Monday, April 1, 2019

Fondazione Carriero opens the first solo exhibition ever held in an Italian institution of the work of Lygia Pape

Lygia Pape, Book of Time (Large sculpture), 1965. Automotive paint, tempera, acrylic, and latex on wood, 100 x 100 x 24 cm. © Projeto Lygia Pape.

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Fondazione Carriero opens the first solo exhibition ever held in an Italian institution of the work of Lygia Pape
Lygia Pape, 2019, installation view at Fondazione Carriero, Milan. Photo: Christian Kain. Courtesy Fondazione Carriero, Milan.

MILAN.- From 28 March to 21 July 2019, Fondazione Carriero presents Lygia Pape, curated by Francesco Stocchi, the first solo exhibition ever held in an Italian institution on one of the leading figures of Neoconcretism in Brazil, organized in close collaboration with Projeto Lygia Pape.

Fifteen years after the death of Lygia Pape (Rio de Janeiro, 1927-2004), Fondazione Carriero sets out to narrate and explore the career of the Brazilian artist, emphasizing her eclectic, versatile approach. Across a career span of 45 years, Pape came to grips with multiple languages—from drawing to sculpture, video to dance, ranging into installation and photography— absorbing the lessons of European modernism and blending them with the cultural tenets of her country, generating a very personal synthesis of artistic practices. Inserted in the architecture of the Foundation, the exhibition represents a true voyage in the artist’s world, organized in different spaces, each of which delves into one specific aspect of her work, through the presentation of nuclei of pieces from 1952 to 2000. The exhibition provides an opportunity for knowledge, analysis and investigation of an artist whose practice embodies some of the key areas of research of Post-War.

Lygia Pape’s oeuvre conveys a particular interpretation of Modernism, where the human figure plays a central role and the language opens to sensuality, in a sort of artistic syncretism that is able to attract and reconcile diametrically opposed worlds. The relationship with her native land Brazil, is fused with the study of the developments of Russian Constructivism, absorbed and reformulated in a multiform, personal language. While European Modernism proposed getting beyond the past by means of an organized system of theory and method, rigor and rationality, the modernist perspective of Lygia Pape feeds on her culture of origin and is thus able to move and transform more freely, drawing inspiration from nature and humankind. The result of this process is a body of works that alchemically mixes different expressive media, stimulating all the channels of perception to the point of reinventing the relationship between work and viewer in a forcefully contemporary way, where the path towards the future is shaped by instinct and the absence of any preordained process.
Sponsored by Connatix

The exhibition Lygia Pape offers visitors a chance to approach the artist’s output and to observe it from multiple vantage points, starting from analysis of her research, a synthesis of invention and contamination from which color, joy and sensuality emerge. Full and empty, presence and absence coexist, conveying Pape’s figure and continuous experimentation, sustained by an ability to combine materials and techniques through the use of unconventional modes and languages of expression. Seen as a whole, her research reveals the way each new project develops as a natural evolution of those that preceded it. These connections are highlighted in the display of the works, spreading through the three floors of the Foundation and linked together by a common root, a leitmotif that originates in observation of nature and its translation into signs.

The works on view include Livro Noite e Dia and Livro da Criação, among her most important pieces, books seen as objects with which to establish a relationship, condensations of mental and sensory experiences. The Tecelares, a series of engravings on wood, combine the Brazilian folk tradition with the Constructivist research of European origin. The exhibition also features Tteia1, the distinguished installation that embodies Lygia Pape’s investigation of materials, the third dimension and the constant drive towards reinvention and reinterpretation of her language.

Today her work still offers interesting tools for the interpretation of the issues of our present, in an approach based less on rules and more on spontaneity, applied by the artist has a key of interpretation to represent the world around us.

Lygia Pape fits coherently into the itinerary launched by Fondazione Carriero with imaginarii (September 2015), FONTANA • LEONCILLO Forma della materia (April 2016), FASI LUNARI (October 2016), PASCALI SCIAMANO (March 2017), Sol Lewitt. Between the Lines (November 2017 – June 2018, co-curated with Rem Koolhaas), and Giulio Paolini. del Bello ideale, exhibitions curated by Francesco Stocchi, all sharing the key factor of a dialogic approach and a constant focus on research and experimentation.

