The nonagenarian Katz is an acquired taste. His bold colouring and reduced forms are perfect for sore American eyes trained on advertising and pop art. To them, such habitual simplicity might look like an unpretentious virtue. 

Should flower arrangements need such an initiation? Katz’s pictures of willow and daffodils are pleasant but trivial. The man’s a legend, granted – think Hockney and his later landscapes – but this emperor’s clothes have moth holes.