Big as Basel
South Florida is a place of sunshine, fresh produce and a healthy simple lifestyle. But once a year when Art Basel comes to town a darker more sinister climate descends upon the swamp like a heavy fog of doubt and dare i say debauchery and delirium.
When the winter moon is low and the sun of fire descends into the western abyss, a dark and sludgy swamp is awoken by artful dodgers, stylish smudgers, free drinks and luxury traffic jams.
The unsuspecting crowd throbs willingly like a beehive of drones sensing the nectar of artistic pheromones programed into their very aesthetic. Sure as flies to shitake shrooms are herded past the horn of plenty of eye candy.
Crash Bang Zoom, nothing is a single imagine and no amount of forensics will completely explain why people do what they do for the sake of art.
After several hours of wallowing and wooing with likeminded humans, we exit the barn of the brain-candy back to the comfortable open spaces of artlessness and normalcy. All the better for having survived another year of Art Basel.
Only bad witches are ugly; these golden gray ladies are mesmerizing in their candy coated luster for the adoration of a shiny thing.
Then it begins, the casual nonchalant introduction of mystical images and symbolic gestures that flash of the spirit world not of this realm.
Most of us were readily hypnotized by this pendent. Reconfigured, star struck and stumbling we made my way down the isles in the maze that is the art fair.
A young lady, perhaps yet a virgin, was taken in by fancy mirrors in her own image as the sight of a pregnant grocery cart lay in wanting repose nearby.
Soon we found further reference to ancient potencies packaged for today as with this pyramid of jewel encrusted spam cans. For some, this is the point of no return.
Turning the corner, the casual art enthusiasts are confronted with his or her own mortality and logic.
At this point it is too late. Juan and Jill are swept away down the spiral of shock awe and the indefensible contagious nature of art.
The warning messages were here and there but most did not heed them for darky forces were too strong.
Some may smirk and pretend to brush off the graphic nature of glorified and gory images but at that point it is also too late even for desensitized fools.
At the many fairs that descend on our quiet town, sharp salespeople use a combination of art and science to peddle their goods before hitching their tents and moving on to the next town.
This fellow going by the name of Mr. Horn specializes in reconstituted toy balls. Somehow I want one.
A big thing begets a big price tag and so if you have to ask the question How Much is This Art? it is probably not for you.
Crash Bang Zoom, nothing is a single imagine and no amount of forensics will completely explain why people do what they do for the sake of art.
Go ahead call 911 but it will be to no avail. There is no provision in the law to curtail the magic of art. You the viewers of art are the willing first-responders the first line of defense and interpretation. Good luck with that.
All the paperwork is good, I shit you not. Of the myriad of spectacle one performance stands (or should i say) lays alone. At first glance those not being thoroughly versed on what exactly art is will jump back in puzzled indignation. But rest easy you peta challenged humanoids, this amazing work is about our disconnect from nature and the need to recognize our place among animal, mineral and vegetable.
After several hours of wallowing and wooing with likeminded humans, we exit the barn of the brain-candy back to the comfortable open spaces of artlessness and normalcy. All the better for having survived another year of Art Basel.
Until the next time when yet another painting of Frida Kahlo will sell for a million bananas.
