George

In 1981, in an act of faith that today makes me shudder at its innocence, my wife and I moved with our baby to New York from Chicago. The passage of time has mercifully dulled the troubles of those first days – moving into half the space we’d had in Chicago for twice...

Connoisseurs

One of the joys and nuisances of having been trained as an art historian is that you constantly see life imitating art. I was attending the opening of The Armory Show two weeks when I was struck by the sight of a young woman tending bar. “Excuse me, but would you let...

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood . . . ~Robert Frost Last summer I visited the Addison Gallery of American Art at Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts. It’s a terrific little museum and well worth taking time to visit when you’re in the Boston area. The...

Johnny-One-Note, or, Catalogues Raisonnés in Hell

I am ordinarily the soul of benevolence and good will toward all humanity, but there are occasional dark days, often caused by the failure of some museum curator to return my calls, when my spirit turns peevish and I entertain myself by playing a game of my own...

The Naked Lady in the Room

I was once visiting a collector’s home, admiring his works of art.  The paintings were first-rate and had one thing in common: they were all nudes.  Even the paintings which would properly be classed as landscapes had nude ladies populating them. I asked him what the...

All’s Fair in Art

I’ll be participating in the Boston International Fine Art Show from October 23-25. When preparing to participate in such venues, I always think of Samuel Johnson’s definition of second marriages: “The triumph of hope over experience.” Setting up, you’re enthusiastic,...