The Armory fair has grown since modest beginnings in 1994 into a mainstay of the city's art industry. Louise Nicholson is inspired—and exhausted

Not long ago an art fair was a self-contained event in one building. Today, it is increasingly the catalyst for a surge of related events across its host city. Nothing suits New Yorkers better, as last month's Armory Show demonstrated. Perched on two west-side Manhattan piers, it stimulated a city-wide, four-day celebration of international contemporary art.

The Armory Show has grown out of a bohemian fair first organised by four New York art dealers in 1994. It takes its name from the landmark exhibition held in 1913 at the 69th Regiment Armory on Lexington Avenue that introduced European modern art to America. Works by Van Gogh, Duchamp and Brancusi were among the 1600 exhibits, of which one third were European. Just 174 were sold. Today's Armory, under the dynamic direction of Katelijne De Backer from Belgium, has more financial success: the substantial sales for 2004 topped $43 million.

This year, works by more than 2,000 artists were exhibited by 162 galleries from thirty-nine cities around the world. Half of the galleries were from Europe, twenty-seven made their debut. The criteria: all exhibits must be new art on display in the us for the first time, and must be by living artists.

Inevitably, some foreign dealers moaned about the typical New York rawness of the make-do floors and walls of Piers 90 and 92, longing for a formal exhibition hall. The visitors did not mind one bit. In they flowed past Ivan Witenstein's entrance sculpture Uncle John's Band, commissioned by New York Public Art Fund, noting Jockum Nordstrom's specially commissioned collages as they leafed through the official catalogue. Moving swiftly and professionally from booth to booth, they clicked on their cell phones to discuss potential purchases in English, French, German, Spanish, Japanese, Italian. For this is a show where new artists are spotted and quickly scooped up.

Opinions differed as to who possessed the hottest new talent. But there was general agreement on the energy, diversity and quality of the goods. Steve Powers's witty, site-specific The Bakery, with artist-designed knuckleduster-shaped cookies, drew crowds to Deitch Projects' booth. Christian Holstad's transvestite killer-whale sleeping bag made of pillar-box red vinyl and black lace took up most of Daniel Reich's space. Against these, the bucolic romantic realism of Susan Hiller's Country Roads/Landstrassen piezo prints shown by Neu was a frequently repeated mood.

As New York is the ultimate city of social stratification, there was a separate VIP level to be experienced, too. Nine museums organised special parties for them, twenty private collectors hosted visits. All were must-go events. No slacking for the serious art heavyweight.

Yet the Armory show was a springboard for all visitors. Its energy, and sometimes its direct support, spread into New York's five boroughs. Museums planned shows to coincide with it--mid-career assessments of Tim Hawkinson at the Whitney and of Thomas Demand at MOMA, and in Queen's the opening of PS1's 'Greater New York' show. The commercial galleries gave lavish openings--Gagosian for Damien Hirst's new show began at the huge Chelsea gallery and continued until late at Lever House on Park Avenue, whose art collection, including works by Hirst, forms a changing display in its glass lobby. Lesser galleries organised themselves to attract new visitors. A clutch on West 25th Street opened up at 9am (an ideal moment to enjoy Alison Wilson's tender sculptures, lively Iranian art at Kashya Hilderbrand, and the young Irish artist Martina Mullaney's lambda prints, which were selling furiously). Two multi-gallery buildings, the Fuller Building and 547 West 27th Street, hosted brunch as viewers dashed from floor to floor munching bagels. Later, Brooklyn's Williamsburgh galleries partied until 11pm. Retail therapy, an essential New York pastime, played its part, too: Kimiko Yoshida's photographs were celebrated at Issey Miyake.

And that was not all. The Armory Show collaborated on four themed fairs dotted about town. These focused on video and digital art, on Israeli art, on container shows at Rockefeller Plaza (where Trevor Appleson, of London's Hales Gallery, stole the show), and on smaller galleries. This last, called '-scopeNew York', filled seven floors of the minimalist Flatotel on 52nd Street. A different dealer took over each guest room, propping works up on the bed or over the bath, sticking them on the walls and windows.

It was there, at 6pm on Saturday, two days into this crazy festival, that I overheard a woman bleat into her cell phone: 'I'm overdosed on art. I cannot do Williamsburgh tonight. I'm coming home'. I felt the same.

What was it that gave this Armory Show an extra buzz? Was it the phenomenal success of the Christo 'Gates' in Central Park, judged officially to have boosted New York's February tourism by one third? Was it the weak dollar luring increasing numbers of Europeans to the city? Or was it what one collector, Simon Rumley, noticed in New York last summer: a thirst for art but a supply lacking in creative energy?