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1EMORIAL ART MUS BULLETIN OBERLIN COLLEGE SPRING IS

ALLEN MEMORIAL ART MUSEUM BULLETIN

VOLUME >CXVIlX NUMBER 3 SPRING 1970

Contents

Preface 106

Reflections on the Work of Charles Close, Ron Cooper, Neil Jenney and Other Contemporary Art

by Athena T. Spear . . . . . 108

Three Young Americans: Catalogue . . . 135

Art in the Mind ...... 138

Notes Sam Gilliam — Artist in Residence . . . 141 Oberlin Friends of Art . . . . 142

Accessions ...... 143

Published three times a year hy the Department of Art of Oherlin College, Oberlin, Ohio. $6.00 a year, this issue $2.00; mailed free to members of the Oberlin Friends of Art. Printed by the Press of the Times, Oberlin, Ohio. Prefcace

Organizing again the biennial exhibition of "Three Young Ameri­ cans," now an established tradition in this museum for two decades, compels one to reappraise its validity. Initiated at a time of intense quest for new talents and eagerness of the public to be informed on the latest developments of contemporary art, this exhibition did partly intend to present promising young artists. Succeeding occasionally in the fifties (Ray Parker was shown in 1951, Diebcnkorn in 1955 and Frank Stella in 1959), in the sixties it included almost exclusively names still actively present on the art scene. While a few of the artists were already well-known when exhibited at Oberlin (Joan Mitchell and Rob­ ert Rauschenberg in 1963), the rest of them were at the beginning of their careers: John Chamberlain, James Wines and Tom Doyle in 1961; Claes Oldenburg in 1963; Larry Poons, Neil Williams and Charles Hin- man in 1965; Bruce Nauman, Alan Saret and Jack Krueger in 1968. However, the search for new talents has lately become so acute that some of the artists, relatively unknown when selected for our ex­ hibition (months or often a year in advance), have become greatly sought after by the time they are shown at Oberlin. For a number of the young artists, still at an early stage of their development, this constant strain is too overpowering and they soon become exhausted. As Robert Morris pointed out in a recent article: "At the present time, the culture is en­ gaged in the hostile and deadly act of immediate acceptance of all new perceptual art moves, absorbing through institutionalized recognition every art act."1 Unfortunately, in a democratic and overpopulated so­ ciety where more and more people become interested in art, this situation is inevitable. And in the technological civilization of today which de­ velops with increasing speed, attitudes and consequently art movements change rapidly. Objective as one may wish to be in his judgment, one also has to be alert and involved, in order to keep understanding the problems and interests of new generations. The main purpose of "Three Young Americans" is to show to Oberlin students, who live far away from the great artistic centers, the most important currents of today's art as represented by a few individuals of quality. In addition to helping our students understand an aspect of their world, the museum also wishes to encourage young artists by offering them a small step on their way to general recognition. At times

106 we choose to show three artists representing the same prevalent move­ ment. In other instances (like this year), it seems preferable to select individuals whose work is directed towards totally opposite poles. Three men is a small number, limited by our space and means; two years is a long time in contemporary development. Hard as one may try, one can never offer a coherent history of contemporary art in small biennial exhibitions. The only thing one can hope for is to exhibit stimulating works of art, and to attempt to interpret them within a larger context.2 A.T.S.

1 R. Morris, "Notes on Sculpture, Part 4: Beyond Objects," Artforum, VII, 8, April 1969, p. 54. 2 I should like to express my deep gratitude to Professor Ellen H. Johnson who generously discussed with me numerous issues concerning this exhibition.

107 Reflections on the Work of Charles Close, Ron Cooper, Neil Jenney and Other Contemporary Art

Two or three years ago, even the most perceptive and informed ob­ server of contemporary art could not have predicted the present situation of the art scene. In painting (with the exception of a few individualists like Larry Poons), the minimal and systemic modes, both predominantly "hard-edge," led one to believe that canvases would soon be designed by the artist and executed industrially (as minimal sculpture already was). Shaped canvases, more and more three-dimensional and object­ like, were leading painting towards relief. In sculpture, the situation was decidedly more lively and innovative. While the minimal idiom had reached its full expansion, a new, seemingly antithetical formal language — "process" sculpture — was being born. Its main younger pro­ ponents had already reached a personal style by early 1968; but con­ sciousness of a new movement was attained only towards the end of that year, with Robert Morris' exhibition "9 at Castelli" at the gallery's warehouse in northern Manhattan. Conceptual art, initiated early in the century by Marcel Duchamp, had been reappearing since the mid- fifties in some work of Rauschenberg, Johns, Yves Klein, George Brecht and Robert Morris. But although a number of younger artists turned to a conceptual idiom after the mid-sixties, most of the work still retained a more or less pronounced visual aspect. However, the further changes that have occurred in the art scene during the last couple of years are so numerous and drastic that they may well have considerable conse­ quences for the future of art altogether.

Although still more tradition-bound than the other visual arts, paint­ ing has had nonetheless an unexpected renewal in two different direc­ tions. There has been a fresh interest in representational images, with a wave of painters often grouped under the name of "new realists." And on the other hand, there is a larger group of young abstract painters who share a soft, fuzzy imagery, pastel colors and an involvement with new painting techniques. One can no longer say that painting may be exe­ cuted by factories in large editions. The individual's hand is very much present, although often invisible, allowing the material to be the pro­ tagonist.

108 While neither group is a tightly organized movement, "new real­ ism" is by far the looser; there is the greatest variety of intention and quality among its members. Some are older artists faithful to representa­ tion, very few of whom (like Fairfield Porter) have sustained a certain quality and validity. Among the younger artists, again some have adopt­ ed naturalistic imagery out of traditionalism, and few (e.g., Lowell Nes- bitt and Bob Stanley) have managed to make a pertinent statement in the context of contemporary art. Outstanding among the young realists is Charles Close, one of this year's "Three Young Americans." Like a number of other realists, he paints after photographic images, not after real objects; but he uses his images in a totally unprecedented manner. Earlier in his career, Close was disturbed by the fact that the eye can focus on only one object at a time, the surrounding area being al­ ways blurred (peripheral vision). Yet, in painting it is difficult to re­ produce that phenomenon, for every time that the eye moves to a differ­ ent object or area, a new field comes into focus. Capturing an object as the camera sees it with a given diaphragm opening and a defined depth of focus is, so to speak, freezing the eye and being able to im­ mobilize a segment of reality at one moment of vision. The camera, like our eye, translates spatial depth, or rather distances, in varying degrees of focus. The parts that are closer or farther back than the focusing point (or even farther on the sides) are more or less blurred — especially when we photograph, or see, objects nearby. Thus Close has found a precise and in a sense very realistic way of recording space variations on a flat surface. "Suddenly it occurred to me," he said in an interview recently, "that if I was really interested in the problem of focus, the best thing was to work from a photograph where all the information was nailed down and I could focus on blurred as well as sharp information."1 The other problem that puzzled Close as a painter, before he started working from photographs, was how to interpret space in terms of tex­ ture variations or surface incidents. A close-up of a head offers him a great number of differentiated surfaces with details which, if blown up, become irregularities able to create spatial variation. When pimples, skin pores, wrinkles or unshaven beards are magnified tenfold, they do arrest the eye and a face becomes a kind of landscape where one wanders in order to discover its uneven grounds. These preoccupations with spatial interpretation through changes of focus or texture led Close to the choice of subject and size of his paintings. In order for the viewer to be aware of the blurred areas, and

