You know that one art critic you love to hate? The critic whose sole mission in life seems to be savaging the dreams of artists, curators and gallery owners everywhere? The critic who has learned, by heart, every possible snarky synonym for bad but couldnt spit out the word good even as flames licked at his stake-bound feet? The critic who we suspect hasnt enjoyed a romantic interlude since 1992 and would, given the the opportunity, unapologetically slam his own mothers work hanging at the local district library? Yes. Mr. Art Critic is that heinous guy.
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