New images of man

By Peter Selz, with statements by the artists

Author

Selz, Peter, 1919-

Date

1959

Publisher
The Museum of Modern Art: Distributed
by Doubleday, Garden City, N.Y.

Exhibition URL
www.moma.org/calendar/exhibitions/2907

The Museum of Modern Art's exhibition history—

from our founding in 1929 to the present—is
available online. It includes exhibition catalogues,
primary documents, installation views, and an
index of participating artists.

MoMA © 2017 The Museum of Modern Art

 i6o pages, 99 illustrations (1 1 in color) $ 5.-

LIBRARY
THE MUSEUM
NEW IMAGES OF MAN OF MODERN ART
By Peter Selz Received

with an Introductory Note by Paul Tillich

and statements by the artists

A new image of man, often shattered, or distorted, reflecting

the anxieties of our century, has evolved in contemporary
art. This book contains a selection of those recent painters
and sculptors who, in their interpretations of the human
figure, have created this mid-twentieth-century image. In
the paintings of Dubuflet it is an earth-bound image of man
presented with all the ambiguity of his position; in those of
Bacon it is man terrifyingly aware of the precariousness of his
existence; in the sculpture of Giacometti or Baskin, of his
solitude in a dehumanized world.
In his introduction and in the individual accounts of the
twenty-three artists included, Mr. Selz relates their art to the
art of the past, pointing out their affinity to Goya, Bosch, and
other angry exponents of their own ages. He notes their re
lationship to the masters of the more recent past, analyses the
works themselves and discusses their use of contemporary art
forms and techniques.
Mr. Selz' text is augmented by reflections of the philos
opher, Paul Tillich, and by statements by the artists.
Mr. Selz, art historian and critic, was formerly chairman
of the art department at Pomona College and director
of the Pomona College Gallery. He is now Curator of the
Department of Painting and Sculpture Exhibitions at the
Museum of Modern Art. He has contributed widely to
art publications and is the author of German Expressionist
Painting, recently published by the University of California
Press.

THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART

11 West 53 Street, New York 19, N. Y.

Distributed by Doubleday & Co., Inc., Garden City, N. Y.

NEW IMAGES OF MAN
 Published by The Museum of Modern Art, New York

in collaboration with The Baltimore Museum of Art

Distributed by Doubleday & Company, Inc., Garden City, New York

N EW
IMAGES
OF MAN
BY PETER SELZ with statements by the artists
/\£dV. v/£ 2,. <?
mhA
(o f5 I

TRUSTEES OF THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART

Mrs. John D. Rockefeller 3rd, Chairman of the Board; Henry Allen Moe,
Vice-Chairman of the Board; William A. M. Burden, President; Mrs. David
M. Levy, Vice-President; Alfred H. Barr, Jr., Mrs. Robert Woods Bliss,
*Stephen C. Clark, Ralph F. Colin, *Mrs. W. Murray Crane, Rene d'Harnon-
court, Mrs. C. Douglas Dillon, Mrs. Edsel B. Ford, A. Conger Goodyear, *Mrs.
Simon Guggenheim, Wallace K. Harrison, Mrs. Walter Hochschild, *James
W. Husted, Philip C. Johnson, Mrs. Albert D. Lasker, Mrs. Henry R. Luce,
Ranald H. Macdonald, Mrs. Samuel A. Marx, Porter A. McCray, Mrs. G.
Macculloch Miller, William S. Paley, Mrs. Bliss Parkinson, Mrs. Charles S.
Payson, * Duncan Phillips, David Rockefeller, Nelson A. Rockefeller, *Beards-
ley Ruml, *Paul J. Sachs, James Thrall Soby, Mrs. Donald B. Straus, *Edward
M. M. Warburg, Monroe Wheeler, John Hay Whitney
*Honorary Trustee for Life

TRUSTEES OF THE BALTIMORE MUSEUM OF ART

Frederick J. Singley, Jr., President; Robert G. Merrick, Vice-President;

Edward M. Benesch, George Boas, J. R. Herbert Boone, Alexander S. Cochran,
George W. Constable, William A. Dickey, Jr., Laurence Hall Fowler, Alexander
B. Griswold, George B. Hess, Mrs. Arthur U. Hooper, Richard H. Howland,
Mrs. Harold Duane Jacobs, Francis H. Jencks, Trafford P. Klots, Mason F.
Lord, Herman Maril, Mrs. William McMillan, Francis D.J. Murnaghan, Jr.,
Mrs. Reuben Oppenheimer, J. G. D. Paul, Philip B. Perlman, John H. Scarff,
Mrs. Harry R. Slack, Jr., Eleanor P. Spencer, Mrs. John C. Taliaferro, Jr.,
Alvin Thalheimer, Henry E. Treide, Eloise H. Wilson, Mrs. Harold H. Wrenn,
Alan Wurtzburger

Published by the Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1959

All rights reserved
Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number 59-14221
Typography by Susan Draper
Cover design by Herbert Matter
Printed in Holland by Joh. Enschede en Zonen, Haarlem
LENDERS TO THE EXHIBITION

