Morandi at the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes in B.-A., Argentina
so of course I think about the ones who built the page, who work/worked in the Museo, as their whole world began to go to shit. the love of art becoming more than simple luxury, all but the most vital parts becoming superfluous, stripped to the bones of human character and intent, most of us were given these illusions throughout our childhoods, that truth would win, that it could never be all in vain, that ignorance and evil would fall behind....

Morandi was the one artist Wayne Thibaud pointed to that stuck with me.