I confess that on the occasion I either pick up, or someone gives me an art catalogue, I don't actually read the text/essays in it. Instead, I just flip through the pictures and then stuff it somewhere on one of my bookshelves. Art language/writing is - for the most art, and at least to me anyways - nothing more than inaccessible and posh (in the arrogant sense) drivel. I love and appreciate art; but, the crap critics and curators are prone to pennig at best can put you to sleep, and at worse exorcize demons - I swear. I do not think I am lone in thinking this way either. One needs either to smoke a tonne of crack or guzzle a bottle of throat and brain-burning Icelandic potato vodka before taking a crack at understanding some of that stuff.