I’ve had a difficult day. It turns out that I really don’t have the constitution for it. I don’t have the will to concentrate when I’m confronted by the endless long corridors with booth after booth, gallery after gallery. It is like looking into infinity gazing down one of those corridors at Art Basel or Scope or Pulse or Art Miami. I see God down there at the end, or the bottomless abyss of the self. I don’t want to go there. But I can’t look at the works for very long either. There’s no context for them. So I’m back into the corridor and on the move, glancing to the left and right as millions of dollars worth of pigment and wax (people seem fascinated with sculpting in wax this year) flitter in and out of my weak and diluted perception.