This show seems to be a more or less haphazard selection from works on hand. It contains uncharacteristic older pieces by well-known names (i.e. Hans Hofmann’s Provincetown), works old and newer by other well-known artists which are absolutely characteristic either of a total career or of an important phase of it (Pierre Soulages, Mark Tobey, Morris Graves, Marino Marini, Lyonel Feininger, Sam Francis, Marsden Hartley) and an indifferent range of works by local artists whose presence can only be explained on the basis of parochial loyalty. In this category (featherbedding) one might mention the mindless, tactiley boring animadversions of Keith Finch or the eye-wearying productions of James Weeks or Paul Wonner as salient examples. And then, out of all this mixture of the excellent and the indifferent two works really sing out: Milton Avery’s Visitor, painterly and subtle, and Achille Perilli’s La Transmutations des Amants, akimbo with a choreographic wit and an exact sense of placement.

Earlier in the summer the gallery showed Robert Goodnough. Pleasant summer fare by an artist with a curious but not probing approach to the experience of painting. Goodnough, at least up until now, is an example of that particular mixture of temperament and act which leads a man to make and do within perimeters determined by others. It’s a relaxing scene, one in which arrogance has no place and wildness no function. One is reminded of the criticism of the novels of Howells, that none of the heroines had bodies and none of the heroes seemed to notice the lack.

—John Reuschel