Art Haggery

I've been sobbing with bereavement over art shows I'll never see back on the green, or brown, east coast. I have determined that round trip off hours air fare is only $222 to the Big Ap, and residence at the youth hostel is only $25 a night for as long as you can take the chickenhawks, the being mistaken for one, the showering in your flipflops, the sleeping on slippery, bum-proof, crackly, plastic encased bunk beds, and the strictly no-nonsense whupass Dominican medical students who run the place, with the backup of their grandpas, the dope dons who live in the PJs next door, so I can qwitcherbitchin and go see stuff any time.

My beloved Yinka at BAM.

The incredibly kinky Ingres at the Frick, the Comtess d'Houbanville, about whose gray satin skirt deKooning and Gorky argued all night long in the LES automat circa 1949.

But so out here there's this. Land art.

I'm going to look at it this afternoon.