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as well. It is the route to meeting richer people, it is a more tasteful form of conspicuous consumption, it is a balm for middle-aged restlessness; it plays the many roles that a social adornment can play in our society. But Pop especially fulfilled today's need for the new, the entertaining and different.

Castelli, however, tries to defend his collectors against this description. "My collectors," he says, that distant-drummer look coming into his eye, "do not come to my gallery to find paintings to hang on their walls. They come to be part of a historic venture, to be part of a great period in art." It is precisely this historical sense - of himself, his gallery, his painters and his collectors - that distinguishes Castelli from the other galleries. It is also what people have in mind when they mention his shrewdness, his publicity consciousness, his commitment.

For example, when he planned his first show for Lichtenstein, in 1962, he persuaded the Green Gallery to put on a Rosenquist show at the same time, thereby creating the sense of a trend, a movement. For the same reason, he was delighted that such successful Pop artists as Dine and Warhol show at galleries other than his own. In this context, Janis calls Castelli "the most selfless and generous of dealers." Castelli, he means, will subordinate immediate or personal profit motives to create a larger historical trend.

In order to continue to give his collectors this historical sense of adventure, Castelli has to maintain an image of far-outness, shock and excitement. When he left for Europe in the spring of 1964, he had tentatively arranged for his autumn show to feature works of a new young artist. But when he saw those paintings in the fall, Castelli felt they were not exciting enough; his gallery now had to live up to the excitement created by Rauschenberg's victory at the Biennale.

Does Castelli recognize the danger of mere sensationalism? "Of course. But I have faith in my taste. I am confident I can distinguish the true from the false, the good from the bad." And with frightening speed, I might add. At the moment we were discussing this subject, in the office of his gallery, a series of Lichtenstein paintings were being delivered, one by one, up the stairs. Some were destined for a collector, some for Paris, and some were to remain in the gallery. Every few minutes, Ivan Karp would open the door and expose the latest arrival. Before I had a chance to focus my eyes, Castelli would say, "Marvelous! Better than the white one, you're right." Back to our conversation, and then another painting at the door. "This one of the girl is the best yet," says Karp. "Absolutely," says Castelli, again before I have even begun to look. "I love that cascade of hair. That one goes to Paris."

This went on for fifteen minutes and perhaps a half-dozen paintings. I knew only that I disliked the paintings, more by after-image than by anything else, and that I was slightly intimidated by the two fastest draws in the gallery world.

I commented on his enthusiasm. "Too enthusiastic, eh?" he asked, interpreting my tone. "Maybe we're too enthusiastic, Ivan and I. But that's the way we are. I don't know whether it's bad or not."

Nor did I, except that it made me uneasy, and reminded me of the question of quality: one can always see something different and new faster than one can see what is better. Each Lichtenstein and Warhol show is different from the one before; a new technique is used, a new mundane subject incorporated - comic strips, banal nature scenes, display boxes, bright flowers. Whether they are good or not is another matter.

Does Castelli really believe they are? Yes, but possibly not quite so completely, since he is a salesman and an enthusiast, as he would have you believe.

One night, perhaps too lightly, we charted the pleasure inspired by various painters. Castelli put Matisse highest on the scale of modern artists. Farther down came de Kooning, whom Castelli ranks as the greatest living American painter. Still lower came several of his own gallery favorites.

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HOLIDAY/JUNE 105