Sometimes Good Art Jumps Out At Me;

If The Frieze Art Fair Catches On, I Imagine At Least Two Great Things Happening. First, We Will Once Again Have A Huge Art Fair In Town That Isn't Too Annoying To Go To. More Importantly, Frieze May Finally Show New Yorkers That We Can Cross Our Own Waters For Visual Culture. That Would Change Everything.

John Currin's Exaggerated Realism And His Twisted Women Kept Me Off Balance, Never Knowing If They Were Sincere Or Ironic Or Some New Emotion.

Decades Ago, Gerhard Richter Found A Painterly Philosopher's Stone. Like Jackson Pollock Before Him, He Discovered Something That Had Been In Painting All Along, Always Overlooked Or Discounted.

While The Space For Artists And Curators Has Increased Enormously, Maybe, Just Maybe, That's Left Room For Too Many People Calling Themselves Artists And Curators Who Are Simply Not Up To The Term.

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.