Romero Britto and his perpetually happy art have charmed the world. We take a peek inside the machine.
Romero Britto at work in his 50,000-square-foot Wynwood studio. “I never thought I would do what I now do with my art,” he says.
Walking into Romero Britto’s 50,000-square-foot Wynwood production facility, I’m overwhelmed by wall after wall of photos—Britto with Bono, Hillary Clinton, Pope Francis, Prince Charles. Turn a corner and there’s an invite to Michael Jackson’s Neverland Valley Ranch for a Britto birthday bash back in the day. Another wall is covered in the artist’s candy-colored Disney tchotchkes. “Welcome to the Britto compound,” coos Paula Moscoso, Britto’s elegant studio manager. The place is abuzz with several of the company’s 93 employees—lawyers, logistics people, young art workers. The product is Britto, more specifically his original paintings, reproduction prints, and colorful collectibles, many of which will be shipped globally.
Despite Moscoso’s concern about interrupting him, when we walk into Britto’s inner sanctum, a room littered with Sharpies, memorabilia, and new paintings, he’s as warm as can be. Dance music plays in the background as he uses a silver marker and quick strokes to sketch a portrait of a coy girl. “This is from my new series,” he says.
Weekends, when the studio is empty, are the time when Britto is most creative.
The work is indeed different, if you’re accustomed to two decades of his vibrant Pop Art. The largest piece is a woman who looks more crazy than happy, drawn in bold strokes over newsprint detailing the chaos of the world. Others have layers of rust-colored resin and gold or silver leaf topped with quick face sketches so minimalist as to border on abstract. “I’ve done in the past a lot of work on newspaper,” Britto says of his early days selling art on the streets of Miami. “I painted on newspaper because it was so cheap. I grew up worried about tomorrow—always worried about something. But I never thought I would do what I now do with my art.”
A tour with 300 signed prints shipping out today, he’s got some busy work to do. First he wants to show off his “closet,” though, a room full of hundreds of shirts, slacks, shoes, and sunglasses, all arranged by color. He holds up a zebra-striped Dolce & Gabbana blazer. He’s a collector of luxury, as if to demarcate his journey, yet he also collects Depression-era glass. In the next room, a scruffy 20-something assistant meticulously pours gold dust onto a series of 50 coffee-colored prints, each of which will take an hour. Nearby, we walk past Britto’s favorite painting, a dark, cloudy green and white storm of an image quite different from his own. The artist? Bubbles, Michael Jackson’s chimpanzee.
Inside the signing room, inventory manager Lyonel Denis has lined up hundreds of puppy prints, and Britto embellishes each with a flourish of silver, then adds his signature. From here, the prints will go to his Lincoln Road gallery or other galleries worldwide. “It’s like a treadmill,” says Moscoso, who rattles off a typical Britto day—he wakes up at 4 am, works out, by seven he’s having a coffee with his licensing manager and best friend Alina Shriver, 8:30 is creative time, 9:30 he’s in meetings, interviews, signing, branding, and business discussions. He might show a high-end client around the compound, then it’s off to his Lincoln Road gallery. His best creative time is on weekends, when the compound is deserted.
Denis carries a tray of prints with the utmost care. “I protect joy,” he says without me asking. “If I can giggle [because of the colors] and I’m a grown man, imagine what it does to everybody else.”
Customers agree. Beyond prints, his Britto-ized collectibles, plates, glasses, ashtrays, and ties are sold globally. He’s huge in Germany, France, Brazil. Now he’s really focusing a lot of his efforts on Asia.
Sharing a meal with friends at Zuma.
Off to dinner-Britto has some friends in town, Yair Kagan and his wife, Claudia. Yair is having three Britto images tattooed around his right shoulder and arm. To celebrate, they head to a packed Zuma (270 Biscayne Blvd. Way, Miami, 305-577-0277), where Britto wades through a gauntlet of hellos from the waitstaff, whom he seems to know personally. Before long, the artist is playing host, doling out sashimi to his table guests, including Dr. Jeremy Green, a family friend he met through charity work with the Miami Project to Cure Paralysis, and Green’s fiancée, Allie Brede. Britto’s assistant brings over some teens visiting from Mexico City who wanted to meet him; now he’s hugging the sommelier.
Yair Kagan showing the area where three Britto images will be tattooed on his shoulder and arm.
“Do you ever just want to be alone?” I ask.
“Not unless I’m with the right person. I don’t like it that much; it’s not fun to be alone. I love to be around people, friends. You care; they care about you.” Dr. Green chimes in, “He exudes positivity from every pore. That’s why he’s fun to be around. From a selfish standpoint, you go out with Romero, and you’re happy.”
Britto looks around the table at his collection of friends and cracks a smile that is oddly humble, as if he still needed to paint on newsprint, then raises a toast.