PRINT June 1963

West Coast Art: Three Images

The Ideas in the Exhibitions

IT WILL PROBABLY NEVER happen again that three large separate exhibitions, all purporting to present some aspect of West Coast art, will crop up in the same place, at the same time, as the Pacific Coast Invita­tional, “The Artist’s Environment: West Coast,” and the 82nd Annual of the San Francisco Art Institute have done.1 And, if it ever does happen again, it is even less likely that we will have, as we have here, a pre­sentation chosen by a single man, another by a group of museum associates, and a third by a group of ten artists. The occasion is a godsend to the interested viewer, providing, as it does, almost limitless opportunities for comparison, evaluation and meditation, not only on the problem of what is, really, West Coast painting, let alone how best to present it, but on the nature of the various individuals and groups who offer, in theses exhibitions, their answers.

One might suppose that, even if no one has as yet gotten around to writing a “Handbook of Museumsmanship,” a few basic rules might by this time have been evolved, and that among these might be:

1. If an exhibition has a stated purpose, the paint­ings in it should attempt to approximate that purpose.

2. If one artist or painting is appropriate to an exhi­bition, efforts should be made to find that artist or painting, and not the first substitute that comes to hand.

3. If no artist or painting is appropriate to an exhi­bition, then perhaps there is a defect in the idea of the exhibition.

4. In general, artists can represent either “new ten­dencies” or “mature expressions” and it might pay to remember who was exhibited as a “new tendency” in May in order that he not be shown as a “mature expression” in October.

5. When none of these requisites have been met, and, by force of inertia, the exhibition has neverthe­less been mounted, it is occasionally advisable, in the catalog, to explain yourself.

Consider, for example, that strange exhibition, the Pacific Coast Invitational. The catalog simply tells us that the exhibition “was designed to give special recognition” to a number of artists “who have arrived at mature forms of expression deserving wider public appreciation.” The museum people making the selec­tions, we are told, chose from “amongst that sizeable group of experienced painters and sculptors which lies between the relatively few with established na­tional reputations and the many rising ‘new talents’ . . . ” We are given one other ground rule to consider, and that curiously: “The apportionment of artists per region was predetermined, on the basis of relative population and creative activity levels . . . ” (If these have nothing whatever to do with the stated purpose of the exhibition, the rule does, at least, keep peace in the museum family, as well as suggest a new sta­tistic for the almanac-makers: the c.a.l.)

Looking, therefore, for artists who have arrived at “mature forms of expression” who are neither too well-known nor too little-known, San Francisco Mu­seum Director George Culler, and Curator John Humph­rey come up with Ario Acton, Julius Wasserstein, Da­vid Simpson, Lundy Siegriest, Geoffery Bowman, and John Baxter. Of these, only Simpson and Baxter would seem to even approximate the conditions for which the exhibition was designed. Acton and Bowman are “rising new talents” if ever there were any, having listed no exhibitions of importance prior to 1960, Bow­man being 34, and Acton being 30. None can be said to have arrived at a “mature form of expression.” Lundy Siegriest may have hidden from the selectors his history of literally hundreds of exhibitions, (includ­ing being one of the 10 Americans in the 1958 Brus­sels Fair) but could not possibly have hidden the fact that his “mature form of expression” consists of a brand new style, not six months old, and still obviously in the experimental stages. The existence in northern California, among many, many others who could more sensibly have filled the bill, of Nell Sinton, Louis Siegriest, Jack Jefferson, Wally Hedrick, Robert Mc­Chesney, Frank Lobdell and David Tolerton, is totally ignored, nor are the inclusions of those who do not
fill the bill explained.

