On my way to write this profile of 47 in Parkdale, I had a little crisis. Not a big one, but a crisis, nonetheless. I was riding in a cab because, goofball that I am, I thought that the Christie bus might actually run within fifteen minutes of its scheduled time. That was the start of it - watching the cab's meter grow in direct proportion to my poorness. But as the trip extended and the windows fogged, I started thinking about this whole gallery profile thing. Why is it, I wondered in the thinning air, that I'm always so damn positive?

Maybe it relates to my own artistic ambitions, but every time I visit a gallery I tend to go soft. I'm normally hypercritical, even derisive. No more, I told myself as I stepped out of the cab to meet the rain. It's time to live up to the lofty designation of art critic, I instructed myself. Get ready 47, get ready.

See my profile of 47 in the galleries section.