A di­verting show of the gallery stable’s paintings and sculptures which range from the historically respectable to the inconsequential. The former include Feitelson and Lundeberg (a tiny, mar­velous “Dark Sea”), Burkhardt (in a new direction, loosening Gorky’s shapes with Yunkers’ bruised color), and Schwaderer (as primitive as ever). Block’s encaustic-­like, bleached intimism and Bosworth’s accidental, oriental air-views are curious, individual and memorable, but probably (along with Frame) caught in a cul-de-sac. In a preview of Goedike’s one-man show we find he has moved the models abandoned by Roger Kuntz outdoors and glazed them with “come to California” Technicolor.

The remainder, the sculptors, have a more difficult time. Lazarevich’s ready­made ruins are an antiquarian’s nostal­gia for instant monumentality. The junk people of Kussoy, the constructions of Zimmerman, and Kestenbaum’s figures vary between the cute, the harmless, and the plainly annoying.

—Fidel A. Danieli