ARTFORUM ’62–’79

The Page Was My Party

ONCE A PERSON, or a public institution, has reached a certain age, retrospection, if not necessarily called for, is not out of order. The 30th anniversary of Artforum strikes me as such a moment, especially as my connection to the magazine—from hands on to mote in the corner of the eye—corresponds to nearly half my life.

To make a broad overstatement, the style—to use the dreaded s word—peculiar to the art of my time at Artforum was informed by the insurgencies of the day (the Peace Movement, Black Pride, the Women’s Movement, Gay Liberation), several of which, needless to say, continue in altered form. By the mid ’70s this loamy nutrient was transformed into all-purpose pluralism. There followed a reactive expressionist revival, pocked by the rancor of European artists reluctant to spout American lingo a moment longer, who turned their gaze upon expressionisms and realisms quashed during

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