Don't Talk. I Can't Hear Myself See.

The Met Is Not Only The Finest Encyclopedic Museum Of Art In The United States; It Is Arguably The Finest Anywhere.

Where Cezanne Captured And Intensified Shards Of The Eternal (every Pear Far More Sharply Defined Than It Could Be In Life), Monet Portrayed The Changeability And Flux Of Every Moment. 'the Water Lilies' Give You A Jittery, Amorphous Sense Of A World Seen At The Speed Of Light.

There's One Baldessari Work I Genuinely Love And Would Like To Own, Maybe Because Of My Midwestern Roots And Love Of Driving Alone. 'the Backs Of All The Trucks Passed While Driving From Los Angeles To Santa Barbara, California, Sunday, 20 January 1963' Consists Of A Grid Of 32 Small Color Photographs Depicting Just What The Title Says.

These Days, Newish Art Can Be Priced Between $10,000 And $25,000. When I Tell Artists That A New Painting By A Newish Artist Should Go For Around $1,200, They Look At Me Like I'm A Flesh-eating Virus.

As I Made My Way Through 'on Line,' The Austere, Stridently Dogmatic, Sometimes Revelatory Exhibition 'about Line' At Moma, I Found Myself Thinking, 'someone Please Wake Me When The Seventies Are Over!' In The Empire Of Curators, The Sun Never Sets On The Seventies. It Is The Undead Decade.