Art Basel Miami Beach (+)

The following is a list of links with further information about Art Basel Miami Beach and the independent satellite Art fairs which together create the total art event. I've been installing Z's piece since Saturday noon in Diana Lowenstein Fine Arts on N. Miami avenue. I've enjoyed the work so far. Check out the links listed below and look for press on the events. I'll be posting any press I find on the delicious stream (http://delicious.com/pRose_DC) as I am able. You can also find links to other social pages from my website (www.prosedc.com). Stay tuned...

1) Art Basel Miami Beach 2008: www.artbaselmiamibeach.com
Art Basel Miami Beach is the most important art show in the United States, a cultural and social highlight for the Americas. As the sister event of Switzerland's Art Basel, the most prestigious art show worldwide for the past 39 years, Art Basel Miami Beach combines an international selection of top galleries with an exciting program of special exhibitions, parties and crossover events featuring music, film, architecture and design. Exhibition sites are located in the city's beautiful Art Deco District, within walking distance of the beach and many hotels.


+ Scope: www.scope-art.com
SCOPE, Miami’s original emerging contemporary art fair, returns for its seventh year to Miami this December. Expanded in size and global in reach, SCOPE will host 88 exhibitors from 22 countries in a new 60,000 square foot pavilion. SCOPE’s new location is centrally located in the Wynwood Art District, convenient to the Rubell Family Collection, the Margulies Collection, as well as Miami’s top galleries.

+ Pulse: www.pulse-art.com
PULSE Contemporary Art Fair is pleased to announce its fourth Miami edition. Following the success of last year's PULSE Miami, which drew a record attendance of over 16,000 visitors, as well as its highest sales to date, the 2008 edition will continue to confirm the Fair's role as a leader in the highly competitive art market. PULSE Miami 2008 will also carry on the critically acclaimed cultural programming that expanded at PULSE New York 2008, which also drew record attendance. In addition to presenting a selection of original installations and large-scale sculptures, the Fair will showcase PULSE Performance, and PULSE PLAY>, returning to its permanent venue at Soho Studios in Miami's Wynwood District.


+ Art Asia: www.artasiafair.com
Miami’s first international Asian contemporary art fair will make its debut this December from 4th-7th in the prestigious Wynwood Art District, conveniently located on the corner of NE 31st Street and Midtown Boulevard.


+ Art Miami 2008: www.art-miami.com
Art Miami 2008, the City’s prestigious, long-running contemporary art fair, takes place December 3-7th, proudly showcasing a wide variety of art from more than 100 leading national and international contemporary art galleries and prominent institutions.

+ Green Art Fair 2008: www.greenartfair.com
Green art USA.org will be hosting the green art fair MIAMI' 08 in Midtown Miami during the high art and design season in Miami Dec 2008. Grren art fair MIAMI 2008 will be an awe-inspiring, never-before experienced single point of contact for the art and design world, eco-friendly businesses and alll individuals interested in moving the environmental friendly movement forward.

+ Red Dot Art Fair 2008: www.reddotfair.com
RED DOT is open to the public December 6 - 9, 2007


+ Bridge Art Fair 2008: www.bridgeartfair.com
Following its enormous critical and commercial successes in 2006 and 2007, Bridge is pleased to announce our third installment in Miami Beach. Held at both the Catalina and Maxine Hotels, Bridge Miami leads the South Beach satellite art market, located a mere two blocks from Art Basel. Visitors can browse nearly 80 rooms of the freshest and most innovative works in international emerging and contemporary art.


+ Design Miami: www.designmiami.com
The Global Forum for Collecting, exhibiting, discussing and creating design.


+ Photo Miami: www.artfairinc.com/photomiami
The International Contemporary Art Fair for Photo-Based Art, Video & New Media.

Georgia (Day 2)

Miami (Day 3)

Day 1

calm before

Night time arrives and I wake up my baby with a start. Baby, I say. And she does this little move and wiggles a bit closer and her movement is soft. Less than a moment passes and I awake from a dream. I've had this dream several times and always before the chemicals pour in from below the floor boards at hours way too fucking early. Then I cry but I cry a lot. It's too late again and I'm behind on posts again but such it is.

For the next several days Rose and Z will be sailing the asphalt between NY and Miami, FL. The blog will shift gears here and have a look see at the largest art fair in North America. Stay Tuned...

