450
PARTISAN R.EVIEW
corrugated cardboard, set against meticu lous drawings comparing extinct
marine organisms and obsolete weapons; from Francis R.'s constructions
of Rube Goldberg-type electrical circuits constructed out of unlikely scav–
enged materials, to Valerie Bourdel's miniature, subdued existential
dreamscapes-including an elusive image of a mauve helicopter melting
into grey-blue haze. And there's more to come. It's an engaging project, as
much for its energy and its spirit of wholehearted conunitment to the
importance of contemporary art as for the qualities of individual works.
And the modest, improvised character of the whole enterprise is a wel–
come antidote to the sleek new art palaces of the neighborhood.
Elsewhere in New York this spring, lovers of sculpture might savor
A
Century of Sculpture: the Nasher Collection,
at the Guggenheim. The breadth
of the collection assembled by Raymond Nasher and his late wife, Patsy, is
so impressive that it's hard to know where to begin, but it's safe to say that
at the Guggenheim Rodin, Matisse, Giacometti, and David Smith were
represented with particular brilliance and special depth. Most of Smith's
enduring preoccupations were visible in a series of first-rate pieces, from
an early Gonzilez-inspired head to a mysterious transitional polychrome
"landscape" to a triumphant Voltri Wagon, made in Italy three years before
the artist's death. Three sprawling, unignorable early Caros attested both
to the potency of Smith's legacy and its transformation. A group of three
closely-related busts by Giacometti of his brother Diego, set in a context
of sculptures from every part of the artist's career, made the individuality
of each work more apparent. Rare plaster versions transformed such icon–
ic images as Picasso's early Cubist head of Fernande Olivier or Rodin's
Age
if
Bronze.
As a whole, the collection offered an overview of the history of
Modernism in sculpture, with some engaging quirks-on the plus side,
delicately inflected, seldom-seen, wax-on-plaster heads by Medardo Rosso
and on the puzzling side, a surprising number of bombastic Raymond
Duchamp-Villons.
In
the end, though, it seemed clear that the excellence
of individual works outweighed their significance within a historical nar–
rative or even within their authors' evolution. That's what made the show
such a joy-and overcame even the infelici ties of installing sculpture in the
cramped, sloping bays of Frank Lloyd Wright's ramp, which is saying a lot.
For anyone engaged by the Medardo Rossos in the Nasher
Collection, a small, choice exhibition at Kent Gallery was a must.
Alternate versions of some of his most celebrated images, in slightly var–
ied materials, addressed the thorny question of series and replication in
this artist's work. Most dramatic was the less familiar polychrome
Maternity (Fragment),
an urgently modelled relief of a
nursing
child, ren–
dered as a sketchy shorthand of breast, baby's head, and mother's hands.
