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Doing already what everyone had been then wanting to, at the time everyone evacuating subjectivity, cutting of their hands to meld with their electronics, printing paintings, graduating Staedelschule, designing algorithms to produce them for them, and then Toroni there plodding ad infinitum, as if the painting could stretch on infinitely, each work a piece cut from an infinite universal cloth eventually spreading onto everything like some hellish pox. Toroni's pox will die with him, which is more than can be said for many. The signatory brushstroke, labeling meaning and value. Like so much art it achieved credibility by being just so maniacally stupid, undeniable. It's hard to refute such stubborn insistence.
