There is, it seems, no definitive way of organizing a Pop art exhibition. No lineup was ever official, even in the United States, nor was there a roster of participating countries, and some accounts have managed inexplicably to exclude even the movement’s major pioneers, as with the 1992–93 “Hand-Painted Pop: American Art in Transition” at LA’s Museum of Contemporary Art, which left out Tom Wesselmann. Every fresh look at the subject seems to expand its parameters in another direction, and the impulse for curators to cast a wide net—or, conversely, to focus on local varieties—though understandable,

“Paris pour escale” (Paris stopover) was presented as a companion to “L’École de Paris, 1904–1929, la part de l’autre” (The School of Paris, 1904-1929, the role of the other), a survey of foreign-born artists active in Paris in the early decades of the twentieth century. Reflecting the current obsession with the globalization of contemporary culture and arts, “The School of Paris” presented its artists as assimilated (although not without difficulties) outsiders who enriched French-read universal culture during the renowned années folles. Both exhibitions emphasized that Paris has been a magnet

In an uncanny reversal of roles, photographer Ricard Terré has been stalking, Death since the mid-’50s. Not the imminent death that resides over battlefields, natural disasters, or police morgues, but the transcendent death that haunts the rituals of the living: Carnival, Holy Week processions, funerals. This unconventional pursuit had a precise beginning, in 1957 in Terré’s native Barcelona, where the twenty-nine-year-old business-school graduate turned painter and caricaturist had begun experimenting with photography: “It was during Holy Week,” he said. “Twenty-four shots in half an hour. All