From the back cover:

It’s 1972 and nobody’s just going to hand it over to you, what? Free of charge? SoHo won’t care how much paint you’ve rubbed on your jeans. They aren’t impressed. The emperor’s new blue jeans. Dozens of us paint-spattered painting grads out here, make room for the young geniuses, room at the top of the art world for none of us. So, you’ve got to blow their minds, the critics, the galleries. Prove it on a canvas and then, better yet, kick a hole in it. Who’s sold out? We love you man, but you think you’ve found a better way? Then you’re a coward. Be sure to send us a postcard from Gone with the Wind. Or a complete fool.  

     “Rash. Face it– you were rash. You left yourself exposed. The crows picked you over like so much carrion in the road. And what did they find? What’s the worst-case scenario? That you’re in your cups these days– so you’re ridiculed, or even worse, pitied. Ah, but maybe that’s your excuse.”