Three Experimental Van Gogh Biopics

How Three Experimental Van Gogh Biopics Painted Startlingly Different Portraits of the Artist

A History of Artist Biopics, Part IV: The obsession with bringing Vincent van Gogh to life in the late 1980s and early '90s.
Cover images for Vincent: The Life and Death of Vincent van Gogh; Vincent and Theo (Dutch version); and Van Gogh.
Cover images for Vincent: The Life and Death of Vincent van GoghVincent and Theo (Dutch version); and Van Gogh.
It’s no mystery why the late 1980s and early ‘90s might see a sudden, huge spike in movies about one artist in particular: Vincent van Gogh. That reason is alluded to in the very first (and probably best) scene of Robert Altman’s Vincent and Theo, which begins not in the 1880s, but in the 1980s, with the 1987 auction at Christie’s London of the artist’s Sunflowers.
The film then cuts back in time to the van Gogh brothers in a hovel arguing about money, but with the auctioneer’s patter continuing in the background. “Do you always have to go so far on principle, Vincent?”, Theo asks, as the bidding escalates past £14 and then £15 million. As Theo storms out, leaving Vincent chewing his pipe in his cot, the hammer comes down on the soundtrack at £22.5 million (a then-record-setting $39.9 million, or $89 million in today’s dollars.)
Picasso was just as high-flying a market star in the ‘80s art boom. But Picasso lived long and was hugely successful in his lifetime, whereas the contrast between van Gogh, the artist who sold a single painting while he was alive, and the then-unheard of amounts of money being lobbed at his work—between poverty and posterity—has an irresistible allure as a parable.
The surge of interest elicited a whole host of narrative experiments with Van Gogh (and I’m not even getting into Leonard Nimoy’s one-man play, Vincent, where he incarnated Theo—of course Spock would play Theo—or the strange cameo of Martin Scorsese as van Gogh in Akira Kirosawa’s Dreams, of 1990). In some contradictory way, each of these films can be seen as adding to the Van Gogh Industry even as they were, in part, about wrestling some authentic image of the artist back from the Van Gogh Industry.
(In case this is what is on your mind: I’ll deal with the even more recent Van Goghs, like Julian Schnabel‘s At Eternity’s Gate, as I get towards the present.)
This is the fourth part of a series on artist biopics. The first three parts are herehere, and here

Vincent: The Life and Death of Vincent van Gogh (1987)

Cover of <em>Vincent: The Life and Death of Vincent Van Gogh</em> (1987).
Cover of Vincent: The Life and Death of Vincent Van Gogh (1987).
When I started this series, this is exactly the kind of discovery I hoped for: a film that finds a new and illuminating way to tell the story of an artist’s life. On its release, Roger Ebert called Vincent “the best film about a painter I have ever seen,” and though I wouldn’t go that far, it’s up there.
It’s elegantly simple: Vincent is told via readings from the painter’s famous letters to his brother, his words given a sense of raw and melancholy life by John Hurt.
Set against the letters are spare, poetic images of nature, some POV shots as if you were seeing through van Gogh’s eyes as he walked the streets, and lingering details and close-ups of paintings. Very occasionally the tempo picks up into short seizures of imagery, suggesting the moment when crisis strikes him.
It’s hard to convey the interest of this, which by simple means marches through the familiar beats of van Gogh’s life toward the inexorable climax: his time preaching among the coal miners, his unrequited love for his cousin, his stay painting in Arles with Gauguin, his troubles with loneliness and mental health.
You are reminded that van Gogh is capable of soul-searching metaphors: “We must not judge God from this world—it’s just a sketch.” And at least once—during the painter’s reflections, from his June 10, 1888, letter to Theo when he imagines visiting the stars in death—his words, as read by Hurt, achieve something like the transfiguring beauty of the paintings that they are set against.
What It Contributes to the Genre: For one thing, in extracting images of the art from acted narrative, Vincent gives you a lot more of the art, so that at the end of the film, you actually feel like you have seen van Gogh’s painting develop over the course of a long process of seeing the world.
For another, by giving us his actual words, you get a sense of van Gogh as a keen, articulate intelligence, not just a suffering soul—and this is notably rare among the van Gogh myth-making.
For long passages, Hurt, reading the painter’s words, bares his struggles with faith, with solitude, with money. And then for others, he focuses on instructing his brother on the technical details of how to organize his paintings, telling him to place La Berceuse between two sunflowers to form a triptych: “the yellow and orange tones of the head will gain in brilliance by the proximity of the yellow wings, and the paintings sing together.”
Ultimately, something about Cox’s clean juxtaposition of word and image captures a sense of the isolation of a restless, over-articulate brain and the aching distance of feeling isolated from the world.

