I was really lucky and my grandmother, Beatrice Allen Page, a writer, kept a ton of her correspondence with other creative people and her editor (both the letters from the other people and carbon copies of the letters she wrote), and when she died she gifted much of it to me. Yesterday, on my day off, I was reading through letters she had traded with a composer named Russell Smith who she had met at an artists’ retreat called The Colony. Mr. Smith had returned the following summer, and he wrote that the owners had decided to invite some better established artists to attend that year. The “charming” couple that were attending were the Duchamps. As in, Marcel Duchamp. Um, yeah. I just about crapped my pants with jealousy when I read that.