When People In Stadiums Do The Wave,

Too Many Younger Artists, Critics, And Curators Are Fetishizing The Sixties, Transforming The Period Into A Deformed Cult, A Fantasy Religion, A Hip Brand, And A Crippling Disease.

Art Schools Are Partly The Villain Here. (never Mind That I Teach In Them.) This Generation Of Artists Is The First To Have Been So Widely Credentialed, And Its Young Members So Fetishize The Work Beloved By Their Teachers That Their Work Ceases To Talk About Anything Else. Instead Of Enlarging Our View Of Being Human, It Contains Safe Rehashing Of Received Ideas About Received Ideas. This Is A Melancholy Romance With Artistic Ruins, Homesickness For A Bygone Era. This Yearning May Be Earnest, But It Stunts Their Work, And By Turn The Broader Culture.

A Sad Fact Of Life Lately At The Museum Of Modern Art Is That When It Comes To Group Shows Of Contemporary Painting From The Collection, The Bar Has Been Set Pretty Low.

I See 30 To 40 Gallery Shows A Week, And No Matter What Kind Of Mood I'm In, No Matter How Bad The Art Is, I Almost Always Feel Better Afterward. I Can Learn As Much From Bad Art As From Good.

Galleries Began Growing In Both Number And Size In The Late Seventies, When Artists Who Worked In Lofts Wanted To Exhibit Their Work In Spaces Similar To The Ones The Art Was Made In.