well was the exceptional branding for this year’s fair designed by Draw Down Books, composed of a smattering of joyful yellow and purple dots reminiscent of half-tone and bacteria all at once.

This author will admit that any of my attempts at thorough journalistic documentation of much more than the aforementioned books was thwarted by the absolute chaos of NYABF, as well as the fact that I spotted someone I knew every fifth booth; as my friend Matthew puts it, the fair seems to have everyone you want to run into and everyone you don’t all in one place. Candidly, though the work featured is reliably excellent, New York Art Book Fair sometimes feels less like a book fair than a massive networking event where you also happen to be able to buy books. The line outside to get in had more Rick Owens and Bode than Soho House, and just as many Elf Bars. Simply standing in one spot in any room and waiting for folks to pass by can be a handy way to speed run catching up with every designer you’ve ever met (as long as you don’t mind that you’ll be doing it while you are the sweatiest you’ve ever been).

However, the most palpable change this year, cutting decisively through the socialising, was a crackling spark of political action focused on the brutality of the Palestinian occupation. At a moment in the US, and New York City, marked by campus protests for divestment from Israel (and violent retribution from the NYPD in turn), many creatives, myself included, are having difficulty carrying on with business as usual, and the mood at NYABF reflected that. Posters advocating for Palestinian freedom appeared on every floor, and attendees and exhibitors alike wore keffiyehs, Palestinian flag pins, and shirts with ceasefire messaging. It’s notable that calls for Palestinian solidarity were internally-facing as well, with many participants at the fair circulating a petition urging organiser Printed Matter to support the Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel (PACBI).

Amongst many poignant pieces at the fair addressing the ongoing war, I was especially drawn to Beirut-based collective Khabar Keslan’s new publication, تحية للزيتون, or Salute to the Olives, which compiles the journal entries of Omar al-Barghouthi, a Palestinian poet and liberation activist who was incarcerated for many years by the Israeli military. This publication, like all of the collective’s works, is written in both the original Arabic and translated English, and is beautifully designed, with a cover featuring a chained hand clutching a rose – an evocative symbol of enduring hope in the face of confinement. Also on display at Khabar Keslan was a recent publication focused on post-Revolution Iranian stamps collected by editor-in-chief Ben Rejali’s family. A surprise to no one, I love any kind of printed archive (I bought two copies).

Another booth that caught my eye was Lugemilk, a small publishing initiative based in Tallinn, Estonia. My stepmom is part Estonian, and I was immediately drawn to a bright red book on their table whose cover reminded me of Estonian wall hangings that had hung in our house for years. I learned that the book, Flow of Patterns, was a monograph of the work of Jaanus Samma, a contemporary artist who explores the intersection of queerness, masculinity, national iconography, and power. Nearby, Nat Pyper and Zheng Ang’s table provided a different reflection on queer history, seen through the lens of typography. I’ve been a fan of Nat’s work for several years, particularly their project A Queer Year of Love Letters, an ongoing series of alphabets that honour the lives and work of countercultural queers over the past fifty years. I enjoyed their new series of Vers Books – bound but unfolded zines with no defined top or bottom that catalogue clippings from 80s and 90s queer punk zines – and most of all, their typographic wearables, my favourite of which looks a bit like a contemporary take on an Elizabethan ruff. NB: Nat moved to New York so it was our first time meeting in person, but they let me stash my comically large tote bag under their table all the same (thanks Nat!)

I only planned to stay at the fair for an hour, but by the time I left, I had been there for six. I’m sure I’m not alone in this experience. It’s hard not to get sucked into the expressive energy of the place (or the chance to gossip offline). Compared to other large-scale art events I’ve been to, NYABF has always felt less about stiff formalities and more about spontaneous connections. Exhibitors are genuinely excited to tell you more about their work, even if you aren’t in a position to buy anything — a rarity in an economy where artists are increasingly underpaid and the ROI for physical works continues to wane. Above all, I left the event reminded of how gatherings like these not only reflect but also influence the trajectories of art and activism; print has always been a marker of where we are now, but it can be just as impactful when it comes to shaping where we are headed. Who says print is dead? I think it’s just getting started.