There’s a new exhibit at the museum. Many odd items are on display – hair from the heads of madmen, baby clothes that were worn by a miniature pinscher, a jar of eyeball jell. The visible has become fugitive, taking a cue from the language that birds invented to preserve their secrets. Those of us waiting in line avoid any discussion of what is art. We all must share one handkerchief. It’s like watching TV with the sound turned off. The real content lies elsewhere, perhaps with the falcons that feast on the crows feasting on the bodies of hanged criminals.