Check it, Thursday. We are on art world lockdown here in Miami and it sure
feels nice. It's a full on freakfest and I love it to pieces. My my. Heady
times, these.
post to my friend Jon, who is the best person to do Basel with but
unfortunately was not able to make it down this year as he's a busy bee. Jon
is a dear, dear friend of mine from the NYC days and Mary Boone was a topic
of endless fascination and titillation between us. Mary, Queen of the New
York art world, holding her own with Go Go and Castelli. She of the stealth
good looks- silken raven tresses, styled by some Madison Avenue coiffurer,
and icy, frosty demeanor and stare. She could cut glass with her eyes.
Needless to say, Jon and I were smitten with her and tickled by her persona. Professionally, Mary's bar is way higher than most. The lady is no joke. She
has represented Julian Schnabel, David Salle, Brice Marden, and Eric Fischl
to name a few. You know, all the big dogs that were positively on fire
during the halcyon days of the 80s art world in New York. And if you have
ever discussed the 80s Manhattan art world over a few bottles of Beaujolais
in a smoky bar, no drunken conversation would be complete without shouting
out Mary Boone (I know this because I have had much intoxicated discourse on
said topic, with Jon in particular. How I miss him. Nobody is better for
such exchanges). Mary doesn't just "deal" art- she quietly pounces like a Chanel clad Ninja
and has an uncanny knack to pick the best and most terrible of les enfants
to represent. I'm not sure how she does it, but Mary is a force. And a
creature who I am endlessly intrigued by for her rapier sharp instincts and
feral business sense. I think they should make her an honorary member of the
Wu Tang Clan- she is simply that hardcore. A straight up, high art gangster. And hardcore broads like Mary have the wardrobe to match, natch. Last night
at the opening of the big show, I quietly entered Mary's booth to gaze at
her intense aura. And she didn't disappoint. Clad in white boucle Chanel,
suited. Small Jacketed. Skirted. Her hair- long and loose. Her stare-
intrepid. Her mouth- curled into a beatific, omnipotent smile. It was all so
very Mona Lisa, and much like the attempt at a grin you see pictured here. I
couldn't stand it. Don't ask me what pieces she bought to the fair. I
haven't a clue. I was too busy thinking about where Mary may have had dinner
last night before the festivities began, though I suspect she was locked in
her travel sized oxygen chamber, preparing for the insanity that is Art
Basel. Breathe, Mary, breath. As I exhaled and left her booth, I felt lucky to have seen this celebrity of
epic art world proportion. It would not be a Basel without a Boone sighting.
I have seen the Boone. And it was good. Now I can carry on with the rest of
my activities for the week, though I will be wondering what Mary is doing
the whole time. Cause that's what's up this power dealer Thursday in the MIA. Excited for
more and more. I'll post some of my photos from last night later. Jon, get
on a plane. Stat. XO