Spring 1962 fills the eyes and thoughts of Dallas’ art public—almost feverishly so—with the visual expressions of our time, and almost up to the minute in some instances, like it or no. Battle lines between “traditional” and “contemporary” are visible still, but almost daily edges of demarcation and definition blur as the one imperceptibly slips into the category of yesterdays but on which all tomorrows to come must build.

If tempers still shorten in each camp when one or the other intrudes too far in either direction, the area of at least partial understanding lengthens its dispassionate shade.