Vincent and Theo (1990)

Poster for <em>Vincent & Theo</em> (1990).
Poster for Vincent & Theo (1990).
Robert Altman was a really tremendous filmmaker. Vincent and Theo—which you can see as a four-part TV series or in a two-hour theatrical cut (I watched the former)—is worth watching and a good film, but not, I don’t think, a tremendous artist film.
Kirk Douglas’s Vincent in Lust for Life was a ‘50s rebel Vincent; Tim Roth’s twitchy, slouchy Vincent is all Gen-X disaffection. What motivates the character is perplexing and at times he seems to be reverting to a kind of pre-articulate child state. He’s always running his fingers through paint, or eating paint, or smearing paints on things and people, as if trying to get down to some primal sense of feeling.
There’s an aura of foreboding throughout the film, with doomy music introducing each episode. Van Gogh’s descent into mental torment is handled Shining-style, with Roth’s shambling Vincent terrorizing Gaugin with a knife, and smearing the words “I AM THE HOLY SPIRIT / I AM WHOLE IN SPIRIT” on the walls of their Arles apartment in black.
(Incidentally, this detail comes from Gaugin himself, who actually put it in a rather fond anecdote that was about his comrade’s love of the color yellow, saying that van Gogh made the slogan appear “with his yellowest brush traced on the suddenly violet wall.”)
What It Contributes: Altman gives Vincent and Theo his typical air of aerated naturalism, full of overlapping dialogue and long shots. The slightly remote sensibility cuts against the belovedly visceral, direct quality of van Gogh’s art, though it does convey a sense of mental dislocation.
The American director specialized in ensembles, and so was not an especially good fit for the solo artist Great Man biopic format. What seems to have interested Altman, as the title suggests, is the symbiotic relationship between brothers rather than the mysteries of individual psychology. In a documentary about the making of the film, Altman specifically said he was trying to get away from van Gogh’s account of himself in the letters, focusing on the sibling relationship.
“They became like two sides of the same coin…,” Altman explained. “When one of them got sick the other threw up. We made them inseparable.”
Thus, Vincent and Theo does feature a lot of cross-cutting between the two main characters, most memorably in a scene that juxtaposes Theo, in Paris, whose girlfriend leaves him because of he is being treated for syphilis, and Vincent, in the Hague, as the troubled model and prostitute he had taken into his apartment storms out on him. Both brothers are pictured staring into mirrors and painting their faces in expression of their angst, Vincent drawing on a skull with paint, Theo smearing his face with his paramour’s makeup and powder.
But as the film goes on, it gets sucked into the black hole of Vincent van Gogh’s biographical gravitas, and the film doesn’t really manage to make Theo that much more interesting or profound—indeed, the beats are so similar to Lust for Life that it could be mistaken for its gritty reboot. And in the end, just what the exact idea of the mirrored relationship of Vincent and Theo is doesn’t quite develop into any new or illuminating insight.

Van Gogh (1991)