The southern California selections are almost (but, perhaps, not quite) as baffling. The population and c.a.l. being highest, the selectors had more room to maneuver: nine selections, John Altoon, Richards Ruben, John Mason, Edward Kienholz, John Paul Jones, Ynez Johnston, John McLaughlin, Edward Moses and Billy Al Bengston. One is struck immediately by the catholicity of the choices: a hard-edge painter, pop artists, abstract expressionists, assemblagists, collage-­makers, clay sculptors. The Los Angeles committee simply ignored the stated purpose of the show in favor of an attempt to select nine artists who would most broadly represent what they conceived to be the cur­rent southern California scene. If Altoon, Moses, Mason and Kienholz are proper selections, what can be said for Billy Al Bengston? Has this so recent “new talent” suddenly come to a “mature form of expression”? What, in a show seeking artists “deserving wider pub­lic appreciation” is John Paul Jones doing with a catalog note listing “more than a dozen one-man shows since 1951” all over the country, along with “many other exhibitions in the USA, Europe, South America, Italy, France, Germany?” How much wider public ap­preciation can one hope for? How much more does he really deserve? Similarly, Ynez Johnston’s and John McLaughlin’s catalog pages can barely hold their lists of exhibitions and noted collections. Couldn’t Mr. Opliger, Mr. Elliot and Mr. Nordland turn up anyone with equally mature forms of expression who need, perhaps somewhat more than these artists, a little of that wider public appreciation?

If all this is merely confusing, a glance at the catalog of “Fifty California Artists,” organized for the Whitney Museum in October, and currently being shown at the Des Moines Art Center, reduces everything to a sham­bles. For in this show, the emphasis is not on “mature forms of expression” but on “newer figures and ten­dencies.” The selections for northern California have been made by the same George Culler, for southern California by the same James Elliot. Only Bowman and Siegriest are not included for northern California, and only Ynez Johnston is not included for southern California. The very artists being shown at Des Moines as examples of “newer figures and tendencies” are being shown in the San Francisco Museum as artists “who have arrived at mature forms of expression de­serving wider public appreciation.” It is a hilarious performance.

The entries from Washington and Oregon, poor rela­tions with miserable population figures and wretched c.a.l.’s, are certainly not deserving of wider public appreciation, and there is not a mature form of expres­sion in the house.

Why, or how, it devolved upon Mr. Frederick S. Wight to select for the Amon Carter Museum an exhibition entitled “The Artist’s Environment: West Coast,” is ex­plained only in a brief sentence in Mr. Mitchell A. Wilder’s (Director of the Carter Museum) introduction to Wight’s excellent catalog: “It is presented as one of a series planned by the Carter Museum setting the western artist in the environment in which he works.” It was left, evidently, to Mr. Wight, to determine pre­cisely how one goes about “setting the western artist in the environment in which he works.” Who was he going to set in what kind of an environment? What Mr. Wight evidently settled on, was a notion of historical environment. What he would try to do would be not very different from a kind of capsule history of recent West Coast painting. The environment part would more or less be taken care of by the viewer: upon seeing a 1917 Macdonald-Wright, for example, or a 1945 Clyf­ford Still, or a 1920 Lorser Feitelson, the viewer would be given to understand that these paintings and these artists were instrumental in making the environment out of which the newer paintings by the younger artists represented emerged. Mr. Wight then sat down and wrote himself a first-class short summation of the his­tory of contemporary painting on the West Coast, and a series of interesting and often very insightful com­ments on each artist in the exhibition. He also pre­pared good brief biographical summaries for each artist. In short, he produced an excellent catalog, containing a considerable amount of hard-to-find in­formation. He is one of the few West Coast art officials who seems to have any professional sense of the importance of documentation, the function of a cata­log and the total complex of responsibilities that are involved in the serious mounting of an exhibition.

The exhibition itself, however, will not stand still either for Mr. Wight’s essay or the notion of historical environment that he tries to pursue. Mr. Wight, for example, makes persistent reference to the import­ance of German Expressionist painting in California during the twenties and thirties; the Scheyer collec­tion (now in the Pasadena Museum) of Klee, Feininger, Kandinsky and Jawlensky for example, had been avail­able in both Los Angeles and San Francisco. Logically, examples of these works belong in the show. Similarly, Mr. Wight relates of the astonishing series of exhibi­tions of avant-garde European work shown at the San Francisco Museum by Dr. Grace Morley between 1936 and 1945. For this part of the “environment” the exhi­bition also shows nothing. For some reason, Mr. Wight seems to have felt that examples of the western en­vironment had to be restricted to western artists. The result is a rather confused and capricious selection.

