egon schiele

ok first things first: the neue galerie, on 86th street right off fifth avenue--it's one of those beautiful old mansions--thinks it's a bit too high and mighty for the average art-viewer. 1) it's overly expensive, charging $15 for like a six-room space. 2) and this with an obviously popular and i'm sure ridiculously overpriced viennese cafe on the first floor, catering to fancy-pants tourists and old-money uesiders. 3) most unforgivable, children under the age of 12 aren't even allowed in! i mean... wtf, right?! like, bo and co aren't "mature" enough to view your precious german and austrian art?!

so: not for the easily-irritated-by-snootiness, that neue galerie. of which, thankfully, i am not one.

ahem.

all that said, the egon shiele show (pronounced "shelly," UPDATE: or perhaps "sheelay," at least according to the guide we overheard), there until february 20, is pretty terrific. heavy on the portraits, self- and otherwise, the more than 150 drawings and too-few paintings (his colors are so great, we wanted much more) show shiele at his most expressive, creepiest best. i particularly love the way he does hands: long and strong and skeletal. backs and butts and lips, too, he gets exactly right, while still depicting them in a style all his own. that shiele died at the age of 28, three months after his pregnant wife--as well as the many huge photographs of him prominently displayed--only adds to the mystique.

again, dglass and i wished there had been more paintings (there were maybe five or six total), but many of the drawings were colored, and most were totally captivating. egon's people are restless and sexual and alive. it's hard not to stare.