If you asked me when I was 22 to choose my favorite period of painting in all of Art History, I would have said fourteenth-century Sienese painting. I spent many hours in my early 20s at the Metropolitan Museum in New York City examining these tiny works on panel, often depicting the lives of saints set in richly articulated flat spaces. I didn’t consciously decide to develop such close acquaintances with them, but my desire to look at any paintings that I could in solitude led me to a small little series of furnished rooms in the furthest rear of the Museum. These were, more often than not, empty of visitors, which allowed me to experience these incredible works, each painting one-on-one, and intimately, for hours. I developed a relationship with these artists with whom I found myself visiting most weekdays, after my daily sunrise shift at the East Side bakery - my beautiful friends in gold frames.

What did I love about artists like Simone Martini, Giovanni di Polo, and Sassetta? A good bit had to do with their size. What made them so entrancing was you were intended to look at them singularly. Unlike the Tiepolo's which were larger attractions, and provided more of a communal experience, these paintings allowed me to be alone to study the delicate usages of paint, the gentle cracking along the dry surfaces, and the brittle flaking edges -- to physically enter these claustrophobic citadels. 

This was long before the internet had any influence in the art world. Now I bring my rooms of solitude wherever I go. But I am still continually drawn to the small format, and this is why I've chosen to make the Slight of Hand exhibition an annual survey.  The 23 works that represent this year's Slight of Hand exhibition require the same intense contemplation -- time and solitude accessible to anyone with a device. I invite you to closely observe Casey Jex Smith’s stunning detailed pencilwork, and to relish Alexandra Duprez's use of old book covers as a ground for her delicate application of oil; to experience the textures of Sebastian Supanz's felted fantasy lands and Calvin Kim’s lush accumulations of electric pigments. All of the paintings and drawings presented here are singular works - they've commanded our close attention.