Mr. Wight’s exhibition is further hampered by his conception of “environment” in that he refuses to extend the word to include the literal, physical sur­roundings. An entire school of excellent contemporary landscape artists do not appear in the exhibition, and one suspects the cause to be that Mr. Wight simply could not fit the obvious effects of the physical en­vironment into the scheme of things. Similarly, Mr. Wight completely ignores a spiritual environment, unique, it would seem, to California, which, for lack of a better description, one could call “Nathanial West-ism,” a jaded, perverse view of the California Good Life which gives its flavor to West Coast pop art and grotesque art. In the exhibition of “The Artist’s Environment: West Coast,” one finds no examples of Billy Al Bengston, Bruce Conner, Ed Kienholz or artists associated with them, although these artists reflect in a very direct manner aspects of the West Coast environment, although, perhaps, none of them could care less about Macdonald-Wright, Still’s messianic influence or the Blue Four. He is consistently forced to exhibit bad painters like Spencer’ Moseley and Kenneth Callahan, who fit, at the expense of good painters who do not fit. The exhibition, in the final analysis, turns out to be a poor and confusing image of West Coast art.

It remained for the 82nd Annual of the San Fran­cisco Art Institute, which began with no theme, no predetermined direction, and no considerations of population density or creative activity levels to accomplish in great measure, and quite incidentally, what both the Pacific Coast Invitational and “The Artist’s Environment: West Coast” tried to do. The ten artist-jurors, right off the bat, invited twenty-four entries jury-free, presenting both “new talent” and “ma­ture expression” to the wider public appreciation they deserved.2 (They pursued exactly the same policy in selecting the award winners, who will be shown in depth at the next Annual.) They then proceeded to jury in the rest of the exhibition, and in the process set up the most exciting, interesting and enriching series of “environments” ever gathered under one West Coast roof. The climate and attitude of the San Francisco Art Institute, which Mr. Wight tried in vain to reproduce by hauling in an old Still, exists in the Annual almost effortlessly. The atmosphere, rooted in Still and maintained by Bischoff and Lobdell, is conveyed not only in their works but in the works of the younger artists associated with them: William Wiley, Joan Brown, Robert Hudson, Manuel Neri, and Jerrold Ballaine, among others. The exciting develop­ments in West Coast sculpture, triggered by the last decade of experimental work by Mason, Voulkos and Ken Price (Mason and Price, inexplicably, are not in the exhibition) and the importation of Zogbaum, Paris and Gordin is reflected so strongly by their work and associated artists like Charles Ross, Stephen de Staebler, James Melchert, William Geis, David Lynn, Seymour Locks, Rodger Jacobsen, Michael Frimkess, along with others that the sculpture threatens to com­pletely overshadow the rest of the exhibition. It is astonishing how few of these artists appear in the other exhibitions. The Annual demonstrates, as no other show has done, how incomplete any image of West Coast art is which does not convey the level and extent of its sculptural accomplishment.

The exhibition does not pay much attention to pop art, and very little to hard edge painting, both of which deserved more attention from the point of view of the notion of the Annual as a “representative” exhibition. The exhibition is also much too local, con­sidering the fact that it presents itself as a national exhibition. For some reason, after seeing it, one pays lip service to these objections, but the truth is one hardly cares, for what it did do, it did so well.

The 82nd Annual has been attacked more bitterly than any Annual in recent history for its small size and its seemingly narrow viewpoint. One can only suggest that if, during the year, the museums had done their job adequately in exhibitions like the Pa­cific Coast Invitational and The Artist’s Environment, the artist-jurors of the 82nd Annual might not have felt so desperately compelled to do the job for them.

