F.E. Castleberry is the product of a bygone New York and the blurred line between upper class opulence and downtown irreverence. It inhabits a world where the je ne sais quoi of Jacques Cousteau, Cy Twombly, Adidas Football, George Plimpton, the Porsche 911, Pablo Picasso, the Borg–McEnroe rivalry, old Stones albums, and Tina Barney mishmash into something achingly human.

We are the black sheep. We are the troubled youth. The underachievers. The ringleaders. The ones willing to wear our immodest aspirations on our sleeve, quietly embrace our failed efforts…no matter where we came from. It is this rarefied sensibility that not only virtually informs F.E. Castleberry, but essentially is F.E. Castleberry.