Rendezvous with Perfection: Addison Gallery, Andover

I’m not for walks down Memory Lane or, as my grandmother called it, Delusion and Denial Dell. Her finger, pointing in space, signaled each syllable like the falling blade of a guillotine. That’s where that little jaunt will take us. Not for her were nostalgia, sentiment, and memories wrapped in gauze.

After a hectic road trip that covered New York and Boston, I decided to head home the long way and stop at the Addison Gallery of American Art in Andover in northwestern Massachusetts. Yes, I was the director of this jewel box of a museum for ten years, and I’ve been gone for ten years. I don’t have any bad memories of my time there. I didn’t go there to massage good memories, either.

About the Author

Brian T. Allen

Brian T. Allen is National Review’s art critic.

I’m not for walks down Memory Lane or, as my grandmother called it, Delusion and Denial Dell. Her finger, pointing in space, signaled each syllable like the falling blade of a guillotine. That’s where that little jaunt will take us. Not for her were nostalgia, sentiment, and memories wrapped in gauze.

After a hectic road trip that covered New York and Boston, I decided to head home the long way and stop at the Addison Gallery of American Art in Andover in northwestern Massachusetts. Yes, I was the director of this jewel box of a museum for ten years, and I’ve been gone for ten years. I don’t have any bad memories of my time there. I didn’t go there to massage good memories, either.