––Philip Leider


The Art in the Exhibitions

WHILE TO THE 82ND ANNUAL, the Northwest, for all intents and purposes simply did not exist, both the Pacific Coast Invitational and the Wight exhibition strove mightily, and failed miserably, to do something with it. Is the situation really as hopeless as all that? What is Northwest art really like? Are there reasons for the bad showing, or is the area simply a kind of rest home for inept artists? It is possible that at least one factor leading to the paralysis is that so many Northwest artists labor under the delusion that their region is somehow uniquely related to “The Orient,” and that they must, therefore, work toward getting some of this Orient stuff into their art. One of the most constant cliches propagated nowadays is an exaggerated connection of Pacific seaboard culture to the Orient, as if, for example, Seattle was to Peking and Tokyo what London is to Paris and Berlin. Some­how or other, the 7000 miles of ocean separating America from the East seems to have shrunk to the size of the English Channel.

Frederick Wight seems to swallow this notion with­out even chewing on it. “This brings us to Seattle,” he writes, “which stands out as a citadel of art related to the East, either directly through adopted techniques or through some philosophical or mystical kinship.” His notes on almost every one of his Northwest selec­tions makes reference, in one context or another, to “the Orient,” and one cannot doubt that his selection of Tobey’s Full Sky, done in sumi ink, is intended as a kind of corroboration of Colette Roberts’ obser­vation, in her monograph, that “. . . Tobey has chosen to live in Seattle where he has the opportunity to experience the Orient.” One begins to conceive of Seattle as some kind of Kublai Khan city nestling in oriental perspective against the Washington seacoast, where Americans are pulled around pagodas in rick­shaws, rather than the very typical American city it actually is, replete with motels, office blocks, bill­boards, neon signs, tract houses and used-car lots. Admittedly, Tobey spent some time in the East (but more in Europe), studied and practiced Sumi callig­raphy, and is fully aware, via Watts, of Zen (apparently without any particular addiction), but his connection to Oriental art, one suspects, is relatively unimport­ant. Statements such as Kotchnitsky’s in Quadrum, 1957, simply lead one up a false trail: “Everyone agrees (sic), that . . . Tobey had introduced into the Occidental painting of our time, the elements, the technics, and the processes of Chinese painting . . . essential ways of the art of painting used for almost twelve centuries by Chinese artists . . .”

A better picture of Tobey’s art is that it falls fair and square within a direct Western tradition, (that is, with the exception of the Sumi studies, which is his worst work). The important body of his work is his­torically part of that particular process of stripping the individual symbol or sign of literal meaning and replacing it with a more comprehensive one contained between the act of painting and the autonomous pic­ture plane. The calligraphic sign in oriental art was just as loaded with symbol significance as the indi­vidual sign in the Roman alphabet is to Western eyes. The fact that one system is based on pictographs and the other on phonetics is not important, for Tobey, in his series of White Writing paintings “ab­stracted” this free flowing sign and used it as a basis to improvise an all-over image connected to Monet’s endless and non-hierarchical vistas of water lilies; he is an early and important pioneer of informal and improvised art which clearly emerged with tile work of Pollock, Wols, Fautrier, Dubuffet, Mathieu and very early Hartung.

The complex, shifting context of iconography in Western art is important; knowledge of it plays a major role in our decoding of information contained within the work. Franz Kline’s painting, for example, although superficially similar, has nothing to do with Japanese banner paintings of the 16th and 17th cen­turies; any similarity is only fortuitous.