Richard Brown Baker, New York; Leonard Baskin, Northampton, Massa

chusetts; Dr. and Mrs. Malcolm W. Bick, Springfield, Massachusetts; Mr. and
Mrs. Sidney F. Brody, Los Angeles; Mr. and Mrs. William A. M. Burden,
New York; Mr. and Mrs. Leo Castelli, New York; Mr. and Mrs. Ralph F.
Colin, New York; Mr. and Mrs. Richard Deutsch, Greenwich, Connecticut;
Philippe Dotremont, Brussels; Robert Elkon, New York; Mrs. Herberts. Green-
wald, Chicago; Dr. and Mrs. Julius S. Held, New York; Mr. and Mrs. Maxime
L. Hermanos, New York; Joseph H. Hirshhorn, New York; Sterling Holloway,
Encino, California; Mrs. Martha Jackson, New York; Philip C.Johnson, New
Canaan, Connecticut; Mr. and Mrs. Harold Kaye, Great Neck, New York;
Rico Lebrun, Los Angeles; Harold W. Lipman, New York; Mr. and Mrs.
Albert A. List, New York; Mrs. H. Gates Lloyd, Washington, D. C.; Wright
Ludington, Santa Barbara; Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Manilow, Chicago; Mr. and
Mrs. Arnold H. Maremont, Winnetka, Illinois; Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Matisse,
New York; Mrs. Jan Midler, New York; Mr. and Mrs. Roy R. Neuberger, New
York; Arthur J. Neumann, Chicago; Robert W. Ossorio, New York; Dr. and
Mrs. Russel H. Patterson, Jr., New York; Mr. and Mrs. Walter Ross, New York;
Mr. and Mrs. R.J. Sainsbury, London; Mr. and Mrs. Joseph R. Shapiro, Oak
Park, Illinois; Mr. and Mrs. James Thrall Soby, New Canaan, Connecticut;
Mr. and Mrs. Richard K. Weil, St. Louis; Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Weinstein,
New York; Mr. and Mrs. Charles Zadok, New York; Mr. and Mrs. William
Zeckendorf, Jr., New York.

Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston; Albright Art Gallery, Buffalo; The

Art Institute of Chicago; Stedelijk van Abbe Museum, Eindhoven, The Nether
lands; Department of Art, The Woman's College of the University of North
Carolina, Greensboro; The Tate Gallery, London; Walker Art Center,
Minneapolis; The Museum of Modern Art, New York; Whitney Museum of
American Art, New York; Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona; Phillips Collection,
Washington, D. C.

Galerie Creuzevault, Paris; Fine Arts Associates, New York; Allan Frumkin
Gallery, Chicago; The Hanover Gallery, London; Martha Jackson Gallery,
New York; Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York; Betty Parsons Gallery, New
York; Frank Perls Gallery, Beverly Hills; Bertha Schaefer Gallery, New York;
Jacques Seligmann & Co., Inc., New York.

ERRATA

The name of Mr. Horace Richter of New York was

inadvertently omitted from the list of lenders to the
exhibition.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

On behalf of the Trustees of The Museum of Modern Art and The Baltimore
Museum of Art, I wish first to express my gratitude to the artists for their
gracious collaboration in providing the texts in this book, as well as invaluable
documentation about their work, and to the generous lenders to the exhibition
on which this book is based, whose names appear on page 5.
I want to thank Alicia Legg, Assistant Curator of the Department of Painting
and Sculpture Exhibitions, for her able and resourceful work in helping to
assemble the material for the exhibition. In addition, I owe gratitude to Miss
Legg, Dr. Ilse Falk, Research Assistant of the Department, and to my wife
Thalia Selz for research, editorial assistance and help in translations. Dr. Falk,
with the assistance of Bernard Karpel, also prepared the bibliography. I wish
especially to thank Karen Bokert for her efficient secretarial help in both
exhibition and book.
Frank O'Hara wrote the essay on Jackson Pollock.
For special assistance given us, our deepest thanks are due to: Mr. Charles
Alan; The Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston; Mr. Joseph H. Hirshhorn;
Mr. Sterling Holloway; Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Manilow; Mr. and Mrs. Pierre
Matisse; Mr. and Mrs. Roy R. Neuberger; Mr. Jacques Seligmann.
I am deeply grateful to Rene d'Harnoncourt, Director of the Museum,
for the brilliant installation of the exhibition.
Peter Selz
Director of the Exhibition
 karel appel 16

kenneth armitage 23

francis bacon 28

leonard baskin 34

CONTENTS reg butler 39

cosmo campoli 45
cesar 5°
richard diebenkorn 55
jean dubuffet 60

alberto giacometti 68

leon golub 76

balcomb greene 83
willem de kooning 88

6 rico lebrun 9
james mcgarrell 102

jan miiller 106

PREFATORY NOTE BY PAUL TILLICH 9
nathan oliveira 112
INTRODUCTION 11
eduardo paolozzi "7
150
jackson pollock 123
!52
germaine richier 129
55 l
theodore roszak i34
h. c. westermann 141

fritz wotruba 146

El sueno de la razon produce monstruos GOYA
A PREFATORY NOTE BY PAUL TILLICH

Each period has its peculiar image of man. It appears in its poems and novels, music,
philosophy, plays and dances; and it appears in its painting and sculpture. Whenever a
new period is conceivedin the womb of the precedingperiod, a new image of man pushes
towards the surface and finally breaks through to find its artists and philosophers. We
have been livingfor decades at a turning point, and nothing is more indicative of this
fact than the series of revolutionary styles in the visual arts which havefollowed each
other since the beginning of our century. Each of these styles transformed the image of man
drastically, even when compared to the changes of the past five centuries. Where are the
organic j'orms of man's body, the human character of his face, the uniqueness of his
individual person? And finally, when in abstract or non-objectivepainting and sculpture,
thefigure disappears completely,one is tempted to ask, what has happened to man? This
is the question which we direct at our contemporaryartists, and in this question one can
discern an undertoneof embarassment, of anger and evenof hostility against them. Instead,
we should ask ourselves, what has becomeof us? What has happened to the reality of our
lives? If we listen to the more profound observersof our period, we hear them speak of the
danger in which modern man lives: the danger of losing his humanity and of becominga
thing amongst the things he produces. Humanity is not somethingman simply has. He must
fight for it anew in everygeneration, and he may lose his fight. There have beenfew periods
in history in which a catastrophic defeat was more threatening than in ours. One need
only look at the dehumanizing structure of the totalitarian systems in one half of the
world, and the dehumanizing consequencesof technical mass civilization in the other half.
In addition, the conflict between them may lead to the annihilation of humanity. The
impact of this predicament produces, on the one hand, adaptation to the necessitiesof
present-day living and indifferenceto the question of the meaning of human existence,and
on the other, anxiety, despair and revolt against this predicament. The first group resigns
itself to becomingthings amongst things, giving up its individual self. The second group
tries desparately to resist this danger.
The works of art of our century are the mirrors of our predicament produced by some of
the most sensitive minds of our lime. In the light of our predicament we must look at the
works of contemporaryart, and conversely,in the light of contemporaryworks of art we
must look at our predicament.
The image of man became transformed, distorted, disrupted and it finally disappeared
in recentart. But as in the reality of our lives, so in its mirror of the visual arts, the human
protest arose against thefate to becomea thing. The artists, who are shown in this exhi
bition, are representativesof such protest. They want to regain the image of man in their
paintings and sculptures, but they are too honest to turn back to earlier naturalistic or

