Hello, there. To all those who’ve written, I’m feeling better, though not enough to resume full-scale blogging activities (or any other kind of activities, for that matter). I’m hoping the holiday weekend knits me up more or less completely.

Sick or not, I always manage to write my Friday drama column for The Wall Street Journal, and this week, God knows how, was no exception. I wrote about two shows, Donald Margulies’ Sight Unseen and Here Lies Jenny, a new Kurt Weill revue starring Bebe Neuwirth.

I liked Sight Unseen rather better than well enough, mostly because of Laura Linney:

Is there a better American actress than Laura Linney? Judging by the Manhattan Theatre Club’s revival of Donald Margulies’ “Sight Unseen,” playing at the Biltmore through July 11, I’d be hard pressed to think of anyone who qualifies. Every word she speaks and every gesture she makes has the bright ring of gospel truth. To be sure, Ms. Linney is no off-the-rack star. Her serious face and flat, unfancy vowels are as plain–and as beautiful–as a New England meeting house. But that, too, is part of her priceless gift: what she says, you believe.

Ms. Linney does much to ennoble “Sight Unseen,” a smart but superficial dramedy that hasn’t aged well in the 12 years since its Off-Broadway premiere. It’s about Jonathan, a trendy Jewish painter (Ben Shenkman); Patricia, his WASP-y former fianc

“Don’t you know that the only value money has is that it buys time? It’s not things; it’s not travel; it’s time.”

Bernard Herrmann, quoted in Steven C. Smith, A Heart at Fire’s Center

“Oh this curse of the theatre–to continue and continue–to improve a little and slip back again, to find the precise formula and not to be able to pin it down–that is our cross, we wretched mummers.”

John Gielgud, letter to Dadie Rylands, Dec. 31, 1944

I’m totally out of order–too sick to do much of anything, even read. All I’ve done for the past couple of days is watch movies: Colorado Territory, Sweet Smell of Success, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The Magnificent Ambersons, The Shop Around the Corner, and the second half of They Live by Night (I watched the first half a week ago, then got sidetracked).

Except for my Friday Wall Street Journal drama column, I’ve canceled or postponed everything on my calendar for the rest of the week. That includes blogging, which will be light to nonexistent for the foreseeable future–in fact, I’m posting Wednesday’s items early on Tuesday evening so that I can sleep as late as possible before dragging myself to the iBook to write my only do-or-die piece for the week.

Send a few benign thoughts my way, O.K.?

“In the end most things in life–perhaps all things–turn out to be appropriate.”

Anthony Powell, Casanova’s Chinese Restaurant

Amazing how fast a virus can lay you low, isn’t it? I haven’t read Catch-22 for years, but I seem to recall that at least one of the characters suffered from a disease called Pianosan Crud, which sounds about right for my own condition. I have deadlines and chores galore, but right now all I seem to be able to do is sit on the couch and watch undemanding movies. (I’ve also lost my voice, which now sounds like the snapping of a long, thick, wet rubber band.)

Anyway, apologies to all. It’s back to the couch for me. See you at some point.

Who said anything about a summer break? I had way too much to do in the past few days, and I’m feeling it–in fact, I think I may be on the verge of being officially under the weather, which is particularly uncool given the fact that I have to hit four deadlines this week.

At least I racked up a lot of art before white smoke started pouring out from under my hood. To begin with, I saw three plays in three days:

– Here Lies Jenny, Bebe Neuwirth’s Kurt Weill revue.

– Chinese Friends Jon Robin Baitz’s new play (which I saw with the v., v. cool Sarah, who was in town momentarily).

– The Manhattan Theatre Club’s revival of Donald Margulies’ Sight Unseen, starring Laura Linney.

All will find their way into The Wall Street Journal sooner or later.

I also visited four gallery shows in quick succession on Saturday:

– Richard Diebenkorn: Works on Paper, up at Artemis Greenberg Van Doren (730 Fifth Ave.) through Saturday, is a museum-quality exhibition of paintings and prints from Diebenkorn’s “Ocean Park” and “Clubs & Spades” series. I would have missed this splendid show had Tyler Green of Modern Art Notes not called my attention to it. See Tyler’s right-hand column (he’s an artsjournal.com blogger) for details, then get right over to Artemis Greenberg Van Doren and see the show while you still can.

– Neil Welliver: Oil Studies, up at Alexandre Gallery (41 E. 57th) through June 18, is an exceptionally beautiful show of preliminary small-scale studies for some thirty-five of Welliver’s large-scale paintings portraying the woods of Maine. The difference between the two formats is one of size, not finish, though the effect is different as well: Welliver’s oil studies, like Jackson Pollock’s small drip paintings, have a concentrated focus that I find especially appealing. (The comparison isn’t at all absurd–Welliver, like Fairfield Porter and Nell Blaine, is a committed representationalist who was nonetheless deeply influenced by abstract expressionist, an approach I find hugely sympathetic.)

– Mood Indigo: The Legacy of Duke Ellington, up at Michael Rosenfeld (24 W.57th St.) through July 30, is an interesting but spotty show that purports to provide “a look at jazz and improvisation in American art.” In practice, this means a mixed bag ranging from the real right thing (a Stuart Davis gouache from 1947) to pale imitations (a trio of faux Mondrians by Charmion von Wiegand and Burgoyne Diller). Among the interesting curiosities are Hans Hofmann’s Composition No. 9, a 1953 oil that incorporates elements suggestive of musical notation, and a painting by jazz drummer George Wettling, who studied with Stuart Davis (you can tell, too). Also on display is Ellington’s very own white baby grand. More fun than illuminating, but still worth a peek.

– Jacob Lawrence: Prints and Selected Paintings, up at DC Moore (724 Fifth Ave.) through June 30, is a nice but not thrilling show devoted mostly to Lawrence’s late graphic work. His flat planes of color lent themselves to lithography, but by the time he embraced the medium in earnest, his creative fire had ebbed, and though he was recognizably himself, repetition had all too clearly set in.

– Now playing on iTunes: Bob Brookmeyer’s Get Well Soon, about which I’m writing later today for this coming Sunday’s Washington Post.

Enough for now, and probably for the rest of the day. I’ve got to husband my energy if I’m going to get through this week in one piece. I promise not to vanish altogether, though–there’s lots of stuff about which I want to write.

UPDATE: I spoke a little too soon–I’m definitely out of order. Looks like a spring cold (at best). Headed for bed, will see you all later.

“No writer ever truly succeeds. The disparity between the work conceived and the work completed is always too great and the writer merely achieves an acceptable level of failure.”

Phillip Caputo, A Rumor of War