Neither rain, nor sleet nor hail nor snow . . .

When I took my time yesterday morning making my way to MOMA to be there when the doors opened at 11 AM, I had no idea I was going to have to stand in a line that wrapped clear around the big city block and stand in the pouring rain.  But I did it.  And once I got inside and had my ticket and walked into the Picasso print exhibition it was the last thing on my mind despite the fact that my shoes squeaked and sloshed when I walked and I was frozen to the bone.   It was incredible and I spent so much time with my nose as close as it could get to the prints without breaking any museum protocol.

And then of course there were other galleries filled with  Rothkos and Rauschenbergs and Warhols and Motherwells and a good dose of all the art that was ever in any second survey class's section on 20th century art and the Gardner text right before my eyes -  not to mention the Wm. Kentridge exhibition and all of those prints.  Exhausted and overloaded I took a cab to the Neue Museum to see the Otto Dix exhibition including his entire Der Krieg series of prints which was devastatingly riveting!  A few Klimts and my favorite Egon Shiele brightened the sullen mood. Then a late, but delicious lunch in the  Neue's Viennese Cafe  and with an hour and a half to spare, I  dashed to the Guggenheim, braved another queue in the rain and squeaked into this modern ziggerat's exhibitions and then dragged my you know what and about 150 pounds of books to Grand Central to meet my niece.

So, I was wondering . . . do you think Picasso, Dix or Kentridge were ever in a print exchange?

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