Mr. Fong:
"There was a certain ragged elegance in the brushstrokes, like his hand was guided by an inner storm that simply had to spill out in paint."

Mr. Fong:
"And even when it got heavy-handed or iconic it still had this brooding charm that... hey, what's that?"

Mr. Fong:
"Look where I'm pointing. Ok, look at me, and now look where I'm pointing."