9
 idealisticforms , and they are too consciousof the limits implied in our present situation to
jump ahead into a so-called new classicism. They tried to depict as honestly as they could,
true representations of the human predicament, as they experiencedit within and outside
themselves. The question as to how well they succeededartistically cannot be answered by
the present writer. It is a matter of art criticism. But the question as to how well they
succeededin stating the content of their works is a matter of personal and philosophical
interpretation.
The fight for a full developmentof man's possibilities is a continuous task. It is never
completelyreached and will never be completelymissed. But in some momentsof history as
expressedin the mosaics of Ravenna, in Giotto, in Piero della Francesa, in Rembrandt, in
Manet, morefulfillment is visible than in other moments. And at certain times and with
certain artists — early Romanesque, late Gothic, Breughel, Bosch, El Greco, Magnasco,
Goya and Daumier — the pain of struggle is more visible. But neither thefulfillment nor
the struggle determinesthe artistic quality of the work. And something else must be added
here: the veryfact that a great work of art depicts the negativeside in thefight for humanity
is in itself a fulfillment of a high human possibility. The courage and the honesty which
underlie such works, and the creative power which is able to grasp the negativity of the
content by the posilivity of theform, is a triumph of humanity.
In the developmentof art since the beginning of our century the negative emphasis in
the expression of the fight for humanity by far prevails. This is also true of the works
presented in this exhibition with their distortions. All of them show traces of the battle for
the human image they want to rediscover. They resist the temptation of tired relapses or
premature solutions. Theyfight desparately over the image of man, and by producing shock
and fascination in the observer, they communicate their own concernfor threatened and
struggling humanity. They show the smallness of man and his deep involvementin the vast
masses of inorganic matter out of which he tries to emergewith toil and pain; they demon
strate the controlling power of technicalforms over man by dissecting him into parts and
re-constructing him, as man does with nature. They reveal the hidden presence of animal
trends in the unconsciousand the primitive mass-manfrom which man comesand to which
civilized mass-man may return. They dare to emphasize certain elements and parts of the
natural figure and to leave out others in the desire to express something which nature hides.
And if they depict the humanface, they show that it is not simply given to us but that its
human form itself is a matter of continuous struggle. There are demonicforces in every
man which try to take possession of him, and the new image of man showsfaces in which
the state of being possessed is shockingly manifest. In others thefear of such possession or
the anxiety at the thought of living is predominant, and again in others there are feelings
of emptiness, meaninglessnessand despair. But there are also courage, longing and hope,
a reaching out into the unknown.

10
INTRODUCTION

Marsyas had no business playing the flute. Athena, who invented it, had tossed
it aside because it distorted the features of the player. But when Marsyas, the
satyr of Phrygia, found it, he discovered that he could play on it the most
wondrous strains. He challenged beautiful Apollo, who then calmly played the
strings of his lyre and won the contest. Apollo's victory was almost complete,
and his divine proportions, conforming to the measures of mathematics, were
exalted in fifth-century Athens and have set the standard for the tradition of
Western art. But always there was the undercurrent of Marsyas' beauty
struggling past the twisted grimaces of a satyr. These strains have their measure
not in the rational world of geometry but in the depth of man's emotion. In
stead of a canon of ideal proportions we are confronted by what Nietzsche
called "the eternal wounds of existence." Among the artists who come to mind
are the sculptors of the Age of Constantine, of Moissac and Souillac, the painters
of the Book of Durrow, the Beatus Manuscripts, and the Campo Santo;
Hieronymus Bosch, Grtinewald, Goya, Picasso and Beckmann.
Again in this generation a number of painters and sculptors, courageously
aware of a time of dread, have found articulate expression for the "wounds of
existence." This voice may "dance and yell like a madman" (Jean Dubuffet),
like the drunken, flute-playing maenads of Phrygia.
The revelations and complexities of mid-twentieth-century life have called
forth a profound feeling of solitude and anxiety. The imagery of man which has
evolved from this reveals sometimes a new dignity, sometimes despair, but
always the uniqueness of man as he confronts his fate. Like Kierkegaard,
Heidegger, Camus, these artists are aware of anguish and dread, of life in which
man — precarious and vulnerable — confronts the precipice, is aware of dying
as well as living.
Their response is often deeply human without making use of recognizable
human imagery. It is found, for instance, in Mark Rothko's expansive ominous
surfaces of silent contemplation, or in Jackson Pollock's wildly intensive act of
vociferous affirmation with its total commitment by the artist. In the case of
the painters and sculptors discussed here, however, a new human imagery
unique to our century has been evolved.
Like the more abstract artists of the period, these imagists take the human
situation, indeed the human predicament rather than formal structure, as their
starting point. Existence rather than essence is of the greatest concern to them.

