...she was thinking that instead of natural light artists had suddenly turned to the garish palettes of neon, video, or florescent lighting. In these times art scrolls up on computerized marquees, their messages political and angry. The last time she had been to the museum the rooms were filled with little white on white paintings. Frameless, incandescent, unsympathetic. In a dark room where a video monitor was playing, she noticed a virtual beret. More like a halo of light. Pulsating. Green. Spectral. Next to the installation was a small sign neatly printed in an old fashioned font. "The Death of Art," it read. When she left the museum, she thought to herself of the long ride home on the subway. To a studio near the beach.