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.