By Letty Bassart

In science, there is an underlying belief that mistakes are beautiful.  There are hard and fast rules about striking words on pages, numbering composition books, and above all, the use of Liquid Paper. 

For the inventor, there is no such thing as a fresh start.  Every discovery builds publicly on the one before.  It is this candor that points to the root of the finding, the beginning of the question.

In the area surrounding my apartment, I count twenty-six cranes, six skeletal buildings, one government center, three bridges, one park, and a historic landmark.  Unlike older, denser cities, art is not ensconced in Miami’s consciousness.  It bears instead the passionate, awkward arrogance of adolescence.

If the Paris of 1919 was sad and beautiful, then arguably the Miami of today is vibrant, hopeful, layered, and experiencing a clumsy growth spurt.  Its most influential cultural and artistic pioneers have worked diligently, transparently, and continuously for decades.  What makes them continue?

As the arduous, yet thrilling ongoing process of shaping my beloved city ensues, I wonder what our evolving Miami will become.

I wrestle with my love-hate relationship for this town on a regular basis, cognizant that it is not mistakes that scientists love; like artists, what appeals to them, is the possibility to trace steps, to understand the journey and an ongoing, sometimes tumultuous love affair between process and product.

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