Confessionals (Queer Empathy)

I sometimes watch porn of black men fucking white chics. What a racist bastard to even notice but it's hard not to notice when I've provided all the variables. I remember Mack saying once, it's pretty easy not to fuck somebody, you just don't fuck 'em. That's true of a great number of things including looking at porn. Still, I don't judge it. Ain't none of us makes a lick of sense if all the variables are laid out. I watch black men fucking white chics because in some odd extreme sense I feel that watching this will somehow serve as catharsis to my acute traumatic past when my then wife chose to leave me for dead while simultaneously enjoy a new relationship with a black man in my own bed, a bed I never returned to, within a week of my absence, after five years of marriage. That man left a woman pregnant to enjoy this new found relationship and also had several children to care for besides the pregnant woman. Her point I thought was that I was simply useless, so useless that it should be an objective fact that I had gone, it was a clean break and that she was free to enjoy a new relationship. No matter what that relationship entailed. This was not love she later admitted although given the attraction and choices they had made I imagine they both felt in love. Slowly, over some months and years I realized the extent of that trauma. There is no satisfactory answer other than, you lose and/or you are crazy (meaning me) and look what you have driven me to (meaning she). And/Or, I never loved you or I simply no longer love you. A lot to think about. A lot to process. But there is nothing to process and no court to reconcile as has been true for all time. To extremes. So I pull out my cock, pull up a video, the bigger the black cock the better and jerk off to it plunging into the imaginary form of my wife until I can see all the physical intimacy of her experience and the shallowness of mine. And when I can see it and say it and not fear it and know it through and through without the slightest need for permission or posture, I'm through. Spurt. Done.
Now before my reader imagines this a rant of foulness or a knife for an ex-bride, know the extent also to which I don't focus on these things. The countless hours of building and seeking and working, yes working most waking moments, to represent most effectively and efficiently the inter connective tissues of a diseased life, most lives, and healthy ones. In want of health. In honest report. A foul and flawed thing. Hope.

jerseyatrics

+

bride and groom

From Jersey

At times I am certain I know what I'm in for - that the last lesson is learned and I can confidently judge a situation or person or circumstance. And then the clouds open up and I stare up and think, dear God I'm just a boy... More to come...

the yard

jesuits and concrete

The best conceptual art is not what you create but what you give away. It is the thing in the mind of an observer.

Who is my audience? You dirty bastards. The absolute other pieced together with certain faculties: Language, Empathy, Vision. This is all.

You should be kind to me, I could be Jesus. Jesus alright, I was risking it.
What? The guard asked visibly perturbed.
I come here often. Is there any way I could avoid this, I add.
Yes. Don't cross. Don't cross the border. This man hated me. Maybe it was the car or my shaved head or the newly smashed window or the fact that I didn't own the car or the items in my possession - a small case of clothing, a laptop computer, a video camera and a roster of names including photographs. I hadn't even cleaned the glass, a small piece of cardborad flapping with the drag. I stayed quiet on this point. The clean cropped body armored guard stood postured at my arrogance with a fierce stare, his female couterpart looking on. I had found the dark side of Canada, Dan-O would inform me later that night. Not such a bad thing except the knowledge that home was a long way off. Home is always a long way off. Home left a long time ago.
Take these and wait in there past the double doors, the guard added after some more posturing, and he was off. Shuffled through, passport and papers in hand, an hour later I was on the road and into the early winter woes of western Ontario.
I hit the bar in Hamilton just to hold some time and settle my nerves. My cock was pulsing from missing the girl and I thought maybe a brief respite from the stress of crossing would settle things down. I wouldn't reach my destination till the early hours anyway so the bar it was.
What'll you have.
Ramos Fizy.
A Wha?
Ramos Fizy. This was perhaps a bit off but this joint had the bar, the supply and the knowledge to handle it. Do you have flower water, any flower water and confection sugar.
The barkeep nods and I keep on. Cream, lemon, lime, egg white, Gin, soda water. Then we shake for 3 minutes. I'll shake it. Add the club after.
An hour later I pull to the roadside, jam a finger down and puke up half a days meals along with the drink over my fleshy tips. Out it come on the Canadian concrete. It was over and so was I. It was the egg whites I thought. Or the Gin. Or the ass pounding at the border. Or the combination. Always something. I noted the time and headed west again, following the long gone sun toward the deep glass chill of Huron and the warm bed of my baby.

suburban north

sleeping buttercup

Obamanationals

I've been silent on politics besides personal politics. In the meantime I've taught a course with Professor Ray. Here are some sources. Look through them. The first will ask you for security, it's OK to accept it - just an RIT WIKI. Thanks to Professor Ray. It is democracy in action like I've never known it.

