Infanta JacketAn image as a brushwork coffin, couched silently on red damask walls. In Gallery 625 of The Metropolitan, stares the Infanta, with the quaffed hair of an apricot poodle. A tight wave meets her face in caked white talc, marking the uncertainty of the transition between wig and skin: each their own sort of mask set atop something more amorphous beneath. Her bald childs eyes, her jowls stuffed with roses, her nose, not yet grown into, and her bottom lip