Pounding down the walls at the NMWA for Frieze Masters

A sticker of Camille Claudel is on my collar and a woman is pounding at a wall; another, with dirty feet and a red party dress, is crawling the walls and slithering over shelves. In the next gallery, a house sprouts from a marble woman. Meanwhile, men in heavy-framed glasses and 1970s suits shake their heads, as if passing judgment on all that surrounds me. I’m at the National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington, D.C., ... Read more of the essay here on my teenaged hopes for the museum (I grew up in the DC suburbs) and what I found on its 30th anniversary...