Postcard from Miami

By today the frenetic energy of the early week has been replaced by a reflective, or perhaps just exhausted, mood. Galleries that sold well are battling boredom (a high quality problem), others may be pinning hopes on Sunday bargain-hunters. Over the course of the week, inter-gallerist trading of success theories have all cancelled each other out (examples: you must sell out in preview vs. sales improve after people get Art Basel out of their system;). There are only results, or not.

UNTITLED, where we are exhibiting, is a physically spectacular tent on the beach with wide aisles and plenty of diffuse light. Even at crowded times the tent lures visitors into a stately, sun-dappled stroll along axes of excellent galleries and interesting programs.

At many times throughout the week, the contrast between protests elsewhere in the country and the vulgar pseudo-glam of South Beach have been painful. But this is an important week for those who try to earn a living from art; and there is good work to be done, and seen, for and by artists. 

Overheard:

  • “Oh my god this is amazing. I love this. What's with the kiwi?” (ABMB visitor viewing David Altmejd at Andrea Rosen)
  • “I was invited to be an intern at the Guggenheim when I turn 18.” (Fifth grader studying art history) 
  • “I woke up angry.” (Dealer in room next to ours staring at serene bay in perfect 75 degree sunshine, a few hours after impromptu and ill-advised karaoke party the night before, to which I was not invited but had no choice but to attend acoustically)
  • “My hamstrings are so sore after three hours at Scope.” (ABMB visitor in full athletic gear)
  • “Because my name is Alex now, and everyone should just deal with it. It's like a personal choice. And it’s more homogeneous.” (Guest at Vizacya Contemporary Art Program reception; I think she meant androgynous but given the length of skirt and height of heels it was a long shot anyway)

Thank you Miami!

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