PRINT Summer 1998


Vanessa Beecroft

MY DESTINATION ON THURSDAY, April 23, 1998, was Vanessa Beecroft’s Show, at the Guggenheim Museum, but I began at the Tibor di Nagy Gallery, where Jane Freilicher’s new exhibition of paintings opened. I spent forty-five minutes absorbing their colors. I wish I had been a drop more moved. If I am not bowled over by a work of art, I usually blame myself: it’s the viewer’s duty to manufacture a passionate response. I certainly wanted to lose consciousness within Freilicher’s represented flowers, but I found myself wondering instead whether the time when I could undertake joyous fits of immobility over landscapes in still lifes had passed. I was pleased, however, to see the artist herself, a historic figure of the New York School, modestly presiding, in a smart suit, over her show, and to find that the gallery served free champagne.

In the rain, I chose to take a bus uptown to the Guggenheim.

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