C. Nemser, "An Interview with Chuck Close," Artforum, VIII, 5, Jan. 1970, p. 51.

109 for the surface incidents to become noticeable, there had to be a subject that could be magnified sufficiently within a canvas of a reasonable size. (A nude, for instance, would have necessitated enormous can­ vases.) Blowing up the image of a head to a superhuman scale forces the viewer to look at it piece by piece, area after area. He can, of course, catch the image as a whole from a distance; but the size obliges him to realize that this is not the main objective. As another exploration of the viewing process, Close is planning to make a movie from one of his paintings, scanning the canvas slowly with the camera, a few square inches at a time in horizontal motion from top to bottom. The spectator will then be literally obliged to watch every small section, eventually to guess what he is looking at, and mentally to reconstruct in time the entire image. Actually, the artist himself paints the work piece by piece, care­ fully transferring photographic information from area to area. To fol­ low his method from the beginning, he selects the people whose heads seem suitable for his purposes and directs a photographer how to photo­ graph them. He usually chooses his models from among friends, both because he wants to avoid associations with known personalities, and because he is familiar with his friends' faces and knows their forms in detail. "I'm very interested in a nose as a shape," he said in the same interview. "I'm also interested in its edges and the surface information scattered across it. Nevertheless, no matter how nice the shape or the tone, or how interesting the distribution of its surface information, if it's not like a nose and more specifically a particular person's nose, then it's wrong. That's one of the reasons I paint my friends' faces. They are yardsticks which help me to measure how well my marks read."2 The photographs are frontal views, taken slightly from below with more or less lateral lighting — as objective as a mug shot. Yet Close has to discard a number of the shots that do not satisfy his requirements, or work from two different shots (with different exposure, etc.) for dif­ ferent parts of the face. But once he is satisfied with the photographs, he stays extremely close to them. He first transfers the general drawing onto the canvas by means of a grid. Then he starts painting on an area near the top, so that the dripping of paint below can be covered over later. But he usually chooses to start with an area in very sharp focus, like the eyes. To quote Close again: "This section will establish the focus for the rest of the work. From there, I move on to adjacent areas and establish the focus as I go. I rough in the greys till I see how the focus reads and gradually take it darker and darker. That's the ad-

: Ibid., p. 55

111 3. C. Close, Boh Coll. R. Feldman, New York 4. C. Close, Keith Private Collection, New York vantage of spraying — you can get darker and darker in little jumps. The technique lends itself to a gradual transition of values from light to dark."3 Like a number of other young artists preoccupied with the renewal of painting techniques, Close uses an air-brush (an adjustable little spray) rather than regular brushes. In fact, in order to avoid any pos­ sible similarities with traditional painting, he resorts to such "devious means" (as he calls them) as razor blades and electric erasers, to scratch on the canvas minute shiny elements like hairs, sharp highlights, etc. Of course, this is not only a reaction to tradition, but also a personal discipline. A lover of color, Close limits himself to only black and white. Educated in the post-abstract expressionist tradition, he rejects painterly surfaces by painting as thinly, as uniformly and as economically as pos­ sible: for a 9 x 7 ft. painting, he uses no more than two tablespoons of black paint. No white is used other than the gessoed ground of the canvas, because "white paint tends to build up and become chalky and opaque." This way of painting is, of course, very slow and exacting; and the homogeneous surface treatment, imitating photography, is very hard to keep consistent in terms of contrast or attitude towards detail. But Close is not afraid of choosing the difficult way. The important young sculptor Richard Serra, who is his friend and has influenced him considerably with his advice, once said: "If there are two ways ahead of you, take the more difficult one, because everybody else will take the easier one." Close has followed this example. His future paintings will be more time-consuming and complicated to make, since Close plans to introduce color. Not the traditional use of color, but a method inspired by the printing of color reproductions. He plans to have color photographs screened into the usual transparent color "separations" (red, yellow, blue, which, when superimposed, re­ create the total color effect), and then paint each color separation in­ dividually on the canvas, one on top of the other. If Close's present work could be considered as a kind of portraiture, the traditional question comes to mind: is the artist interested in the psychology of the people that he represents? I believe not; at least in no more than what the features and the normal expression of a person can reveal. This is why he chooses the photograph as an initial step to begin with. "The camera is objective," he says. "When it records a face it can't make any hierarchical decisions about a nose being more important than a cheek. The camera is not aware of what it is looking at. It just gets it all down."4 Yet, this objectivity is somewhat betrayed

3 Ibid., p. 53. ilbid., p. 51.

114 by enlargement. Not only do the surface incidents become stumbling points to the eye, but the shape of the features becomes exaggerated in a caricatural manner. As Close himself astutely remarks: ". . . to some extent I contradict . . . direct translation by blowing up my image. It is so large that it is impossible to ignore differences in features. Now a nose is not bent a fraction of an inch, but several inches. You can't ignore acne if it's spread out over three or four inches."3 Therefore, if any comments on human nature emanate from Close's pictures, it is only through the external image and because of its accu­ rate rendering. By seeing an object as familiar and as revealing as a face unnaturally enlarged, one learns much about how change of scale can affect the message carried by form. This, I suspect, is not contrary to Close's primary concern which is "the process of transmitting informa­ tion." In that attitude Chuck Close joins the most avant-garde artists of today and separates himself from the other realists. His very illuminat­ ing interview ends with the declaration: "... I think it would be very wrong to conclude that the figure as a valid art form is no longer viable ... It seems to me that the figure can be used as a new source of in­ formation, but only if new devices and techniques are found which will bring another focus on it through new ways of realizing form. With­ out fulfilling this prerequisite, there is no chance for fresh figure painting . . "6

The second, most important aspect of the recent painting revival includes a large number of innovative abstract painters (many of whom were in the New York 10, 1969 portfolio). The most noticeable char­ acteristics, shared by the majority of them, are the frequent use of pastel colors and cloudy forms — and in this respect William Pettet is per­ haps the most representative painter of the movement (as well as among the earliest and best). However, the individual variations are quite wide-ranged: Allan Hacklin's hazy color haloes are so pale that they appear to be on the verge of existence, barely visible on the white ground — to the point that one wonders whether they are imagined or real. Gary Bower structures his free formations with an underlying hard-edge grid, like a painting under a painting, one cancelling the other. David Diao (fig. 5), perhaps the most severe of the group, divides the canvas into simple, minimal partitions negated by his free- flowing, usually monochromatic paint. Alan Shields (fig. 6), most varied and inventive, occasionally cuts the large, unevenly stained canvas with

6 Ibid., p. 52. 6 Ibid., p. 55.

115 5. David Diao, Untitled, 1969 Allen Art Museum

small geometric forms at unexpected points (e.g., the corners); and just as unexpectedly, he uses stitched lines and tiny beads to enrich the close- up viewing. Finally, Peter Young, the most individual in his imagery, paints exclusively with small color dots — earlier pale-colored on white ground, lately multi-colored on equally rich-colored ground. Diverse as the group may sound, it presents a united front in op­ posing earlier painting: pale or lush color combinations versus the primary-oriented and flatly applied palette of "color-field" and minimal painters; fuzzy and dissolving7 versus geometric forms; frequently rec­ tangular versus shaped canvases (only the large scale remains unchanged). So pervasive is the new wind sweeping the art scene that even painters of the hard-edge generation, like Bannard and Poons, have softened their forms in the last couple of years. However, the most important and most general characteristic of recent painting is a preoccupation with the renewal of media and techniques, and a desire to emphasize the

7 Rothko and Olitski had used fuzzy forms earlier. But Rothko's images are in essence geometric — rectangular areas or bands — with divisions and edges dis­ solving one into another. And Olitski's "pointillist" use of the spray does not appeal to the taste of the new generation.

