When Rirkrit Tiravanija was invited to participate in the 1995 biennial, David Ross was serving as the museum’s director. Tiravanija’s contribution was aggressive. His installation featured a plywood hut equipped with electric guitars. Anyone could play. Tiravanija’s art is one of activation, of meaning accrued through participation. On the occasion of the Thai artist’s retrospective exhibition at PS1, Ross reconnected with Tiravanija. Over multiple conversations they discussed the evolving role of the artist, how Tiravanija adapts his work for museums while sustaining the life force it’s meant to cultivate, and the empowering role played by educators.

In 1971, a friend hired me to photograph the Everson Museum’s newly appointed director. I’d never seen the new art museum or met an art museum director, so I was unsure what to expect. Ushered into his austere skylit corner office in the I. M. Pei-designed art museum, I stood awkwardly in front of his desk, waiting for him to look up from signing some papers on his desk. Time moved slowly. I shifted my weight from foot to foot.

Tim Rollins taught me something else—something I think about every time I feel that the art world has become a place I don’t recognize, or don’t want to recognize.

Bruce Molsky is widely considered one of the finest old-time musicians currently performing. His recordings display his mastery of fiddle, banjo, and guitar, as well as his plangent accompanying vocals.

I’m not sure when it happened. Not even sure it has. Perhaps it was something that had happened a long time ago, and the transformation took place slowly. I only know that I cry far more frequently these days, and with less provocation.