A NonArticle on The NonNFT Summit

I began drafting a tweet about what The NonNFT Summit meant to me and realized I had too much to say, even for a thread. I also realized I wasn’t exactly sure why it meant so much and would need to write my way to an answer.

Two memories came to mind the instant I began to write: attending the very first edition of Ultra Music Festival on the sands of Miami Beach as a high school senior and walking into Cha Cha nightclub on the rooftop of a nearly abandoned former Hilton Hotel in downtown Bogotá as a defiantly solitary young woman.

Though I’ve always been a loner, a condition that suits my occupation of choice—writing—I’m also fascinated by people and regularly like to be around them. Growing up I felt dismayed looking for life in house gatherings, bars, and nightclubs that seemed directly descended from high-commitment conga lines. We're creatures of contradiction, of duality. We want to be free, and we want to belong.  To find worlds that allow us to exist comfortably within this dichotomy is a gift. At Ultra and Cha Cha, I found domains made rich by the bizarre that also allowed me to pop in and out. The friends I made there sustained me throughout my twenties and most of my thirties, until my children were born, and I immersed myself in their urgencies.

My kids are older now, and I moved us to a quiet town—one that doesn’t suction away the day in traffic and obligations. I’ve used this extra time to investigate how poetry might deploy the verve of Web3, attending many NFT conferences. None have felt as nourishing and meaningful as The NonNFT Summit. I wouldn’t mind foregoing most crypto conferences, but I’d do everything possible to return to El DF and reunite with the extraordinary clan of artists that calls this land home.

Ciudad de México is a city built by the Spanish conquistadores atop the ruins of Tenochtitlan, the vanquished Aztec capital, whose location was determined by a prophecy that obliged the warrior tribe to break ground upon encountering an eagle eating a snake. This iconic image is now part of the Mexican flag, representing the land’s proud Aztec roots and the binary of good and evil, with good taking a bite.

Mexico City wields the muscle of myth, and there’s no doubt this location helped make the Summit so special. There I was, far from the planet’s splashy fiat capitals, speaking in Spanish on a panel about the literary potential of crypto art. A few months earlier, I uttered similar words, though in English, in a grand, near-empty Marriott ballroom in Times Square during a very different event. The words I spoke in Mexico felt like they mattered. 

No heavyweight entity funded the Summit, securing speakers to charge exorbitant ticket prices. Moxarra and neurocolor financed almost the entire cost of the event themselves, with some minor sponsorships. There wasn’t anything commercial about the Summit. Art was available to purchase, like at any exhibition, but no intricate scheme was crafted to inspire a buy. Many of the works on display, indeed, were physical and intentionally bulky. Guests of the Summit received a collaborative work created by neurocolor, Moxarra, and XCOPY as a gift. Let’s allow that to sink in—the organizers gave away XCOPIES.

The food, music, panels, installations at the Summit were highly curated yet maintained the edge and appeal of the decidedly underground. Many of the people with whom I spoke marveled at the hosts' generosity. The organizers conceived an experience that gave, expecting nothing in return.

To me, the Summit marks a moment in which members of the community that built the magic of the crypto art space reclaimed its sovereignty and significance, staring down at the increasing commodification of NFT events. What’s more, this gathering confirms that the relationships many of us have built on social media are not mirages. They’re real. They are our chosen reality—one to which we can freely belong.

That first Ultra, Cha Cha, The NonNFT Summit may carry the beat of a good party, but they’re much more than that. Each event is a vector—a trajectory activated by intention, a manifestation of direction and volume. They lead somewhere.

The land of crypto art is a hurried place, often moving too fast and in too many directions, and, lately, it’s been yanked downwards. Attending The NonNFT Summit confirmed that there's a culture being built that’s independent of external validators. This culture, like the vigor of CDMX, is a tangible object, constructed by like-minded people who are creating something larger than themselves. At the Summit, this culture asserted itself as an imaginative, concrete, and—why not—fun way to better traditional systems, such as traditional publishing.  

Now, more than ever, it feels important to document work taking place past the markets, outside of social media feeds. There are snakes in the grass, but there are plenty of sharp-eyed eagles perched high. This text, ultimately, states: The NonNFT Summit confirms that the culture of crypto art has the power to effect positive change.

And, it doubles as a photo album of images I hope to hold onto: Artnome steering conversations like a wise Gandolf, guiding earnest but inexperienced travelers while allowing them to lead. Gisel Florez spilling over with enthusiasm on a panel. Gus Grillasca preaching Bitcoin in an olive fedora. Virginia Valenzuela demolishing the dance floor in silver boots. CryptoArg’s exhibition, as stormy as it was stunning. Basileus, who made it clear that youth is simply joy, and it can be collected as art. Judy Mam gleefully walking a group of wonderers through her city’s spirited center. Micol Micol Micol here, there, everywhere, giving of herself. Ann Ahoy standing beside her brightly painted world. A communally marked-up ROBNESS toter—a meme made powerful because its creator relinquished ownership. The Pepe Room, which boasted the venue’s most restful chairs, so that spectators could pause and admire the green, implausible, riotous works of art. Alejandro Rosso's closing DJ set, which was accompanied by a video montage that held up a mirror to every edge of our planet, showing us the magnitude of our weirdness so that we might celebrate it.

In the weeks before the event, neurocolor reached out to see if I wanted to create site-specific, text-based neon signs for the venue. I conceived two, one in Spanish and one in English, which he lovingly produced and installed. After the conference, neurocolor was very concerned about their fate, saying he’d be happy to help me ship them home. I asked him to keep them safe for next year.