Here are two versions of the 1960s. On the one hand, inside the art world’s metropolitan centres, it was a time of language and concept, of deskilling and documentation, the refusal of expression and genius. Everywhere else, on the other hand, it was all about the drugs, and the profundities and expressions that come with them. On the one hand idea and distance, on the other experience, exuberance and credulity. The two aren’t incompatible—the doors to Warhol’s Factory were open to all and sundry from the outside world, and their pills.