11
 And if Apollo, from the pediment of Olympia to Brancusi's Torso of a Young
Alan, represents essence, the face of Marsyas has the dread of existence, the
premonition of being flayed alive.
These images do not indicate the "return to the human figure" or the "new
humanism" which the advocates of the academies have longed for, which,
indeed they and their social-realist counterparts have hopefully proclaimed with
great frequency, ever since the rule of the academy was shattered. There is
surely no sentimental revival and no cheap self-aggrandizement in these effigies
of the disquiet man.
These images are often frightening in their anguish. They are created by
artists who are no longer satisfied with "significant form" or even the boldest
act of artistic expression. They are perhaps aware of the mechanized barbarism
of a time which, notwithstanding Buchenwald and Hiroshima, is engaged in the
preparation of even greater violence in which the globe is to be the target. Or
perhaps they express their rebellion against a dehumanization in which man,
it seems, is to be reduced to an object of experiment. Some of these artists have
what Paul Tillich calls the "courage to be," to face the situation and to state
1 the absurdity. "Only the cry of anguish can bring us to life."
But politics, philosopy and morality do not in themselves account for their
desire to formulate these images. The act of showing forth these effigies takes
the place of politics and moral philosophy, and the showing forth must stand
in its own right as artistic creation. Picasso: "Ma Jolie " (Woman with
In many ways these artists are inheritors of the romantic tradition. The a Ztihcr or Guitar). (1911-12).
Oil on canvas, 39f x 25I". The
passion, the emotion, the break with both idealistic form and realistic matter,
Museum of Modern Art, New
the trend towards the demoniac and cruel, the fantastic and imaginary — all York, acquired through the Lillie
belong to the romantic movement which, beginning in the eighteenth century, P. Bliss Bequest
seems never to have stopped.
But the art historian can also relate these images to the twentieth-century
tradition. Although most of the works show no apparent debt to cubism, they
would be impossible without the cubist revolution in body image and in pic
torial space. Apollinaire tells us in his allegorical language that one of Picasso's
friends "brought him one day to the border of a mystical country whose in
habitants were at once so simple and so grotesque that one could easily remake
them. And then after all, since anatomy, for instance, no longer existed in art,
he had to reinvent it, and carry out his own assassination with the practised and
2 methodical hand of a great surgeon." Picasso's reinvention of anatomy, which
has been called cubism, was primarily concerned with exploring the reality oj
form and its relation to space, whereas the imagists we are now dealing with

12
 often tend to use a similarly shallow space in which they explore the reality of
man. In a like fashion the unrestricted use of materials by such artists as Dubuffet
and Paolozzi would have been impossible without the early collages by Picasso
and Braque, but again the cubists were playing with reality for largely formal
reasons, whereas the contemporary artists may use pastes, cinder, burlap or
nails to reinforce their psychological presentation.
These men own a great debt to the emotionally urgent and subjectively
penetrating painting of the expressionists from the early Kokoschka to the late
Soutine. Like them they renounce la bellepeinture and are "bored by the esthetic,"
as Dubuffet writes. Like most expressionists these artists convey an almost
mystical faith in the power of the effigy, to the making of which they are driven
by "inner necessity." Yet the difference lies in this special power of the effigy,
which has become an icon, a poppet, a fetish. Kokoschka and Soutine still do
likenesses, no matter how preoccupied with their own private agonies and
visions; Dubuffet and de Kooning depart further from specificity, and present
us with a more generalized concept of Man or Woman.
Much of this work would be inconceivable without Dada's audacious break
with the sacrosanct "rules of art" in favor of free self-contradiction, but nega
tivism, shock value, and polemic are no longer ends in themselves. The surreal
ists, too, used the devices of Dada — the rags, the pastes, the ready-mades, the
found object — and transported the picture into the realm of the fantastic and
supernatural. Here the canvas becomes a magic object. Non-rational subjects
are treated spontaneously, semi-automatically, sometimes deliriously. Dream,
hallucination and confusion are used in a desire "to deepen the foundations of
the real. " Automatism was considered both a satisfying and powerful means of
expression because it took the artist to the very depths of his being. The con-

Kokoschka: Hans Tietze and Erica Tietze-Conrat. (1909).

Oil on canvas, 30^ 53!"- The Museum of Modern Art,
New York, Mrs. John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Fund

3 J
 Giacometti: The Palace at 4 A.M. (1932-33). Construction
in wood, glass, wire, string, 25" high. The Museum of
Modern Art, New York. Purchase

scious was to be visibly linked to the unconscious and fused into a mysterious
whole as in Giacometti's The Palace at 4 A.M., where the reference of each object
within the peculiarly shifting space — the space of the dream — is so ambiguous
as never to furnish a precise answer to our question about it. But all too often
3 surrealism "offered us only a subject when we needed an image." The surrealist
artist wants us to inquire, to attempt to "read" the work, and to remain
perplexed. In the City Square (page 71), which Giacometti did sixteen years
later, we are no longer dealing with a surrealist object. The space still isolates
the figures, but instead of an ambiguous dream image we have a more specific
statement about man's lack of mutual relationship.
Finally the direct approach to the material itself on the part of contemporary
painters and sculptors, the concern with color as pigment, the interest in the
surface as a surface, belongs to these artists as much as it does to the non-
figurative painters and sculptors of our time. The material— the heavy pigmen
tation in de Kooning's "Women," the corroded surfaces of Richier's sculp
ture — help indeed in conveying the meaning. Dubuffet was one of the first
artists who granted almost complete autonomy to his material when he did his
famous "pastes" of the early 1940s. Even Francis Bacon wrote: "Painting in
this sense tends towards a complete interlocking of image and paint, so that the
image is in the paint and vice versa... I think that painting today is pure
intuition and luck and taking advantage of what happens when you splash the
4 stuff down." But it is also important to remember that Dubuffet's or Bacon's
forms never simply emerge from an undifferentiated id. These artists never
abdicate their control of form.

