"Like Richter whose painting exists in the netherworld of a stupid transcendence, instead just give us what we want, paint, flesh, dumbly."
"..the well worn jazz hands of "expression" aren't, for Humphries, totally choreographed yet by Dr. Frankenstein... the corpse may have its fluids replaced in technicolor, paraded around in chromes and newfangled chemiluminescence ...
"the more vulgar excesses of Humphries's paint always excused by its obliviousness to the demands of "making a painting." ...
"This song and dance is actually a visual pleasure of a long dead corpse embalmed really well."
