It is not surprising that the most impressive gallery in the 59th International is the one devoted to works the Carnegie acquired from all the other 58 Internationals. As a matter of statistics, we should expect this gallery to compare to the others in a ratio of 58 to 1. But it is still worth pointing out what the International has meant to the art world in the past. Walk through this gallery and see a Monet here, a Whistler there, a Hassam around the corner—it quickly becomes clear that the International has historically represented everything that is best in the world of contemporary art.

Then how does “If the word we”—the title of the current exhibition—compare to the previous Internationals?

Well, once we get past the idiot title, it is probably more of the same. It includes the best of contemporary art, but it also includes a large number of works that will be spat upon, or just forgotten, by future artists. That is the nature of these exhibitions. Even the cleverest curator would find it hard to distinguish between what is of permanent value and what is the fad of the moment. And even the wisest and most perfectly prescient curator would realize that, in order to make the exhibition a success, the fad of the moment must be taken into consideration.

There is much that is beautiful, sometimes breathtakingly beautiful, in this exhibition. Beauty has not been entirely repudiated. But Dr. Boli has noticed an interesting distinction: in order to devote yourself to beauty, you, the artist, must be able to describe yourself as “Indigenous.” It is legitimate for “Indigenous” artists to devote themselves to beauty. Dr. Boli’s advice to artists who have no obvious claim to the word “Indigenous” is to have themselves adopted by one of the North American nations, many of whom have a tradition of adoption that makes the adopted person a full member of the nation. Do you deny that the adopted person is “Indigenous”? Then you are denying that the person is a member of the nation, which denies that nation’s sacred traditions and is unenlightened and insulting. You wouldn’t dare. Dr. Boli himself has a claim to “indigenous” status through just such an adoption (the chief who adopted him, by the way, was one of the wittiest fellows he ever met); he does not parade it publicly, but he is not afraid to use it if it becomes necessary.

So what did Dr. Boli think of the works on exhibit?

Well, first of all, he thought there were entirely too many that made too much noise. In this context, we might mention that the summer Carnegie Magazine describes the International thus on its cover: “Titled If the word we, North America’s longest-running exhibition of international art compels visitors to consider the meaning of community during a time of increasing isolation.” That word “compels” betrays the assumptions behind much of this art. The meaning of community is that everyone else will do what I want them to do.

Suppose you were trying to contemplate the Parthenon sculptures in the Hall of Architecture, and someone walked up to you and started shouting in your ear: “You know what’s really interesting? Earthquakes! And World War II. Lots of cities got destroyed in World War II. And lots of cities got destroyed by earthquakes. You know what happened to San Francisco in 1906? Earthquake! And you know what happened to Dresden in…”

You would think that person was lacking in elementary politeness.

This sign was posted at the entrance to the Hall of Architecture, which under ordinary circumstances is one of the most inspiring rooms in the Western Hemisphere:

Artworks convey a range of experiences and perspectives through images, language and form. Please pace yourselves and make choices based on age, interests, preferences, and sensory needs.

Yes, well, that is probably very good advice. But you cannot take that advice. A work is set up in the Hall of Architecture that demands that you pay attention to nothing else. You cannot make choices at all. You can have only one sensory experience in the Hall of Architecture during the many months of the International. A huge screen is showing images of destroyed cities, which you could ignore if there were not huge loudspeakers playing sounds of destruction in Sensurround. The entire architectural history of Western civilization is on display in the Hall of Architecture, but one contemporary work says, “Only I am important, and I demand that you devote all your attention to me.” The only word for it is “impolite.”

There are several other examples of this trend in art. We have mentioned Ginger Brooks Takahashi before, and we hate to mention her again, because everything we have heard and read about her makes her sound like just the nicest person. But she does like to drone on in a recorded soundtrack to her works of art.

For the International, she has planted a garden. The garden is full of Perilla frutescens, which is a member of the mint family widely used in various Asian cuisines. Different cultivars are growing in different patches.