14
 The painters and sculptors discussed here have been open to a great many
influences, have indeed sought to find affirmation in the art of the past. In
addition to the art of this century — Picasso, Gonzales, Miro, Klee, Nolde,
Soutine, etc. — they have learned to know primarily the arts of the non-Renais
5 sance tradition: children's art, latrine art, and what Dubuflct calls art brut) the
sculpture of the early Etruscans and the late Romans, the Aztecs, and Neolithic
cultures. When these artist look to the past, it is the early and late civilizations
which captivate them. And when they study an African carving, they are
enraptured not so much by its plastic quality or its tactile values, but rather by
its presence as a totemic image. They may appreciate the ancient tribal artist's
formal sensibilities; they truly envy his shamanistic powers.
The artists represented here — painters and sculptors, European and Ameri
can — have arrived at a highly interesting and perhaps significant imagery
which is concomitant with their formal structures. This combination of con
temporary form with a new kind of iconography developing into a "New Image"
is the only element these artists hold in common. It cannot be emphasized too
strongly that this is not a school, not a group, not a movement. In fact, few of
these artists know each other and any similarities are the result of the time in
which they live and see. They are individuals affirming their personal identity
as artists in a time of stereotypes and standardizations which have affected not
only life in general but also many of our contemporary art exhibitions. Because
of the limitations of space, we could not include many artists whose work merits
recognition. Wlrile it is hoped that the selection proves to be wise, it must also
be said that it was the personal choice of the director of the exhibition.
 KAREL APPEL born 192 1

P ainling is a tangible sensual experience, an intense state of emotionengenderedby thejoys

and tragedies of man and also an experiencein space which,fed by the instinct, leads to a
livingform. This atmospherein which I breathe and which I make tangible through paint
is an expression of my time. I try to catch this concrete reality with the means at my
disposal. icyyo

My paint tube is like a rocket which describesits own space. I try to make the impossible
possible. What is happening I cannotforesee; it is a surprise. Painting, like passion, is an
emotionfull of truth and rings a living sound, like the roar comingfrom the lion's breast.
— 1956
It isfeeling that directs the ordering processon the white canvas. The unused white ground
is magnificent. It makes manifest all spontaneous handling and accidents, as well as the
lines, directly and spontaneouslyapplied, which thus change to a more profound matter.
—*957
To paint is to destroy what preceded. I never try to make a painting, but a chunk of life.
It is a scream; it is a night; it is like a child; it is a tiger behind bars.
Most of our contemporarieshave notyet grown beyondthe "being" of things as we have
known them and they are still tied to folkloristic miniature conceptsexpressed in poetical
form and color. The new poetic idea is a free expression, comparable to modern science
which has found free energy, that is, liberation from the gravitational force of the earth.
— 195^

Karel Appel, from letters, translated from the Dutch by Ernst Scheyer, Detroit

The young Dutch artists who formed the Experimental Group in Amsterdam
in 1948 rejected not only the moribund academies, but just as much the painting
of Mondrian and de Stijl. Mondrian's painting had not brought about the
better co-operative society he had envisaged, nor did it seem likely to do so in
the future. Appel, Corneille and Constant, who formed the Group, wished to
go back to the primeval sources of man's creative expression.
Their iconography, which often equated man and animal, is related to the
work of the Belgian expressionists of the School of Laethem St. Martin in the
inter-war period. I he painting of Constant Permeke and Frits van den Berghe

16
I

Appel: Person in Grey. 1953. Oil on canvas, 46 x 35".

Martha Jackson Gallery, New York

is especially relevant to this context. But this iconography may actually have
had its immediate source in the work of Heinrich Campendonk who taught at
the Rijksakademie in Amsterdam from 1933 to 1957 after having been one of
the original members of the Blue Rider and a close friend of Franz Marc. It
was Campendonk who continued Marc's attempt to find formal expression for
man's identification with the animal in a total cosmic union. Appel, indeed,
had studied at the Rijksakademie from 1940 to 1943, but his man-animal
iconography is expressed with a new, turbulent vigor, which makes the older
expressionists appear lyrical, even mild, by comparison.
 Soon Appel and his friends made contact with similar groups in Copenhagen
and Brussels, and the group cobra (for Copenhagen — Brussels — Amsterdam)
resulted in 1949. The magazine of the same name was devoted to primitive,
folk, schizophrenic and child art, and to startling comparisons of a surreal
nature. But cobra declared itself as much opposed to "surrealist pessimism" as
to "sterile abstraction" and "bourgeois naturalism." They affirmed their op
timism and, much like the New York painters of the late Forties, they believed
in the "act of creation" as the all-important aspect of the esthetic experience.
"I never try to make a painting, but a chunk of life. It is a scream; it is a night;
it is like a child; it is a tiger behind bars."
The same year as the foundation of cobra, Appel painted a fresco for the
coffee shop in the City Hall of Amsterdam which aroused so much controversy
that it was covered over with wallpaper, and shortly thereafter, in 1950, Appel
moved to Paris where he is still living. He began to participate in Michel Tapie's
exhibitions, "Signifiants de lTnformel" ( 1951) and "Un Art Autre" (1952) and
soon began showing at the Internationals of Pittsburgh (1952, 1955, 1959),
Sao Paulo (1953), and Venice (1954). He now has murals in the Stedelijk
Museum in Amsterdam and at the Unesco Building in Paris among other
places.
In his murals as well as in his easel painting, Appel has been able to sustain
the urgency and fervor of his early work. A canvas such as Person in Grey of 1953
(page 17) departs from the close resemblance to children's drawings. He has
clearly learned from Klee, but this is Klee gone violent, almost berserk. Klee's
paintings look like subtle and sophisticated miniatures next to Appel's work.
The Condemned(page 19) of the same year, adds a note of black nightmare — the
"tiger behind bars."
Appel is one of the few inventive portrait painters of our time. His portraits
combine his peculiar expressionism with the new concern for the act of painting
itself. Portrait of Sandberg (page 21), for instance, is impetuously built up of
zigzag calligraphic strokes and heavy impasto. It is a likeness which retains the
dynamic events of the creative process. The brilliantly colored Count Basie (page
20), one of a series of jazz musicians Appel painted during his stay in the United
States in 1957, is likewise related to the spontaneity of action painting. Clearly
a parallel can be drawn between his improvisations and the technique of jazz.
Appel's recent work, such as the large 1957 Blue Nude (page 22), with its
continuous movement in the picture plane, becomes even more intoxicated
with the sensual quality of color and paint. Out of the maelstrom of experience
the streaked pigment forms the grotesque image of a woman.

