ART BASEL MIAMI BEACH DISPATCH

jellysmells — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 20:05:00 -0500

The author on the job at Chemould Prescott Road, ABMB. Photo: Shirin Borthwick.

I write this as I lay in the comfort of my lovely bed, with a newly minted tan, a newly procured fluorescent yellow hoody, and a few extra pounds from alcohol-and-empanada-infused nights of revelry, all draped on my body. I’ve just returned from extracting a few wonderful moments of cavorting in the sun of South Beach, Miami, in between the majority of my time spent in the expansive, indoor, windowless, and climate-controlled confines of the Miami Beach convention center, crammed with what is supposed to be the best of the contemporary art world.

Which begs of course the question, “Well, was it the best?” The answer is, of course not, it was an art fair. The biggest and most prestigious in America, with works on offer from all the contemporary big names and galleries. One can flit about and take in all the newest work on offer from the cream of the crop of the contemporary art world. All in one place. So why was one left with an odd feeling of underwhelming at the end of the day? Because, as Sarah Thornton so insight-fully describes in her book, Seven Days in The Art World, this is the business side of the art world on full display.

People are here to sell, and keep their businesses afloat. This is where the deals go down. Where gobs of money is exchanged for the prestige and/or satisfaction of buying a certain piece of work. Any gallerist will tell you that is what these fairs are all about, selling and ego-building. All the trappings and scenesters that surround the circus are in full swing (case in point, this recent article ).

There was quite a brouhaha this year, in fact, over one collector’s penning of an exasperated take on what a fiasco the fair has become, with artists bringing down the quality of the work on display, by making work particularly for selling well at fairs, and the majority of those attending not coming for the art, but rather for the parties and the scene that surrounds them. To make it even more entertaining, the collector in question, Adam Lindemann, made it a cause to rally the troops of collectors to boycott this years’ fair (going so far as to label his cause “Occupy Art Basel Miami Beach, Now!,” ironic on more than one level. I’ll let you figure it out…) then showed up anyway. Lots’ of fun ink has been spilled in art gossip-land over the whole dealio, what with Jerry Salz of New York Magazine “viciously” bashing the hypocrisy of it all, and Lindemann defending himself, and retaining what was actually a sort of endearing right of non-sensicality when it comes to anything art world related. Good fun really.

But the thing is, most gallerists don’t relish the position they have been put into. Most find it a begrudging necessity that they must partake in this three-ring circus, and endure the pain of peddling something they consider transcendent.

And yet despite all this, I left Miami inspired, and it was in no small part from what I discovered outside of that mastodon of art commerce, in the world that had sprung up around it. And believe it or not, some inspiration even came from within the belly of the beast itself. Despite the climate of commerce, let’s be real, these are the best galleries on the planet, showing some damn good stuff. For a lad like me, who spends the majority of his time sequestered in a small mountain art hamlet close to the middle of nowhere, that’s pretty damn exciting.

I found myself here after once again having the good fortune of being graciously asked by the one and only Shireen Gandhy, of the preeminent, yet consistently refreshing and ambitious gallery of Chemould Prescott Road of Mumbai, India, to help her run the booth again this year. If you want to know how I ended up working for such a special institution, that’s a story for another day, but in the meantime, enjoy the following: a relative novice’s sojourn into the world of high art and high gaudiness of Miami Beach.

Miami Beach Vernissage - Saturday, Nov. 26

Life art on Oceanfront Drive. Girls handing out fliers for clubs.

Yep, I’m in Miami. One of the first things I encountered were these girls on the street, handing out fliers promoting some club, parading their God-given wares for the world in all their glory. And this is why I often kind of find myself loving the place. Not because I’m a pervert, but because a group of three girls walking down the street in heels and sequined bathing suits exposing just the right areas of rotund flesh is not uncommon. People don’t really bat an eye.

That kind of freakiness is just good for business any way you cut it. It just puts a smile on your face. Miami might operate under an ocean of tackiness, the people can rip you off in strange ways that leaves a funny taste in your mouth, underwhelm you in the service and fine-dining department, and it kind of resembles some kind of three car pile-up between Myrtle Beach, New York, and the Caribbean, but somehow it can be wonderfully endearing, and refreshingly the polar opposite of sanitized, saccharine, Middle-American white bread living; often, it seems, just because of the sort of innocent embracing of its energetic and colorful tackiness, and I think also a tolerance for all walks of life and sexual orientations, a certain kind of festively gay exuberance, with a strong presence of the LGBT community that oddly sort of magically blends with the ubiquitous maschismo and Latin American flavor on display, that is so not gay that it can be fabulous and vain without worry. People do silly shit like roller blade down the street and ride those ridiculous three wheeled scooter things like they are on top of the world.

