After its hothouse incubation in the seventies, appropriation breathed important new life into art. This life flowered spectacularly over the decades - even if it's now close to aesthetic kudzu.

John Currin's exaggerated realism and his twisted women kept me off balance, never knowing if they were sincere or ironic or some new emotion.

The giant white cube is now impeding rather than enhancing the rhythms of art. It preprograms a viewer's journey, shifts the emphasis from process to product, and lacks individuality and openness. It's not that art should be seen only in rutty bombed-out environments, but it should seem alive.

Venice is the perfect place for a phase of art to die. No other city on earth embraces entropy quite like this magical floating mall.

The art gods cooked up something special for James Ensor.

Few contemporary artists mined the space between the ordinary and the strange better than Orozco did.

The price of a work of art has nothing to do with what the work of art is, can do, or is worth on an existential, alchemical level.