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In George Tooker's "Subway" (1950), a distraught-looking woman glances uneasily to one side. Surrounding her are a number of people, yet all of them are cold and indifferent, and all are walled off from her by a sort of pervasive urban anonymity. The setting, obviously, is a subway; but bars, a turnstile, stairwells, and concrete walls convey all the warmth of a maximum security prison.

Clearly, something is wrong. A moment of reflection makes it clear what it is: there is no trace of humanity in this empty urban shell—or even in the human beings themselves, who might well be clones of one another.

For decades now, Tooker told us something about what's wrong—and what's right—about the modern world, and in particular modern America. His work was consistently cutting edge in both conception and execution; and it always told us something we needed to know or remember. Yet Tooker's work wasn't especially well known, while that of CIA sponsored pseudo-artists such as Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock has been widely celebrated.

Clearly, something is wrong. A moment of reflection makes it clear what it is: a values-free, plutocratically dominated art establishment, stupefied by a sterile anti-representationalism.

We think it's time Tooker was given his due as, very possibly, the greatest American artist. The very fact that he hasn't been so recognized suggests that his art touches a very sensitive nerve.

I'm betting we won't see "Subway" on an American stamp any time soon.

(The original of "The Subway" may be found at the Whitney Museum of American Art , NYC.)

Read a biography of George Tooker