116 nature of the medium — which is related to process sculpture, to Pollock and Morris Louis, and even to Brancusi ("being truthful to the material"). The new painters do not go back to the splash and drip of Abstract Ex­ pressionism (no more than process sculpture goes back to Brancusi's direct carving of stone and wood). But, like Louis, they let the thin paint run on the canvas and they superimpose and merge transparent stains. Like Jules Olitski, they use spraying extensively. Unlike any­ body else, they paint with sponges or other "devious means," stain from both the front and back of the canvas, fold or crumple the canvas while the paint is still wet (to transfer traces of colors from area to area). Or they pour thick paint on the canvas, allow it to mix in places as it will while liquid, and let it dry and crack in the process of drying — which Poons has done in his recent paintings (fig. 7). While most young artists have exploited the properties of the material in its most diluted state, Poons has opened the way towards the use of paint in its densest form and thickest superimposition of layers — a new statement in the language of "process painting." It is interesting to watch the results: the drying paint opens up numerous, winding crevasses between lumps and granules, forming a surface of primeval geological appearance, as weird and as battered as the surface of the moon.8 Another essential characteristic of recent painting is its concern with perception. Not so much with color perception and how colors interact (which Alan Cote, for example, is exploring); but mostly with the limits of perception and the fringes of the visible (which Allan Hack- lin and David Prentice, among others, investigate). Actually, this pre­ occupation has its origin in California, where, in the second half of the sixties, there has been great interest both in new techniques and the problem of perception. Along with other Californian artists (e.g., Larry Bell and Robert Irwin), Ron Cooper, who is the second of this year's "Three Young Americans," represents both of these concerns in their highest degree. Cooper uses no ground for his paintings. On a waxed glass sheet which serves as a mold, he sprays (or occasionally spreads with a roller) numerous layers of dyed polyester resin. Usually, he first sprays on the glass about thirty layers of resin, then laminates onto it a layer of 4 oz. fiberglas cloth, and finally sprays another thirty layers of resin on top

8 Jean Dubuffet has created throughout his career all kinds of thick and rough textures by adding earth and other matter to the paint. However, his preoccupa­ tions seem to me different from Poons'. Dubuffet was bringing into the picture the humbleness of unusual and non-artistic materials, and was producing a work of art in the process of his dialogue with the material. Poons simply allows the manifestation of qualities inherent in the nature of the paint, and the material­ ization of visual and haptic effects resulting from these qualities.

118 R. Cooper, Untitled, April-May 1968 Courtesy Ace Gallery, Los Angeles (not in exhibition) 9. R. Cooper, Untitled (red)

of it. The total thickness of the resin sheet becomes W to W. At some point early in his development, before the present large square paintings and even before the tall narrow pieces of 1967, Cooper decided that "to choose a specific color was a matter of taste rather than integral func­ tion."9 So every painting (with the exception of the red one in the cur­ rent exhibition) contains all colors, primary and secondary. In the first of the large square pieces, he was trying to counteract the natural color of the resin (light pink or green, etc.) by the added pigments. The result was a pale, ambiguous total color effect. Lately, he seems to have been less strict and allowed a general tonality (greenish, blue, etc.) to dominate. The first thirty (front) layers of resin, sprayed on the glass before the application of the fiberglas cloth, are the ones that basically carry the colors. On the other hand, the last (back) layers form a slight­ ly uneven, often lumpy surface which introduces a discreet amount of

0 Letter to the author, March 1970.

120 texture. Completely straightforward in the use of his materials and tech­ nique, Cooper does not mind irregularities which occur as a result of the making process. He leaves the edges of the sheet rough and untrimmed, and allows the partly overlapping, adjacent lengths of fiberglas cloth to form a fuzzy band along the middle of the painting. A thin "frame" of the same transparent resin is laminated on the back of the sheet, an inch or so in from its frayed, fragile edges. While such a frame allows light to circulate behind the painting, it also eliminates the harsh shadows that a wooden frame would cause, much too disturbing to the immaterial entity of the work. Owing to the multiple layers of colored resin and the fiberglas cloth, the final painting is a translucent, fluid-looking substance. Yet, the individual layers being more or less transparent, the light passes through and illuminates the color at all levels. In Cooper's own words, it is as if the color is "suspended in space," or as if he is "working with the closest thing to painting on air."10 Moreover, because of the extreme thinness of the superimposed layers of resin, light is often diffracted and broken into its separate wave-lengths, thus creating an occasional opalescence. This effect is indeed even subtler and more evasive than the iridescence of an insect's wing, of a soap-bubble or a pearly shell. With an absolute minimum of color variation and a near-elimination of form (the slightest ghost of modulation), Cooper brings painting to the ultimate limit of visibility and existence. Such an achievement would have been impossible, of course, without the use of plastics which offer to the particles of pigment a transparent support. Artists have finally become familiar with plastics, and in California, where technology is more available to the common man, they have achieved in this medium a number of important innovations (particularly in sculpture). While using a material and a palette favored by Californian artists, Cooper has reduced severely the pretty, pearly sheen and the perfect finish com­ monly associated with the Los Angeles school. And his "atmospheric" imagery (if such it can be called), also freed from the glorious sunset effects, confronts us with the mystery of empty space, the indescribable void. Perhaps, along with the interest in new techniques and in the limits of perception, the awareness of outer space has been instrumental in producing the vague forms of many young painters. One cannot for­ get that this new generation grew up with the development of the jet plane and space flights. Inevitably, the immense vistas of cloud fields seen from above and the limitless open sky are sights that can saturate one's eyes and form one's vision.

10 In C. Lindsley, "Plastics into Art," Art In America, Vol. 56, no. 3, 1968, p. 115.

121 10. R. Cooper, Untitled (black) Another characteristic of many young artists, encountered among both painters and sculptors, is the desire to push the limits of art deeper and deeper into the unknown. Of course, all art in the past has done this to some extent, but never with the present intensity and purposeful- ness. One has the impression that young painters like Alan Shields want to re-invent their art, challenging the notion of painting in each new picture. Sculptors like Eva Hesse, Keith Sonnier or Rafael Ferrer create unfamiliar objects or situations that have never existed before in art or in reality. This constant drive to conquer the limits of the formal or sensory unknown has been expressed in writing by Richard Serra and Eva Hesse: "Artists must try the impossible and flush out all the latent invisible information waiting to be made visible."11 said Serra. "Not painting, not sculpture," noted Eva Hesse about a work of hers last fall. "It's there though. I remember I wanted to get to non art, non conno- [tajtive, non anthropomorphic, non geometric, non nothing, everything, but of another kind, vision, sort. From a total other reference point. Is it possible? I have learned anything is possible. I know that. That vision or concept will come through total risk, freedom, discipline."12 One of the youngest and perhaps most individual sculptors work­ ing on the front lines of such an avant-garde is this year's third "Young American," Neil Jenney. While maturing in a milieu dominated by the problems of process sculpture, Jenney managed to develop a quite extraordinary aloofness and independence. He may be in some respects akin to process sculpture in that he allows his materials and objects to lead their own life, and does not force them into preconceived norms unnatural to their existence: tree branches hang in space; old wood is put together into rickety, open structures; fans blow; light shines; plants and algae grow; apples rot. Everything is itself, honest and straightfor­ ward, yet everything partakes of a formal whole which is only seemingly loose. As Jenney himself says: "I am concerned with giving each item an identity ... I don't try to make my statement with color, space and composition — but I use color, space, composition to make the pieces coherent. The choice of the group of items in a piece is made solely by their identity and not their form. They are composed spatially for two reasons: so that they can retain their identity, and to relate to each other's identity."13

11 In Lucy Lippard's introduction to the 557,087/955,000 exhibition catalogue, Seattle Art Museum Pavilion, Sept. 5-Oct. 5, 1969; Vancouver Art Gallery, Jan. 13-Feb. 8, 1970. 12 In Art in Process IV exhibition catalogue, Finch College Museum of Art, New York, Dec. 11, 1969 - Jan. 26, 1970. 13 Letter to the author, March 2, 1970.