Morris Graves, another “orientalist” and a link in the myth of the Pacific Coast’s exaggerated connection to the East is a different kettle of fish. A religious zealot and mystic, he appears more interested in religion than art. His Buddhism obtrudes heavily into his work loading his painting with naturalism. Another artist from this milieu, Carl Morris, saturates his ab­stract expressionist images with phony orientalism, whereas Paul Horiuchi, a genuine Oriental born in Tokyo, but who lives in Washington, takes collage and the whole history of Western art since cubism back into oriental obscurantism leaving the observer with a pleasant poetic and decorative surface to admire. Apart from Tobey, who is, as already indicated, an im­portant innovator working fully within the tradition of Western art, this phony attachment to the Orient seems to have dehydrated the Northwest. Perhaps because of his insistence on making the most of this oriental “environment,” Wight’s Northwest selections are weak: Kenneth Callahan, James Hansen, Spencer Moseley, etc. The selections in the Pacific Coast Invi­tational are appalling: if there are no better artists in the area than Neil Meitzler, Jack McLarty and Ray Jensen, then the region is indeed in trouble. If, how­ever, the selections were made as carelessly as those in Los Angeles and San Francisco, we may safely assume that there are quite a few good Northwest artists who will doubtlessly come to the attention of museum officials in a few decades.

Although the 82nd Annual pretended that hard edge painting was of no consequence on the West Coast, both the Wight exhibition and the Pacific Coast Invitational made some attempt to give it its due, the Wight exhibition featuring several excellent members of this group in Los Angeles, and the Invitational fea­turing work by John McLaughlin in depth.

The contributions of two important southern Cali­fornia hard-edge painters, Lorser Feitelson and John McLaughlin, are well deserving of more widespread appreciation and discussion. Both artists are strong links in the sophistication, variety and openness of the southern Californian scene as compared to the Bay Area. McLaughlin, now in his sixties, is much ad­mired by the younger and best British hard edge painters, notably Peter Stroud and John Plumb, who were considerably influenced by certain of his ideas several years ago when the southern Californian hard edge group which includes Karl Benjamin and Frederick Hammersley, were shown in London under the title “Four Abstract Classicists.” It was as a result of this exhibition, and McLaughlin’s work in particular, that the phrase hard edge came into being. (Hassel Smith, writing from London recently, finds the British hard edge movement one of the most important and vital things going on there in art.)

Feitelson’s contribution in this area has never been correctly assessed, but he is an important precursor and antedates much of Ellsworth Kelly’s work by a decade. Getting on in years now, he is long overdue an official retrospective, which would clearly reveal his mainstream contribution. Arising from the tradi­tion that both these artists have clearly helped to establish in southern California are two excellent painters, Larry Bell and Robert Irwin, but neither are shown in any of the marathon exhibitions on view. Whereas Bell has yet to develop an important body of work, Irwin most certainly has, and is one of the most promising and inventive painters on the Coast.

Frederick Wight, in seeking to point up the import­ance in the Bay Area of the presence, during the forties, of Mark Rothko and Clyfford Still, borrowed from the San Francisco Museum of Art, Still’s Self Portrait of 1945. It is one of what had been four key early works of important contemporary Americans owned by the museum. The other three are Pollock’s Guardians of the Secret, 1943, Gorky’s Enigmatic Combat, of 1936 and Mark Rothko’s Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea. He would not, however, have been able to borrow the Rothko (he took, instead, the remarkably beautiful early watercolor, Geologic Re­view of 1946 belonging to the Los Angeles County Museum) for the simple reason that, for reasons which remain completely obscure, Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea, a particularly unique and beautiful painting, and welded, as it were, to the history of artistic activity in this area, was traded away for a smaller, rather typical and not particularly outstanding work of 1961 in the more familiar late-Rothko style, The value of the earlier painting to the community is shown precisely and exactly in how much Wight could have used it, but only he, and not, evidently, the officials of the San Francisco Museum, has a sense of “The Artist’s Environment: West Coast.” More to the point is Frank Lobdell’s remark on hearing of the exchange: “It is a painting I shall miss.” Whatever the reason––and let us hope it is not the short-sighted notion that the museum had somehow increased the financial value of its collection with the exchange­––the fact remains that the San Francisco Museum has lost the only early Rothko oil owned by any museum in the world, a particularly beautiful one at that, and one that had particular meaning to artists in the Bay Area since the days when Clyfford Still would send his students over to look at it.

