Don't Talk. I Can't Hear

It Took Me Twenty Years To Get Steven Parrino's Work. From The Time I First Saw His Art, In The Mid-eighties, I Almost Always Dismissed It As Mannered, Romantic, Formulaic, Conceptualist-formalist Heavy-metal Boy-art Abstraction.

Auction Houses Run A Rigged Game. They Know Exactly How Many People Will Be Bidding On A Work And Exactly Who They Are. In A Gallery, Works Of Art Need Only One Person Who Wants To Pay For Them.

The New York Art World Readily Proves People Wrong. Just When Folks Say That Things Stink And Flibbertigibbet Critics Wish The Worst On Us All Because We're Not Pure Enough, Good Omens Appear.

While A Large Segment Of The Art World Has Obsessed Over A Tiny Number Of Stars And Their Prices, An Aesthetic Shift Has Been Occurring. It's Not A Movement - Movements Are More Sure Of Themselves. It's A Change Of Mood Or Expectation, A Desire For Art To Be More Than Showy Effects, Big Numbers, And Gamesmanship.

Money Is Something That Can Be Measured; Art Is Not. It's All Subjective.