PRINT November 1986


FOR QUITE A LONG TIME it seemed as though it were nearly impossible to look closely at a Calder, never mind see one. A Calder, whether standing still and stopping traffic or looping around in some institutional daylight, had become just that, “a Calder” and the artist himself had become Our Calder of the red and black mobiles, an official greeter to visitors of cities, museums, and corporate headquarters, ultimate pavilion man in a world with a better tomorrow. Calders might have been just the things to soothe community boards, chief executive officers, acculturating urbanites, and, of course, his many true believers, but to just about anyone in the thick of what had been going on in art since the late ’60s they had become worse than passé, being both irrelevant and very, very nice. It is odd, then, that right now, in what is rarely described as a liberal moment or a particularly nice one,

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