WTF is this thing?

There is something in that blatant disregard for how un-broodingly cool they are that is damn refreshing. You can’t not love that.

What else I love about Miami is that I always kind of feel like I’m in a different country. I’ve never been to another American city where a language other than English is so ever-present. You hear Spanish everywhere, all the time, and I like that.

Then of course again there are the colors. Being a sucker for the gaudy and the fluorescent when it comes to the color spectrum, I’ve always loved the fluorescent light and whitewashed walls of Miami. Not to mention the art deco architecture. Two of my favorite things coming together, and I love it. I didn’t grab great pics of some of the more elegant examples, but certain sites just shouted for attention.

Just another little hotel on Collins Avenue lit up in magnificent fluorescence.

My hotel. Haddon Hall. Wonderfully gaudy, and wonderfully reminiscent of India.

See art lovers. Fluorescence is not all bad. Keith Haring’s “Untitled (Fertility Suite)”

After taking in a day and a night in Miami, excluding responsibility, but including lots of alcohol, it was time to get cracking.

Large Water Mammals Held Awkwardly in Harnesses

Ai Wei Wei’s “Tree #11” being loving vacuumed by our neighbors at Urs Meile,

Unpacking Rashid Rana’s “Everything and Nothing”

A piece by Keith Haring painted on heavy vinyl being unloaded in the staging area.

Setup day is always fun for me. I love seeing the back-end of the art world: crates festooned in such a strikingly utilitarian way that it looks almost intentionally conceptual. Sweaty people with gloves and tool belts figuring out the logistics of how to move pieces that were never created with such pedestrian concerns like safe travel around the world in mind. A special pop-up workshop of a room filled with every type of tape, glue, paint, and material you can imagine aligned in neat rows and clusters, there to be provided at a moments notice for fixing any sort of disaster that may befall a piece of art.

I love seeing works that will soon be cast as idols in the reverential glow of the hastily assembled gallery space encased in their proletariat protective wrappings.

It reminds me of rescue footage from the Discovery Channel of majestic creatures being transported back to their wild environments; like orca whales or giraffes being lifted by cranes in huge harnesses. There is just something intriguingly disconcerting, sad, and even humorous in a way about seeing wild animals in positions like that. It kind of felt that way watching for instance, Thomas Houseago’s “Ghost of a Flea 1” from Hauser & Worth being un-crated, or the sculpture, No Title (Kambli boat) (from “Payana” series) by Srinivasa Prasad of Gallery SKE with its usual accompanying pile of house-hold objects laid before it wrapped in packing paper, looking like a mother dog concerned for her suddenly encased puppies. It has that similar element of danger too, pulses are quickened as in the moving process this wild animal could break loose and someone could get hurt or it could hurt itself.

Trees & Libraries

Your’s truly in front of Rashid Rana’s “Everything and Nothing.”

It’s truly a blessing to be an exhibitor, because despite the fact that we aren’t the ones with the millions and billions on the other side of the table, we are still given the chance to rouse ourselves early (in pain no doubt from the night before), and enter the fair when it is still. When it has the tranquility and focus of a library, before the hordes descend and the cacophony of commerce and (perhaps more so - sightseeing) ensues. I loved walking the fair in these times when I gave myself the chance. Looking back I wish I had forced myself to awaken earlier each day and have time to really be with some of the pieces. As it were I often found myself in a literal flurry of action, bolting from booth to booth, taking in art whenever I was afforded a moment’s chance to break away from our little enclave.

Aye Guey Guey

As luck would have it however, our booth was situated directly next to gallery Urs Meile, who happened to be showing a couple fantastic sculptures by Ai Wei Wei, including “Tree” (#11), which was serendipitously directly in my line of sight, allowing me unrestricted access to stare at it to my heart’s content, and in the meantime, get to know Urs and the gang at his booth next door, and talk with them about AWW. It was a great thrill for me, as Ai Wei Wei has excited me more than any other artist of late. I love his work anyway, always have, since I first saw it personally at The GoMA in Queensland Australia, in 2006. But what is truly exciting to me, is the way that Ai Wei Wei has transcended the art world and captured the attention of a much greater portion of the population by his unrelenting activism against the injustices of the Chinese government.

