When Barbara Rose started shopping the idea of a Larry Rivers retrospective, MoMA and the Whitney turned her down. She ended up at the Corcoran, and it’s a perfect fit. I’d guess that outside Washington the Corcoran is still thought of as home to the knuckle-under specialists who lost their nerve over Mapplethorpe; despite braver leadership since 1989, it nevertheless often appears as though the museum is attempting to cozy up to risk without getting into any real trouble.

With “Larry Rivers: Art and the Artist,” the Corcoran hangs its hopes on an enfant terrible who’s pushing eighty, sporting