As Michael McNay put it in the man’s obituary last month, Robert Hughes wrote “the English of Shakespeare, Milton, Macaulay and Dame Edna Everage…His prose was lithe, muscular and fast as a bunch of fives. He was incapable of writing the jargon of the art world, and consequently was treated by its mandarins with fear and loathing.”

I’ll always admire the clarity of Hughes’s writing, and his sharp, smart, honest criticism.

Here’s a clip from The Mona Lisa Curse that I love, wherein Hughes tells us what he thinks of Andy Warhol.