Dropping Science

He’s truly suffered in very real ways, enduring torture and beatings, and subsequent emergency brain surgery just for speaking out. He has truly been brave in the execution of his art. All this at such a crossroads of history, when China is becoming this major global force, when the world is beginning a major realignment of power and money to the East, and all eyes are on China. As an activist and artist myself, I am fascinated in following his moves, as he has created a hell of a gambit: because of the large profile he has created for himself in the art world and the media, the Chinese government can only go so far in their conspicuous repression of him. And indeed, any abuse he suffers at their hands only serves to highlight their lack of humanity and lack of appreciation for freedom of expression. But at any moment they could decide that letting him continue to live a free life is an unbalanced equation for them. A decision they have made for so many other activists in China that have said and done much less and yet ended up behind bars for years.

Ai Wei Wei would be a top-tier artist even if it weren’t for his activism, but the fact that what he is doing actually seems to mean something, to me that means he could really be part of history. He could very well be the most important artist of his era. So many artists do work that “comments” on some sort of issue. It can be tiresome to endure the gravitas that an artist thinks his work has on a certain issue simply because he/she says it does, with no real consequences in the world. (“This rotten potato represents the collapse of critical thought in the western world,” or what have you) In Ai Wei Wei’s case his work really does have that gravitas, it makes an impact.

It was wonderful to talk with Urs and his Artistic Director Karin about what Ai Wei Wei is like to work with. Urs told me of his intensity and attention to detail, his exacting and mercurial nature. He told me how he would work on pieces relentlessly, and throw them out at a moments notice if he didn’t feel they were successful. In a fascinating anecdote, he told me how AWW likes to take long walks to clear his mind, but not in beautiful parks that exist near his residence, but rather in large barren parking lots, where as he describes it, there is nothing to distract him, nothing to do but clear his mind. He said he would often take his boy with him and walk these barren lots for hours at a time.

Oddly enough, I had just got a copy of GQ on my way down to Miami and had read in rapture, a large article titled “The Danger Artist,” by Wyatt Mason. Its always refreshing to read an article written about an artist from outside the art world. It gets to the humanity of things, the bigger picture of things, and avoids the avalanches of post-modern gobbledygook that tends to cascade down from the pages of the usual art rags, in almost poetically nonsensical hyper-intellectualism. Something we all have to dabble in from time to time.

I told Karin about the article and she was very excited to read it, and told me that AWW loves to read all these sorts of things, that he loves to see what is being said about him and how people are reacting to his work. And, this surprised me, she said that he probably would never get a chance to read the article unless she brought a copy of the magazine to him. Looking back, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, besides, the Chinese government’s enthusiasm for censorship is no mystery. Surely, if there even is a Chinese edition of GQ, it would have a government official combing it over and yanking such an article. I insisted that she keep the magazine and deliver it to him. She refused and said she would buy her own on the way out, but I pressed the issue and she relented. She told me to write a little note to AWW in the inside cover, so I did.

Accouterment

Colors and fantastic furniture by Herman Miller.

This year I especially noticed and admired a wonderful array of furniture at the fair. Art Basel’s design is always fantastic. From the walls, to the welcome desks, to the graphic design and typography of the brochures and the massive banners hanging from the ceiling or on the side of buildings. As well it should be for America’s premier art fair. I especially love the way Art Basel utilizes its color scheme: large and soothing blocks of white (or color) interspersed with neon or bright shades of pinks, oranges, purples, and blues. Each year a similar usage of such a scheme, but always slightly and refreshingly differently put together. Different subtle shades, patterns, and alignments. A wonderful blend of Swiss design and Miami’s atmosphere and colors of vibrancy.

The design house Herman Miller was tapped this year to outfit much of the furniture at the fair. I was especially fond of the chairs in the central dining area, with their usage of my favorite colors: neon tangerine and neon pink/magenta, both exhibiting some of the most pleasing incarnations of those hues. The shape of the chrome back support coming up as a single thin piece that then forked and connected with the curved wood of the back support by two black circles was especially pleasing to me for some reason.

It reminded me of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Combined with the stark and elegant white tables they seemed to gather around like cute little anthropomorphic creations of Pixar, I half imagined them to have invisible hands joined, heads thrown back, as if dancing around the maypole, or singing “Kumbaya” in the manner of the Who’s from “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas,” hands clasped in joy. Add also the carpets underfoot, colored a wonderful shade of dark ash, and in other areas, a bright but deep purple, and the way that the ash color also traveled up the wall in places in angular and jaunty swathes, it all came together in a way that I just adored.

