"What defines Rob Pruitt? For me, it is one hundred tightly wrapped singles stuffed in a sock on my fifteenth birthday. I would toddle around the gallery, gazing through all the critics, cooing at pieces that, as a child, presented no meaning. When I was younger, every show would feel above me, like the art was made for everyone there except me; nothing was ever more than "nice." Not to say that I didn"t enjoy some installations - the satellite dish, the balloon-filled gallery - but I never thought of them beyond the surface. It was just, "Awesome, I can run around it really fast!" and "Balloons!" The glistening pandas made me smile; they still do. I remember thinking, "Huh, the panda is such a delicate creature. I guess this glitter shows its brilliance." It was liberating and satisfying at the same time, knowing that this picture manifested something personal in me, even if no one else agreed. But if all I talked about was his art, then I wouldn"t know Rob. He...