Frieze 2025 - A Feast for the Eyes

There’s something about Frieze that I just love — it’s not just sight, but taste, memory, curiosity. It feels like a visual banquet, especially for someone like me who can happily get lost in front of a still life.

At Frieze Masters, I was completely mesmerised by the glorious 17th-century still life by Flemish artist Osias Beert the Elder — a mouth watering depiction of a platter of oysters, bright oranges, fresh peaches and a cut lemon with glistening cherries, and most gorgeous of all was crystal glassware arranged so beautifully it felt more banquet than painting. I could almost take a sip. The fruit, the shine, the precision — every detail painted centuries ago yet so lifelike it could’ve been captured on an iPhone this morning. That’s the magic I love: when art makes the past feel like now.

Nearby hung Dutch artist Floris van Dijck’s Still Life with Cheese — one of only fourteen known to exist — another masterpiece that feels both humble, delicious and decadent at once.

Still Life with Cups, Saucers and Fruit by Swedish artist Agnes Wieslander's colour and light burst makes it feel like breakfast might just be waiting around the corner...

I also absolutely loved the vibrant, expressionistic use of color (deep coral, apricot, and soft lilac) in British artist Sir Matthew Smith’s Peaches in a Striped Dish. It’s not a precise, photographic still life — it’s emotional, almost sensual. What makes it so irresistible is the imperfection — the visible brushstrokes, the energy in every curve of paint. It reminds me that great still life isn’t about perfection, it’s about feeling.

Moving on from food..

Harold Harvey’s Morning Sunshine, Sir John Lavery’s The Hall, Argyll House, and George Clausen's The Visit all capture the gentle rhythm of social life, the kind of scenes that make you want to lean in and listen. They each feel like quiet conversations paused mid-sentence: women bathed in morning light, a hallway humming with footsteps and chatter, a visit unfolding over tea and whispers. There’s a warmth to them — a softness that speaks of community, routine, and connection. I love how they make me want to step inside and catch the gossip, to feel that fleeting, intimate buzz of ordinary life beautifully preserved in paint.

Over at Frieze London, the mood shifted — bolder, louder, and full of surprise. I was instantly drawn to Australian artist, Alex Seton’s soft, pale-pink marble sculpture (A Tender Rind), which looked like a blanket draped across stone yet felt almost weightless. Korean artist, Lee Bae’s Brushstroke was hypnotic — sweeping black-and-white energy caught mid-motion, like thought turned into movement. Then there was Greek artist Jannis Varelas’ Segretario in Piedi, an optical illusion that toyed with perception, and the exuberant, large-scale collage by contemporary American Lauren Halsey — a patchwork of people, colour, and rhythm that felt like standing inside a living mural.

One of the most fascinating installations was by French artist Marguerite Humeau, titled The World Turned Inside Out — a surreal bathroom made entirely of translucent grey mesh. It was eerie, delicate, and strangely beautiful, as if you’d stepped inside a ghost of a domestic space. I loved how it blurred reality, structure, and imagination all at once.

And between all that noise and colour were quieter gems: British artist Glenn Brown’s upside-down reinterpretation Searched Hard for You and Your Special Ways and Swiss artist, Felix Vallotton’s serene Baigneuse vue de dos (Bather Seen from the Back), and Sir William Nicholson’s Mrs Ben Nicholson all with moments of stillness amid the energy.

For me, colour alone can feed the soul. Whether it’s the glow of an orange, the blur of a figure, or a dizzying swirl of paint, I’m drawn to art that makes me feel something instantly. I love paintings that flirt with photography — so detailed, so precise, yet pulsing with the warmth of a human hand.

In the end, it’s all about the taste of fruit, the smell of paint, and the quiet stories caught in colour — little reminders of why I fall in love with art, again and again

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