123 11. N. Jenney, Untitled, 1967 Coll. S. Wagstaff, Jr., Detroit (not in exhibition)

12. N. Jenney, The Detroit Piece, Summer 1968 (not in exhibition) t fc?H f>, #.a

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H-5 y 8 a s 2l There is a Dadaist provocation in the commonplace materials and unexpected juxtapositions, but an almost Surrealist mystery in the total atmosphere of Jenney's works. Inanimate objects acquire a personality and seem to perform a strange action. "My sculpture is theatrical," states the artist. "The activity among the physical presence of the items and the events they realize, provided they exist together, is theatrical."14 In his short career, Jenney has already used an extreme variety of materials and forms. Yet certain characteristics, like jagged lines and crinkly textures, remain consistent throughout his oeuvre — from the disquieting linear works (fig. 11) and the blistering "piles," to the crum­ pled tin-foil objects (fig. 12) and neon light elements of his environ­ mental assemblages (fig. 13). The perishable and fragile nature of the materials runs the gamut from dry branches and neon tubes, to tin-foil and shiny powder, to growing plants, cashew-nuts and apples. Every wood construction looks as if put together with almost nothing — two nails and a piece of string. Even pieces that are quite resistant, like the linear ones (aluminum rods coated with felt or rubber), give the im­ pression of being as fragile as wriggling spider legs. The notion of the temporary and the perishable permeates the work and clashes with the daring formal conceptions. The total form itself is actually change­ able: the same work can be assembled in different ways depending on its surroundings. "Spatially the groupings are very flexible," says Jenney, ". . . The main demand I make spatially is that the relationships of the identities become lucid enough to make my intention apparent to the viewer."15 Originally a painter, Jenney turned again to painting at the end of 1968. On first look, his sculpture has no relation to the new paintings. They are violently brushed images of real things, fruit, fish, etc. How­ ever, the objects have the same intensity and directness, like the real apples or cashews on his plaster "piles." "My paintings are not con­ cerned with color, space or composition," says the artist. "My paintings are concerned with realities."10

In recent years, a number of important young sculptors are pur­ suing their own way in different directions. If we look for general trends, however, the main outcome of process sculpture is what could

14 In Anti-Illusion: Procedures /Materials exhibition catalogue, Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, May 19 - July 6, 1969, p. 54. 15 Letter to the author, March 2, 1970. 10 In Anti-Illusion catalogue, see note 14.

14. N. Jenney, Untitled (p. 127)

126

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J he called floor or "landscape" sculpture. Robert Morris, in his illuminat­ ing "Notes on Sculpture, Part 4: Beyond Objects," very appropriately makes the distinction between minimal sculpture and this new way of structuring the material as figural versus landscape modes. "The differ­ ence amounts to a shift from a figure-ground perceptual set to that of the visual field. Physically, it amounts to a shift from discrete, homogen­ eous objects to accumulations of things or stuff, sometimes very hetero­ geneous."1' Indeed, in spite of their rejection of an intimate scale, most minimal works were autonomous, concentrated, solid and measurable objects (which acted like individual units, "figures"). Moreover, much of the work was gallery or interior space oriented, even designed to func­ tion in a particuar area of our rectangularly structured building interiors (e.g. Morris' corner piece, 1964). The new kind of "landscape" mode defies the notion of the gallery and of concrete, durable sculpture. Rich­ ard Serra, in a new kind of "corner" piece, splatters his molten lead at the junction of a wall and floor (1968). Barry Le Va covers the museum floors with combinations of flour, mineral oil and paper towel (1968-69). Bill Bollinger spreads on the parquet graphite powder or green saw-dust and paint (1969).18 Walter de Maria fills all the rooms of a gallery up to the window ledges with fluffy, level earth (1968). A proclamation of the obsoleteness of art galleries, the latter work is also the most literal example of indoor landscape art — since it uses earth as its material. It should be pointed out that "earth art" is a tenuous category, created in a hasty desire for classification. Obviously, works like Oldenburg's plexiglas cube with dirt and earth-worms, or Morris' "excavation site" piece at the Castelli Warehouse last spring, do not belong together with Morris' own outdoors earth projects or Michael Fleizer's diggings in the Mohave desert. The fact that the same material (earth) is used is not sufficient to define an artistic trend. Visual analogy, the result of com­ mon ways of thinking and structuring, is what counts. Works that are characterized by horizontal expansion (in opposition to predominantly vertical, self-contained forms) belong to the same kind of landscape vision, whether they are made inside on a gallery floor, or outside on a much larger scale and in an unfamiliar environment. Another loosely used term is "ecologic" art. Ecology (from the Greek word oekos = house or home) is the science that studies the or­ ganisms living on earth in relation to each other and their common

17 Artforum, VII, 8, April 1969, p. 51. 13 It must be pointed out that Bruce Nauman's Flour Arrangements (1967) and Alan Saret's wood-shavings floor piece (1967) preceded Bollinger in this di­ rection.

129 habitat, our planet. It is a science that was revived only when over­ population and over-exploitation of our natural resources made us aware of the fast destruction of our environment. In terms of the meaning of this science, Oldenburg's box with the earthworms living in the dirt is a sample of ecologic art. So are Dennis Oppenheim's cultivation and harvesting projects which take into account the process of growing of the cereal. However, the term ecologic has been generally applied to all large outdoor projects involved with a reshaping of our natural environ­ ment (most of which belong formally to the landscape mode). A number of these works have been designed for areas hitherto untouched by technological civilization: the arctic circles, the deserts, the volcanoes, the bottom of the ocean. What has pushed the artists out into the open spaces? Dissatisfaction with the gallery system and the investment- conscious art market? Awareness of the unhealthy living conditions in large cities? Nostalgia for a disappearing virgin landscape? Realization that studio-conceived work does not stand up in scale when placed out- of-doors in our superhuman city and highway systems?1''' Romantic de­ sire for larger and larger works of art, in keeping with our ever-increasing knowledge of the universe? Fast transportation and technological development certainly con­ tributed to the rise of this new movement. Many of Morris' earth pro­ jects, for instance, rely heavily on advanced, large-scale technical means. Yet, curiously enough, technology has not played in the art of our time as important a role as one would have expected, in spite of the conscious efforts of many groups to bring scientists and artists together. Again, the reasons are multiple: lack of technical training and scientific knowl­ edge on the part of the artists; lack of interest in art on the part of the scientists and industries; therefore, lack of funds and means for the artist; perhaps even a certain rejection of technology for its destructive consequences (pollution, etc.), and a nostalgic yearning for primitive life and primeval nature. In fact, some of the best technology-oriented art­ ists, like Hans Haacke and John Van Saun, have been using increasingly simpler ideas and have turned towards ecologic art. Their work deals more and more with chemical changes, investigation of the nature of the materials, exploitation of physical powers and natural processes: wind, fire, steam, condensation, properties of liquids, gravity, temperature, mold growing, disintegration, etc. Most of this work, like most ecologic art, is temporary, unsaleable, often viewed by the artist and his assistants alone,

10 The great majority of the temporary monuments placed in different New York locations in the fall of 1967 ("Sculpture in Environment" outdoors show) looked like toys next to the skyscrapers.