Almost all of the work exhibited at the 82nd Annual merits serious attention and discussion. It alone, of all the three exhibitions, presents a body of work which is of generally first-rate quality, unambiguous in its statement and in its over-all image.

Frank Lobdell’s art is curiously parallel at times to that of Asger Jorn, the best painter to emerge from the European Cobra group. Both artists endow their paintings with a private bestiary as well as a hard overall skin of paint produced by longish spells of working. Again, like Jorn, Lobdell can never be pinned down to a serial image; each painting is very unique. He is a tough, enquiring and vital painter whose art has consistently progressed. His over-all skin of paint is presumably a legacy from Clyfford Still; it stylis­tically joins together the works of Hatofsky, Jefferson, Yarowski, Downs, Wiley and Joan Brown. As a formal device for uniting the surface of the picture plane in shallow space it is a distinct mark of Bay Area paint­ing. Implicit in this thick skin of hard and long­-worked paint is a saturnine morality, an avoidance of all that is considered modish or flashy or that may come easily, as well as an implied rejection of suc­cessful big city art such as that of de Kooning, Motherwell, Kline and Newman. In response to this attitude many of these painters seemed to have searched for a more pastoral and American source for their inspiration. Certain images of Arthur Dove, for example, who was shown in the area several years ago, haunt their work. Both Julius Hatofsky and Jack Jefferson emerge from this group as fine painters, but William Wiley's work, shifting from his earlier irrever­ent, topical and witty paintings contrasting the white ground against thick and thinly painted areas now appears overpainted, suffused and artificial.

Lobdell has a considerable influence in the Bay Area, surprisingly as much on the young sculptors as on the painters. These young sculptors, Hudson, Geis and Jacobsen manipulate their forms using the hints of bestiary to enrich their sense of form invention. This clearly distinguishes their work from the sculp­tors centered around the considerable influence of Wilfrid Zogbaum and Sydney Gordin who maintain a strictly abstract image (as can be seen in the very excellent works of Charles Ross).

Another sculpture movement, one that is general to both northern and southern California is the group of sculptors centered around John Mason and Peter Voulkos. (Mason’s work is shown in depth in the Pacific Invitational; there is little doubt that he is one of the finest and most gifted sculptors on the coast. Working only in fired clay, he has an enormous range of inventiveness.) Voulkos, better known for his influence as a teacher, has for some time been shifting out of clay into cast bronze. To date his performance in his new works has been somewhat indifferent, but the large bronze and timber Honk is certainly one of the finest pieces in the Annual and firmly re-es­tablishes his reputation. Frimkiss, de Staebler and Melchert, all originally clay sculptors, are emerging as highly inventive sculptors in metal and mixed media. Frimkiss’ Hooker, a piece of sculpture in the form of an inhabited bronze and partly painted tele­vision set shows the range of inventiveness and origi­nality for which these sculptors are rapidly becoming known.

Richard Diebenkorn’s Eve with a Mirror is veiled with indecision. His best figurative work seems strongly connected in organization and handling to his earlier powerful abstract expressionist paintings of 1952 and 1953. In this latest painting he seems to have totally abandoned his high reservoir of accumulated means and to have turned to Matisse for inspiration. But Matisse’s art was always full of the most brilliant verve, charm and voluptuousness; in contrast, Dieben­korn is so dull and insipid, one almost suspects a total collapse of his art.

Hassel Smith’s The All-American Girl had been worked on over the last two years before he left for Europe, (along with a group of figurative paintings including a Rape of Lucrece after Titian, which were done between his more typical abstract paint­ings). It is the finest figurative painting in the exhibi­tion and owes much to Manet, especially in the painting of the head. Again, Smith’s zooming line and light, thin, sensuous planes of paint fuse into an exciting image. Joan Brown is another fine figurative painter. Her work is punchy and racy and brims over with a savage vitality and knowhow for one so young.

