Years ago, I was working at an art gallery, and we had one customer who would come in every few weeks with the latest vaguely renaissance-looking oil painting he’d found at a yard sale and spend an hour or two tediously pointing out and explaining the artfully hidden brush strokes or initials or subject matter or shapes in the clouds or what-have-you that proved that it was actually a Rembrandt.

I had forgotten all about him until just now, when this essay very forcefully reminded me.

And on another note, it also managed to Streisand the Galverse. I didn’t even know there was such a thing until just now, but now I’m going to go track it down.