I've never had much love for the practice of painting; nor the practiced for that matter. I just don't work that independently--that slowly--and have a hard time understanding those that do. Which isn't to say that I dislike painting in general. I simply tend to be interested in ideas that seem poorly addressed in such a form.
The first beautiful assault on my assumptions I've seen in a long while made itself known to me this past Sunday. Karel Funk's depictions of young, anonymous men, hiding under hoods and hats, earned my respect after just a glance. Here were works that needed that attention to craft--needed those hours holding brushes steady. Here were works that spoke to some of my many questions and theories--spoke to that invisible, armored New Yorker I see reflected daily in subway glass.
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