Beauty is not a concept. It is the animal joy of the mind.

Black and white can show how something is. Color adds how it is, imbued with temperatures and humidities of experience.

Matisse can make you hate your life for its comparatively insipid joys.

Everything I've learned about art was (a) because I was actually interested, or (b) I was actually interested in covering my ass because of what I was writing about.

It's possible I am the only art critic that a lot of people read. And maybe Robert Hughes, if he's still writing.

There is an ineffable but fatal difference in attitude between people behaving naturally and people behaving naturally for a camera.

You don't need everybody to agree with you, but you do need a few people. And by this point I have a fairly high degree of confidence in my judgment, in that I don't doubt my sanity; or, even if I do, I don't have to be reassured.