ANEW: Alive With Possibility at the St. Louis Art Fair
Clouds, Color, and Community
I didn’t have enough wall space to buy any of the things I liked, strolling around the St. Louis Art Fair, which reflected back to us its boldness and a kind of Kodachrome wonder. Looking at things we’d probably never buy, but wanting to see them anyway. Some things were too large for anyone’s walls, too precise for all but a collector’s taste, or too “spendy” for our budgets. But that’s not the point. The point is being surrounded by grand vistas that only exist inside frames: cloudscapes that float like impossible dreams, mountains softened into watercolor haze, ceramics flecked with gold like repaired wounds made beautiful.
Walking among the tents felt like walking into other people’s imaginations. I stopped at one booth where clouds hovered in frames, endless and luminous, like windows to a sky I might step through if I leaned too close. Another corner held ghostly mountain ranges, subtle, veiled in mist, half-remembered from some long-lost road trip or dream. And then there were the bold canvases of animals, saints, and bees — paintings stitched with story, myth, and humor, making me stop and smile at their strangeness.
Art does that: it slows you down, reorients you. Suddenly, you’re no longer just on a city street but transported—on top of mountains, under the sea, inside another’s memory. Grand colors, unexpected colors, colors you’d never find in one place except here, alive together at the St. Louis Art Fair.
It’s been years since I last came. 2019, maybe longer. Stepping back into it felt like stepping back in time—searching for artists I remembered who weren’t there anymore. The man who once painted on newsprint, giving life to African Americans from the 1930s and 40s, now absent. The bookbinder who stitched travel journals, those carnet du voyage that made me ache with longing, no longer at his booth. Their absence felt like a quiet grief, but also a reminder: art fairs are alive, shifting, always renewing.
And yet, there was continuity. The posters stretching back decades told the story: this fair has endured, standing among the top in the country. Families wandered everywhere — many from my own new school community — children darting between tents while parents carried food, laughter, and conversation. The Divine Nine vendors brought energy and heritage, their presence as much a part of the fabric of the fair as the music floating from side streets or the smoky smell of food rising into the evening air.
That’s what I carried away: the sense that art is less about the objects we buy and more about the moments we stitch together. Like Japanese kintsugi, repairing broken ceramics with gold, the fair felt like a mending of my own pieces — reminders of who I’ve been and who I’m becoming.
It was magical to be back. Alive with possibility. Alive with color. Alive with community.
Let it be ever wonderful.
Curated Listening:
When I think of St. Louis, I think of its blues and jazz. W.C. Handy, Kim Massie, Scott Joplin, and many more come to mind. No one has quite the same sway as Miles Davis. Listen to Miles play Freddie Freeloader HERE.
Supporting = Loving
(50% of the SUPPORT I receive is going to organizations I LOVE.)
Every week, I spend dozens and dozens of hours thinking about, writing, and keeping ANEW alive. I’d love for you to support not just these writing efforts but causes I care deeply about, like Dave Eggers’ 826 Valencia Writing Project, or the arts for communities at promise like COCA (Center of Creative Arts in St. Louis). Every so often, I will highlight what I am supporting in these pages. If you are so inclined, please consider supporting ANEW, which will enable me to help some deserving nonpartisan causes connected to kids. I will begin to highlight them occasionally, too. Your support makes all the difference in the world.