it can reach its apotheosis in a crowd

New York City that teeming island of gneiss and concrete and glass

What is it about Hopper? Every once in a while an artist comes along who articulates an experience, not necessarily consciously or willingly, but with such prescience and intensity that the association becomes indelible

This tension is present in even the most benign of his New York paintings, the ones that testify to a more pleasurable, more equanimous kind of solitude

There is no colour in existence that so powerfully communicates urban alienation, the atomisation of human beings inside the edifices they create, as this noxious pallid green

moved into Edward’s marginally more salubrious room on Washington Square

the Hoppers call it Nighthawks, after the beaked profile of the woman’s saturnine companion

Sometimes as I walked, roaming under the stanchions of the Williamsburg Bridge

Jasper Johns had produced his first encaustic, messy, painterly American flag in 1954

this laconic, light-footed and remarkably funny book