Richard Serra, who once was credited with having gotten Andre “up off the floor,” may now be decorated for hoisting him as high as the ceiling. In an important new installation entitled Delineator, Serra invigorates the slightly tired issues of ground sculpture by adding to them the fillip of ceiling esthetics. Coincidentally, he takes ’70s sculpture one more step along the usurper’s path, encroaching still another inch on what Focillon called the “fundamental privilege” of architecture—its prerogative, that is, to dominate a real space “not only as a mass, but as a mold.” Furthermore, Delineator

All jostle and rip, Karen Carson’s new collages seem lashed into shape by an inarticulate ferocity. Unlike her earlier fetishistic drawings of tortured beds, the current large-scale works are abstract. Yet they exhibit the same aggressive instinct for demolition that characterizes the drawings, and they are based on the same fierce premises: that form has vitality only when it is fragmented, assaulted, and flayed; that distraction of the eye of the beholder is a desirable goal; and that an artist’s job of work is in the end a binder’s craft, a gathering up and a welding together of the agitated

At first glance, Ann McCoy’s gossamer visions of underwater scenery suggest the artist as a maker of metaphors, a sea-dreamer musing on pearls and eyes and finny droves of the whale-road, rather than a scientist of the deep, some Beebe in a bathysphere. McCoy has described her drawings as “outer landscapes . . . seen through the eyes of an inner part of one’s being.” Along with Jungians and some Surrealists, she perceives affinities between the ocean depths, the nocturnal world of dreams, and the dark abyss of the human unconscious. Her titles—e.g. Le Pays des Rêves, Dream Reef, Nuit de Feu/The