The rumors of Kostas Killian preceded him so, naturally I was nervous for our first meeting. People had warned me about the protégé critic who was simultaneously beloved and feared by the art world for his ruthless analysis of contemporary works and an inimitable taste level that accounted for his meteoric rise to fame. In a recent Jerry Saltz penned profile in New York Magazine the young Kostas was described as wise beyond his years, capable of "torching a budding artist's career with a single sideways glance," his personal shorthand for "derivative." When the phone rang that fateful day, Kostas' commission request was intimidatingly specific. I grabbed a pen and started feverishly taking notes as he peppered me with vivid descriptions of his vision-- "the radical insouciance of Monet ensconced in a spirit of Warholian irreverence." Too stunned to speak, I froze. Kostas patronized me. "Have I spoken too fast?" I knew I had to act quickly to redeem myself. "The only thing fast, Mr. Killian, will be the swing of the auctioneer's hammer when it fetches the highest bid at Sotheby's after you've outgrown it."