At any other moment in history, a two-man show of paintings by David Hockney and Vincent Van Gogh might not feel subversive. But in the era of weaponized wedges, the union of a straight, visionary Dutchman who produced his best work in France and a gay, visionary Yorkshire man most widely known for his renditions of classic California feels somehow like an aesthetic insurrection. All that beauty in one place—currently, the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam—seems like a timely, anti-ugliness political statement in addition to being a celebration of genius and fridge-magnet bonanza.
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