130 sometimes never realized or unrealizable. (Some of the projects are even made for future habitats, like the moon and space-stations.) Another category of work which shares most of the above character­ istics, although it exists in a totally man-made environment, is "street art." Initiated and executed by a rather small group of New York artists and poets, street art takes as its milieu the street and as its medium situ­ ations created in the large city. Some of the pieces are as simple as everyday acts, but intentionally organized (e.g., Robert Huot's drinking a beer at each bar within the prescribed area); some are play on words (e.g., Hannah Weiner's distributing wieners from a rented hot-dog cart); some are awakening our sensitivity to unexpected delightful events that we may happen to witness in the street (e.g., Rosemarie Castoro's laying a long line of mirrorized tape on the pavement, or Bernadette Mayer's blue powder dropped from a window). There are many ways in which street works sharpen one's awareness of the city's visual and human content. To quote John Perreault, one of the organizers and theoreti­ cians of this manifestation: "If we are to survive, our survival will take the form of one global city. Population statistics point to this inevita­ bility . . . Living in cities can be just as human and beautiful as living in the country, if not more so . . . Art can be seen as a biological sur­ vival mechanism and in some sense Street Works call attention to the visual and spatial and interpersonal conditions of the city . . . Rather than adding something to the street environment, a Street Work brings the street environment, just as it is, for better or for worse, into con­ sciousness . . . This change of consciousness is a value in itself and is more important than questions of whether or not a particular Street Work is or is not a work of art."20 All these works are simple and temporary and appeal only to a limited, random public: the actual passers-by. In fact, some works are performed totally unnoticed, or are conceived as private exercises in sen­ sitivity (e.g., Vito Acconci's choosing to follow a person for any length of time, until the person entered a private place; then following some­ body else and so on — i.e., erase yourself, become assimilated with an­ other individual, observe his behavior and style of life, etc.). Flow many people sensed such a work is of no importance. The essential is that it existed, it was performed by the artist or any man.

There is one step further that contemporary art has taken in this direction: it does not even matter whether the work of art is realized; once it has been conceived by the artist's mind, the rest is unimportant —

20 J. Perreault, "Art: Taking to the Street," Village Voice, Oct. 16, 1969, p. 16.

131 an assumption that made possible exhibitions like our current Art in the Mind.21 "Ideas alone can be works of art," wrote Sol LeWitt. "They are in a chain of development that may eventually find some form. All ideas need not be made physical."22 "1. The artist may construct the piece. 2. The piece may be fabricated. 3. The piece need not be built. Each being equal and consistent with the intent of the artist, the decision as to condition rests with the receiver upon the occasion of receivership," is one of Lawrence Weiner's famous statements.23 His own art can be executed, but the abstract concept is the real work. With other artists, like Robert Barry, the work usually exists but in a physical state not perceived by our senses (e.g., 40 KHZ Ultrasonic Soundwave Installation, or 0.5 Microcurie Radiation Installation, 1969).24 Other work, like Douglas Huebler's, consists of a description and photographic documentation (illustrating past or possible realizations of the piece). A great percentage of street or ecologic art can achieve an adequate level of existence in the same way, through written or photographic documen­ tation. To advance even further, a number of works present the irony of being real but invisible, existing only for themselves and our knowl­ edge of their existence (e.g., Oldenburg's Placid City Monument, a trench dug and refilled with its own earth, 1967;25 or Sol LeWitt's buried steel cube in Bergeyk, Holland, 1968). Steven Kaltenbach's "secret" works are even unknown to anyone but the artist: we are only told they exist, but not what they consist of. All of this kind of art has been loosely called "idea" art or conceptu­ al art, although the latter term is used specifically by a group of more extreme and pure idea artists. As I mentioned in the beginning of this

21 Earlier "imaginary" exhibitions (which consisted only of a catalogue) were Dou­ glas Huebler, Nov. 1968, January 5-31, 1969, One Month, March 1969 and July, August, September 1969, all organized by the pioneer "art dealer" Seth Siegelaub of New York. In the same spirit, Christopher Cook, Director of the Addison Gallery of American Art, Andover, Mass., published in early 1970 Possibles, a description of possible future exhibitions. 22 Sol LeWitt, "Sentences on Conceptual Art," Art-Language, I, 1, May 1969, p. 11. 23 In the exhibition catalogue January 5-31, 1969, organized by Seth Siegelaub in New York. 24 In previous ages, one would maintain that what is not perceivable might as well not exist. But now that the power of our senses has been multiplied many thousands of times (with electron microscopes, radio and ultra-violet telescopes, radars, etc.), we are even more aware of invisible than of visible reality. "' Credit should be given to Carl Andre for having thought of digging negative volumes in the earth before any other artist (he mentioned them to me in late 1964) — not a surprising fact for this pioneering mind.

132 essay, conceptual art had already appeared earlier in the century.28 Actually, one could even argue that minimal art was conceptual to a certain degree: it could be constructed from a list of simple directions and its perceptual impact could be partly experienced through an exact description. But in the last couple of years, increasing numbers of young artists have been working in a fully conceptual idiom. The radical conceptual groups (the English Art-Language group, Joseph Kosuth, the New York-based Society for Theoretical Art and Analyses, and others) have even eliminated every visual aspect from their art and rely only upon language. However, they should not be confused with the concrete poets or other visual artists who use words as objects. The preoccupation of the pure conceptualists is to redefine art, or, again, to expand its horizon. They systematically re-examine the notion of art object, art ambiance, art experience, perception, etc. In the words of Joseph Kosuth, the main spokesman of the movement: "This conceptual art . . . is an inquiry by artists that understand that artistic activity is not solely limited to the framing of art propositions, but further, the in­ vestigation of the function, meaning and use of any and all (art) propo­ sitions, and their consideration within the concept of the general term art."27 As they did away with galleries and museums, the radical con­ ceptualists are also doing away with art critics and aestheticians. Every­ thing pertaining to art is exclusively the artist's domain.28 But on the other hand, everything could be art and everybody could be an artist (al­ though there still would be good and bad artists). Art is no longer an artifact that requires an innate manual dexterity and a learned craft; it is an activity of the mind. Duchamp's propositions and their logical con­ sequences are developed ad absurdum. Provided that a conceptual struc­ ture is based on a system (whether real or imaginary, pre-existing or arbitrarily established), the results are valid, at least within the premises of the system itself. Modern science has taught us that reality can have many aspects, each true in relation to a set of principles; and valuable conclusions can often be reached starting with hypothetical assumptions. To be sure, the philosophical implications of modern scientific discov­ eries and theories are among the main reasons for the emergence of a conceptual art. In the age of computers, this kind of art is perhaps the

26 John Cage, whom I have not introduced in this brief general account, has been perhaps as responsible as Duchamp for the emergence of conceptual art. 27 Joseph Kosuth, "Introductory Note by the American Editor," Art-Language, I, 2, Feb. 1970. 28 It should be kept in mind that the new generation of artists are intellectuals (col­ lege rather than art school graduates), mastering dialectics more than paint­ brushes.

