Artists such as Albers, Goodnough, Higgins, Yves Klein, Raymond Parker, Rauschenberg, Reinhardt, Rivers, Rothko and Tinguely are included. Of these, I can write enthusiastically of the Rothko, Untitled 1959 which is one of his rare watercolors painted during that year. In it, meaningful scale is sacrificed to color intensity (wide scarlet area, over narrow green-white band, over in-between-width deep yellow; all against a medium yellow ground.) Thus, it is true to the medium and retains a rich glow. The Reinhardt, Untitled 1954–58, is of the deep velvet variety where the cross image is intentionally

Lynn Foulkes is an image conjurer of the first magnitude and any tribe in need of strong magic would do well to sign him up immediately. His ability to generate an image of gripping and macabre power in terms of painting alone would seem to make the more “assembled” aspects of Dada unnecessary. Certainly non-painting devices are important here, but when objects project beyond the point of tension and the flat surface breaks, the works become “combines,” and lose some of their bite. Foulkes doesn’t need to attach possums or smashed heads to gain presence for his statements: they do their work

It becomes increasingly more obvious that it is possible for almost anyone to produce a catalog listing training, exhibits, awards and collections which is impressive, but meaningless. This wife and husband team present prosaic abstractions of nature’s form. Hers are unrelated combinations of heavily textured under-painting with nasty, thin washes over the top; his are mainly drawings. A serious re-evaluation is in order.

—Henry T. Hopkins

A series of thin, eclectic oils and a series of craftsmanly, eclectic metal constructions sit rather handsomely, proclaiming their diverse parentage. The paintings, with a chalky Rothko glow, have a clean brilliance that, while toothsome, hasn’t much to do with the compositional structure. Of the lot, Mayan Festival seems less a victim of color schemery and more integrated as a painting. The metal sculpture is brass bright and is put together in a Bertoia-cum-Lassaw way. First Dynasty having more mass against which the openwork can function, seems less contrived but not strikingly more inventive.

A series of drawings, pastels, and paintings dealing with gardens, children, and a nude––the painter is probably sincere, but not ready to exhibit. The work is openly derivative and of student quality. The dealer is largely to blame for this lapse of responsibility.

—Henry T. Hopkins

Meeker is essentially a “modern-art” illustrator with an almost unseemly skill in the various tricks and dodges of the intaglio medium. His choice of motifs (Daedalus, Icarus, Genghis Khan) are already dressed in art-type paraphernalia and can be surefire when soft-grounded and aquatinted into a pretty surface. His excursions into Real Nature use the Mandrill and other noble species.

—Doug McClellan

An impressive group show made up of works by artists in the gallery’s stable who have won prizes and mentions of one sort or another all over the country. Participating are Max Bailey, Donald Schweikert, Frederick Hammersley, Ruth Rossman, Meredith Olson, James Hueter, Ernest Lacy, and Charlotte Sherman. Far and away the best pictures are contributions by Bailey and Hammersley, both of whom are stylists in the grand sense of the word, and among the most maturely developed and gifted artists on the West Coast.

—Arthur Secunda

Constructions, paintings, woodblock prints and sculpture. How is it possible for one person to work effectively in so many media at the same time? Its not. It is admirable to bite off more than you can chew only when there is a chance, after a great struggle, that you can finally digest it and receive nourishment from it. Here there are neither signs of struggle or nourishing after-effect.

—Henry T. Hopkins

The young Giovanni de Angelis is a sculptor but it is his ink and wash drawings that share exhibition space with Matt Kahn at the Raymond Burr Gallery. De Angelis, now twenty-four, has technical assurance. Coming from the island of Ischia, he borrows heavily from his Italian compatriot, Marino Marini, but even more heavily from Matisse. At least it is a rhythmic formalism that de Angelis uses to transform the lonely and desperate dancers and cavaliers of Marini into hedonistic images, relieves of their existential anxiety. Matt Kahn from Stanford is more closely related to the 19th century French

Competent, sometimes sensitive, occasionally penetrating portraits executed in pen, brush, ink and wash, of well known theatrical and literary personalities, are of only casual interest artistically. From a documentary point of view, however, Bachardy does manage to freeze personalities like Stravinsky and Dorothy Parker in off-guard moments in such a manner as to arouse uncommon interest. Bachardy’s most precious weapon, his line, is too often affected, though he shows unusual skill in capturing a resemblance and in rendering the essence of simplified forms.

