Miami's Big Moment in the Arts Hits the Screen

A pair of filmmakers kicks off a series of home movies with the Wet Heat Project.

Since then, Bas's secondary market prices have gone stratospheric. A work roughly the same size, from 2005, commanded $32,200 at auction last month. His large canvases typically go for six figures. Bas doesn't see a dime of the fortunes dropped on his work in the secondary market these days.

"The dangers of these hedge fund managers and speculators investing in art on the secondary market is brought out in these interviews," Orihuela says. "Because it has hurt artists before, these people behind the scenes on the business end offer invaluable advice for an artist's career."

During his interview, Bas muses on the written word's power to move, and says that, as much as he loves painting, a good line in a song or a poem is what pierces him.

Bert Rodriguez gets paid.
Bert Rodriguez gets paid.
Hernan Bas, an elusive trade.
Hernan Bas, an elusive trade.

"It takes a lot for art to move me dramatically enough compared to a great song or damn great poem or damn great story," he reflects. "Art has a lot more to catch up with to live up to that emotional weight. And I'm always trying to live up to that standard of, like, Oh my God!" he gestures, placing a hand over his heart.

"You know? I think I've hit that maybe once or twice. It's probably one of the reasons I'm my own worst critic, 'cause I'm holding myself to that standard — not to art standards, but, like, slay you standards," he reveals.

Bilowit and Orihuela chose Bert Rodriguez as a subject because he was included in the Whitney Biennial this past March.

Rodriguez's installation at the Whitney was called In the Beginning and featured a large white minimalist cube containing two leather arm chairs facing each other, a small coffee table, and some potted plants.

"It was kind of a mini version of Dr. Melfi's office in The Sopranos," Bilowit cracks.

Before heading to the Whitney, Bilowit followed Rodriguez to Los Angeles for the January ArtLA Fair. There the 32-year-old artist filled half of Fredric Snitzer's booth with what he calls a "clearance sale," in which he hawked hundreds of works spanning all the way back to grade school.

"Some of the stuff he was selling out there looked like something his mother might have tacked on a refrigerator with a magnet," Bilowit laughs. "But that's Bert. I asked him why he was selling stuff for 10 bucks and he said, 'because it's funny.'"

Rodriguez says that while he was purging himself of his old work, Snitzer was selling newer work in the $15,000 range.

"I took boxes and boxes of shit, sort of like a New Year's resolution to flush it out into the functioning art market, risking that it could potentially damage my career 10 years down the line," Rodriguez observes.

"But people who knew I would be in the Whitney in a couple of months snapped it up knowing it would be worth 10 times what they paid walking out the door. Besides, that's what you're supposed to do at an art fair — hawk shit," he snorts.

At the Whitney, Rodriguez offered "therapy" to more than 100 clients for the duration of the event, conducting up to six sessions a day. "At first, people were vague, knowing that they were part of an art project," he informs. "But after 15 minutes, some started opening up, even crying, and I had to keep my ass in check. I told myself that I couldn't break down and cry with them. I'm still trying to sort it all out," the artist sighs.

The Rodriguez documentary includes interviews with ArtForum contributing editor and author Steven Henry Madoff, clinical psychiatrist Dr. Scott McAfee, Rodriguez's high school and college instructors, and conceptual pioneer Vito Acconci.

It also includes exit interviews with selected "patients" and a talk with New York Times metro desk reporter Susan Dominus, who wrote a March 7 piece saying Rodriguez had burrowed into the Big Apple's psyche.

Rodriguez explains he is humbled, in an aw-shucks, refreshingly unpretentious way. "Holy shit — Vito Acconci has been an inspiration of mine since I started making stuff. It's a little bit embarrassing and humbling," he adds.

"That dude from ArtForum called my work 'benevolent and generous in a social way.' I had no idea. That guy's no idiot and has been around. The fact that he would pay attention to this fucking little Cuban retard from Miami will definitely keep me going."

Rodriguez says it's important for him to represent his hometown. "I'm honored to be making art here at this moment rather than gallivanting around. It's obvious Miami has become a viable place for an artist to make a name for themselves in the art world if you stick to your guns and don't fuck up."

One of the behind-the-scenes highlights that Orihuela and Bilowit cherish is their interview with Dominus in a conference room at the New York Times.

"She nailed Bert's piece, and she's not even an art critic," mentions Bilowit. "Here's this metro beat reporter who says she can give us a few minutes of her time because the paper's staff was working on a breaking story."

In the middle of the interview, Dominus had to dash out to cover the Eliot Spitzer sex scandal for the paper's online edition.

"Spitzer would have definitely benefited from a therapy session with Bert," quips Bilowit.

"You have no idea how many people joked about that with me while I was in New York," Rodriguez groans.

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