Not all of the work in the 82nd Annual is good, but how much worse it would have been had some of the artists in the other exhibitions been included! Hap­pily missing are Jack Zajac and Rico Lebrun, probably the worst sculptor and painter set in California. We are also spared Geoffrey Bowman and the oils of John Paul Jones, the bad sculpture of Manuel Izquierdo, and the unoriginal assemblages of John Baxter, whose found objects always give the impression of having looked better before he assembled them. (The Span­iard, Angel Ferrant, did better work of this sort fifteen years ago.) The younger artists in the Annual are never this bad, but they do have deficiencies, and most of these are the standard deficiencies of youth. Bruce Breckenridge owes too much to Michael Goldberg, Robert Loberg in his latest work to Alan Davies, and Julius Wasserstein, to date the Bay Area’s local Schneider, simplifies his forms into a more coherent surface and image. Sam Tchakalian, who pugnaciously verbalizes a program of “dumbness” certainly proves his point with his pepped-up and slick versions of ideas that were kicking around the Bay Area twenty years ago.

Strikingly interesting, however, are the highly origi­nal constructions of Matt Glavin; his forms are most inventive, and it is a pity that he feels moved to obscure them with a hideous coat of glazed paint, pre­sumably to make them look more like “art.” Manuel Neri’s use of silver paint on his two plaster figures, on the other hand, creates a curiously ambiguous sur­face; he is a very original sculptor.

Lastly, let us hope the day is approaching when Harold Paris will give to his art the care he lavishes on his titles. His latest atrocity in that line is Portrait of Doctor Gachet, After Vincent van Gogh (to Herschel Chipp), pointlessly misleading viewers into a frame of reference that has no connection whatsoever.

––John Coplans




1. The Pacific Coast Invitational, an exhibition of work by five artists from Washington chosen by Dr. Richard E. Fuller, and Edward B. Thomas, Director and Assistant Director of the Seattle Art Museum; four artists from Oregon chosen by Dr. Francis J. Newton and Rachel Griffin, Director and Curator of the Portland Art Museum; six artists from northern Cali­fornia, chosen by George D. Culler and John Humphrey, Director and Curator of the San Francisco Museum of Art; and nine artists from southern California chosen by Curt Opliger, Art Coordinator for the Department of Municipal Art, Los Angeles, James H. Elliot, Chief Curator of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and Gerald Nordland, Dean of Faculty, Chouinard Art Institute. Presented at the San Francisco Museum of Art, March 8 to April 7.

“The Artist’s Environment: West Coast,” organized and catalogued by Frederick S. Wight, Director of the UCLA Art Galleries, for the Amon Carter Museum of Western Art, Fort Worth, Texas, an exhibition of work by 49 West Coast artists. Presented at the Oakland Art Museum March 16 to April 14.

The 82nd Annual of the San Francisco Art Institute, an exhibition of work by 108 artists, 34 of whom, including the jury, were admitted jury-free. The rest were juried by Jeremy Anderson, sculptor, Joel Barletta, painter, Dennis Beall, printmaker, Roy de Forest, painter, Frank Lobdell, painter, Nathan Oliveira, painter and printmaker, Nell Sinton, painter, Peter Voulkos, sculptor, Julius Wasserstein, painter, and Wilfrid Zogbaum sculptor. Presented at the San Francisco Museum of Art, March 21 to April 21.

2. The twenty-four invited artists were: Arlo Acton, Elmer Bischoff, Joan Brown. Bruce Conner, Jay de Feo, Stephen de Staebler, Richard Diebenkorn, James Dixon, Julius Hatof­sky, Robert Howard, Jack Jefferson, Alvin Light, Seymour Locks, George Miyasaki, Manuel Neri, Harold Paris, Deborah Remington, Felix Ruvolo, David Simpson, Hassel Smith, Fran­cois Stahly, James Suzuki, James Weeks and William Wiley.