So kudos Art Basel interior designer, whoever you are. And kudos Herman Miller. The VIP lounge was equally as wonderful I’ll have you know, although from a utilitarian perspective the tables had a very perplexing, and an almost invisible and cheeky dip into the center that occurred right in the area where one would usually place a drink, which I’m sure resulted in more than a few embarrassing spills.

Wooden furniture for use in the smaller cafes.

There were wonderful wood pieces on display as well in the cafes and the common rest areas constructed in a simply fantastic and fantastically simple way, utilizing what appeared to be nothing more than flat pieces of finished plywood exclusively. I assume, also created by Herman Miller, but I could be wrong.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one admiring the furniture. I found another blogger who has reported on the furniture, and not just those pieces utilized in the common areas. Indeed, many galleries had brought some fantastic pieces in as well, most just for them to do their business upon (wait, that didn’t sound right, I mean, conduct art business upon… oh nevermind).

There was one gallery in particular, from Brazil I believe, that was using some pieces that I would kill for. They were like cheap plastic strung beach chairs transformed by a fairy godmother into gorgeous princess brides ready for the Brazilian ball. And I wanted to marry them doing the Samba.

Brazilian princess bride beach chairs at mystery gallery. Photo: theartblog

It is also a blessing to be an exhibitor, because it is in those times before they open the doors, and when you are setting up the work, that you have a chance to bond with your fellow exhibitors. And its also a time when the artists themselves might be around, helping with the install (and more than likely driving the exhibitors mad). It was at this time that I had the good fortune to meet Petah Coyne.

Petah Coyne, “Untitled #1176 (Elisabeth, Elizabeth).” Photo: artobserved

Her piece, Untitled #1176 (Elisabeth, Elizabeth), was one of the most striking I came across at the fair, and I was immediately taken with it. Looking at this piece you would be excused for thinking it made by a dark and brooding person. Someone very serious in demeanor. Then you would meet Petah and your mind would be slightly blown by the small sweet little lady with an airy lilt to her voice standing before you with an energetic but gentle and infectious energy like your sweet aunt leading you to go picking daisies and have a picnic on your way to the carnival.

(Poorly) Design(ed) Miami

Having enjoyed the furniture so, and remembering how much I was impressed with Design Miami when I attended in 2009, and how fun it was to spill out from there right into a great show by David LaChapelle on the other side of the street, I was really looking forward to what Design Miami had in store this year. Sadly, I was a little disappointed. Perhaps it was just the thrill of it wearing off a bit. I was a bit wide-eyed I suppose when I attended in 2009, but I was really underwhelmed this year. First of all, it was in a tent in a parking lot on the back-side of the convention center. I mean, that’s not terrible, well done tents are always kind of interesting actually, but something about it wasn’t as fun as its prior location somewhere in downtown Miami.

David Adjaye’s “Genesis” at Design Miami.

The “genesis” of a new friendship.

The “genesis” of making myself look like I’ve got an extra chromosome.

Not all was lost at Design Miami however. And again, truth be told, there was some pretty great stuff. One thing in particular that was quite fantastic was Genesis, an architectural piece made entirely of digitally cut wood created by David Adjaye, named designer of the year, positioned as something like a pavilion out front. I made friends with a mom and daughter couple who were enjoying the piece as well, and we took pictures with each other before a very inebriated and flamboyant gentleman who was very enamored of me and my haircut broke up the party.

Audi concept car at Design Miami.

The floor turned white wherever you stood. That was cool. Real talk.

Other highlights included a piece created for Audi: a very nifty stage made to show off their concept car, that also wonderfully integrated a Miami aesthetic and Miami colors, and performed a neat trick of altering the lighted colors of the floor when your weight was detected upon it.

Poor photography, excellent lamps.

Loved this guy.

There were some lamps I quite enjoyed too. Unfortunately, I failed to document their creator. Anyone know who created these wonderful things?

Favoritas

A favorite of mine from the fair, by Larry Johnson.

I had a realization at the fair this year. I realized that the art that I really love usually has a common theme: humor. Humor, and often money. Humor more than money, but those two themes definitely inhabit a great majority of the contemporary art I find most exciting. Perhaps this helps to explain why Keith Haring is more than likely my all-time favorite artist. To me, his work is wonderfully both hilarious and brilliant. And there are pieces of his that can be funny, whimsical, poignant, and extremely sad and moving, all at the same time. Powerful stuff. But always I feel there is a sense of humor in his work, a powerful sense of whimsy that I think is actually quite spiritual. I loved that the fair afforded me the chance to see more than 3 of his works in person. Something I always relish.

