Looking, really looking, at art (some might say seeing, some might say feeling) is like this: It is like all the other really amazing things in life. (You know what they are. Everyone has their own. Though, really, there are few things that are exceptionally amazing. This is one of those things.) You do it too much and you forget how good it can actually be. Because there is so much—and not all of it is good, most of it is not—you become jaded. You don’t get enough and it is all you can think about—the good and the bad. Then, there is one photo, one drawing, one performance and you want to know all there is to know about it: why, how, what, when, who. It is a little bit like falling in love. It’s best, most exciting, when you don’t know why you like something. In fact, the thing you are looking at is something you might usually be inclined to dislike. (Really, those things that you know you like, you know why you like them, and by now you know, too, that you might get bored, it doesn’t end well.) But, with this, you cannot stop looking, cannot stop thinking. And so, in every other thing that you think about, talk about, read about, you start to see it in all of those other things, whether or not they, directly, have anything to do with that thing you are suddenly, entirely, falling for. And because of this thing you are looking at, before you realize what has happened, all of those other things have changed. And everything that you thought you knew is no longer the same.