The Rhetoric of American Electoral Politics 2008: The Rhetoric of American Electoral Politics 2008
Hold presidential administrations accountable, provide your input. The incoming president is soliciting yours: http://change.gov/
Now, just in case you think I've gone all fucking sappy and hopeful, watch a video or two: Lodger

In a relationship... Oy...

history

Photo by Ann O'Rourke

style:italic

Most of what I learn comes from a childish action. But all actions, in hindsight, seem childish to me. I'm known to say, "we don't live long enough to be anything but children. We don't have enough years to live to make those choices" - to shelter a family from pain or a friend from harm or a damn nation from genocide. This is true as the aggressor or the victim. One always folds into the other by choice, design, abandon or just dumb luck. Communication is essential for me and then I see what uselessness comes from ill placed communications. It is often best to remain silent. Silence is wonderment, even if your choice is silence. Equally still is the silence that is forgotten and never a part of consciousness. Anyones. Save for the one who makes the silent choice. I always think of the monks that vow silence - because they're there, they're near you. There's one living near by you now. A choice. I feel the heavy weight of silence. The dead air when I desire a call. That pristine half of music, in all it's sameness. (Music: A combination of sounds and silences intended for listening.) I look for silence and find it in my cold rat hole. And then I wish I hadn't said anything at all.

the assassin

limitimal

memtot

Leaping Deer Legends Corn Maze

I was born in an ostrich egg in the center of a corn maze, Leaping Deer Legends Corn Maze just outside of Waterloo Ontario. A loon showed me the way out. In all those years prior I never saw the deer though some insist they're there. It remains a place of faith for some which is how I was raised and that to look for the animals was akin to searching for evidence of the divinity of God. And that to see a Leaping Deer was to see an angel. Some don't believe. The loon which grazed the swampy southern periphery of the maze believed and when she found me knew my plight and from above found the key to escape and showed me. On the outside not too many years into the mapped and unmazed existence of North America I met a young scientist that studied the maze and searched for evidence in the corn for the rut of the deer. She found scat and prints and hair but never saw the animal even with the heat sensitive night scopes placed about the periphery continually scanning the rows for their presence. In the end she didn't believe but the evidence was enough to suggest something was or had been keen enough to fool her into researching more. The scientist finished her project, gave up and left. I left too. I re-entered the maze again after floating the oceans in a hollow shell of a downed airliner but that's a different story. I write this post from here.

one more day...

sleepy...

soon...

Election Night

election morning

Fingers and Toads

Buttercup was back in the hospital again and I was at the bar watching the Steelers fuck up the first half. For the most part I could care less for that football team except for Andy Warhol (Pittsburgh), so I keep looking. Hands tied. Desiring a better view and more compassionate monkeys, I step out to figure where she has been taken. There is a thin border between us, imaginary really and I'm locked south of it. Her healthcare permitting at least a dignified respite from its interminable path. The girl suffers. And I suffer. But I suffer less because I am not forced. Not in this case. My desire builds, I want to see her now and I can't so I pace. I pace with the wish that the heavy weights were above my shallow form and the blood hitting my skull like a twelve mile hike through granite.

Hallow's Eve -
You were abused Rose.
I was? I knew where this was going.
Yea, like you were raped when you were a child, she said spoken with the 'duh' expression.
Oh that? But I liked it. Is it rape if I like it?
It's rape.
Ok, then but still, it doesn't linger. I can speak about it openly. It's not hurting me.
But it triggered something. Not pain or some repressed after school drama bullshit rather the idea that Z and I really were children fighting against an invisible enemy and swimming in an invisible sea. And we didn't have to. That it was a show of a lion in the face of terror. One that doesn't run.
What's the lesson? I ask.
Nothing D, just that.
I stared into her and we remained staring.
Uh oh.
Uh oh what? she said but she knew we were staring too long.
She wanted my pain and I wanted hers and I wanted her to take my pain and I wanted to tell Z what I saw and I didn't want to leave and I wanted her to touch me. We held hands. Then shots. Then another beer. More touching. Skin. Hair. Sip. I take a call.
Hey babe, how are you feeling?
Mumbles over the fag bar pumping 80's crap.
Babe, I can't hear you, I'm sorry. Let me step outside. It's cold outside.
I said where are you? I hear through strained attempt under mumbling breath.
I'm at a gay bar with Luna.
She responds but it's mumbles.
Babe, did you take the sleeping pills?
Yes.
Well, you should sleep because I can't hear you when you take the sleeping pills.
Are you having fun?
I'm having a drink. I guess it's fun.
Silence.
Babe, get some sleep. I love you.
Silence. She had fallen asleep on the phone again. The pills taking over.

Back inside, Luna's intent on getting something out of me. I wear my emotions so she can see I'm off to some other place.
You're doing everything you can D. You're doing the best you possibly can.
I know.
You're doing everything you can D.
I know. And then we were in some Good Will Hunting bullshit.
Ask one more time and I'm going to lose it, I say.
You're a good man D. And I lose it but sit there upright, heart forward, staring back. I let it come. Again. Fingering Luna until it just stopped.

beds n roses

Still in a center hold I can see almost nothing around me. Talking with Z over a beer at the bar we played out a year ago I realized this. Being in Canada I catch a glimpse of our proximity to hell and the soft and steady fixture of closeness. I can see it, I just can't say it yet. Just can't dumb it down, not in the least, not while I can still draw on something, suck it through a straw and splash around in it. Even all those dark memories. Even the dream.

bride and groom

multiplasticotics

rocween eve