It started with a swim on an empty beach and near futile search for breakfast, but we were SAVED by morning-after-the-night before pizza. We were done with Art Basel Miami Beach. We put on our best gold necklaces, slung our Boom Box on our shoulder and sashayed down to the Fontainebleau Hotel for NADA in our Stars-and-Stripes flip-flops. It was all about the exact copper tint of our shades and the quality of the takeaway caffé latte with way too much sugar. Finally, we were living it real. We stopped fighting it. We looked at Miami and we knew we loved her. Screw art. Criticality is Beuyshit.
You want curating? Go to NADA. The booths are small—sometimes tiny—but they are beautiful, thoughtful creations by gallerists who are young enough to still care.