18
Appel: The Condemned. 1953. Oil on canvas, 55^ x 45i". Stedelijk van Abbe Museum, Eindhoven,
The Netherlands
r (

Appel: Count Basie. 1957. Oil on canvas, 60 x 45". Phoenix Art Museum, gift of Peter Riibel

20
Appel: Portrait of Sandberg. 1956. Oil on canvas, 5 1i x 31^". Institute of Con
temporary Art, Boston, Provisional Collection through Mr. and Mrs. Lester
H. Dana
 flat's*'
Appel: Blue Nude. 1957. Oil on canvas, 76^ x 51^". Collection Philippe Dotremont,
Brussels
KENNETH ARMITAGE born 1916

The artist is concernedwith expressing the most he can with the tightest economy, con
taining the comprehensionof a wider experiencein an isolated singlefragment, reducing an
awareness of all time to the single moment.
An essential requirementof sculpture is that it must present an easily recognizable over
all pattern or envelope, a simple total image which is first a basket and only secondlyholds
the eggs.
However one might change its character, the single figure remains a unit shape deeply
satisfying in itself. But if three or four figures are placed together (and I always wanted
to make groups or crowds) an over-all shape cannot be achievedjust by neatly arranging
the unchanged units inside it for this would look elaborate and contrived. Joining figures
togetherin groups, I found in time I wanted to merge them so completelytheyformed a new
organic unit— a simple mass of whatever shape I liked containing only that number of
heads, limbs or other detail 1 felt necessary. So in a crowd we see only theface or hand
that catches our eye,for we don't see mathematically but only what is most conspicuousor
important or familiar.
Abstract sculpture, or sculpture concerningsubjects other than the human image cannot
hold my interest for long— it is loo polite, like people who are too shy ever to take off their
clothes.
A sculptor usingfigures reveals a little of his private human self as well as his aesthetic
inclinations. We are all involved in ceaseless and ruthless scrutiny oj others, and become
adept in making automatic split-second assessmentsof everybodywe meet being repelled
or attracted, and interpreting every variation of shape as indications of character.
Naturally my sculpture contains ideas or experiencesother than those that derive directly
from observation of the human image, neverthelessit is always dressed in some degree in
human form.
Kenneth Armilage

Sculpture in England has experienced an extraordinary renaissance — birth

would be a more accurate description— during the last thirty years. Between
the wars Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth, exploiting the nature of ma
terials as well as the essence of archetypal forms, set a standard of quality which

23
more recent sculptors have continued. Of the triumvirate — Butler, Ghadwick
and Armitage — who came to public attention around 1950, Kenneth Armitage
is the youngest.
Armitage was born in Leeds in 1916 and studied at the Leeds College of Art
from 1934 to 1937 before going down to London where he attended the Slade
School from 1937 until 1939. He first became prominent in 1952 with a one-
man show at Gimpel Fils and participation in the Venice Biennale. In 1954
Bertha Schaefer introduced him to the United States.
Armitage's recent sculpture continues his concern with the simplified human
figure, alone or in groups. He works in the pliable clay medium and then
finishes the bronze surfaces by filling, scratching, or gouging, and sometimes by
applying color, but the final sensuous texture relates very closely to the form
itself. Very recent works such as Model for Large Seated Group and Diarchy, both
of 1957 (below and opposite), remind us of his earlier slab-like compositions.
Again he presents a collective group merged into a continuous screen which is
not true sculpture-in-the-round and needs to be seen from the front. But the
nervously moving and still slightly contrived webs of the early Fifties have made
way for a compact slab, a frieze, indeed a wall, animated only by the pointed

24
 Far Left: Armitage: Model for Large Seated Group.
(1957). Bronze, 10" high. Collection Mr. and
Mrs. Maxime L. Hermanos, New York

Left: Armitage: Model for Krefeld Monument.

j956)- ( Bronze, 13d" high. Collection Mr. and
Mrs. Walter Ross, New York

Armitage: Diarchy. (1957). Bronze, 68^" high.

Collection Mr. and Mrs. Arnold H. Maremont,
Winnetka, Illinois
Left\ Armitage: Seated Woman with Arms Raised. ( 1953~57) - Bronze, 4 i\" high. Albright Art
Gallery, Buffalo, gift of Seymour H. Knox

Right : Armitage: The Seasons. (1956). Bronze, 34" high. Collection Mr. and Mrs. Charles
Zadok, New York

26
 breasts and spider-like legs sprouting out from the surface and by the skyline of
squared-off head-shapes. Related to Moore's Family Group of 1945-49, these are
far more anonymous and impersonal clusters of sitters, merged together in
extricably into a single unit. The very concept — the impressive stolidity of a
group — seems to have grown into its shape during the modeling process and is
6 due to the artist's desire to "achieve area without actual bulk."
The group for the war monument, to be erected in Krefeld, Germany, breaks
up Armitage's solidity and exists freely in the surrounding space, indeed com
mands the environment. Surfaces, reminiscent of Rodin and Medardo Rosso,
enrich these moving figures. Without massiveness the group is monumental,
that is, it does not put us at ease, but admonishes and mystifies us.
In The Seasons (opposite) Armitage combines the linear forms of modern
sculpture with a traditional respect for solidity. Torsos perch on thin legs, like
a modern building on stilts. The vertical emphasis of the organ-pipe legs is
continued in the triple accent of arms reaching up ceremoniously like standards
waiting for banners, while the out-stretched horizontal arm sets up a minor axis.
His individual figures, such as Seated Woman with Arms Raised (opposite), are
large helpless creatures, thwarted by the inflexible limbs which keep them from
assuming control of their environment. Like Gregor in Kafka's Metamorphosis,
these human figures with their thin extremities are turned into helpless bugs;
"...they signify nothing more than the absurdity of the body that the human
7 spirit is condemned to occupy."

