The question as to why I never exhibit, give talks or workshops in Miami is often posed because a number of journalists have alleged, in an attempted smear on my otherwise-sterling reputation, that I was born there.
In fact, I come from the small, island Republic of Tropico (apologies to Pop Top Software), where cops run wild and beat up children and monkeys swing from mango trees hurling excrement at eco-tourists. Ours is a primitive but pastoral people, a race of belly-scratchers who swing in hammocks contemplating new obscenities; and rum garglers who slash throats as casually as they clean fish.
That said, we would be pleased (but probably less than fully-honored) to show in Miami, which has lately presented itself as a kind of 50s NY-style art mecca, albeit, without ever actually producing any art of note. All the shuffling of vertical pieces of real estate during ArtBasel and that other donkey-show art fair looks more like a money laundering scheme than cultural diffusion.
And I should know. The only job I could ever get in Miami was as a money laundering analyst for banks, and at the end of the day, putting cash in washing machines is a South Florida specialty.
Whatever. Even dirty money is green and we want ours. Unfortunately, all efforts to get ourselves into even the smallest and least fashionable of Miami art spaces have resulted in rejection. The drop that made the cup spill over may have been a recently received "fuck yourself cordially" letter from someone called Gendry Bossano at the downtown public library, where it is rumored, in another vicious attempt on my reputation, that I often spent youthful afternoons pouring over art history books.
As a side note, even Central American whores in Miami are ashamed to admit they live there. Give to their cause and give generously. If we all band together, we can help them move to more seasonable climes such as Tegucigalpa and San Pedro Sula.
In the meantime, my work is in the permanent collection at the University of Miami. My father's work sits in the vast warehouse that is the collection at Miami Dade College. Old Man Sevigny also built the finest outdoor chapel in the nation in front of Christ Congregational Church. Crunching the numbers, I can only conclude that as a family we've tossed enough pearls before swine.
But we are always open to invitations. Just make sure the check doesn't bounce.