You're no doubt aware my imagination is somewhat limited when it comes to color. I've dressed exclusively in black since the '80s, after a bad DayGlo experience in college. But I've never felt the pull of the color – until now.

This week, ADAA: The Art Show opened at the Armory (not to be confused with art at the Armory Show, which was actually at the Pier, as Paolo clarified). !

As a frustrated artist, I'm always in awe of the creative prowess of true talent, and some of the folks in this show were no exception. But mostly, one thing kept grabbing my attention: the artistry of Black.

Entering the space, my eye was immediately drawn to Fred Wilson's elegant, sensual blobs of black Murano glass, casually blotting the walls like so many glycerine tears. I had to resist the temptation (and Paolo's too) to fondle them, moving my gaze instead to the intricate black-on-black mirrors, which seemingly reflected my soul more than my appearance.

We then wandered into April Gornik's amazingly photographic charcoal landscapes, transfixed by their ability to dimensionalize depth and light with a single color. I've been a huge fan of April's innate ability to wrest emotion from color – but these are new favorites.

Roaming the aisles, I loved how Glen Rubsamen's LA-esque palm portraits and Allen McCollam's digitized, embroidered cameos embraced the poetry of silhouette with a distinctly modern sensibility.

Artists are always at the forefront of social change. Maybe the use of all this black – the absence of color – signals that we should start to fill the void.

Or maybe it's me that should lighten up. In fact, I've had my eye on this little Fendi number for Spring. Next time we meet, that might just be me wearing white.