Jeremy Gilbert-Rolfe

  • George Brecht

    George Brecht is an artist whose special capacity is to extend the bounds of the iconographic. Brecht, who was involved in the Happenings of the 1950s with Kaprow, Dine, and the others is at his best when he establishes a milieu that seems slightly anachronistic in its imagery. Brecht approaches the post-Hiroshima world through icons that seem lodged in the age of Surrealism rather than of Pop, in the age when the bowler (derby) hat still stood for both the clown and the capitalist. That age was the one that saw the end of European domination, in the arts as elsewhere.

    One is inclined to think

  • Ad Dekkers

    Ad Dekkers’ work—in common with Buchwald’s and Stella’s—sets out to make pictorial space literal. And that’s as far as any similarity between his work and that of the other two goes. Dekkers is Dutch, and, according to the catalogue of his show, has from the first (1960) endeavored to literalize the space of painting as that is represented—exclusively—by the work of Mondrian. Furthermore, Dekkers is interested in Mondrian sans Mondrian’s color.

    The catalogue relates Dekkers’ work—which is either white or, in the case of the drawings, translucent—to a painting Mondrian made in 1918, Losangique

  • Robert Moskoswitz

    This continuum is an underlying premise in Robert Moskoswitz’ work as it is in Dekkers’, although in a different way. Moskowitz begins his paintings by drawing a perspectival space that’s then either (1) rendered vague by the use of close-valued, atmospheric color, the whole space of the painting then being reactivated by little dabs of thick paint that sit on the surface, or (2) is virtually obliterated by—predominantly—black paint, on top of which he then paints a small image. An example of the latter type is White Hat, 1973. These paintings seem to be about flatness as a property that can

  • Ken Greenleaf

    Ken Greenleaf, like Michael Steiner, is one of a large number of artists for whom art history seems to stop in the mid-’60s. Or, if that’s not the right way to put it, for whom Anthony Caro’s example—a modernist, pictorial elimination of real space—remains a viable option for sculpture in the 1970s. I have suggested elsewhere that it doesn’t, and that Caro’s own most recent work tells us why (Artforum, September, 1973). Briefly, I feel that the sort of sculpture now made by Greenleaf and the others turns out, after the articulate ambivalence achieved by Caro in his work of the mid-’60s, to be

  • Martin Chirino

    If Greenleaf suggests the reasons why Caro’s art tends to read as “powerful but compromised” in the context of the present situation, Martin Chirino draws attention to the problems involved in maintaining David Smith’s view of sculpture. Or, rather, not to a manipulation of materials and imagery which is related to his—and gains respectability, generic identity, from that—but now seems to be historically inappropriate. Greenleaf’s sculpture suggests an uncertainty, typical of Caro, about whether the work belongs inside or out of doors. Chirino, like Smith, demands an outdoor site for his work.

  • Arman

    Whatever my problems with the work of Greenleaf and Chirino, I am in no doubt that they’re serious and sensitive in what they do. But if there ever was a time when Arman could be taken seriously it’s certainly not now, which perhaps explains why he’s recently exhibited not once but twice.

    Arman likes to collect garbage, and then package it. Sometimes he casts it into a lump and sometimes he shuts it up in a plastic box. His career is bracketed, in fact, by Bourgeois Trash, Economy Size, 1960—why, by the way, is it bourgeois trash? Proles and aristocrats surely have as much use for Tam-pax and

  • Jackie Winsor

    Every piece in Jackie Winsor’s show makes sense as an attempt to concentrate attention on the sculptural in a way that will not distract from the work’s identity as a repository for—and a consequence of—a process of physical modification of a particular sort. The work in this show spans three years (1970–73) and, seeing it all together, one realizes that Winsor’s is an imagination responsive to Minimalism and its aftermath, but resistant to its physical means, especially metal, and to any concentration on the actual situation of the piece.

    I think it’s primarily a need to deal with sculpture as

  • Stephen Mueller

    Stephen Mueller’s show consisted of large abstract paintings made with a combination of acrylic paint and raw pigment. Mueller seems to fall into that category called “sensibility painting”—more or less pejoratively—by Robert Pincus-Witten. I call his painting “abstract” because it is entirely concerned with a fluid, continuous space that doesn’t depend at all on material signification. In fact, it rather depends on a denial of materiality that doesn’t quite come off. Not Seated—Not Surrounded uses translucent colors in a variety of configurations set, for the most part, at an obtuse angle to

  • Charles Hinman

    Charles Hinman’s work takes us back to the period when there were lots of shows with scientific sounding titles like “Quantum I”—the name of the first New York group show in which he participated in 1964. Hinman’s work is incredibly impeccable but, as James Collins recently said in connection with the similar impeccability of John McCracken’s work, times have changed.

    Hinman hasn’t developed the interest in materiality and physical process which is the difference between the painting of the last few years and that of the previous decade. Hinman’s shaped canvases have more to do with the “late

  • Daniel Buren

    Daniel Buren’s work is political in that it openly embraces—and is in this sense fundamentally about—self-contradiction, and is ideological in its commitment to anonymity. Buren, like Duchamp but at the same time utterly unlike him, is engaged in part in an exposure of the museum that has the form of paradox, insofar as both Buren’s and Duchamp’s prominence derives from an assault on “uniqueness” as a guide to “value.” To me at least—and perhaps only temporarily—Buren’s thinking seems at the moment to be more to the point than Duchamp’s, because where Duchamp is concerned with a private, hermetic

  • Joseph Raffael

    Joseph Raffael’s Water Painting II, which is representative of his show, is a study of a section of sea, or, perhaps, of a mountain stream. The color is hard and bright and thinly painted. Raffael’s use of the medium suggests two possible and related concerns on his part. One concern would be to present an image of great mobility frozen by the medium of paint, which is here made to come as close as possible to the light-filled transparency of water. Another concern—a corollary, perhaps, of the first—would be about the possibility of dislocating the viewer by eliminating painterly gesture in the

  • Sig Rennels

    Sig Rennels has worked his way up from inflatable cars, through inflatable semitrailers, to his latest production, an inflatable small aircraft. I always thought that the cars and the semitrailers ought to be parked in the street outside the gallery for maximum effect, but the airplane looks completely at home on a polished floor. Why that should be so I can’t quite say, except that the airplane looks even more like a tired dog than Rennels’ other pieces, and is lower in height than is usual for his work.

    It’s his ability to turn machines into animals—I’m being serious when I attribute an element