On December 8th, 2017, FIU Honors students visited the UNTITLED, Art. fair in Miami Beach. The students heard from Manuela Mozo, the Director of UNTITLED. They were also welcomed by Christopher Fox and Elyse Flynn of Not Design and the staff at False Flag Gallery.
Professor John William Bailly and Florida International University would like to recognize UNTITLED, Art.’s commitment to community and education in opening the fair to our students. The students of Aesthetics & Values 2017-2018 and Poetry Art Community 2017-2018 would also like to thank Clara Andrade Pereira and Amanda Schmitt of UNTITLED, Art. for their generosity in welcoming them to the fair.
Following their experience at UNTITLED, Art. Miami Beach 2017, students shared their voices and opinions through photographs and personal reflections.
As I traversed the tent of the Untitled Art Fair, consumerism became a notable theme. There I was, observing and receiving messages from the works passed by. Not knowingly, I was surrounded by artworks worth more than I could ever dream of. There are people who pay millions of dollars for certain artworks because they must have the latest and most well-known pieces currently out there. Individuals constantly purchase things to submit to society’s expectations, by putting importance on following societies norms, instead of one’s own personal satisfaction. Instead of attending the fair for the art, many seemed to be there to document themselves at this happening event as society deems it. Most, if not all succumb to the power of consumerism. Heck, I spent five dollars on a popsicle. It was delicious, but it sure was pricy. We all want nice things and want to fit in, but when consumerism begins to consume you and influences you to not be true to yourself, there is an issue. By surrendering to the nature of our consumerist society, we each become shadows in time abiding to society instead of ourselves. We are but mere reflections of our consumerism.
A diet pepsi. A swimming Barbie.
Familiar. Unknown. Forgotten.
Five minutes on the beach manifests
Sandals and rope and beer cans after beer cans
But there’s an entrance fee
A sense of Look! Don’t touch! Look!
In a tent erected in a public space,
splintering between dollar signs and palm trees
A neon sign ten feet away scream
LOVE ME BACK
small compared to the wall
LOVE ME BACK
LOVE ME BACK
LOVE ME BACK
art or the earth or
the people that sleep only yards away
a message is a Message when
catered to those that can afford it.
We all have different definitions of what art is, and at UNTITLED, artists everywhere were able to display their interpretations. Some had themes that were easy to assess, such as the struggles of the working class and over-idolization in Hollywood, but other exhibits were more questionable.
I don’t think all art needs to have an explanation. Some of it is there to just enjoy. Someone may be able to develop their own idea on what that art represents, but we don’t all need to come to that consensus. One of the artists had her dog with her, and it was lying very still while sleeping. I had seen her come in with it so I knew it was not part of the exhibit, but some people were so fixated on the dog, and I even heard one wondering how it fit into the exhibit while ignoring the portraits displayed.
Why do we need explanations for everything? We don’t feel at peace without an answer, because without it, we lose power. Especially in art, some cannot fathom its reason for existing being simply for aesthetic pleasure.
Art wasn’t the dog that night, but maybe for a moment, it was.
The squeak of the press across the fresh-set moveable type is the sound of art yearning to be made, The sound of a final and ancient printmaking process, of the push and pull, of the wiping of the pieces, of the wetting with ink and the choosing of the letters, Having the type in your hand makes you think about the nitty gritty details, lets you consider the hand-carved pieces, forces y u to us3 wh4t’z 4v4il4bl3— Apart from this pulling, pushing, inking process stands a typewriter, Propped up on three legs, its springs and letters exploding out like a constellation in bent wire, The embodiment in this disheveled Remington of thoughts erupting off of paper,Exploding off of this pre-analog relic of creativity on display, Off of this rusting reminder of works yet to be made, In both the drawer of carved letters and in these dusty, broken keys I see poems abandoned, people lost to time and space, Old love letters written and rewritten and crumpled up and written again, and manuscript first drafts, and second drafts, and third drafts, And old articles and intrepid reporters, and tired editors working past their witching hours in old offices in old buildings behind old desks, typing in the dusk, Countless typos, misprints, the authentic facsimiles of long forgotten books, of memoirs chronicling lives that you and I have never heard of, Of words that were never meant to be read or of words now read that were never meant to be written, I see whoever built this Remington and I see whoever bought it and brought it into their home, or to the study, I see the writer or the secretary and I see the old boring reports that he typed on it And I see the collector who bought it, I see its many trips back and forth to the antique store, for repairs, for twenty dollars cash in nineteen-twenty which was a lot of money back then, And I see it where it ended up, in an attic or in a chest, rusted, broken, and I see whatever the artist saw, who picked it up out of the trash And gave it new life by ripping it further apart— I see what that artist saw, hidden between those off-white keys— I see the multitudes of poems, yet unwritten, yet
The Art of People Watching By Carina Zatarain of @fiuinstagram at @untitledartfair I couldn’t hear words But I thought you asked “Who’s the artist?” And the girl at the desk didn’t look up, “What artist?” and you nodded and looked at the painting as if you understood everything now. Then you became a wall, then the floor In my peripheral, a monochromatic Pink film in a cubicle of objects And everything refocused So, I laughed, realizing amidst The objects were people, too. And me, too. A&V / PAC Fall 2017 Student Gallery from UNTITLED, Art. Miami Beach