Unreal, over-idealized, too colorful a dominance of self and personality overshadows," he summarized after an interval of silence.

"And in the face of that--success.

I am successful ?" "Undeniably." "Even Hazleton, with his sordid gangs of Eastsiders nudging each other on a dirty bench, can't deny it," bristled Kenny.
He had divided the honors of more than one exhibition with Hazleton and admired and resented him impartially.
"It has been said," said Garry, ruffled by his air of triumph, "that you paint down subtly to the popular fancy where you might paint up to your own ideals." The barb went home.

Kenny flushed.
"Your work," added Garry, "lacks the force and depth of sincerity.
Even in Brian's dreadful East River sunset over there, there's a quality you lack, an eagerness for reality and truth and life as it is.
Brian has painted poorly what he saw but he painted boats for ragged sailors.

Real boats.