Fortunately Richard Whorf, prominent in motion pictures, has taken the trouble to qualify himself as an amateur; it would be unfair to see his work in other terms. But showing in a commercial gallery, and, to judge by the little red stars, selling like hot cakes, his work bids to be taken seriously, although it doesn’t measure up to serious standards. Painfully derivative (Hopper, Wyeth), they reflect a nostalgia for the finite. Paul Jasmin takes an almost obsessive delight in patterns (checked, flowered cloth) and flat draped folds. He makes no attempt at modeling the figures; they are reduced to flat shapes of intricately patterned color—a cross between a Japanese print and a paper-doll. And the dolls, who are uniformly grey, have frozen, half-embarrassed, ridiculous smiles, mouth half-open, teeth carefully revealed. They are ludicrous—which is the whole point.

—Joan Hugo