A wall full of photographs of two girls does nothing to “interrogate” (a favorite term of art- and lit-crit-speak) identity any more than a mutilated doll forces us to reconsider our usual notions of whatever-it-is those odious objects are supposed to make us reconsider.In the New Criterion, Roger Kimball gets grouchy about contemporary art. I wish I could disagree with him, really I do, but I have seen far too many exhibitions of this sort.
Bard college, with its President, its patroness and its Chair named for Alger Hiss, could have been invented by Evelyn Waugh. The WaPo reviews a memoir of the Waughs, a review which fails to menton that Alec Waugh invented the cocktail hour.
I need a Martini; gin, of course; stirred, not shaken.
Here are the New Pornographers.