I was walking around the De Kooning exhibit at MOMA a few years ago with a writer friend. We were in the middle of the show looking at the great paintings of women from the fifties when I experienced a poke in my ribs, to my surprise it came from a tiny old lady. She smiled at me and asked if I could explain the paintings to her. She looked like my mother and as I did not know her, I was hesitant to give her my thoughts.
On the opposite wall were a series of drawings and studies relating to the paintings so I suggested she go look at them as they were the key to the work and would explain the paintings. She thanked me and we went our separate ways. About ten minutes later in the next room, I received another poke in the ribs. The sweet old lady looked me in the eyes and smiled: “They’re about fucking, right?” I smiled back.