Poster for <em>Van Gogh</em> (1991).
The Spanish-language poster for Van Gogh (1991).
This film’s Vincent, played by Jacques Dutronc (also a singer-songwriter and husband of yé-yé singer Françoise Hardy), won a César for Best Actor for the role. And say what you will, Maurice Pialat’s French-language Van Goghis a distinctive take on the artist, by design: The seeming goal is to underplay things, draining the artist’s famous story of the traditional tropes of genius.
Van Gogh focuses only on the last couple of months in the artist’s life, when he’s in the care of Dr. Gachet, after his time in the asylum. Instead of a suffering saint, Dutronc’s Van Gogh is just an ordinary sad sack. In fact, Gachet (Gérard Séty) tells Theo (Bernard Le Coq) at one point that his brother wasn’t mentally ill. “Your brother was exhausted, overworked. He works too much, even now.”
At another point, Vincent himself preemptively deflates the idea of his suicide, and explains away his time in the asylum: “There were no fits. They were a trick, like when a squid squirts ink. When I put an end to it, it will be a calm decision.”
What motivates this Vincent van Gogh, then? It is the oddity of Pialat’s film to on the one hand de-romanticize his biography, and on the other hand re-romanticize it, in a queasy way, making it all about the 37-year-old artist’s sexual affair with Dr. Gachet’s precocious teenage daughter, Marguerite (Alexandra London), the subject of the painting Mademoiselle Gachet au piano (1890), whose creation you see here. (This is highly speculative terrain, though the possibility of a spark between them is tempting enough as subject matter to count for a brief beat at the end of Vincent and Theo.)
This laid-back, melancholy film unfolds towards the climax of a meandering, nearly 15-minute sequence of a party where Theo and Marguerite find Vincent in a saloon and spend a bittersweet night dancing, partying, shooting absinthe, and carousing with prostitutes. The scene features a cameo from Toulouse-Lautrec, glimpsed passed out in post-coital bliss, and, at one point after someone yells to the revelers “Time to Parade!”, a strange combination of line dancing and military march.
The return to reality from this night of fun seems to spur van Gogh’s suicide in this telling.
What It Contributes: It’s a largely becalmed, sometimes alienating and sometimes lyrical film. But the main thing about Van Gogh is this: Imagine watching it without knowing who Vincent van Gogh was! It would be totally inexplicable what the appeal of this bummer of a self-pitying guy was. It just shows how hard it is to escape the shadow of the legend, even when that is the whole point.

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the Sackler Philanthropy ‘Halt’ Could Mean Even Bigger Changes for Museum Funding

The Gray Market: Why the Sackler Philanthropy ‘Halt’ Could Mean Even Bigger Changes for Museum Funding (and Other Insights)

How the “Overton Window” theory in politics applies to recent trends in arts philanthropy.
The Serpentine Sackler Gallery in London. Courtesy of the Serpentine Galleries.
The Serpentine Sackler Gallery in London. Courtesy of the Serpentine Galleries.
Every Monday morning, artnet News brings you The Gray Market. The column decodes important stories from the previous week—and offers unparalleled insight into the inner workings of the art industry in the process.
This week, surveying a newly altered landscape of museum fundraising…


On Monday, a bombshell landed in the world of arts philanthropy, as the Sackler Trust and the Dr. Mortimer and Theresa Sackler Foundation announced in separate statements (with select matching verbiage) that they would “temporarily pause all new philanthropic giving, while still honoring existing commitments.”
Although the two organizations operate independently, both are endowed by the fortune of Mortimer Sackler, who, along with his younger brother Raymond, led Purdue Pharma while it pioneered, marketed, and sold OxyContin, one of the drugs at the heart of the American opioid crisis. (Theresa Sackler is Mortimer’s third wife and widow. A third Sackler brother, Arthur, died before OxyContin’s development, siloing his heirs from proceeds from the drug and giving them the relative moral high ground against other branches of the family.)
How big a deal is this? The Sackler Trust alone has awarded £60 million ($79 million) to arts, medical-research, and educational organizations since 2010, including sizable gifts to the UK’s National Gallery, National Portrait Gallery, and the Victoria and Albert Museum, as well as the Guggenheim and the Met in New York. Any further philanthropy will now be put on ice until, as Teresa Sackler put it in her statement, “We can be confident that it will not be a distraction for institutions that are applying for grants.”
The Sackler Courtyard, a new addition to the Victoria and Albert museum is unveiled to the public in London on June 28, 2017. Photo: Justin Tallis/AFP/Getty Images.
The Sackler Courtyard at the Victoria and Albert museum in London. Photo: Justin Tallis/AFP/Getty Images.
As for the distraction element: A day after the Sackler Trust and Dr. Mortimer and Theresa Sackler Foundation announced they were pressing pause on new giving, Purdue Pharma reached a $270 million settlement with the attorney general of Oklahoma over a lawsuit alleging Purdue’s culpability in the state’s multibillion-dollar struggle with opioid addiction. Yet the resolution of that case still leaves Purdue Pharma to contend with 35 state cases and more than 1,600 others consolidated at the federal level, all regarding OxyContin, according to the New York Times. On Friday, New York attorney general Letitia James announced that the state was adding Purdue Pharma and eight members of the Sackler family to one of its ongoing lawsuits, accusing the family of fraud and illegal profiteering.
Purdue Pharma and the heirs of Mortimer and Raymond Sackler deny all wrongdoing. And the company is not alone in being dragged into the courts over opioids. “Nearly two dozen other defendants” in the pharmaceutical industry have been named as defendants in litigation related to the much-abused class of drugs, according to attorneys in the consolidated federal case.
The Sackler Trust and the Sackler Foundation’s joint halt in giving comes after mounting public pressure from direct-action groups led by Nan Goldin’s Prescription Addiction Intervention Now (PAIN). That pressure seems to have burst a few notable pipes recently, as recapped by my colleague Julia Halperin:
The trust’s decision to pause its activities follows a series of major announcements last week from institutions that stated they would no longer accept money from the Sackler family. The National Portrait Gallery announced it had reached a “mutual” agreement with the Sackler Trust to drop a planned £1 million ($1.3 million) pledge for its refurbishment. Several days later, the Tate announced it would no longer accept funds from the Sacklers.
For arts-funding purists, these are colossally encouraging developments. It seems clear that philanthropy’s commercial source is now getting the type of hard look that many think it has deserved for much longer. But to understand exactly how meaningful this situation may be, we should view this new chapter in a broader context.   
U.S. Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez speaks about the Green New Deal during a news conference outside the U.S. Capitol in February 2019. (Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images)
U.S. Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez speaks about the Green New Deal during a news conference outside the U.S. Capitol in February 2019. Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.


