new-york

Ronald Bladen, Robert Hudson, Jim Dine, and Allan Hacklin

Fischbach Gallery, Frumkin Gallery, Sonnabend Gallery, and Parsons Gallery

I must admit my reaction to ROBERT HUDSON’s recent sculpture at the Allan Frumkin Gallery was one of visual confusion linked with a sense of aggressive, almost nasty tastelessness. The works in this show—with the exception of one piece, Whip—evaded orderly experience. It was as if Hudson were playing a medley of hit tunes with humor and style, but stopping each melody and going on to the next just short of your recognition of what he was playing.

No artist has to be consistent, but the variety of materials and manners in these pieces was overwhelming. Steel, polyvinyl, wood, concrete, clay . . . ; machine-like minimal, Caro, funk . . . The agglomerations of fantastic shapes in his earlier work were even more complicated, as was the color; but no one expected coherence from their antic whimsey. Now that he is simplifying his work, shapes count more. Component parts are fewer and therefore

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