As a 6-year-old growing up in Canarsie, Brooklyn, I don't ever recall begging my parents to take me to The Museum of Modern Art. In fact, I remember contentedly spending Sunday afternoons watching repeats of "The Flintstones" and dressing my Barbies in their evening gowns. And yet the moment I laid eyes on the gauzy pastel ballerinas in Edgar Degas' paintings during an obligatory school trip to … [Read more...]