And perhaps it was the quasi-domestic setting of an Upper East Side townhouse (with works
by Bruce Nauman and Frank Stella hanging above the fireplace mantels, and the couple's double portrait, their forms encased in plaster
by George Segal, presiding over the upstairs salon), but the atmosphere that
afternoon reminded me of a shiva call, paid in honor of this
dead couple and the art that once propelled them into the fishbowl of society, and
later divided them.