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From: JJ Category: Art Date: 29 October 2007 Time: 07:00 AM Review: I am filled with loathing when I view from the bridge the names on the Modern. The rain and the sky are good and the names are gray and lifeless. Bougeois, Salcedo, the world as stage, something else. All the same crap you can see everywhere in the wonderful world of art. Inside, the temple has been given over to the moneychangers who now make their profits in overpriced sandwiches and other merchandise. The crowds fill the corridors and trample up the escalators and queue for their lattes and the whole thing is designed not to exalt art but keep you moving, the very opposite of a place to contemplate art. The Crack is a theatrical stunt, a seedy David Copperfield illusion, a chickenwire and plaster of paris piece of flimflam for the gawpers, a conceptual stunt which belongs in a shopping mall, and has found its spiritual home in the Tate. Marvellous says the little man in a scarf pushing a pram to his snivelling daughter Flo, while his pale wife attempt to quirt some organic juice into their other brat. And who can dissent from success.