Good art forces us to ask ourselves questions. It challenges our assumptions and opens us up to new ideas. Bad art, surprisingly, does something even more magical. It makes us envision the artist, the person who sat in a studio or workshop or Walgreen's parking lot for hours and created something. Who was this jerk? What kind of big, dumb, unskilled idiot were they? It's easy to imagine the artists like this, blindly punching a canvas with a brush, all slavering jowls and dead eyes. But I don't think it's fair to say the unknowns in our collection are without spirit. None of these works are...