Originally I was going to write about a show at the Met last Winter. But since this was but an aberration in what has been a consistently excellent string of victories  the show shall remain nameless. Just ask yourself, if you read the rest – have you ever thought this after seeing a particularly tasteless, vapid, worthless exhibition of bad art?
  Gradually sharing our individual discoveries that the emperor was wearing no clothes. The show was impeccable as a managed event. But it’s philosophical underpinnings were absent – philosophy has gone missing in the war of commerce and consumers.
  Thank god our education had a foundation in philosophy and our education was molded by those for whom philosophy was a discipline of the first order.
  Being managed well is now among the primordial values. Meanwhile we have forgotten how to live well, how to be well, and how to treat our brethren well.
  Art used to be based on life’s values, questions such as why – not how. Beauty was valued for its own sake, proportion was valued for how it felt so good, and all art told a story with a point.
  Pointlessness, chaos, and the delirious were pitfalls – not pinacles – of human achievement. This is a show from the madhouse – the madhouse of the post-war era – where minds, values, and reason were not only lost but despised, destroyed, and debased.
  Perhaps appropriate for a history museum? actually not – appropriate for a history lecture, about the abyss, the madness, and the ugliness of mankind gone made after having lost their reason – so having done so impulsively went beyond the limits of all value and values, including reason.
  Let us not celebrate the detritus of destruction, let us not commemorate the insanity of man’s inhumanity – to man, to our environment, to our relationships to each other.
  Let us search out those gems of beauty, exquisite satisfaction, and delightful humanity. We have a choice: this, or that – in the next 10 minutes. Life is too short to spend time on where we failed, flailed, and fell.
  The true delirium is that the world’s greatest art repository should focus on the greatest threat to art, on a period where madness reigned, on people lost in wildness, wilderness, and woe.
  This is not a show worthy of the Met Museum. This is a triumph of academics, curators, and critics. There is no art here. There is only the death, disease, deterioration – and, yes, delirium – of the overeducated, too removed, and insanely misdirected.