SYLVIA STONE’s reliefs made me “turn upon myself” and look again. At first they appear cooly aware, smart in the sense of stylish. Made of plexiglass planes and bits of metal, they are lean and elusive—reliefs that know how to look . . . like “the latest” in reliefs. They know how to talk, too: they refer to Stella’s relief “paintings,” cite Morris’ mirror works, and converse generally on Constructivist relief. That is, Stone makes the important references at a glance (as far as pedigree and peers go) but summarizes, paraphrases—reviewing, rather than revising. I thought Stone recouped relief

In an early written work, MARTINE ABALLEA described a solitary winter holiday at a seaside hotel. The protagonist, excluded from village life and disoriented by the overpowering natural landscape, goes through the motions of civilized life with increasing detachment. She begins to succumb to paralyzing attacks of dissociation, which she barely manages to control by covering. her head with a green silk scarf. The green light filtering through the cloth, which seems to represent conquered, manageable nature, restores her to her precarious self.

In her most recent piece, an installation entitled