| I came to Miami for the art fairs, but I stayed for the circus. If you’ve ever been to the circus you know that the best part is never the main attraction. What you remember a year it’s done is the thrilling smell of animal feces and exploding gunpowder. You remember that it’s about eating stale popcorn and drunkenly yelling at people and then befriending them. You go to the circus for the colors and the sensational absurdity of it all. You go to witness unfathomable feats of athleticism, idiocy and primitive human expression. You go for the feeling of inhaling sawdust into your lungs, and the memory of throwing up in the parking lot on the way back to the car. | 
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By Thomas Seely
came to Miami for the art fairs, but I stayed for the circus. If you’ve ever been to the circus you know that the best part is never the main attraction. What you remember a year it’s done is the thrilling smell of animal feces and exploding gunpowder. You remember that it’s about eating stale popcorn and drunkenly yelling at people and then befriending them. You go to the circus for the colors and the sensational absurdity of it all. You go to witness unfathomable feats of athleticism, idiocy and primitive human expression. You go for the feeling of inhaling sawdust into your lungs, and the memory o throwing up in the parking lot on the way back to the car.
In Miami what I enjoyed most was not the art per se, but all the stuff that happened because of it—the spectacle that unfolded in the presence of art. There was supposed to be this big wrap-up of all the stuff I saw in Miami, but Microsoft word crashed on me at the airport and I lost all of it. So, instead of rehashing what you could probably just as well read elsewhere, I’ll leave you with a cheesy art related dream I had:
There are these explorers who show up in the desert on a solar powered airship. They set up this makeshift archeological dig, and uncover this giant institutional building from some dead civilization. They break open the doors and descend down a maze of booby—trapped corridors and a passage way filled with trip wire and laser alarms. Then, just like Indiana Jones, they break into the underground temple and discover the relic they’ve traveled from Jupiter to acquire: a human skull covered in thousands upon thousands of diamonds. It is said to have magical powers. They swap the treasured skull with an equally weighty bag of sand, and creep off into the darkness.
Thank you to the following people for making my art fair experience so fantastic.
Stephen and Blake (www.platformgallery.com) — Who let me sleep in their condo despite the deposits of sand I left on their couch.
Paul Sepuya (www.modernpaul.com) — Who got me into the ARTFORUM party and told me the legend of the Haitian Sensation.
Eric Trosko (www.erictrosko.com)—Who warned me about the Vampires in Maine.
Lisa and Sarah Jo (www.schroderromero.com) — For their love, and for bringing Club Deuce into my life.
Andy and Laurel (www.andydiazhope.com and www.loloro.com)—For giving me Fig Newtons.
William Powhida (www.williampowhida.com) —Who educated me on the ins and outs of the Art World, tolerated my sophomoric shenanigans, and introduced me to all the wonderful people listed above.
