Several years ago I remember going to an exhibition of photographs in the modern manner. Most of the pictures were highly artistic. There were photographs of balls of twine, of shadows cast by the Sixth Avenue ’L,’ of a lady’s hand holding some eggshells and rubies, of a horses’s mouth taken from the ground just in front of the horse by a photographer who was laying on his back (it was a gentle old horse, of a girl laying on her back as seen through a champagne glass, etc. It was difficult for me, an amateur, to know what to say about many of the pictures, especially the one of the horse’s mouth, because you could see his teeth and the picture looked at first like a balloon landing in a cemetary. So I didn’t say anything.