133 only "relevant" one. What is astonishing, however, is that for the moment hardly any conceptual artists have used the computer, this natural extension of the brain. Perhaps the difficulty is still a technical and financial one. The consequences of these recent developments in contemporary art are far-reaching and still unpredictable. The major visible change is the definite decline of the art object as a physical entity. Art conceptions are now unsaleable and immaterial. The visual artist, like the poet and the musician, structures information which can exist independent of a tangible body. Moreover, the notion of the masterpiece has disappeared with the reduction of the individual piece. Each work is no more than a link in a chain — the total thought of the artist. It would be even true to say that art is dissolving and scattering itself, reaching in all direc­ tions, pervading the social, intellectual and physical fabric of life. There is no more art. There is artistic sensitivity.

Athena T. Spear

134 Three Young Americans, April 17- May 12

CATALOGUE

Charles Close

Born in Monroe, Wash., 1940. Studied at the University of Washington and School of Art, Seattle, 1958-62 (B.A.); Yale University, New Haven, Conn., 1962- 64 (M.F.A.); Akademie der Bildenden Kunste, Vienna, 1964-65. One-man ex­ hibition: Bykert Gallery, New York, March, 1970. Lives in New York and teaches at the School of Visual Arts.

PAtNTINGS:

Self-Portrait 1968 Acrylic on canvas 9 x7 ft. (fig- 1) Walker Art Center, Minneapolis

Joe 1969 Acrylic on canvas 9 x 7 ft. (fig. 2) Collection Gordon Locksley Gallery, Minneapolis

Bob 1970 Acrylic on canvas 9 x7 ft. (fig.3) Collection Robert Feldman, New York

Keith 1970 Acrylic on canvas 9 x7 ft. (fig. 4) Private collection, New York

"DRAWTNGS" (working photographs):

Self-Portrait l&V2xl3in. Collection of the artist

Phil 20x15 in. Private collection, New York

Richard 22 x 19 in. Private collection, New York

Keith 22 x 17 in. Collection Herbert Vogel, New York

135 Ron Cooper

Born in New York, 1943. Moved to Los Angeles, 1950. Studied at the Chou- inard Art School, Los Angeles, 1963. One-man exhibition: Ace Gallery, Los Angeles, March 1969. Lives in Venice, Calif.

OBJECT:

Untitled Sept. 1966 Polyester resin, nacreous pigments, metal flakes H. l5/s in. Diam. 3Vs in. Collection Charles Cowles, New York

PAINTINGS :

Untitled March-Mav 1967 Polyester resin 7 ft. x 3s/s in. x 3% in. Allen Memorial Art Museum, Oberlin College

Untitled Polyester resin 88 x 88 in. Dec. 1968-Jan. 1969 Los Angeles County Museum

Untitled (red) March 1969 Polyester resin 88x88 in. (fig- 9) Collection of the artist

Untitled (white) Polyester resin 88 x 88 in. June-July 1969 Collection Michael Walls, San Francisco

Untitled (black) Polyester resin 88 x 88 in. July-August 1969 Collection of the artist (fig. 10)

Four plexiglas boxes, each 2 x 19 x 5 in., containing thirty-two 1 oz. paper-cups with samples of the dyed resins for four of the large square paintings: January- February 1969, 2nd level density of resin, Lannan Foundation, Chicago; March- April 1969 (red), 4th-5th level density; June-July 1969 (white), 1st level density, Collection Michael Walls, San Francisco; July-August 1969, 1st level density, Col­ lection Dr. and Mrs. I. Forman. Lent by the artist.

136 Neil Jenney

Born in Mast Swamps, Conn., 1945. Self-taught. One-man exhibition: Gallery Rudolf Zwirner, Cologne, October 1968 (sculpture). Lives in New York.

SCULPTURE:

The David Whitney Piece Mixed media 8 x 7 x 3 f t. Summer 1968 Collection David Whitney, New York

Untitled Summer 1968 Mixed media 8V2 x 10 x 7Vl ft. (fig. W Collection of the artist

The German Piece Mixed media 2Vz x 18 x 9lh ft. Summer 1968 Collection of the artist (fig. 15)

Untitled (tall piece) Mixed media ca. 20 x 10 x 5 ft. Summer 1968 Collection of the artist

Oberlin Project (outdoor piece) Mixed media ca. 4 x 25 x 40 ft. Summer 1968 ^ ,, .. , i7 .._. Collection of the artist

A number of preparatory drawings Collection of the artist

137 Art in the Mind, April 17 - May 12

The exhibition Art in the Mind was prompted by certain conse­ quences of recent developments in the visual arts. First of all, a sig­ nificant amount of ecologic art, or other large outdoor sculpture, remains at the stage of projects, for lack of funds, or simply because it is yet unrealizable. An even larger percentage of ecologic art enters history only through description and photographic documentation, due to its temporary nature and the inaccessibility of its location. Furthermore, a great amount of other recent art consists of acts and statements, or exists on the fringe between material reality and language. A descrip­ tion often evokes the work to an adequate degree. At times, the con­ cept is as satisfactory as its executed form, or even more so, because each execution is only a particular aspect of the idea. In other cases, the description is the only possible materialization of a work which other­ wise exists unperceived by our senses. Most often, the piece is con­ stituted by a set of directions to be performed by any individual; the artistic experience may necessitate the execution of the given directions, but in some instances the work can be perceived by simply imagining the results. The performed activity or part of it can be documented by photographs and other means, which are the by-product and the only remainder of the work's real existence. It is within these premises that most idea art (including "street works") functions. However, there is still another, more specific cate­ gory — pure or radical conceptual art — which uses as its exclusive medium the written language. Since one of its main objectives is to investigate and redefine the concept "art," a great deal of this writing verges upon art theory or philosophy. Most (if not all) conceptual artists started working in a visual medium, but have eleminated every trace of visual element from their present art. Yet, their work still belongs to the world of form, because it consists in structuring artistic thought and creating thought structures. As Sol LeWitt, one of the progenitors of conceptual art, puts it: "Since no form is intrinsically superior to an­ other, the artist may use any form, from an expression of words (written or spoken), to physical reality, equally."1 And in the words of Ian Burn,

