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DIANE CALDER


Deeper into the 21st century, viewers in L. A.’s post-analog, traffic clogged cosmos dial up non-static art on dashboard wide-screens as they sit gridlocked on the 405 in search of openings. Vendors, schooled in Tijuana to always expose the best side of a plaster bull, hawk the static stuff up and down rows of vehicles stopped short of the overflow lots at Bergamot.

Trustees unwilling to bankroll another expansion of Rem Koolhaas’ LACMA campus seek out re-habilitated Taliban to demolish selected portions of old collections, freeing up space for acquisitions from portfolios of newcomers admitted to the area’s fifty hottest art schools.

Personalized downloads of ArtScene stream directly into subscribers’ bodies via implants. Dieters avoid temptation by pre-programming still lifes rated from 0 to 2 Weight Watcher points. The "previously marginalized" sharpen critical thinking skills, dialing in as much confrontation as they can handle to cherished social/political/sexual/racial/ideologies.