As far as money goes, I have an excellent book that I always come back to called “Money,” (aptly) a sort of exhibition in book form, put together by Katy Siegel and Paul Mattick that really explores the subject of money in contemporary art in a fantastic way. There’s a great exchange between the authors printed on the back cover that I think goes a long way in broaching what it is about money in art that is so captivating:

Katy Siegel: Why do you think artists today are so interested in money and deal with it so often in their art?

Paul Mattick: I think it’s because the idea of fine art as something separate from ‘everyday’ or ‘ordinary life’ - and not just separate, but better, finer, higher - has been unraveling over the past thirty years. Hence art’s drift towards the dominant cultural form: industrialized mass entertainment. This can be seen in the shift towards ‘production’, in the Hollywood sense, and away from the idea of the individual in his studio. And hence the willingness on all sides to recognize (or even celebrate) the place of money in art. For the wealthy, money is no longer something to be ashamed of: they see it as the most benign as well as the most powerful of social forces.

Katy Siegel: But what’s strange is that in a time when, more than ever, we acknowledge the close relationship between art and money, we expect the best or most avant-garde to resist the market. What the market prizes most highly is often art that appears critical of capitalism. Why?

I would also say that I think artists recognize the vast territory of juxtapositions that exist between the subjects of money and art. Its a juxtaposition that I think is fundamental to art in the first place.

Humans only need some very basic things to survive: water, food, shelter. But they also need love and art to thrive. But art can come in the form of poetry, dance, or music, which can be held in the brain and passed on between people without material needs.

Visual art is kind of the most base form of art because it is by its nature an object that can be commoditized, and therefore lusted after, desired, and hoarded. So this thing that is supposed to be visual poetry: transcendent and filled with deep meaning, can easily become nothing more than an object of desire, or a talisman of power. Along those same lines though, it could be argued that a collector who bankrupts himself to collect and patronize great art is sort of cleansing his soul from all the other lesser commerce he has engaged in to get himself to such a level. Indeed, some collectors see themselves this way. As kind of romantic art-martyrs.

That shit is funny. And amazing. Keith Haring, “Untitled (May 29, 1984).”

Yes, I find this funny. Ryan McGinley, “Turken & Tampon,” 2011. Team Gallery.

Murakami. Always funny. Always awesome. Galerie Perrotin.

Love this. Doug Aitken. “1980” 303 Gallery.

This too. Doug Aitken. “Utopia (Altamont Motor Speedway)” 303 Gallery.

Funny? Yes. Insane? Absolutely. Peter Saul, “Cake and Pie” Mary Boone.

Also funny. Also Insane. Also terribly accurate. Unidentified in our booth.

I guess its funny. It’s Also kinda stupid. You’re disappointing me here Doug Aitken. “Listening.” Galerie Eva Presenhuber.

This is funny. Janine Antoni, “Mortar and Pestle” 1999.

Shireen, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry, but I love it. Paul McCarthy, always amazing. “White Snow Dwarf (Bashful),” 2010. Hauser & Worth.

Destiny and Mr. Brainwash

Seeing as how themes of humor and money/commerce are of such great interest to me, it was my great fortune that I happened to meet a certain local artist and curator named Stephanie Marie, who would become a great friend for the remainder of the week in Miami, and introduce me to some of the most interesting (and funny) artists in Miami.

As destiny would have it, we met at one of the funniest events I attended while in Miami, although funny perhaps because it was so unfunny how awful it was, a party apparently created by Mr. Brainwash himself, a man I thought was surely a persona invented by Banksy after seeing the documentary “Please Exit Through The Gift Shop,” but who, it turns out, is in fact very real.

I stumbled into Mr. Brainwash’s party after realizing I had yet again arrived too late for free drinks at another Basel party, this one at the bass museum of art. My friend and I did get to check out a real mummy however, which brought me to the conclusion that all parties should have a real mummy in attendance, as the dancing and music continued to rage on in the courtyard. But, without liquor on hand we decided to move on.

Having walked across the street to a building adorned in storm troopers and the unmistakably gaudy work of Mr. Brainwash, we downed a couple complimentary vodka sodas provided by a buxom barkeep, but soon were whisked away by Stephanie and crew to a party being thrown by Jeffrey Deitch of MOCA LA at the Raleigh. Only a few of our crew were on the guest list, but that didn’t stop us from entering through the service door and brushing past kitchen workers and waiters like we owned the place to emerge, like that one scene from Goodfellas, right smack dab in the middle of the party. LCD Soundsystem was killing it when we arrived, and I noticed the Cobrasnake himself sitting at a table close by. I subsequently introduced myself, and he subsequently told me I “had a good vibe” and suddenly ripped off a couple pics of me. So now I’m in the good company of all sorts of famous party-goers. Including Waris Ahluwalia, who actually came in my booth later in the week looking stylin’ wearing a fly-ass pair of white Birkenstocks. I said hi, he said hi and smiled, that was all.

