is an overwhelming emotional experience. My joy at being surrounded by so much amazing art also makes me sad. I can’t share this with David. Or Stew for that matter although we didn’t really go to galleries the way David & I once did. I write down words to describe the sculptures – surreal, erotic, unorthodox. Do I wish I could be a creative genius? A bit. Does the exhibit set my acquisitive juices flowing – oh yeah. What would it mean to live a life surrounded by such gorgeousness? My distant memories draw me to specific works, especially heads of women. Not sure why exactly. Lest we forget, Picasso had a long succession of lovers and mistresses – all (to my knowledge) women. With his fun-loving and audacious spirit, I wonder – was Picasso something of a Yippie?