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Putting the Arrrr into Art Basel

My daughter and i did Art Basel. As performance art. I took her to the main show at the convention center. As soon as the $40 ticket was scanned at the door, she immediately announced to all within a 50 miles radius, that she did not want to be there.

She may like the children's art room, said the man at the door.

I wanted her to appreciate other people's art.

To generate interest I tried to get her involved. We discussed other people's art as inspiration for her art and How this was a Once In A Lifetime chance to see most of this art. She was unmoved.

I said I wanted her opinion on the art.

That she liked.

In the sitcom of our lives, she confidently looked at the art and said:

Hate it.

To each and every piece, big or small, of any medium:

Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.


Everyone except the art dealers thought my single digit critic was a hoot, walking over to each piece only to proclaim "Hate it." People wanted to get her on video. I heard them discussing this.

Fearful of the global, unfiltered reach of YouTube, I picked her up and took her elsewhere.

But she now had it in her head that she was "cute." Empowered by the encouragement of complete and total strangers, her next good idea was to lie down in the middle of the floor. I'd walk away, she'd get up and follow, and lie down on the floor elsewhere. Repeatedly.

She gave twist to all the photos I tried to take of her and the art. (See above) Europeans thought she was a savant.

When she progressed to trying to touch the art, I passed her on to my sister who was headed to the children's art room with her kids. God knows I didn't want to be the owner of $2,600,000 rhinestone bedazzled deer antlers when I could make my own glittery horns at home. If I had antlers and lots of time.

Let her make her naïve outsider art. I didn't see anything else at Art Basel that would better update Gallery Refrigerator.