Sam Prekop’s new paintings are so small and pale they almost seem to fade out of view, but their wan delicacy is deceptive. His approach seems so casual, even aloof, that it is surprising how these little paintings read as simultaneously dreamy and attentive. It’s all of a piece, this mixture of what appears as relaxed diffidence with a sudden insistence and focus, and it resides in all aspects of his presentation here, from the sheer number of fairly similar canvases (nineteen in this exhibition, sixteen of which were done in the first three months of 1999) that seem to invite a rapid scan, to