It is not my intent to tack the "outsider" mantle onto Stone's shoulders. But there is something undeniably compulsive and singularly "other" not only about his persona but his paintings. And this statement is in itself, paradoxical, because Stone's images are instantly, sometimes mundanely familiar. It is of the cigarette stub, street sign, beer can and boiled egg variety. They are the sights we glimpse through the rear-view mirror, through a partially closed curtain, or in a cluttered storeroom: a receding landscape, a clothes hanger, the delicate outline of a naked woman - coquettish, raw and erotic... rational figurative forms, rendered in entirely irrational spaces with a sense of startling, bizarre beauty, painted in variously muddy or glorious hues, sometimes as though by different hands... Whether its the thousands of sketches he has painted, on virtually a daily basis over the last 20 years or his insatiable lust for collecting fishing sinkers and imbuing them with jewel-like luminescence on canvas, they are the fragmented incarnations of an obsessive, unashamedly unholistic consciousness.
- Hazel Friedman