—Arthur Secunda

Eighty-five works, purchase awards from the eight large extravaganzas held at Barnsdall Park, are on exhibit as a compressed view of the taste of twenty-four separate jurors over a ten year period. In total impact the show has somewhat the same humbling effect as looking through old art magazines. It is uneven, many things which were a la mode are already dated because la mode has changed (nothing looks more outdated than the recently fashionable), and the various juries could hardly be expected to pick for posterity when wading through such a sprawl of work. Such exhibits do provide a useful

Clarence Hinkle (1880–1960) was a vigorous, honest, unpretentious painter who painted all his life, seriously and daily. He was a regional painter, a California painter in the best sense of the word, but in no way provincial. His brush was limber, his world expansive, and his paint rich, generous and controlled. There was no confusion in Hinkle’s mind as to the excitement or demand of his world of art; he was a thorough investigator, and a scientifically devoted scholar. His pictorial statements are beautifully constructed and purposeful. The moods of the paintings range from the tender Along

At thirty-one Zammitt has his first one man exhibition. Last year he was producing rather small collages which combined an active calligraphy with sensitive placement of bright colored chips against a mahogany lacquer ground. Here he shows intellectualized works where human beings have been neatly chopped into sense sensitive parts (the rest discarded) which are tucked into transparent cubes and stacked in her maphroditic architectures. These anatomical tid-bits are hairless and do not bleed, which imparts a feeling of clinical cold storage. The father images are Bacon, Magritte, and Dr.

This self-taught Japanese master works in the great tradition of Japanese print-makers. The technical skill of his poetic and exquisite prints is faultless and polished. At times his designs are involved and delicate, at other times they are clean and understated. His Anemones and Hydrangeas I are intricate gems made up of lyrical tender lines and subtle colors, while Flatfish, is pure and restrained. Perhaps they are a little too precious, and Fukui becomes overly involved in making beautiful surfaces. They are, nevertheless, superb intimate graphics.

—Harriette von Breton

Large panoramic expanses of desolate, wind-swept landscapes are occasionally populated by a sparse figure in the highly romantic paintings of Okamura. The artist is best when he is most abstract, i.e., most removed from Barbizonesque naturalism. He can wield a skillful brush and swoop a mean series of rococo curves when he wants to, as in Ryder, Coleridge and Shadows. Here, the texture of his pigment is varied, along with the mood of the form he is describing, and his pearly rendering of flight seems to be a special pictorial device all his own. Too many of the pictures, however, are banal in

In the fall of 1960, Francis Minturn Sedgwick presented to the Art Gallery of the University of California, Santa Barbara, an outstanding collection of twenty European paintings dating from the 15th through the 17th century. The collection was given on the basis of a permanent loan with a certain number of the paintings becoming the property of the University annually. The underlying reason for this generous gift was the donor’s vision of the eventual development of a full scale teaching-museum at the Santa Barbara Campus. As a collection, the Sedgwick paintings have established an ideal of

Although both paint within the broad classification of Romanticism, there is little ground on which the works of Ariel Parkinson and Harry Lieberman may be compared. For the eighty-five year old Lieberman, painting is the renewal of his own spiritual relations to the traditions of the Chassidic Jews of his Polish homeland and his youth. His pictorial tales involve us in the teachings of the rabbis as well as in the stories of the Old Testament. Some are as familiar as Elijah and the Mantle (II Kings, 2). Many are unfamiliar and need translation. All are told with the directness of an honest man

Explosive configurations, organic in their frozen placement, occupy deep space in the large-scale collage-paintings of Robert Loberg. Decorative textural stripes, bars, screens, etc., are torn and collated in such a way as to momentarily disguise their original identities. The feverish high state of emotion that ensues is intense, powerful and dramatic, and if there is a weakness it is in this overstatement, this super-magnification of too much while saying too little. Hence, the poster-like quality of these frenetic statements appears to work better in contexts of poster scale rather than

A darkened room with chairs and an automatic projector provide the setting for a series of colored transparencies of small, chance things captured and made into images by the photographer. Isolated by the darkness, the viewer is tied to a 15 second per slide parade that involves not only the pictures on the screen but the elements of time and sequence. Individually the slides do an artful job of revealing the poetry of discovery afoot in the world of old walls, rusted surfaces and casual arrangements when composed by a selective eye, but they suffer when forced into being a “program.”

—Doug

Surrealism is based upon the dream, the irrational and the fantastic. Nevertheless, the most striking common feature of the artists represented in this modest but significant exhibition, is neo-romanticism. Further, from the vantage point of 1962, the purported literal illogicality of objects represented together in one context no longer appears either as illogical or as important as it must have decades ago. DeChirico’s Il Trovatore is as solid as a Mantegna and as Classic as a David; Picabia’s extraordinarily emotional Personnages could be mistaken for an important pre-World War I Kandinsky;

Coleman’s allegorical figure studies, executed in watercolors, are somewhat reminiscent of Max Weber’s Chassidic paintings (albeit, locked in the cubist architecture of John Marin). The scale is large for the medium, and Coleman’s color is pale, greyish, and tonally chromatic rather than dynamic. His pen and ink drawings fare somewhat better, being less pretentious. If there is an individual stamp in these works, it is in the prismatic form that reflected light takes, while imposing itself onto the more or less naturalistic figures in genre settings. Studio after Dark is among the most successful.

