Jan Van Der Marck


    UNTIL 1973, MEL BOCHNER’S art progressed in an evolution from a preoccupation with numbers, words, and photo fragments, in the work from 1966–1968, through an attempt to literalize space in works involving measuring and counting, in 1968–71, to a series of diagrammatic floor arrangements of small objects such as pennies, pebbles, or acorns. in 1972–73. His approach bore a resemblance to the a priori method, cognitive intention, and logical precision of the “early” Ludwig Wittgenstein; it distinguished itself by its attempt at reconciling the perceptual and the cognitive constituents of art. With

  • Bernar Venet and the Rational Image

    Venet has come back from New York with the idea of reproducing trigonometric forms. . . .1

    François Pluchart, 1966

    There is a Neo-Duchampian painter, Bernar Venet, who also came to us rather early on. . . .2

    William Rubin, 1978

    FOR A GOOD 12 YEARS Bernar Venet has been active on two sides of the Atlantic, but acknowledgment of his work has been complicated by his decision in 1971 to stop producing art and then, after a five-year intermission, not only to start painting, but to do so in a manner that seemed to make a travesty of his conceptual past. I think, however, that the apparent

  • The Venice Biennale: Can It Rise Again?

    THE VENICE BIENNALE IS ONE of those exhibitions which refuses to die or simply go away. A visitor since 1960, I have announced its demise in print at least once. The principals complain, the critics growl, sympathizers speculate; basic lessons, quickly learned and quickly forgotten, are never applied where they should be. From a 1964 peak, when a younger generation took over and introduced art as freewheeling experiment, to a 1974 low, when a quarrel among politicians caused its cancellation, several solutions were suggested to cure the dowager’s ills. The prize system, attacked by Henry Geldzahler

  • Alain Kirili’s Form and Craft

    IN A SHOW OF HIS new work at Dartmouth, Alain Kirili recently exhibited four 8- to 12-foot sculptures consisting of two to three loosely fitted iron, forged iron and terra-cotta elements, as well as two two-part terra-cotta reliefs. Five of these works were made on location, while the other required more elaborate forging and was brought over from Europe. All the iron components were lightly forged, while the terra-cotta was molded by hand in a manner more indicative of the artist’s assertive grip than of his skill as a ceramist. The terra-cotta reliefs compare to the terra-cotta cum-iron and

  • Inside Europe Outside Europe

    THE ART INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO has treated us to the first comprehensive American exhibition of European art of this decade. Had the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam—to use just one example—waited this long to show its constituents what Americans are up to in the ’70s, we would have called it shocking. But, alas, the realities of the art world are such that there is a greater respect for American accomplishment, and a greater eagerness to show it, in Europe, than there is in the American art world for the work of our European colleagues. James Speyer and Ann Rorimer deserve credit for having mobilized

  • Peter Davies, Roger Hendricks and Martin Prekop

    In December of last year three instructors at the Art Institute of Chicago School, Peter Davies, Roger Hendricks and Martin Prekop, approached the Museum of Contemporary Art with a request for a joint exhibition. “We are experimenting in different media,” read their letter in part,—“wall and floor pieces, documents, photographs and prints. There are a number of projects that we are working on, and we are interested in exhibiting together because of the dialogue and feedback from our work and ideas.”

    In a meeting about the middle of January it had to be explained that Museum schedules do not allow

  • Bram van Velde

    IN THE WINTER OF 1962 Bram van Velde met Willem de Kooning for the first time. Since it was as difficult for the New York host to converse in French as for his guest from Paris to converse in English, they settled on Dutch, a language both had trouble remembering, but took great pains to speak.

    By emigrating, Bram van Velde and Willem de Kooning indicated the physical and esthetic limitations of their native country. Dutch critics have since wistfully distorted history by claiming them for Holland. In reality, the contributions van Velde and de Kooning have made to painting do not relate to