Per’s law strikes again: on an evening of Thursday Chelsea openings go to the galleries that are NOT staging an opening. There you shall strike gold.

  And indeed we did. In one gallery. Fourfold. So far. 

  First a Commander of the British Empire, Commanding steel to express her least artist wish. Steel which has fallen in love with color. Expressions burnt into steel with a blow torch. Compositions which make you realize most of today’s sculptors are living high off the hog on cheap shots. This woman is master of metal. Her creations never stand still. 

  Second, the most lethal Dutch photographer ever unleashed on the art world, master of the least centimeter of his photographs – trash that word – his works of art. An artist who goes beyond the brush stroke to the pixel for expressing what he sees. Why lethal? He mercilessly drives home his vision. One image in a photograph of 100 images might be composed of parts taken from 100 photos. 

  Third, the best pastel master today – and that’s the conservative opinion of the curator of pastel works at the Met. In my world he’s trashed every rule of pastel kultchure and replaced rules with common sense, an egregious sense of humor, and an utterly fresh take on a Very Olde Medium. Outrageous choice of sub-subjects, themes, and layout. Leaving you outraged no one has ever dared think this way. 

  Fourth, a man who dares deck out his queens in ephemera which his camera by its exquisite skill manages to make look not just real but the stuff of queens. A man whose works are wells sunk into the human soul in the middle of a human dessert. We keep wanting normality – and he keeps a mindfuck going in us betraying our assumptions, expectations, and most heartfelt stereotypes. 

  How do they do it is the cry of astonishment while falling down on one’s knees before all four such masters? 

  And how did a Hungarian maniac with a gallery as his blank check manage to corral such talent over so many years – 30 – and avoid the killing glare of the ephemermedia – and instead draw the acclaim of the true masters of the art world of New York? 

  But that’s not the point. He Just Did It. And he did it, and does it, most magnificently. No better impressario would I want to manage my wake. No more ultimate arbiter of good taste and advanced art would I want at my opening if I ever needed one under his wing. 

  Thank you New York, yet again, for revealing such wonders. For slaking my insatiable thirst for art. 

– Dr. Stefan Stux, Stux Gallery, 530 W 25th, Simply said. Simply done.