The walls are abloom with cola red delights, bon-bons of the soul abound. The shapes are unshaped by freedom flowing from the heart-they lilt, they squeak, they scamper, and at times they just sit and jiggle. The colors, light as a breath, clear as a whistle, sassy as a jay, and sometimes ripe, roam the walls. The words—psalms and sayings and parts of poems—file through the colored forests, or duck around the corner just in the nick of time, or glide by with a dignity that is unmindful of all the din. Sister Mary Carita has fielded a team of sprites that say words with pictures that pop questions

The very real need to paint as well as assemble is apparent in the work of John Bernhart. He can shape colors, curve and bend the lines in a way impossible with the arbitrarily formed bits and pieces that make up the assemblages. Some of the paintings have a strange “inside-of-a-box, seen from above” quality, with what seems to be well defined bottoms and sides. Others are energetic, even violent. Life and Death in Indianapolis is an ambitious painting in sections; elements swirl in and out of focus, dominated by a skull in majesty. The tensions of orange and gray are here exploited, as in

It is a genuine relief these days to experience a private collection which is not based upon national or international “name brands.” A native of Santa Barbara, Richard Ames is an individual who has purposely sought out the painters and sculptors of his own area, and it is these works which form the basis of his rather extensive collection. One’s overall impression is that Ames has not only been able to actively encourage the artists of his community, but that he has been remarkably perceptive in his selection, for, on the whole, the artists are represented by some of their most impressive works.

Los Angeles galleries often perform important services for the art community; this is one of them. Nebel was born in Berlin in 1892 and now lives in Switzerland. He worked with Kandinsky after World War II, was closely associated with Paul Klee and Kurt Schwitters, and was a member of “Der Sturm.” Though he may have been an innovator early in the century, the works shown here (all done after 1940) imply that he is an interesting composite of the three artists mentioned above. The small oils, gouaches, and still smaller collages are similar in style, playing light-hearted, linear shapes against

This Is a Eulogy. Albers, since the thirties, has used a square format within which he places a series of smaller squares of different hue, superimposed, the smaller over the larger. The result is geometric harmony which is spatially activated by the intellectual-emotional push and pull of selected colors. This Is a Eulogy. Fortunately, familiarity has bred awareness and the objective and subjective blend into a near-intuitive act where the color pours through like a ray, plumbing uncharted spiritual depths; and all is contained in a structure as timeless as the primitive monumentality of the

The consistent high caliber of work that marked the first multiple print exhibition of the Print Council of America three years ago is maintained in this, its second effort. The careful consideration given to the selection of works led the Print Council to abandon its earlier plan for a proportioned geographical representation of artists in favor of one based purely on excellence. The fifty-five prints, representing forty-eight artists, allow for a comparative study of printmaking today. The experimental fervor that characterized the beginnings of a kind of renaissance in printmaking a few years

This is a traveling exhibition of eleven painters sponsored by the Institute of Contemporary Art of Boston, and Time, Inc., and was organized by Thomas M. Messer, then Director of the Institute, and present director of the Guggenheim Museum in New York. As Messer points out in the accompanying catalog, any attempt to objectively sum up in a single exhibit the paintings of such an extensive region as Latin America is an impossibility; therefore one must regard the selection as a highly personal one. Taken in its totality Messer’s choice reveals his perceptive catholicity of taste, his sophisticated

What at first seems to be a temptingly revealing sort of exhibition, judging from the title and some of the names on the roster (Armitage, Arp, Baskin, Bertoia, Calder, DeCreeft, Ferber, Gabo, Giacometti, Hadzi, Hepworth, Lassaw, Lipchitz, Marini, Mirko, Moore, Nevelson, Roszak, Smith, Turnbull, Zorach and others), turns out to be a rather fuzzy, incoherent and inarticulate exhibition of disappointingly average quality. More than half of its over 75 drawings appear to be token acknowledgments rather than dynamic statements of high caliber or even of technical “working-drawing” interest. What is

It seems to be part of a recent pattern for the Pasadena Art Museum to have as many as eight separate offerings in their modest quarters. This solution seems an admirable one for a small museum: it changes pace from the fuller shows, and allows for some imaginative gallerymanship. Two tasteful selective rooms, both part of the museum’s continuing program in contemporary art, are examples of how much can be conveyed by quality and installation.

The sculpture exhibit seems to be excellent proof that less is more. It consists of small works by Arp, Giacometti, Lipchitz, Kolbe, Ernst, Moore, Picasso,