ART BASEL #5: The $55,000 Pokemon

An artist cannot fail; it is a success to be one.
— Charles Horton Cooley

ART BASEL. What is it exactly? It’s a big fuck off money laundering party where you'll see some of the most innovative art in the world but you have to search in between piles of excrement, so large, you'll think they're a set from Jurassic Park.

I love artists, and I love creation in all forms, but what I don't love is that the wealthy gallery elite have sucked all of the soul and fun out of it. I am NOT saying that there isn’t bright spots of creative genius all over, all I am saying is the price tags are HILARIOUS and most of the ideas about as fresh as Monday night’s fish.

I have tried to understand it but this is the year I am officially throwing in my white hankie. I’m done, I’m out. The rich and famous no longer interest me.

When my beloved Singa was dying, I promised her that I would not only throw her a party fit for a Pharaoh (I did) but I would take her ashes and put them in warm places she could watch the sun rise and set every day over the horizon.

So I have set off on a two-part quest. One, to spread the ashes of my best friend, and two, to learn how to be a better global citizen of the planet. I want to share ways that we can all help our fellow humans and try to find ways that I can live more harmoniously with Mother Earth.

However, two weeks into my trip, here in Ubud, I got into a really bad scooter accident... and because I was wearing the fancy helmet I bought the moment I stepped foot on this bonkers death trap island, I am alive. If I had not been wearing it, I would most likely be dead. Then my mother would have had to pay for my body to be shipped back to the U.S. and she would have found my ghost and re killed me.

I had to remember a lot of very important lessons in the five seconds after I crashed, when I was trying to figure out if I was paralyzed or not, lessons I thought were already cemented in my brain the last time I fought and lost a battle with wheels (Zoe on Rollarblades vs. the Marriott airport pick up truck that flattened me into one of those Acme two dimensional cartoon dead people with giant x’s over my eyes.)

The most hilarious part is, THERE IS NO ONE MORE CAREFUL THAN ME ON A SCOOTER. I wear the best helmet, I honk for no reason, I go about 2 kilometers per hour. None of that mattered. It’s all a big game of chance against the weavers of your fate, so just in case you get squashed by life... DON’T FORGET.

Tell your mother you love her, have a will planned in case of emergencies, get your house in order. Live the life that makes you happy, not the one that looks good in photos. Anger, jealousy, bitterness serve no one. Forgive people the moment they wrong you. Don’t regret any of your past as it got you to where you are. No matter what your problems are, you can change and live the life that you want. As long as you are breathing, YOU'RE GOOD. Eat dessert, talk to strangers, and always give people a chance to say that they are sorry... Oh yeah, and don’t forget your sunscreen. God, am I a preachy disaster today.

Also, if you’re an east coast Jew who comes from a long line of potato people whose idea of an adventure is to try a two letter word for a triple letter score that you’re not sure is in the Scrabble approved dictionary, don’t think you can drive a scooter. You will hurt yourself. It’s only a matter of time. I can’t even believe I made it two weeks without getting hit by a seven year old, smoking a cigarette, driving a three wheeled “car” full of chickens.

THIS PLACE IS CRAZY. But I love it. Signing off from UBUD, with one working eye and two knees that look like they were trying to pay rent.


Edited with unbelievable love and kindness from Stretch Emily ARMSTRONG.
Principles: Benoit and Sergio
Love Train: Pillow Talk and Soul Clap and Greg Paulus CREW LOVE FOR LIFE