on Art Basel, 2011

My yin and I traveled down to Miami Beach for Art Basel yesterday, just as we did last year and the year before. It was the festival's tenth anniversary, and like always, the area around the Miami Beach Convention Center was awash with collectors and wannabes, artists and artistes, Europeans and Eurotrash, and enough Maseratis, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis to single-handedly solve the Eurozone Crisis...

But this is beside the point.

The point is that my yin and I began our excursion by grabbing a free map at the Convention Center, then leaving immediately. The copious amounts of gawkers and art inside the Center provide far too much stimulation for anyone this side of amphetamine, and the $40 entry fee seemed egregious considering the numerous public art installation and temporary galleries that inevitably accompany Art Basel. That being said, here's an overview of the free art we saw...

One of the first things I noticed was the number of pieces explicitly referencing the Occupy movement. Some of them seemed rather obvious:

all apologies for the glare

While others appeared to be completely random, like this sticker affixed to a utility box:

 Boone, really?

Considering the fact that I hail (more or less) from Boone, I found the above especially rewarding, and I wondered if my brother, who recently told me he had become a supporter of the movement, had flown down to Miami unbeknownst to me.

With regard to the first Occupy picture, it served as a welcome to a gallery full of quasi-political, quasi-pornographic artwork. Some of the pieces were interesting in that thread and canvas were the primary media, which implicitly gendered the works and created a tension between the images of nude (often bound) women depicted by the artist and the undeniably misogynist gaze through which they were seen. Nonetheless, some of the text accompanying the pieces was clever:

a true and valid point

From there my yin and I continued our trek to Collins Park, which was hosting a couple dozen larger scale pieces. Since part of this year's experiment was to document our night using our fancy new iPhones, I found myself engaging with the pieces in ways I normally wouldn't:

Gargantua by Feinstein

 All in search of the perfect angle to share and post on Instagr.am:

comme ci

In the park we found interesting several interesting pieces, like this one that resembled a cross between Jenga and a crucifix:

Strain by Antony Gormley

And this one, which emulated the ocean wave by leading patrons around in a giant circle:

 photo, amazingly composed, by my yin

There were some PVC tubes set up on the beach:

That became infinitely more interesting with my yin standing inside:

In fact, the above piece was one of those artworks whose artist's description was actually far more engaging than the piece itself.  This one began:

"'Untitled (Apparatus)' by Gardar Eide Einarsson is a sculpture based on prison exercise equipment. Prison design and architecture represent a zero state of design, where all traditional design considerations are jettisoned in favor of a design that exclusively seeks to prevent certain behaviors, generally focusing on not lending itself to the infliction of bodily harm..."

I always feel ambivalent about these types of pieces because, on the one hand, it makes the realm of high art seem accessible to anyone with the capacity for critical thought and imagination. On the other hand, it seems kinda lazy. As I told my yin last night, "This Gardar must have himself one hell of an agent."

Other notable sights included this piece by Anish Kapoor, whose combination of concreteness and the void spoke to my most noble metaphysical aspirations:

 Black Stones, Human Bones

These giant cowboy boots, which reminded me of Mardou and had a killer title: "Snake Skin Boots with Snake Head. White Quarry Stone 21st Century. North Mexico" by  Eduardo Sarabia:

 

these boots were definitely made for walkin'...

And this silhouette of the palm trees outside the Bass Museum at dusk:

 artwork by Mother Nature

Another found piece of brilliant was the burger stand at the east end of Collins Park, which is (presumably) not intended to be artistic at all, and yet lends itself to images such as this:

my photograph from last night

By the way, what time was sunset last night?

my second favorite photograph from last night

Anyway, we left the park and headed over to Mr. Brainwash's gallery, which was set up in exactly the same location as last year. The only difference is that this year my yin and I knew whose work it was we were seeing. As fate would have it, just as we approached:

the MBW gallery

Mr. Brainwash himself was exiting. Unfortunately, though, I was slow on the draw and managed only to take this photograph of his taxi as it sped away:

And yes, that was Mr. Potatohead two images ago:

I still go back and forth on Mr. Brainwash's artwork, which combines elements of Warhol with a graffiti sensibility that incorporates cultural references ranging from Gandhi and Mickey Mouse:

 

To Michael Jackson:

And Colonel Sanders:

 the chickens have most assuredly come home to roost

I feel he's at his best when he's either at his most obscure:

how now, graffiti cow?

Or his most playful:

 my yin and Felix

Compared to the images of Gandhi and MJ (not that MJ) and Einstein and Dylan, these comically absurd pieces seem more authentic, assuming one can even use such a word to speak of an artist whose oeuvre seems predicated upon the utter absence and impossibility of any such concept. Nonetheless, as we were leaving my yin and I saw this haunting image of Steve Jobs tucked above the door:

The piece was barely visible, and its positioning may have been the only incidence of subtlety within the whole gallery. It was illuminated only by ambient light and a nearby exit sign, which eerily spoke to the man's passing. Perhaps there's more to Mr. Brainwash's work than meets the eye...

Perhaps not.