27
 Bacon : Study of a Figure in a Landscape
(1952). Oil on canvas, 78 x 54"
Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C

28
FRANCIS BACON born 1910

Francis Bacon, like Joyce, was born in Dublin and the excrutiatingly painful
horror of Bacon's imagery recalls Father Arnall's sermon on the terrors of hell
in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Bacon's figures, howling with torture
and guilt, suggest the physical and spiritual pain of the damned on which the
Jesuit father perorates. Bacon's earliest paintings, in fact, were studies on the
theme of the Crucifixion — strangely distorted and deformed monsters com
bining features of birds, pigs, bats and humans: modern versions of Bosch. Later
works such as the interpretation of Velasquez' Pope Innocent X of 1953 (page 30),
are shrieking accusations, combining an anti-clerical with an anti-art attitude.
Here is the Pope on the macabre stage of the Grand Guignol.
Bacon's figures are both haunted and haunting. Like surrealist figures, the
sombre Man in a Blue Box (page 31), is taken out of time and out of place as he
emits a cry which touches us at the base of the spine. This is anguish and
violence, observed and recorded. While the surrealists might have thought of
placing a man in a transparent box, and the expressionists of distorting his
features, Bacon has affirmed his horror by cruelly unhinging his features. This
man suggests a weird judge pronouncing punishment on himself, an imprison
ment which has already taken place. He recalls also the character of Hamm in
Samuel Becket's Endgame who throughout the long dialogue, speaking through
the sheet with which he is covered, pleads for his pain-killer. When at last the
time for the pain-killer has come he is told: "there is no more pain-killer.'
Man in a Blue Box was done in 1949, the year of Bacon's first one-man exhi
bition at the Hanover Gallery in London, at which time he came to critical
attention for his preoccupation with horror. The fearful isolation of his subjects,
their raw estrangement from the world, is brought to a high pitch again in
Study of a Figure in a Landscape of 1952 (page 28). Applications of blues and
greens, so spare that the unsized canvas is seen in many areas, suggest a field of
grass against woods and sky. In the dark center, the only opaque part of the
picture, crouches a figure which seems to have all of man's explosive force. Like
so many of Bacon's images, it is out of focus. Bacon is interested in motion
studies, in the film and in the flash-light news photographs of crime and acci
dent. By transferring the motion of the film onto canvas he sometimes achieves
the sequential quality of time, motion and action. ' But in addition to physical
motion, he is also interested in psychological motivations. His image of man is
blurred, as man's memory is blurred.
In these sparsely painted works the texture of the canvas has determined the

29
1 Bacon: Study after Velasquez Portrait of
Pope Innocent X. (1953). Oil on canvas,
6oi x 46 i". Collection Mr. and Mrs.
William A. M. Burden, New York

texture of the finished work. In recent years, however, he has become interested
in brighter colors and richer application of the pigment, as in the van Gogh
studies. Here, as in the series after Velasquez, his imagination is sparked by an
earlier work of art. In the 1956 study (page 32) van Gogh materializes in the
fields together with a shadow from which he seems quite detached. Emerging

30
 Bacon: Man in a Blue Box. (1949).
Oil on canvas, 58 x 51". Collection
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph R. Shapiro,
Oak Park, Illinois

out of the quickly receding space, he reminds us that time is on its way. In a
later study (page 33) he has stopped on the road. Always concerned with the
vision of death and man's consciousness of dying, Bacon has presented us here
with the spectre of van Gogh returning from the dead to his familiar haunts on
9 the road to Tarascon.

3i
Bacon: Study for Portrait of van Gogh, No. 1. (1956). Oil on canvas, 60 x 46J".
Collection Mr. and Mrs. R. J. Sainsbury, London

Bacon: Study for Portrait of van Gogh, No. j. (1957). Oil on canvas,
j8} x 56^". Collection Joseph H. Hirshhorn, New York
Baskin: Man with a Dead Bird. (1954). Walnut, 64'
high. The Museum of Modern Art, New York,
A. Conger Goodyear Fund
 LEONARD BASKIN born 1922

...Our human frame, our gutted mansion, our envelopingsack of beef and ash is yet a
glory. Glorious in definingour universalsodality and glorious in definingour utter uniqueness.
The humanfigure is the image of all men and of one man. It contains all and it can express
all. Man has always created the humanfigure in his own image, and in our time that image
is despoiledand debauched.Between eye and eyestretches an interminable landscape. From
pelvis to sternum lies the terror of great structures, and from arms to ankle to the center of
the brain is a whirling axis. To discover these marvels, to search the mage of man's
physicality, to wander the body's magnitudes is to searchfor the image of man. And in the
act of discoverylies the act of communication. A common communal communication of
necessity.
Theforging of works of art is one of man's remaining semblancesto divinity. Man has
been incapable of love,wanting in charity and despairing of hope. He has not moldeda life
of abundance and peace, and he has charted the earth and befouled the heavens more
wantonly than ever before. He has made of Arden a landscape of death. In this garden I
dwell, and in limning the horror, the degradation and thefilth, I hold the crackedmirror up
to man. All previous art makes this course inevitable.