1 Sol LeWitt, "Sentences on Conceptual Art," Art-Language, I, 1, May, 1969, p. 12.

138 a younger member: "Artists are exploring language to create access to ways of seeing."2 In the last years, there have been a number of exhibitions which include primarily written material and photographs. Although this situation still feeds the gallery-collector system and satisfies the need of the artists to exhibit their works, it seems to be a highly artificial situ­ ation. The interested spectator is not given the best chance to absorb new complex thoughts by standing in front of a wall covered with end­ less typed or hand-scribbled pages; and the space of art museums and galleries is wasted when filled with documents. Such material belongs to publications and libraries — although it should be presented, and initiated, by art museums and dealers. The attitude of the pioneering art dealer Seth Siegelaub3 seems to be the most appropriate one: exhi­ bitions of idea art can consist only of their catalogues. Art in the Mind follows this example. The artists initially invited to send works for this "imaginary" ex­ hibition are: Vito Acconci, Carl Andre, Michael Asher, Terry Atkinson, David Bainbridge, Michael Baldwin, Robert Barry, Frederick Barthelme, Mel Bochner, Bill Bollinger, Jonathan Borofsky, Donald Burgy, Ian Burn, Perpetua Butler, James Lee Byars, Luis Camnitzer, Rosemarie Castoro, Eduardo Costa, Roger Cutforth, Hanne Darboven, Royce Dendler, Jan Dibbets, Dan Graham, Hans Haacke, Ira Joel Haber, Michael Heizer, Douglas Huebler, Robert Huot, Harold Hurrell, Stephen Kaltenbach, On Kawara, Michael Kirby, Joseph Kosuth, Christine Kozlov, Barry Le Va, Les Levine, Sol LeWitt, Richard Long, Walter de Maria, Robert Morris, Bruce Nauman, N. E. Thing Co. Ltd., Claes Oldenburg, Dennis Oppenheim, Eric Orr, Paul Pechter, John Perreault, Adrian Piper, Pulsa Group, Mel Ramsden, Allen Ruppersberg, Edward Ruscha, Alan Saret, Robert Smithson, John Van Saun, Bernar Venet, William Weg- man, Hannah Weiner, Lawrence Weiner, Ian Wilson. However, participation was left open and a number of additional invitations were sent later, primarily upon recommendations received. The final list of participants is: Vito Acconci, Siah Armajani, Michael Asher, John Baldessari, Rob­ ert Barry, Bill Beckley, Mel Bochner, Jonathan Borofsky, George Brecht, Victor Burgin, Donald Burgy, Ian Burn, Scott Burton, James Lee Byars, Luis Camnitzer, Rosemarie Castoro, Don Celender, Fred Cornell Cone,

2 Ian Bum, "Dialogue," in the July 1969 mimeographed publication of Art Press (New York), p. 5. 3 I am grateful to both Seth Siegelaub and Lucy Lippard for their willingness to give me information on younger artists for this show.

139 Christopher Cook, Eduardo Costa, Robert Cumming, Roger Cutforth, Royce Dendler, David Dunlap, David Eisler, Robert Feke, Rafael Ferrer, George Gladstone, Dan Graham, Ira Joel Haber, Richards Jar- den, Michael Kirby, Paul Kos, Joseph Kosuth, R. Rexinger Lau, Barry Le Va, Les Levine, Sol LeWitt, Martin Maloney, Bruce McLean, Bruce Nauman, David Nelson, N. E. Thing Co., Claes Oldenburg, Paul Pechter, John Perreault, Adrian Piper, Mel Ramsden, Glen Rea, Allen Ruppersberg, Thomas Duncan Shannon, Marjorie Strider, John Van Saun, Bernar Venet, Jeffrey Wall, William Wegman, Hannah Weiner, Lawrence Weiner. The catalogue consists of exact reproductions of all pages submitted by the artists, printed by offset and bound into a 200-page volume.4 A number of the works will be executed by the students of the Oberlin College Art Department, under the direction of Royce Dendler, Assist­ ant Professor of Sculpture, between April 17 and May 12.

A. T. S.

4 The Art in the Mind catalogue is on sale at the museum for $3.50 per copy ($3.00 for Friends of Art, subscribers and exchanges).

L40 Notes

Sam Gilliam — Artist in Residence

The Art Department invited the Washington painter Sam Gilliam to be artist-in-residence from March 16 to 28. Mr. Gilliam was born in Tupelo, Mississippi, in 1933 and grew up in Louisville, Kentucky. He received an M.A. in painting in 1961 from the University of Louisville, and the next year he moved to Wash­ ington where he taught art at McKinley High School until 1967. He was awarded a grant by the National Council of the Arts in 1966 and has been an artist-fellow at the Washington Gallery of Modern Art Work­ shop since 1968. He had several one-man exhibitions in Washington between 1963 and 1969, including one at the Phillips Collection. He has also participated in numerous group exhibitions throughout the

141 country, the most recent one being a three-man show at the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington last fall (together with Rockne Krebs and Ed McGowin). Before leaving, Mr. Gilliam installed a small exhibition of water- colors and drawings that he executed during his stay at Oberlin.

Oberlin Friends of Art

The sixteenth annual purchase party took place in the museum on March 20. The sixty members in attendance voted to buy three works for the museum with the Friends of Art Fund: a color etching by Rene Magritte on the first ballot, a watercolor by Max Pechstein on the second, and an Italian gilt bronze medal of Pope Alexander VIII on the third (see Accessions).

142 Accessions

Recent acquisitions of western painting and sculpture published in the preceding issue of the Bulletin have been omitted in the follow­ ing list.

PAINTINGS Tempera on paper, 12Vio x 15% in. Paul F. Walter Fund (69.44) Italian (Genoese?), ca. 1700 Landscape with Rest on the Flight Frederick E. Cohen, American, died into Egypt 1858 Oil on canvas, 22V4 x 2914 in. Bentley Simons Runyan Family of Gift of Dr. Alfred R. Bader in honor Mansfield, Ohio, ca. 1857-8 of Wolfgang Stechow (69.39) Oil on canvas, 38 x 45 in. Gift of Mrs. James C. McCullough Indian, Malwa, ca. 1680 (70.10) A Lady separated from her lover, consoled by a maid Tempera, gold, and ink on paper, DRAWINGS 87/io x 5% in. Paul F. Walter Fund (69.40) Wassilv Kandinskv, Russian, 1866- 1944 Indian, Provincial Moghul, Deccani Dessin 1933, 1933 (?), Later Shah Jahan Style, 1st India ink over pencil, 15V4 x 12% in. half 18th c. General Acquisitions Fund (69.46) Lady in Wooded Landscape with Peacocks Thomas Barker, called Barker of Tempera and gold on paper, 7Mo x Bath, English, 1767-1847 47/io in. Reclining Shepherd (sheet from a Paul F. Walter Fund (69.41) sketchbook) Pen and ink and watercolor, 7?io x Indian, Rajasthani, Jodhpur, Mar- 10% in. war, ca. 1810 Charles F. Olney Fund (70.2) Dhola and Maru Riding a Camel Tempera, silver and gold on paper, Eugene Carriere, French, 1849-1906 11*4x8% in. Study for a Wall Decoration Paul F. Walter Fund (69.42) Charcoal, 17% x 21'/io in. General Acquisitions Fund (70.7) Indian, Pahari, Kangra, ca. 1850 Damayanti being told of Nala's Jean-Louis Forain, French, 1852-1931 beauty and grace by the swans Fainting in the Courtroom, from Nala's garden ca. 1910 Tempera and gold on paper, 11%6 x Brown wash and sanguine, 211/4 x 15% in. 17% in. Paul F. Walter Fund (69.43) Special Acquisitions Fund (70.9)

Indian, Maharashtra, Godavari Pla­ Max Pechstein, German, 1881-1955 teau - Paithan / "Pratisthana," ca. Seated Nude, 1918 1800 Watercolor, 17 x 13% in. An Asura (demon) heaving rocks Friends of Art Fund (70.15)

