I think it’s fair to say that art is only relevant, even only important, in context.

Nothing seemed more absurd to me than contemporary art in Mexico. When I found myself alone on the beach, or on a dirt road in the jungle, or in a village of cabañas that are probably $20 / month to rent, Damien Hirst’s diamond skull and the like seemed utterly pointless. Totally uninteresting.

But, today, back at the gym, back to running around like a chicken without a head, I was glued to Roberta Smith’s rave review of the Lichtenstein show at Gagosian uptown.

So, art has no intrinsic, fixed value. And I’d even say, art is of no value at all except to the artist or the art enthusiast.