"Galleries just weren't taking us seriously. We'd show up with U-Haul trucks filled with work, and show a lot of dedication, but it seemed that they cared little about the artists." -Smoke Gallery co-owner Emilio Remior Maybe you don't read about art and don't really want to. That esoteric stuff bores you. Plus you don't really have time to catch up on your art history. That's OK though, Esteban Corbo and Emilio Remoir, co-owners of Smoke Gallery, don't want to bore you and they don't know that much about art either. Yes, they call it Smoke, but don't take them as the too-much gimmick/not enough talent Cheech and Chongs of the Miami art scene. Corbo won't hesitate to spark up a fatty when the time's right, but the gallery title came more from an aversion to the conventional surname headings - and the nifty smoke machine the pair had recently acquired. Tired of gallerists snubbing their artwork, and in need of clearing their bulging studio space, Hialeah-bred artists Esteban Corbo (a tow truck operator) and Emilio Remoir (construction worker) journeyed from the industrial back lots of Medley to NE 125 th Street in North Miami (across from the Museum of Contemporary Art), to open Smoke in January 2004. These guys are outsider artists even if they've taken some art classes at Miami-Dade. Some of their work is derivative, but they are doing this shit straight from the heart, no-holds-barred, and completely - emphasize completely - oblivious to and independent of the incestuous local scene. Like any true art, the work is honest and, occasionally, compelling, notwithstanding people's opinions on its quality or value (most hardly make the effort to go in and see what they have to offer during North Miami gallery walks). "Galleries just weren't taking us seriously," Remoir explains. "We'd show up with U-Haul trucks filled with work, and show a lot of dedication, but it seemed that they cared little about the artists." "Me. I just wanted to get rid of this stuff," Esteban Corbo, a large man of few words, adds in his usual bluntness. "Artists are in a fucked-up situation - we make this stuff and then we're stuck with it." In assuming the gallerists' role, Remoir and Corbo aim to make curation an integral part of the artwork. A protrusion from the space's right back corner, dubbed the "Controversial Room", encloses their most sexually-explicit or religiously-geared works. They once had a continuously rotating exhibition ( Miscellaneous Shove ), during which they altered the content five or six times in one night. And they also once invited a lasciviously-swinging, stiletto-clad maiden to recreate the strip club experience during their Art and Strip Clubs exhibit. "We see the gallery as an installation, and we just want to put on a good show," Remoir says. The duo has also embarked on less viewer-friendly practices. Some aspects of the "show," like the space's engulfing smog (5/6 machine produced, 1/6 blunt produced), or the brazenly loud crunk of dirty south raps, often block the viewing, and definitely deter any discussion of the art (which can't be good for sales). All said and done, Remior isn't bothered by this obstruction and the fact that most gallerists, collectors, curators and fellow artists ignore them. "At the opening, it's more about the whole gallery performance. If people really want to see the work they can come by during the day when we have all the lights up." Nonetheless, these curatorial explorations - working with lighting, showmanship and select divertissements - have an indubitable burlesque appeal and are just part of what makes Smoke Gallery worthy of our attention. Blue-collar concerns must have drowned out art-world declarations, for the pair so unassumingly disregards almost every gallery convention. They've replaced the complimentary wine with a basket of Marlboro Reds, they mosey about in matching white "STAFF" t-shirts, and...oh yeah, they put a stripper in the front window. These actions are mostly a result of "a general lack of professionalism," Remoir confesses. Yet the pair function within rebellion - or whatever it is they're doing - so naturally, you wonder just how aware of their uniqueness they are. During Art Basel 2004, the duo projected, on a building near MoCA, a large image of a boy's strained face on which the sentence "Pretend we're not here" was inscribed. Not many drunken Baselites noticed it, though some stopped and wondered where the hell it was coming from. Remoir and Corbo bring on the same straight-from-the-gut, existential testament to their mixed-media artwork. Although they use a variety of mediums and styles, they slant toward expressionistic and figural painting. Some of Corbo's brightly colored canvases recall a Fauvist aesthetic, while Remoir's work is often dark and twisted like a tormented Norwegian. But brief descriptions can't categorize their work properly, for it is as stylistically varied as our contemporary state of postmodern mishmash. This variety is a conscious attempt to capture different perspectives on an object or event. Remoir explains: "Making all your work in the same style is like trying to translate a joke into another language, sometimes it just doesn't work." Some NoMi traffickers seem repelled by the space's stomping beats and the owners' outsider status, a few proclaiming that Remoir and Corbo's work "is not art" (yes, those people still sparingly remain). A passerby once asked if "this club " was open every night. But some walkers do appear to appreciate this inadvertent middle finger to Miami's oft-pretentious, white-gloved art establishments. Agreed, there are a handful of interesting alternative galleries that speckle the Miami area, but Smoke Gallery wins the outsider artist gold-plated medal not only for their dissidence, but for being that rare case of talented rebellion driven by unforced intentions. Smoke ain't lowbrow - it just is. Open every Friday night, or by appointment, 793 NE 125 th St., North Miami, FL. Call 305-981-1771 or 786-315-1235 or visit www.smokegallery.com. Artwork by Esteban Corbo Artwork by Emilio Remoir