Mikey got cobraed

Waris did too

Assemble Your Crew

From Thursday on the nights became a blur, as two great friends had come into town, Matt, a part-time male model, and Shirin, a fashion photographer (fabulous friends I know), with a serious schedule of party documenting on her agenda. Blackmarket Boo, as she is more infamously known, disappeared into the night in a flurry of party attending, while Matt and I kicked it off by attending a dinner with some friends, including the novelist Emma Ruby-Sachs, the indomitable Dianna Campbell of The Creative India Foundation, and my ray of sunshine in a sometimes foreboding art-world, the delightful Jane Saks, of the ESB Institute for the Study of Women & Gender in the Arts and Media, amongst others. Entertainment was provided by your’s truly doing his best impressions of Indians much to the delight of all.

From there it was on to a party being thrown by Jack Shainman, for his artist Hank Willis Thomas. I had the pleasure of meeting Hank’s mother, who as it turns out is an old friend of one of my mentors in college, the artist Gaye Chan. Nick Cave and other Shainman artists were around as well. I don’t know why I felt it necessary to tell Nick to his face that I had been confusing him and the musician Nick Cave for quite sometime. Understandably, I don’t think he appreciated it. Although he was nice enough about it. I could have sworn I read somewhere that Nick Cave the musician was also making a splash in the art world. Guess it doesn’t help that I don’t follow the musician Nick Cave’s work at all and had only recently become taken with the art of Nick Cave. I made some great new friends in Cheryl Pope and Kristina Sparks, both artists in their own right, as well as assistants to Nick, who informed me that Nick and Nick actually sometimes get each others emails. To my delight, Nick had more than a few pieces at Basel. His “sound suits” were on display at both Jack Shainman and Mary Boone, and were without a doubt some of my favorite pieces at the fair.

Want! Perhaps my favorite piece at the fair. Nick Cave, “Soundsuit.” Mary Boone Gallery.

All I want for Christmas is a Nick Cave “Soundsuit.” Mary Boone Gallery.

We decided to turn in early that night, and by that I mean 2am.

It’s Friday, Friday

The work of Sue Havens and Jamisen Ogg. Regina Rex, NADA art fair.

Friday night we took our time getting going after a long day of art-peddling, but ended up at the NADA party at the Shore Club. We found an old friend, Theresa Ganz, a fantastic artist and professor of photography at Brown University, dipping her feet in the hot tub, along with some of her crew from Regina Rex, the curatorial collective she is a part of, there to show the work of Sue Havens and Jamisen Ogg at NADA. Again we suffered from missed-drinks-due-to-lateness syndrome. As soon as we bellied up to the bar we were informed that the free beer was gone, and drinks were now $16 a pop. So we had our fun doing photo shoots by the pool for Shirin and finished the night by jumping into the freezing cold pool at the hotel, attempting drunken synchronized swimming, and politely being asked by the hotel’s security guard to get out and go to bed. Surprisingly, we complied.

Shelias. Photo: Shirin Borthwick

Blokes. Photo: Shirin Borthwick

Not nada NADA

Saturday began with a long awaited morning journey to the NADA art fair, inevitably always my favorite fair in Miami, but again, like Design Miami, I was slightly disappointed this year. Perhaps again, my expectations were too high, or perhaps I didn’t see enough of it before I had to jet back to Basel to man the booth, but I swear things weren’t as striking this year. Whereas before, NADA had been such a welcome contrast of exciting work compared to the more staid atmosphere of Basel, this year, so much of what I initially saw was instantly forgettable. Once I started to settle in and actually take in some of the work however, I did find some things to write home about. In particular I quite enjoyed White Columns’ booth and the work of John Hiltunen. I appreciated the whole aesthetic of their booth, like a bathroom stall being haphazardly scrawled upon.

The work of John Hiltunen. at White Columns.

Well aren’t you clever Simon Evans. Apparently it worked. The edition is sold out.

