He moved between mediums quite fluidly:
(Color? You wanted color? They have all of Jazz on the wall! Photos don't really do it justice, or mine don't; try these.)
It wasn't just Matisse-- here's Europa, takin' it on the lam (or being pitched the ol' bull, depending on how you want to read it).
Even the working walls are Art:
"Day seven, -- or is it eight? -- trapped in William Gibson's mind. My partner swears she keeps catching glimpses of a gigantic and terrifyingly cerulean Formicidae but it can't be real. At night, we sleep in flimsy boxes, swaying high over water; by day, we search these sterile, well-lit corridors. Is there no way out? The ceilings are all the color of a television tuned to a dead station or an Amtrak engine pulling into one, fuzzily gray or a horribly flat, glowing blue."
Tam got into the spirit of the thing, and over a late lunch, did her own impression of a Picasso:
A fun day spent with Tam and the Data Viking at the Indianapolis Museum of Art. There may be many museums like it, but this one is ours.
|M-I-C, K-E-- no, wait, wrong hat!|