Painting is self-evidently not dead, nor finished, nor exhausted, nor passe/, any more than the array of inferential cognitive styles and evolved propensities from which it springs have suddenly ceased to function, and if there is a flow within contemporary art that seeks to suffocate it or otherwise anathemise it, then it is only in the name of an implicitly political and self-cutting ideology maintained with the same force as an organised religion, but without the attendant deep experiential truths.

Opaque peachy pinks and beigey oranges, originally represented in abundance on garments and skin, remain only as traces.

... has packaged the Mystery Chef and Fran Lee, Mrs. Fixit, in one unit — with the Mrs. Fixit bridging the actual cooking or baking portion of the chefing.

His arms were not the elbowless sausages with baby-fists that seem obligatory among sumo wrestlers.