This first West Coast exhibition of William Merritt Chase has been organized for the UCSB Art Gallery under the direction of Mrs. Ala Story as Staff Specialist, working with Dr. David Gebhard, Gallery Director. It opens on October 6th.

Mrs. Story, formerly Director of the Santa Barbara Art Museum has assembled a remarkable group of 46 Chase paintings from across the U.S.A. Many of Chase’s finest works are in the show, which is exciting, colorful and filled with the flavor of an affirmative joyous celebration of American life that manifested itself during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

It has been noted—not without considerable misgivings—that the Art Center at La Jolla has ceased to function as such, closed its school and changed its title to the La Jolla Museum of Art. The decision to change and extend the scope of this institution is far more complex than the trustees may have realized, especially at this moment when the resources of the region are being strained to the utmost to provide not only new buildings and equipment, but also primary collections of a reasonable standard for the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and the Pasadena Art Museum. What appears to have been

Kienholz continues to construct his commentary on the nature of love in our time. You’d have thought the “Illegal Operation” sufficient to give his protagonists pause. But now they’re sprawled through heaven and hell and the space in between and Kienholz’ mixture of hardnose and elegance singles them out, unforgettably, being born, loving in a car, or lying side by side having brightly lit thoughts of each other (because they’re plugged into the same outlet). These works are truly delightful in a nerve-wracking sort of way, and Kienholz’s control of a tremendous vocabulary of beat-up cars,

The opportunity to become better acquainted with such a superb collection of modern French masters, German Expressionists and well-known contemporary American artists has seldom been offered to gallery viewers. Covering a range of schools and artists too vast to be mounted in a single presentation, this exhibition is planned as a rotating one and points up the Gallery’s pristine reputation as one of the Southland’s most ethical and conservative of art dealerships throughout the years.

Many major works by August Macke are included in this exhibit program—with his oil painting Native Sea Fight, in

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

The paintings, assemblages, stained glass window, and flags of CPLY are a mixed bag of dedicated dilettantism, a body of humor most often aimed at a purely literary or private level. Copley, writer, collector, and patron, avoids pretense profundity through the ploy “wit as art,” disclaiming ambition and putting off critical appraisal. As Man Ray has stated, in Europe visual puns are accepted, while here they are snickered at. For soon the humor and innocence evaporate before the strident struggles of his naive style.

Clarity and discontinuous decoration are compounded of bruised or muddied colors,

Rickey’s kinetic sculptures are additive linear or planal devices which trace wind-driven movements in space. “Driven,” though, is too forceful a term to describe the caressing energy to which these ingratiating blades and vanes respond. Most, light in gauge and tenderly balanced, achieve a delicate elegance. The faint tendency toward fragile superficiality is confirmed in the full-blown jeweler’s preciosity of four “Fleurs de rocaille.” Clusters of tiny paddle wheels are weighted down by glittering crystals, and only here Rickey became the victim of his good taste.

Going beyond Calder’s primitive

The day following the opening of the Connor Everts exhibition of paintings, drawings and prints, “Studies in Desperation,” the Zora Gallery was visited by five law enforcement officers who requested the removal of three “offensive” works in the window, and thirteen others on view in the gallery. This action was prompted by a so-called “deluge of protests received at headquarters.” The gallery complied but later, after consultation with attorneys, the pictures were restored to the walls but only after issuing a bulletin to the invaders that this was going to be done. The gallery was in turn warned

This is Moon’s second one-man show this year—the first was held in March at the Palace of the Legion of Honor, San Francisco, where he also exhibited in the 1961 winter and the 1963 Contemporary West Coast invitationals.

A painterly painter, Moon has been developing his personal idiom for 25 years—although he made no attempt until comparatively recently to enter the highly competitive exhibition scene.

An action painter in method, his abstractions show unusual discipline plus strong emotional impact. The thematic compositions are held in quiet areas of tones by broad, forceful strokes, much as

Nothing delights the man on the street quite so much as being witness to dissension between the high and the mighty even though it might involve their own personal security. Public interest in the presentation of the Vernon Mona Lisa at the Otis Art Institute was assured before the doors opened, for this painting, while not on public view for over four and a half centuries, has been the’ subject of much international debate, recently rekindled when Life magazine featured a story about its imminent public exposure in Los Angeles.

Officials connected with the institution were quick to establish

As is the tendency in summer reruns of a gallery’s stable, very often the lesser publicized members come off surprisingly well. Electric by Ruscha is the Pop selection. Derived ultimately from Johns in the redundant collision of typography selection, blended and flat illusionistic color, and direct placement, it glows with matter of fact obstinance.

Craig Kauffman’s mechano-organic constellations almost demand the third dimension of relief or sculpture. Having floated his shapes upon clear plexiglass they even now carry about a cast shadow. Corporeal reality may too suggest itself as the flanking

Titled “6 Painters of the Rear Guard,” whatever that is supposed to mean—with poster notations such as “a return to perspective,” this strange potpourri of large canvases seems a shocking waste of energy and materials. In Los Beetles,  by Roberto Chavez, the over publicized slight figures are somewhat recognizable, with the exception of the introduction of liverish complexions and static postures. Looking like they were waiting for a family portrait to be taken, one sports a button: “Take a Dwarf to Lunch.”

Comanche Pick Up, and Return of the Hero, by Lance Richbourg might prove fun in a tasteless

Impressive sales records notwithstanding, the oil and watercolor sketches by Oregon-born Beverly Green demonstrate only the most familiar kind of abstract expressionism. Though she manages to introduce a pronounced awareness of color harmonics, this welcome aspect is belittled by a limited inventory of forms which she has seen fit to borrow from the flora of both sea and land. The interpretations, or “essences” as she prefers to call them, are each refined to the same degree of concentration, and in so doing all individuality of the originals has evaporated, leaving routine expressions with only

Shows a cross-section of painting and sculpture trends with several good examples of Ralph Tarzian’s attenuated bronze figures, which are his usual fare, both elegant and finely crafted.

Ray Friesz, Margaret Hehman, Lee Hill, Matosian and Harold Frank are included in the painter’s section, but due perhaps to late summer doldrums, which seem to afflict most galleries, the overall effect is neither negative or positive and certainly not exciting. Ray Friesz’ acrylic and oil painting, Reeds,  is by far the best in this exhibit, though strongly related to Walter Snelgrove.

One has the feeling that