I also happened upon Studio Voltaire, a gallery from London that did a lot of very affordable editions. Its always nice to find galleries doing this sort of thing, it reminds me of what Keith Haring originally did with the Pop Shop, bringing fine art to the masses. I was particularly taken with one piece by Anne Collier, a screenprint titled “My Goals For Six Months.” I decided right then and there that I wanted to leave with something from NADA, and I loved it, so I snapped it up and added it to my own small but growing personal collection of art.

Hello new friend. Anne Collier, “My Goals For Six Months.” Studio Voltaire.

It wasn’t the last time I would indulge in some art shopping. In a wonderful piece of synergy between my heart, mind, and wallet, some of my favorite art happens when artists play with the concept of the value of authorship, as well play with the idea of art having to be expensive, or made from rarefied materials. I like when they turn the concept on its head by say, making up a bunch of xeroxes of drawings, and sign and edition it like some kind of monumental hand-pulled lithograph. I visited the shared booths of Art Metropole and Printed Matter at the front of Basel upon my return, and voraciously acquired a few clay coins by Maura Doyle for $6 a pop, a suite of 4 signed xeroxes by Jay Isaac, a hilarious print of a cat with the words “DRAGON WAGON” printed underneath by “FASTWÜRMS”, a couple small books, “Bad Jokes,” and “My New French Blouse,” by Mike Billington, a couple small silver buttons, titled “Cameo,” and signed on the back by Lyla Rye, and what may very well be the crowning achievement of my collection thus far, a Cheetoh lapel pin, titled “Cheetohs” by Sebastian Butt. I also acquired a fantastic book edited by Luis Jacob called “Commerce by Artists,” which is essentially a large catalog of excellent works exploring commerce by artists, including one of my all time favorites, Santiago Sierra.

Clay Coins by Maura Doyle, and “Cameo,” by Lyla Rye. Art Metropole.

“Bad Jokes,” and “My New French Blouse,” by Mike Billington.

Art Booty. Atul Dodiya Catalog, Commerce by Artists, Rashid Rana catalog, etc.

“DRAGON WAGON” from the series “Cat Portrait” by “FASTWÜRMS.”

Sweet, glorious, Cheetoh lapel pin, by Sebastian Butt.

Uptown Caturday Night

That night we all surrendered ourselves to be taken on Stephanie’s wild ride through the “real Miami,” and it was basically the best decision we made all week. We started at the Latin Cafe for some authentic Latin fare and some El Presidente beers. I ordered what was essentially a breaded and deep fried steak.

This is real.

To my delight, it came out looking like a huge chicken nugget, or some sort of art piece commenting on extravagance and obesity. I kind of wanted to just dip it in resin and take it home to mount on my wall like a sailfish. But it was also quite tasty. So I put it in my belly for safe keeping.

Making new friends at El Progreso. Photo: Shirin Borthwick.

In the studio of Alejandro Contreras at El Progreso. Photo: Shirin Borthwick.

We ventured out from there to the Wynwood district, which was completely covered in painted buildings of either the utilitarian ad-covered variety, or the artist-created graffiti-bombed variety. We found awesome signs saying things like “HUMAN HAIR / TWELVE BASKETS / CUSTOMER PARKING ONLY,” and we ultimately landed at El Progreso, a warehouse studio complex where we indulged in blowing bubbles and drinking whiskey from ceramic mugs with other resident artists, while Guillermo Ruballo DJed a solid set. While there, I had the pleasure of meeting one of Stephanie’s many excellent friends, the artist Alejandro Contreras. His personality was truly an amazing work of art in its own right, the guy was downright contagiously awesome, and he had some pretty interesting work on hand too. It wasn’t quite there for me, but I liked what he was exploring with layering epoxy and cut-vinyl designs. I really look forward to seeing more from him.

Blackmarket Boo. Looking fierce in the studio of Alejandro Contreras.

From there it was on to Dimensions Variable, where artist Domingo Castillo of Spring Break has set up an ongoing project featured on Jim Drain’s under-the-radar Art Basel 2011 picks in T Magazine. Its called Duets, and its essentially a speakeasy. You knock on a locked door, and you have to know Domingo personally or be a plus one to enter.

This is when things really started to get interesting for me. Domingo’s concept of speakeasy make-shift karaoke bar as art piece was, in the parlance of our times, if you will, my shit. Not only that, probably one of the most memorable moments of my time in Miami was discovering that I knew “A Whole New World” from Aladdin perfectly and was really fucking good at it. Truth be told, it was embarrassing how much I killed “A Whole New World.”

Why isn’t life like this all the time?