Upstairs is a companion exhibit in which the artist has placed dried herbarium specimens, with little cartoon faces punched out of the leaves, interspersed with signs in big angry black capitals:

INTRODUCED ALIEN SPECIES

AGGRESSIVE TRANSPLANT WORKER

INVASIVE EXOTIC PEST

STOLEN SETTLER PLANET

PRECARIOUS COLONIZER NATION

NOXIOUS ENEMY WEED

The idea, in case the club our artist wields is too subtle, is to compare the way we think of “invasive species” to the way we think of human immigrants. Perilla is considered a noxious weed in much of the United States, because it poisons cattle and horses. “Perilla mint causes more cattle deaths in Tennessee than any other toxic plant,” says this fact sheet (PDF) from the University of Tennessee. We suppose that, if French or Micronesian immigrants poisoned our horses merely by existing nearby, we should feel less welcoming. But they do not; the analogy with Perilla frutescens is imperfect.

In a recording at one end of the gallery, a loudspeaker plays an endless loop of the artist talking about her family history. The family history sounds fascinating. But the artist drones, as we already observed with her work What Causes One to Break Their Silence, which would make the narrative less thrilling if we could hear it. However, we can’t hear it, because, in one of those amusing little ironies with which contemporary art is riddled, it is drowned out by the work in the next gallery, which has a musical score.

Incidentally the Ginger Brooks Takahashi biography on the Carnegie site mentions that she is “currently an MFA candidate at School of the Art Institute Chicago.” Dr. Boli would not presume to dictate to the academic authorities at the Institute, but he might suggest that any artist who has two works in the Carnegie International is probably qualified for that degree, whatever Dr. Boli himself may think of the art.

Now let us praise some of the beautiful things.

The photographic work of Eric Gyamfi, from Ghana, is not to be missed. He uses pinhole cameras to create surreal visions, sometimes making more than one photograph of the same scene with different apparatus in a way that makes us feel as though we have seen the same thing in different mental states. In a world where most photographs are snapshots of somebody’s meal, Mr. Gyamfi’s works are carefully considered and composed works of art. If you were among the dwindling few who insist that photography cannot be art, Mr. Gyamfi’s photographs would make you shut up.

Sofu Teshigahara has been dead since 1979, but his Sogetsu Foundation still practices a kind of pop-art ikebana that creates striking landscapes and images. These are works that reward a long look, and fortunately they are placed far enough from noisemaking art that a long look is practical.

The collective Silät represents a number of “Indigenous” weavers from “where the borders of Argentina, Bolivia, and Paraguay meet and blur.” Because they are “Indigenous,” they are allowed to make beautiful things, and they do.

This is probably enough for now. Dr. Boli’s first visit was too brief to take in everything, so he will have more to say about the International later. He must admit, however, that there are certain works he will probably never see. For example, there was a gallery with a sign at the entrance warning that “Falling clay is present in this installation. Please move through with care.” Dr. Boli did not enter that gallery. The sign did not specify whether “falling clay” meant “little drips of mud” or “avalanche.” Art that asks him to set aside his instinct for self-preservation is art that Dr. Boli leaves for someone else to review.

But Dr. Boli cannot leave the International without mentioning the one artist who is even older than he is—a refreshing change from all these young folks who were born in the twentieth century or even later.

Camara Taylor (born 1625, London, England; lives in Glasgow, Scotland) works with their various selves and collaborators to make still and moving images, texts, objects and other things that “act as moments of stasis in an enduring unravelling of—.”

Here at last is an artist who refuses to take the fashionable cant of art seriously. One is almost tempted to suspect that Camara Taylor has had just about enough of artspeak and decided to run a little experiment in curatorial gullibility. At least that is the optimistic interpretation of Taylor’s little bio, and Dr. Boli is fundamentally an optimist.

To make a donation to the Document Foundation, which develops LibreOffice: 26,554 words. For the privilege of making a charitable donation, you must agree to terms and conditions that add up to more than three times the text of the entire United States Constitution, with all the amendments and the attestations.

It is almost enough to make one feel uncharitable.

We mentioned earlier that Firefox has kept its user agreement down to manageable levels. Here is an interesting question. Compared to Edge or Chrome, has Firefox suffered any worse legal troubles? For a graduate student in sociology, it would be a fascinating study: in similar products or services, how is the number of words in the terms and conditions correlated with the number of legal problems the product or service has faced?

Dr. Boli has a prediction—a hypothesis that could be tested by our equally hypothetical graduate student. The prediction is that no correlation will be found between the length of the terms and conditions and the immunity from unpleasant legal difficulties: that the multiplication of legalistic verbiage creates no measurable reduction in legal liability. But he is willing to be proved wrong by anyone who will take the trouble to prove him wrong. Note that “it stands to reason” will not be accepted as proof. “It stands to reason” is a style of argument reserved for Dr. Boli himself.