As both a consumer and curator of information, I spend a great deal of time thinking about the architecture of knowledge.
Wouldn’t it be nice if in real life, when you’re at a party and can’t think of anything interesting to say, you simply repeat what someone just said, giving them credit?
“Yo-Yo played through my piece, sight-reading the whole thing,” Mr. Adolphe says. “And when that impossible chord came, he somehow found a way to play it.”
Put another way: In order for the characters to go on living in your head, the careers of the actors who played them must die.
And ever since the deaths last year of painters Cy Twombly and Lucian Freud, collectors searching for another senior statesman have started giving his work a closer look.