I should have known I would be in love when upon approach I saw a video of one of my current heroes, Hennessey Youngman, art-world philosopher, advisor, comedian, and rapper extraordinaire, playing on a monitor outside the studio space. Humor, money, and commerce in art for days here as Domingo has basically made this piece his life, living off the flat $3 drinks he sells from the improvised bar he has set up in the corner. The more I learned about Domingo, the more I liked, including his amazingly inaccurate and hilarious biography on the Dimensions Variable website. Even more endearing, Stephanie and Domingo seem to be part of an informal cabal of Miami artists who all affectionately encourage each others progressive art and seem to look after one another. Domingo didn’t bat an eye when Stephanie jumped behind the bar to pour me whiskey and collect my money.

While we were there Justin Long of Funner Projects and More Funner Projects made an appearance and sang a song. I actually felt a little star struck upon being introduced because of what I had heard of the dude. The descriptions of his irreverent and hilarious projects had got me crazy excited. Plus he had an intimidating mustache. One of my top regrets of the week was not getting up early enough on even just one day to catch his performative installation of “Maintain Right” with Robert “Meatball” Lorie (the other half of Funner Projects) at the De La Cruz Collection, where apparently they had constructed a huge crossbow that launched two by fours violently into a painting.

Cosby Sweaters + Abstract Expressionism = no words. Photo: ARTLURKER

My other top regret was not being able to catch the aforementioned Hennessy Youngman’s performance/lecture at NADA, which seemed to really fly over the head of at least one person at Art in America. A report from Miami online art mag ARTLURKER on his lecture seemed to grasp more the genius of Mr. Youngman (or should I say Jayson Musson?). Really, my mind is just blown by this guy.

Watch and learn.

Please to be exiting through the gift shop only

The Chemould Booth at Art Basel Miami Beach.

And so what can I say about our own booth? It was of course, a beaut. Shireen need not put much work into selecting top pieces from her impressive stable of the pinnacle of contemporary Indian artists, but still she does, and the booth was a reflection of her discerning ways. Rashid Rana, Shilpa Gupta, Jitish Kallat, Atul Dodiya, and Reena Kallat were artists I was already very familiar with, and as always I was impressed with the pieces of theirs that we had on offer. Even a piece by Reena that I was initially quite tepid toward very much grew on me. Gigi Scaria and Shezad Dawood were two artists I was not as familiar with, and it was a joy to delve into their work.

From a simply compositional and superficial point of view, Scaria’s work was incredibly pleasing to my taste. And his clarity of concept behind his work is very comforting. Dawood in particular seems to be on a sort of exponential trajectory, his early work being extremely uneven, but his newer stuff seeming to build in leaps in bounds.

As much as I occasionally gripe about contemporary Indian art being too academic, scholarly, and lacking in the manic vibrancy that I so value in contemporary art, and as much as I complain that Indian artists still have a lot of room to go when it comes to really stepping out of their comfort zones, expanding their visual language, and catching up to an international awareness of style, what makes the best of Indian contemporary art great is the same thing that imbues the greatness of Indian culture as a whole.

Indians on the contemporary art scene in my experience seem to be striving to be thoroughly independent, but are at the same time thoroughly aware and respectful of the artistic canon, and they are intellectuals through and through. They are committed to developing themselves in a very thorough way. Indians have a taste for the refined, its just in their nature. As a people, they also greatly value education, they value masters, and they value an exchange of ideas and intellectual argument. They love a good intellectual argument, but they also value an accomplishment of stillness of mind through the arts. In a way, the Indian aesthetic seems much closer to a traditionally European aesthetic than an American one. Again, a word that comes to mind is the value of being refined.

As such, the top of the contemporary Indian art scene seems much more adverse to flash-in-the-pan type artists. While this could limit innovation and risk-taking, in a nation of over 1 billion, there is never going to be a lack of artists continuing to rise up and experiment in new ways, especially as the majority of Indians become more connected to the internet, etc. and get a greater sense what’s happening in the rest of the world. What I appreciate about Chemould, and what makes me proud to work there when I get the chance from time to time, is that it truly serves as the sort of weigh station of what gets put out to the greater global contemporary art world. While continuing to push the avante garde, Chemould never puts forth an artist that couldn’t stand up to a thorough vetting.

And so there you have it. My week in Miami Beach. It looks like there is a good chance I’ll be heading to India for The India Art Fair at the end of January, so until then, that’s it from the world of high art. For now, its back to the grind. Until next time…

Adios art throngs.

Adios sweet beach cruiser.

Adios amazing weather.

Hasta pronto Miami!

MICHAEL FILES

Photo

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ART BASEL MIAMI BEACH DISPATCH