Media-theory geeks like me are already familiar with the concept of the Overton Window. For those of you who lead healthier and more well-rounded lives, though, the Overton Window—named for Joseph Overton, president of the Mackinac Center for Public Policy—describes the range of outcomes that are politically acceptable at a given moment in time. The key point lies in the definition of “politically acceptable.” Basically: How far can a candidate go on a particular issue before they risk losing an election over their stance?
In other words, the Overton Window isn’t framed by a candidate’s personal preferences. It is framed by the public’s sense of what is tolerable, if not desirable.
This is one reason that the discourse about any issue amounts to more than just talk. It’s really hard to do something that you can’t even publicly discuss lest the average voter label you something between an unelectable extremist and, as my grandpa termed it, a straight-up Looney Toon. So if you want to take more radical action, you first have to make the argument for it seem less radical. You have to move the Overton Window.
How do you do that? Usually, by managing to find one special person or event that resonates despite occupying what is, at the time, an outlier position, and then building around them.
For better and worse, we live in an era overflowing with examples on both sides of the political spectrum. If you want the United States to adopt full democratic socialism, you first need, say, a congressional representative like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez to enthrall traditional media and continuously go viral on social media for gleefully dunking on the GOP in service of things like universal healthcare and the Green New Deal. On the other side, if you want to build a wall along America’s southern border and resurrect Jim Crow, you first need, say, an intellectual troglodyte like congressional representative Steve King to sustain a nine-term career spewing white-supremacist bile that brings no major political consequences.
But the Overton Window doesn’t just apply to politics. It can apply to any niche where public opinion determines outcomes.
For example, you don’t get decent-to-good Mexican restaurants in middle America without Taco Bell first establishing itself as a money-making fast-food chain nationwide. The iPhone doesn’t become one of the best-selling devices of all time if someone doesn’t first manage to create a market for mobile phones bulky enough to ram through castle doors. If you’re trying to figure out how a dude named Lil Nas X had a hit on Billboard’s Hot Country Songs charts until it was later removed for effectively being too hip hop, you probably have to work through early ‘00s window-movers like Bubba Sparxx’s Deliverance and that collab between Nelly and Tim McGraw.
And this (weirdly) leads us back to the ethical tsunami crashing onto the shores of arts philanthropy.
Climate change activists protest at the British Museum. Photo by Diana More, courtesy of BP or not BP?
Climate change activists protest at the British Museum. Photo by Diana More, courtesy of BP or not BP?