143 PRINTS Color intaglio General Acquisitions Fund (69.64)

Nicolaes Berchem, Dutch, 1620-1683 William Carqueville, American, The Watering Place, 1680 1871-? Etching, B. 1 Lippincott's June, before 1899 Special Acquisitions Fund (69.34) Three-color lithograph Charles F. Olney Fund (69.65) Bridget Riley, English, 1931- Nineteen Greys, 1968, from set of William H. Bradley, American, 1868- four 1962 Silkscreen, 5/75 Narcoti-Cure, 1894/1895 General Acquisitions Fund (69.47) Three-color lithograph Charles F. Olney Fund (69.66) Roy Lichtenstein, American, 1923- Cathedral #1, 1969 Edward Penfield, American, 1868- Lithograph (yellow) and silkscreen 1925 Ruth C. Roush Fund for Contempo­ Harper's July rary Art (69.48) Three-color lithograph Charles F. Olney Fund (69.67) Jusepe de Ribera, Spanish, 1591-1652 St. Jerome Johan Thorn Prikker, Dutch, 1868- Etching, B. 4 1932 General Acquisitions Fund (69.50) Holldndische Kunstausstellung in Krefeld, 1903 Claude Mellan, French, 1601-1688 Four-color lithograph Holy Family, 1635 Charles F. Olney Fund (69.68) Engraving, LeBlanc 25iii General Acquisitions Fund (69.51) E. McKnight Kauffer, American, 1890-1954 Larry Stark, American, 1940- Winter Sales are Best Reached by Great American Chick No. 3, 1968 Underground, 1924 Photographic silkscreen Five-color lithograph Charles F. Olney Fund (69.52) Charles F. Olney Fund (69.69)

Barnett Newman, American, 1905- A. M. Cassandre, French, 1901-1968 The Moment, 1966, from portfolio II Dolce che sa di primavera.. . "Four in Plastic" Motta Silkscreen on plexiglass, 123/125, Lithograph, offset 48% x 5 in. Charles F. Olney Fund (69.70) Gift of Paul F. Walter (69.55) Pietro Testa, Italian, 1611-1650 Sacrifice of Abraham Guido Reni, Italian, 1575-1642 Etching, B. 2 Holy Family General Acquisitions Fund (70.1) Etching, B. 10 II Gilt of Paul F. Walter (69.60) Rodolphe Bresdin, French, 1822-1885 The Good Samaritan, 1861 Guido Reni, Italian, 1575-1642 Lithograph, Boon 76 Holy Family General Acquisitions Fund (70.12) Etching, B. 9 I Gift of Paul F. Walter (69.61) Rene Magritte, Belgian, 1898-1967 Le Jour, 1967 Brita Molin, Swedish, 1919- Color intaglio, from set of eight Untitled, 1966 Friends of Art Fund (70.16)

144 PHOTOGRAPHY Italian, 1700 Pope Alexander VIII (obverse); Eugene Atget, French, 1857-1927 Alexander's tomb in St. Peter's (re­ Fruit Tree, (neg. no. 1178) verse) General Acquisitions Fund (70.4) Gilt bronze medal, Diam.: 65 mm. Friends of Art Fund (70.3) Eugene Atget, French, 1857-1927 St. Cloud, (neg. no. 1131) General Acquisitions Fund (70.5) CERAMICS Walker Evans, American, 1903- Citizen in Downtown Havana, 1932 Greek, Attic, Nikosthenes Workshop General Acquisitions Fund (70.6) Amphora, ca. 525-520 B.C. Black-figure on white ground General Acquisitions Fund (70.11)

SCULPTURE

English, ca. 1755 COSTUMES AND TEXTILES Mantelpiece from Fenchurch Street, London Natalia Gontcharova, Russian, 1881- White marble with brown jasper in­ 1962 serts Headdress in form of a fish, ca. College Fund (69.37) 1916 (for Diaghilev's ballet "Sad- ko") Indian, Rajasthan, 6th century Red and white silk, red and gold se­ Yaksha quins, cotton-backed, 15 x 34Vi in. Schist, H. 25 in. Helen Ward Memorial Collection Gift of Paul F. Walter (69.62) Fund (69.38)

Robert Laurent, American, 1890- Flemish, early 18th century Relief of a Head, before 1941 Tapestry, A Pheasant (?) and a Walnut, 17% x 7% x % in. Stork Bequest of Miss Genevieve Brandt Wool, 7 ft. x 7 ft. 11 in. (70.8) Gift of Andre Emmerich (69.58)

METALWORK Recent donations to the Helen Ward Memorial Collection of Costumes American, ca. 1900 and Textiles have been made by Covered Dish with Tray Frank C. Van Cleef, Mr. and Mrs. Cast silver, parcel gilt, Diam. tray: Daniel A. Harris and Mrs. Oscar 10% in., Bowl, H.6 in. Diam.: Jaszi 7% in. Gift of Mrs. William M. Russell (69.29)

Moderno, Italian, active end of 15th c. -beg. of 16th c. The Entombment, ca. 1500 Gilt bronze, 104 x 69 mm. General Acquisitions Fund (69.63)

145 MEMBERSHIP INFORMATION OBERLIN FRIENDS OF ART

Privileges of membership: All members will receive

A copy of each issue of the Bulletin

A discount on the new museum catalogue and on museum Christmas cards

Invitations to private receptions and previews at the Museum and to the annual members' acquisition party

Announcements of special exhibitions, Baldwin public lectures and other major events sponsored by the Museum

Free admission to the Friends of Art Film Series and the Friends of Art Concert Series

Categories of membership:

In Memoriam Memberships may be established by a contribution of $100 or more

Life Members contribute $100-$1,000 at one time to the Friends of Art Endowment Fund

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Sustaining Members contribute $15-$100 annually

Members contribute $7.50-$10 annually

Student Members contribute $4-$10 annually

The adequate maintenance of the Museum and the development of its collection are dependent upon the assistance of its friends. We invite anyone interested in the Allen Memorial Art Museum of Oberlin College to contribute to its growth by becoming a Friend of Art under one of the foregoing groups.

146 STAFF OF THE MUSEUM

John R. Spencer, Director Mrs. Margery M. Williams, Librarian Clarence Ward, Director Emeritus Mrs. Doris B. Moore, Assistant to Mrs. Chloe H. Young, the Director Curator of Collection Delbert Spurlock, Mrs. Athena T. Spear, Technical Assistant Curator of Modern Art Arthur Fowls, Head Custodian

INTERMUSEUM LABORATORY

Richard D. Buck, Conservator Mrs. Ruth Spider, Secretary Delbert Spurlock, Assistant Conservator

MUSEUM PURCHASE COMMITTEE

John R. Spencer, Chairman Mrs. Thalia Gouma Peterson Paul B. Arnold Mrs. Athena T. Spear Frederick B. Artz Richard E. Spear Richard D. Buck Wolfgang Stechow Robert K. Carr Clarence Ward Ellen H. Johnson Forbes Whiteside Donald M. Love Mrs. Chloe H. Young

EDITOR OF THE BULLETIN MUSEUM HOURS

Wolfgang Stechow School Year: Monday through Friday 10:00-12:00 A.M. (side gate) PHOTOGRAPHER 1:30-4:30 and 7:00-9:00 P.M. Robert Stillwell Saturday and Sunday 2:00-5:30 P.M.

PUBLICATIONS Summer: Monday through Friday The Bulletin, the catalogue of the 10:00-12:00 A.M. and painting and sculpture collection, 2:00-4:00 P.M. photographs, postcards, slides, and color reproductions are on sale at Saturday and Sunday the Museum 1:00-5:00 P.M.

147 COVER: photo Wayne A. Hollingworth, New York