Sure, the Walker has seen better years. But let's forget about the way it occasionally swallows the worst theoretical excesses of the modern art world hook, line, and stinker. Or the mismarketing of exhibits such as the Diana Thater show and Uncle Walt's architectural drawings. Or the way that its regal ticket prices turn opening nights into frightful reminders that money can't buy taste. It's still the Twin Cities' only institutional vanguard of nervy, contentious art, and if it falls on its face every so often, that's because it's leaping so high. Even its worst bombs often make sublime party topics--and, really, isn't that the point?