Part of the reason I see the Sackler Trust and Sackler Foundation’s funding freeze as a shift of the Overton Window is because of what has preceded it in the past 15 months. Crucially, that stretch has delivered numerous non-Sackler milestones in the realm of ethical arts philanthropy—handholds that have helped Goldin, PAIN, and other demonstrators to pry the window open further than it’s opened in recent memory.
Last January, Shell and London’s National Gallery decided not to renew a corporate sponsorship deal that had run for the previous 12 years. (It happened so quietly that no one in the media found out until 10 months later.) That relationship had been the target of sustained demonstrations for most of its life, highlighted by Greenpeace unfurling a massive banner on the gallery’s roof that read, “It’s Not an Oil Painting” back in 2012. But from the outside, it looks as though the protests eventually had their intended effect.
Not that Shell or the gallery have ever said as much. Each seemed to take credit for sunsetting the deal for entirely different reasons. Shell told The Guardian it wanted to channel more money into STEM education, and the National Gallery pointed Frieze to its “ethical fundraising policy,” which was apparently interpreted very differently for the previous 12 years—when, incidentally, there was far less impassioned rhetoric about the need for institutions to divest from problematic donors. Just goes to show you: Whether we’re talking about corporations, nonprofits, or people, never underestimate the universal desire to control a breakup narrative.
Shell’s National Gallery patronage wasn’t the only scalp collected by activists for ethical fundraising in 2018. In August, the Van Gogh Museum and the Mauritshuis each wound down their own multi-year relationships with the oil giant. Those results were determined by “mutual decision,” if you choose to believe a statement from Shell Nederland. However, demonstrators had intensified their actions at both museums in the preceding months, and it’s at least fair to wonder whether institutional leadership knew before the rest of us that the National Gallery and Shell had set a nascent precedent with their own annulment.
The activity wasn’t all about oil, either. Last fall, the Met and the Brooklyn Museum both rejected funds offered by Saudi Arabia for the wide-ranging Arab Art & Education Initiative. Those decisions came in the aftermath of the suspected murder of Saudi expatriate-journalist Jamal Khashogghi, which US intelligence officials and congressmen would later conclude originated from a direct order by crown prince Mohammed bin Salman.
Through the Overton Window, it’s not hard to daisy-chain these events into a narrative about advancing progress on ethical fundraising at arts institutions—one that the freeze on new Sackler funding extends even further than ever.
Activists protested last year and again over the weekend at the continued presence of Whitney Museum’s controversial trustee Warren B. Kanders. Photo by Erik McGregor/Pacific Press/LightRocket via Getty Images.


How does this narrative progress? Despite their protestations to the contrary, the National Gallery, Van Gogh Museum, and Mauritshuis all seem to have caved to public pressure over Shell’s patronage, but only after accepting funding for six years or more. By contrast, the Met and the Brooklyn Museum doubled back to decline Saudi funding within only a few weeks of the Khashoggi debacle (although a legitimate argument exists that Saudi human-rights violations should have complicated, if not severed, those relationships decades earlier).
The Sackler bombshell opens the Overton Window even wider. It isn’t just that the National Portrait Gallery and Tate announced refusals of the family’s money in short order (and, to a lesser extent, the Guggenheim, which said in a statement that the museum has not been offered any Sackler funding since 2015 and currently has “no plans” to receive more). It’s that those rejections at least seem to have contributed to the Sackler Trust and the Sackler Foundation deciding to stop trying to give money to anyone else, too. If you want ethically pure philanthropy to be the standard, that’s a real step forward.
There are caveats to this narrative, of course. As Halperin pointed out, Mortimer and Raymond Sackler’s fortunes continue to fuel other philanthropic entities that have not announced any moratorium on donations, including the Mortimer and Theresa Sackler Foundation and the Raymond and Beverly Sackler Foundation. It’s also fair to wonder whether the Sackler Trust and the Foundation would have hit pause on their giving if Purdue Pharma (and, at least in Massachusetts and New York, select Sackler family members) weren’t engulfed in a gauntlet of lawsuits.
Still, these outside factors don’t negate the effects of actions by arts activists. However many hands are pushing, the Overton Window for ethical philanthropy seems to be moving farther and faster than I’ve seen in my lifetime.
That should hearten groups like BP or Not to BP? on its targeting of the British Museum over patronage from (you guessed it) BP, and Decolonize This Place on its targeting of the Whitney over trustee Warren B. Kanders. And it should also cue even traditionally skeptical observers like me to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, even bigger changes than we imagined might fit through the opening soon.

That’s all for this week. ‘Til next time, remember: Things change very slowly, then all at once.

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