Growing up in New York City, I entered the (then) admission-free public museums with a sense of ownership. The great museums were extended homes furnished with works I absorbed without mind-interference of lecturing guides. For me, a work of art, ancient or new, offers a direct dialogue. The resurrected statue of Hatshepsut glows with living grace, while its significance as a “woman-pharaoh” dissolves walls in patriarchal history. The statue seems aware of us. The “combines” of Robert Rauschenberg attract by the fearless skill of the artist’s compositions of materials. So-called detritus of our civilization births unexpected life.