PMS... Post Miami Stress.

Just got back from the ever amazing Miami Art Basel. Besides hobnobbing with the rich and famous/wannabes, partying until the sun comes up with rap stars I've never even heard of, and lounging at either the Delano or Standard hotel with flutes upon flutes of champagne, visiting the art fairs still stole the show. Only during Art Basel does the whole city breathe art and consume everyone with aesthetic intrigue if not bubbles of champagne.


Escaping frigid and rainy New York to a sunshiny and *gasp* 70F Miami was phenomenal to say the least. Chucking the winter coats behind and emerging from a cocoon of layers, the mini skirts and strappy stiletto heels made their premier debut... in full force. Miami is beautiful in that you can wear nightwear during the day without people thinking you're a total tramp. Not that I would ever dress in a vulgar fashion... though I did see women wearing maybe an inch of fabric.


 Yet the true beauty was to be found at Pulse, Scope, Fountain, to name a few... No, these are not the names of clubs or underground rave parties, but rather a few of the fairs that Miami had to offer. Fountain, perhaps one of my favorites, was the most 'underground' of all the fairs. Seldom was a work of art selling for more than $5,000, yet the creativity and energy was unprecedented. One artist made shrines (see below) of various knickknacks that reminded me of Santeria and other cult symbols. Yet the Biggie 'shrine' was the most comical/intriguing shrinking the larger than life character into toy-size.   

One of my other absolute favorites came from Pulse, which was a more shi shi fair, including the works of David LaChapelle, Moby (yes the DJ), and other highfalutin artists. I had my first aesthetic arrest in Miami gazing upon the work of Oleg Dou. Fawn, 2009, under his 'Cub' series. Not only has Dou managed to capture an ethereal/surrealistic image, but he photographed a child without absolutely no life and no soul. Channeling Children of the Corn, shall we say? This photograph is daunting, psychologically unnerving, stunning, yet strangely intriguing. 

 Actually the biggest let-down of Basel was the Convention Center, where the main fair was housed. Not only did I feel like I was going through a corn maze looking at bad imitations of Rothko and facing an exorbitant amount of Fernando Botero (and why is he resurfacing?) but I felt like art was being treated purely as a commodity while the common folk poo-pooed that which they didn't understand. A  man with an indiscernible Southern accent (perhaps from Tennessee) marched up to a non-interested gallery worker asking the price of a Maurizio Catellan mobile installation. She replied, "$550,000," in a totally nonplussed manner. "Well, that certainly isn't in the old wallet projection, now is it?" the Southern man in a fanny-pack twanged back. She slightly lifted her lip as to demonstrate she understood the humor but did not appreciate it. 


That brings me to this point. WHY THE HELL DON'T THE PEOPLE SELLING ART KNOW  ANYTHING ABOUT THE ART OR AT LEAST PRETEND TO FEIGN INTEREST? Case in point: I saw a photograph that had "c-print" written on its description. I asked the person working at the stall "What does c-print mean?" Her response was, "Ummm... hmmm... not sure... let me Google it." Really, Google?! Also, not knowing who Odilon Redon is and you're selling a Surrealist painting of a giant eyeball balloon, which was an idea clearly taken from Redon, is blasphemous. Get me to that Biggie shrine because I need pray for these unintelligible gallery waiters/waitresses who are serving art that they can't understand. Read the menu of the day and ask the chef what are the main ingredients, because honey if people are spending 6 figures on a work of art, they best know what they're about to be digesting. 


However, since this is my first blog post, I shall end on a high note, even though I'm writing from what could potentially be a tsunami in New York due to the massive rainfall. Some of the highlights of the trip included the popup galleries in hotel rooms. Cruising in and out of the rooms in the dodgy Catalina and Aqua hotels had a sexy, naughty feeling, yet refined and tasteful at the same time. The art was bad but the ambiance was fun, and the free tequila tastings helped. Also, visiting the massive studio of Mr. Brainwash (see below his version of Michael Jackson) and his insane graffiti/street art meets furniture design and politically incorrect paintings was wonderful. I love his wit and humor using social satire as his medium. Smart artists who conceptually know what they're doing are what the art industry SHOULD be all about. 

The hotel scene was fun for a hot second, but the Basel Overthrow Party featuring Pharell, Yelawolf, and Penguin Prison was the best for the party scene. Finally, nothing beats throwing a white scarf around your head, putting on the over-sized shades, and riding with the top down in a white Jaguar. Yup, that's me on the right ;]

Until the next time my artaholics ... xx