If you’re an art lover and want to admire an impressive collection, the Phoenix Art Museum should be high on your bucket list.

If you are a novice who leans toward black velvet paintings and wants to be closely scrutinized by a security detail, the Phoenix Art Museum is the place to hang out.

Foxtrot Charlie, get a visual on the bald guy in the south wing. He’s making fun of the art work. Over.

OK, I’ll admit it upfront – I’m ignorant when it comes to art history and appreciating the subtle nuances between modernism and post-impressionism or whatever other “isms” are out there in the art world.

Most average citizens can admire “good” art and recognize impressive talent when they see it. I appreciate a lot of the stuff I see in museums or even many pieces at the local arts festivals because I know I could never create something like that. Heck, I even like the way my house looks after I painted it.

But sometimes when an art collection is put together, you have to wonder what exactly the criteria are. When someone goes for “shock value” or an artist makes a statement just for the sake of sticking out like a sore thumb, I have to wonder what the point is.

Roger that, Rambo Roger. I have visual. Subject appears dazed and confused. He is pointing and laughing. He is drawing looks from other patrons. I have the scope on him. Tazer is locked and loaded. Over.

A group of us took advantage of free admission one night last week and visited the Phoenix Art Museum. It features a new exhibit, the largest assembly of Cézanne works ever on view in Arizona. Yeah, that’s right, French master Paul Cézanne (1839-1906), who I’m told is one of the most recognizable names in art.

Sorry, but I had never heard of the dude.

Turns out he is universally acclaimed as the father of modern art for his revolutionary use of flattened perspective, carefully structured compositions and his signature technique of painting with patches of color.

Who knew?

Foxtrot Charlie, what’s your 10-40? The suits are worried about decibel levels and disturbances. And paying members. Over.

Apparently an art museum mostly has an air of sophistication and hushed conversations. Couples should keep to themselves, locked arm in arm in admiration. Laughing about stuff with beer buddies is frowned upon. Everyday conversations at “normal” sound levels are discouraged. Reverence. Hush. Serious. Love. The. Art.

Rambo, subject is irreverent. Never head of Marsden Hartley, Maurice Prendergas, Arshile Gorky or Man Ray. But he likes Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo. Refuses to sit still, ponder the reclusive French artist who eventually gained international prominence for his transformative impact. Should I take him down? Repeat, take down? Over.

Time to go? OK, I’m thirsty. How about a beer?   Foxtrot, forget it. Lost cause. Stand down. Repeat. Stand down. No Tazer. Give membership application. Over.