There are now about 50 videotapes in the Kate Horsfield/Lyn Blumenthal Interview Series. Several are particularly interesting, because the personality of the subject and the ideas expressed in the dialogue are reinforced by the edited videoimage. During the actual interview, Horsfield questions the subject and Blumenthal operates two cameras, taking images from the subject and from a monitor in the room, so that the final tapes are presented with a tacit, “What you see here is the individual’s true personality.”

The Jan Hashey tape is a good example. Hashey discusses static photographs in comparison

“Words at Liberty,” an exhibition of 73 works on paper, demonstrates that for more than half a century visual artists have tried to reorient language for purposes of self-expression. Much of this work is impelled by the artist’s sense that language has often been devalued to the point of meaninglessness. It is therefore ironic that this exhibition is organized into “overlapping non-chronological categories” which are unintelligible, inadequate, misapplied, domineering, and/or confused.

For example, “words . . . that dominate the picture plane . . . and . . . become presences that revoke linguistic

From a punchout stencil, Roland Ginzel selects crescents, rectangles, triangles, and squares, places them upon a canvas, and paints them in. Each shape is set down on a relatively monochromatic field and the resulting paintings have interest beyond their individual success because each composition shows the same shapes in new relationships. To my knowledge, Ginzel has never exhibited the stencils themselves—enormous, handmade creations raised or lowered by a ceiling pulley—but they are valuable indications of the vocabulary from which he picks his combinations. The finished painted shapes

Elizabeth Boettger makes photographs of light. She opens a camera lens anywhere from eight seconds to ten minutes and; within its range, “draws” in the air with penlights, highway flares, or a chemical mixture of her own concoction. The most impressive body of these photographs was taken in an alley in a Chicago slum. Garbage cans, telephone poles, newspaper piles, and brick façades are a dark, brutal, actual-life setting for her uncontained, scarlet-red light. It dances alongside graffiti-covered walls and blazes up and down the alley’s long black path. Boettger herself appears in several places

Nancy Davidson tapes off a randomly selected area of wooden floor, covers it with a paper strip, and makes a transfer rubbing of the wood-grain to the strip. Depending upon the number of strips she needs for a piece, she may rub the same floor area as many as 40 or 50 times. The clarity or smudginess of the transferred wood-grain reveals accidents of the rubbing process: pressure of the hand, position of the body, or level of fatigue. She then tapes the finished strips on the wall in various arrangements.

Though scaled to exhibition-site dimensions, the strips are premade at the studio. They line