A Collector Bets His Eye and His Gut MIAMI BEACH - Eleven minutes into the 11 a.m. preview of Art Basel Miami Beach on Wednesday, Steve Wilson, a Kentucky collector, made his first purchase: an installation made from dozens of bricks by the Italian artist Elisabetta Benassi. And Mr. Wilson was just revving up. At 11:20, he told a dealer to reserve a large collage for a couple of hours so his wife could take a look. Seventeen minutes later, at a different booth, he bought a bust sculpted with a chain saw from a stack of Encyclopedia Britannicas, by Wim Botha of South Africa. Total time: 37 minutes. Total sticker price for the three pieces: $117,000. While the multimillion-dollar auction prices for big names like Jeff Koons and Francis Bacon grab headlines throughout the world, it is collectors like Mr. Wilson that new artists and their dealers depend on: adventurous enthusiasts who pay no attention to high-priced advisers, market forecasts or buzz and will bet on unknown and emerging creators. Mr. Wilson relies on his eye and his gut, snapping up gallery-sized installations for four and five figures in less time than it takes most people to buy a pair of shoes. A shopping trip with him can be a bit of a whirlwind spree, with dealers rushing to explain the art and make the sale before his attention wanders. "I love him," said Chris Dercon, director of the Tate Modern in London. Most people want to collect like their neighbors. He wants to collect things he doesn't know yet. He's not afraid to make a mistake. In the brief time before the fair ends on Sunday, Mr. Wilson wants to visit as many of the 258 dealers registered as possible. He and his wife, Laura Lee Brown, an artist and a part of Kentucky's aristocracy - her grandfather was the founder of what is now Brown-Forman, the maker of Jack Daniels and Southern Comfort - were among an estimated 50,000 visitors perusing Art Basel's $3 billion worth of art, a mix of works by Modern and contemporary masters, along with pieces by emerging stars. The couple also want to take in the dozens of satellite fairs, museum exhibitions and private open houses that are spread throughout downtown and northern Miami. By Friday afternoon, the two had bought more than 25 pieces. The pair's taste and shopping techniques could not be more different. Ms. Brown is slow and deliberate. Mr. Wilson, thin and lanky, races along the aisles in his black Prada sneakers like a kid with only one day at Disneyland and a determination to try every ride. "I like things that are provoking, that people have trouble talking about," Mr. Wilson said. So he and his wife have a rule: "We don't say no to each other." The couple's interest in art came together in 2006 when they created 21c, a combination museum and hotel in downtown Louisville, their hometown. It is filled with selections from their 1,600-piece collection by living artists. Mr. Wilson generally negotiates with dealers for a museum discount. "We've only traded in one piece," said Mr. Wilson, 65, "and that was because the artist died." Ms. Brown finally arrives around noon with the curator of their museum, Alice Gray Stites, and Edward Heavrin, a videographer tracking the couple's artistic projects. Mr. Wilson is eager to get his wife's opinion on the collage on reserve and his other purchases, but he is frustrated by the wait. "I don't like all this backtracking," he says. They return for the collage, but discover that the dealer misunderstood which piece he wanted and sold it to another collector, Beth Rudin DeWoody of New York. Mr. Wilson looks as if he had just heard that his dog ran away from home. He stops at a favorite gallery and asks about a work combining several photographs and text. Mr. Wilson says with surprise: "$150,000? It's just paper and cheap frames. Taking his wife by the arm to hurry her along, they return to look at the Benassi he bought earlier. Ms. Brown looks down at the 8-by-10-foot rectangle of red bricks on the floor. Each is etched with the name and registration number of a piece of space debris orbiting the Earth. The information is from a survey compiled by the National Security Agency. "I don't get it," she quietly says. In another aisle, they stop by a stack of bricks perched on a stripped-down bicycle. So what's going on here? Mr. Wilson asks the dealer, Luciana Brito of São Paulo, Brazil. She tells him that the bike is the kind that workers ride on the streets of São Paulo. "It's about equilibrium," she says. "The class system," Mr. Wilson adds. Ms. Brito nods in agreement. The gallery is asking $15,000 for the work, by Héctor Zamora. There is a brief discussion. Sold. It is 1:05. "I like this one," Ms. Brown says. Mr. Heavrin, the videographer, lowers his camera: "Can I just say this is the second pile of bricks that Steve has bought today?" After a quick lunch, the group moves on to Untitled, a fair under an enormous air-conditioned tent on the beach. There they examine large tapestries embellished with beads and flowers depicting the bling of Jamaican gangsters by a Kentucky artist they know, Ebony G. Patterson. They ask about one panel, priced at $18,000. Sold? All of them? Mr. Wilson asks in disbelief. Then what are we doing here? Next. Within the hour, they have bought five more works: "Zero Noon," a statistical clock by Rafael Lozano-Hemmer that counts, second by second, dozens of statistics, like the average number of abortions performed daily or Girl Scout cookies sold; a mirror and refrigeration unit making reference to global warming, by Mathias Kessler; and three animal videos by Leslie Thornton. Mr. Wilson pauses by a pile of rice grains on the floor. Above is a cage spitting out this bird feed. It's a piece by Julian Charrière that debuted last year at the Architecture Biennale in Venice: Pigeons flew in for a snack and were spray-painted with food dye in brilliant shades of red, blue, yellow and green; the colors lasted about three weeks. No harm was done to the birds, the dealer promises. A sly grin spreads over Mr. Wilson's face. "We could change the color of the pigeons in Louisville," he says. Suddenly birds would begin to turn red, and no one would understand why. The asking price, $80,000, was on the high side, but the dealer promised to contact the artist - and ask for a museum discount.