Quick background: Wynwood is a section of Miami that has recently been home to a burgeoning “art” scene, that in true Miami spirit quickly became a party scene. The “artists” and “art” patrons have their noses out of joint because no one wants to go see their “art” (random neon signs, cut out metallic spheres, cubes pasted onto canvas) without free booze and music.

From the Miami Herald article: “The Party has Overtaken the Art”

What made Pan American Art Projects Director Janda Wetherington decide to stop participating in Wynwood’s Second Saturday Art Walks was when someone spilled wine onto a $15,000 painting, then bailed before anyone noticed.

“By that point, we had already stopped offering wine or water to people who came into the gallery, and we even had someone guarding the door to make sure no one brought any food or drink inside,” Wetherington said. But even that tactic failed. “That’s when we started opening earlier in the afternoon on Second Saturdays and close by 8 p.m. at the latest.”

The monthly art walks, which are held the second Saturday of each month, draw thousands of young people and usually wind up as boisterous block parties. 

Fredric Snitzer, one of the few Miami gallerists invited to exhibit at Art Basel Miami Beach, says he doesn’t even bother to open on Second Saturdays any more. He is also pessimistic about the future of Wynwood as a thriving art district, even though he was one of the area’s pioneers (his gallery opened in 2004). (Flavia here: his  2 “art” pieces are right below.)  

“We don’t get the herds; we get to cultivate our audience to come to us,” she says. “But the tide has shifted dramatically. We used to serve wine, and we stopped that two years ago because kids would come in, pick up the glasses of wine and leave. One of the purposes of a gallery is to provide entertainment to people. Not everyone is a buyer. But you still want them to come to enjoy the art and learn and have their minds expanded. Just not to the point where it isn’t respected.’’

Kelley says that “very little” art is sold on Second Saturdays

 

 

 

Flavia here:

So I ruined Art Walk. My friends ruined Art Walk. We only went for the wine and the parties. When you have a bunch of people showing up for a free glass of wine, the art is secondary.

But what do they expect? It is a bunch of entitled trust fund babies flailing about with paint and brushes, surprised that people only want the booze. They want “art” to be graffiti and an ironic use of toilets juxtaposed with religious imagery, then are surprised when all we’ll do is drink.

That art gets the respect it deserves.

People pay to go to the Louvre. Hell, people pay $100 for books of pictures of old Italian buildings. But people won’t go to your free show (with free parking!). It’s because your art is not art.

NOBODY actually, really, truly thinks whats going on in Wynwood is anything more than decadence. Nobody. I’d show up to a collection of “art” from kindergarten kids if they had an open bar, a DJ, and I could dress cute.

They want reverence and respect for taping a picture of a skinny model next to a Dunkin Donuts ad.

But what they really want is the affluent to show up with open wallets and drop obscene amounts of money on shit, so that the artist can hang out at LIV and afford bottle service. That’s the truth. The artist wants a Mercedes and Brickell condo but doesn’t want to work. So they throw this party to create buzz (advertising in lieu of quality) and hope that all the hip diversity (broke as a joke) will bring in the moneybags seeking “authenticity”

The Goldman banker, feeling one with the people, after a hard day of raping foreign nations, will show up with the funky people and buy his way into Hip-ness.

The whole thing is typical and about the best this culture can produce now.

They have no idea what it takes to create beauty. The sacrifice, learning, training, failure, exclusion, failure, and loneliness. The great European artists lived like monks. And these fucking degenerates think they’ll pain a toilet brown and ask 50,000$ for it.

Fuck that. Party on, Wynwood.