Among other things, Hilla Rebay was the Guggenheim’s first director. She assembled the beginnings of their collection, and was the one who asked Frank Lloyd Wright to design the now famous building by Central Park. Inside Freiburg’s Museum für Neue Kunst, looking at an exhibition of lithographs by Rebay, what I remember most about my first visit to the Guggenheim is listening to David Sylvian’s Blemish on my iPod, and timing the length of my visit to the duration of the album: just under forty-five minutes. Outside, it rained, and my red leather bag got wet, the raindrops sure to make its color fade. In his memoirs, Max Frisch called the Guggenheim “an impossible museum,” but I disagree. So much of the time, art is the only thing on exhibit at museums; at the Guggenheim, people too are on display. I like to watch people and, looking at Rebay’s women, I get the feeling she did too. “There she is among her children / full of paintings,” Sylvian sang, over Derek Bailey’s guitar. “Going round and round the houses / full of paintings, full of pictures.” Once, I almost bought an LP on which Bailey plays and Min Tanaka dances. What an idea, to dance on record! Writing about music is like dancing about architecture, goes the old line, as if someone dancing about architecture wouldn’t be a wonderful sight to see!