2005-12-05
cars and fish
They closed the street with blinking barricades. A crowd spilled around the performing arts center--still a jumbled heap of cement blocks and glass cubes. I sat on the curb, waiting for something to happen. Parades of kids on stilts wobbled past us, decked out as "creatures of the swamp" in emerald scales and spiky feathers.
Dancers joined the conga-line in barely-there bikinis. As they swiveled their hips, they never stopped smiling.
The marching band picked up the pace, thumping snare drums so fast, their fingers blurred.
I glanced up and saw the half-finished buildings dotted with waves of colored lights. Strange noises erupted all around us--crashing waves and cruiseship horns that reminded me of rush hour traffic.
The buildings grew eyes and ears that night.
The giant 35-foot alligator-schmalligator pounded that pavement on multiple pairs of legs--much like Chinese dragons during New Year.
The stilt walkers loomed taller now. Swarms of insectoids with smeary faces cackled above the crowd.
Around us, a "hypersonic flock" of men and women rigged with light boxes and portable speakers walked in circles, going nowhere.
I spun around and sucked in a breath. There was a cloud staggering toward me, waving a white flag as if in surrender. "Don't look at me," hissed the talking television, which had snuck up behind us, swerving on invisible wheels.
The watery face seemed to watch the watchers.
Finally, a mechanical fish charged at the audience, chasing us like a missile.
The show was called Cars and Fish in honor of Miami and the new performing arts center. It was created for Art Basel by the avant-garde musical mastermind, Gustavo Matamoros, and the electronic genius, Charles Recher.
f-i-n at 6:41 p.m.