What’s not to like about the paintings of Fiona Rae? Once you resign yourself to the logic of postmodernism — in which cacophony is just a way of describing harmony, and entropy is a spin on order — you are in the right mindset. You can sink your gaze into the baker’s dozen of boisterous, busy canvases at PaceWildenstein’s cavernous West 22nd Street gallery. You are at the mercy of what Dave Hickey in his catalogue essay terms “benign hysteria.”