Gandy is a connoisseur of San Francisco, his pieces exude the atmosphere that is SF with a tenacity that only someone who survives there can handle. Never mind that he is an expert art theorist (I mean, come on, just look at those value patterns and atmosphere temperatures…), but his pieces are chosen for one reason only today: my selfish rekindling of homesickness for The Bay Area. The city is so much more than its famous landmarks (if I see one more cliche Golden Gate Bridge painting…), and Gandy really emphasizes this by paying close attention to the palettes he uses: If I had a dollar for ever awkwardly pastel-colored home in San Francisco, I could have almost afforded rent in the city. Combine this with his perfect sense of atmosphere, between the exhausting rolling hills, the sometimes perpetual fog, and the slick sidewalks from the morning washing off of human piss and vomit, with his obvious skill in the medium, and I have the perfect opportunity to sit down with a can of PBR, my window open, and pretend to be home in SF if even for a moment before the frigid air and rank smell of garbage brings me back. Actually, that’s still like San Francisco.