Leonard Baskin, Northampton, Mass., April 23, 1959

In vehement opposition to what he calls "the subjective ambiguities" of a great

deal of contemporary art, Baskin feels that the artist is, above all, a communi
cator of moral ideas. "Avant-garde art," he writes in his recent essay on Kathe
Kolwitz, "is not complex, indeed it is simple minded," because it replaces
10 specific content with "the formal substructure."
In order to communicate, Leonard Baskin makes use of the print medium in
woodcuts and wood engravings and does fine limited editions of books for the
Gehenna Press. As a member of the Smith College faculty, he has been an
inspiring teacher for a number of years. But it is in his sculpture that he has
found his most consummate expression.
Like Francis Bacon, Baskin is preoccupied with the state of death and the act
of dying. His prints and drawings, with their incisive, web-like line, dwell on
the ravaged image of man perishing of his own physical defilement and spiritual
corruption.

35
Baskin: Poet Laureate. (1956). Bronze, 9" high. Collection Mr. and Mrs. Roy
R. Neuberger, New York

A similar interpretation appears in the small bronzes, whose corrosion resem

bles the weathered textures of archaic works. The Seated Man (page 38) is
actually a funny little fellow, pig-eyed and neckless, his large arms folded, tiny
legs hanging down from a heavy belly. But a more macabre humor has sur
mounted the bloated, heavy-jowled, degenerate face of the Poet Laureate (above)
with a laurel wreath: a would-be Caesar uttering absurdities.
His carvings in wood and stone, however, are no longer representations of
agony and deterioration. Here man assumes a quiet, dignified nobility. Sym
metrical and frontal, silent and static — even the Walking Man (page 38) is a
static figure —they have an almost iconic intensity and self-containment. Unlike
almost all of his contemporaries, Baskin, who has great reverence for the past,
disdains open forms and space extensions. Rather than form governing space,
Baskin's image, as in the Man with a Dead Bird (page 34), dominates the viewer,

36
Baskin: The Great Dead Man. (1956). Limestone, 5' 10" long. Owned by the artist

who is captivated by the compelling severity of the simplified form and the
inscrutable expression.
Baskin's sculpture has been exhibited since 1939, but his most important
work to date is the Great Dead Man of 1956 (above). One of an extensive series
of effigies of the dead in bronze, stone, and wood —it is a massive limestone
figure, stiffly frontal, its solid rigidity expressing the very essence of rigor mortis.
Compared to this, the medieval tomb sculptures which impressed him during
his studies at the Academie de la Grande Chaumiere in Paris in 1950 and at the
Academy of Fine Arts in Florence in 1951, look fragile and linear. We must go
back to the Old Kingdom sculpture of Egypt to find the true source of Baskin's
monoliths, and perhaps also—if we observe the secret smile of final renunciation
on the lips of the Great Dead Man — to certain Buddhist effigies of the Northern
Wei dynasty in fifth-century China.
Left : Baskin: Walking Man. (1955). Oak, 17 high, Collection Dr. and Mrs. Malcolm W. Bick,
Springfield, Massachusetts

Right: Baskin: Seated Man. (1956). Bronze, 13J" high. Collection Dr. and Mrs. Julius S. Held,
New York

38
REG BUTLER born 1913

. . . ignorance, incompletenessand misrepresentationmust always be the natural bedfellows

of the artist involvedin attempting a directlyfigurative image. . . doing small things well is
admirable and appropriate in science and technologybecause their achievementsare cumu
lative; but it is not the same in the arts . . . to achieveanything worthwhile they must always
be prepared to afford the unfashionable luxury offailure . . .
.. .somewhere at the back of my mind I think there has always been a convictionthat to
achieve an appropriate paraphrase of his own image may well be the most considerable
achievementof which man will everbe capable. . . evenperhaps afeeling that a societywhich
evadesa resolution of its ownface may in the course of time be seen to havefailed itself in
a thousand other respects. . .
...if what is natural is of any significance,figuration is natural to sculpture. . . the sculptor
is an organiser of forms before all elsejust as contrariwise the painter is an organiser of
marks, and as the painter's natural preoccupation leads, it seems to me, towards landscape
(it is as landscape that I see the majority of the works I find most admirable in present-day
painting) so the sculptor's attachment to object-makingleads naturally towards the creation
of the "magic object," the personage, the creature, the human animal... it would appear
that for very many sculptors today thefigurative direction is an open one, while it is perhaps
otherwisefor many active and dedicatedpainters.
. ..the tensions of life today exist in theframework of an equally dynamic biological op
timism . . . tautness has its greatest value when it is expressed through forms which are
potentially capable of being relaxed. . . sculptures in which all is tension are as false as
were the security sculptures of the nineteenth century.
. . . reality has usually little connectionwith literal accuracy. . . sometimesit is necessaryto
get the centre of energy up off the ground in order to anchor it... a fragment can be more
whole than mere completeness,perhaps becauseit includes the elementof event... it becomes
a part of history rather than a scientificspecimenin a glass case.
. . .gesture is to befound as much in the axes offorms as in the handling of surface. . . the
mark of the artist goes all through whatever he makes.
. . .sculpture must involvefeeling oneselfinto one's work,for the sculptor and his work share
the same actual space and enjoy the same physical dimensions... the legs of the figure a
sculptor makes carry actual weight. Its arms penetrate space and its mass is pulled down
towards the centre of the earth just as he has to carry his own load.
Reg Butler, from a conversation recorded in England in iggg

39
Butler: Woman. (1949). Forged iron,
7' 3" high. The Tate Gallery, London
 If both Baskin and Bacon present man confronted with death, Reg Butler,
especially in his recent work, presents life in its most sensual and erotic aspects
as symbolized by woman. This aroused female demon, desirous and desirable,
close to the earth, is part of that peculiar Western tradition born in the Korai
of Greece and extending to Maillol and Lachaise.
But Butler's early work was totally different in derivation and in appearance.
After training as an architect, Butler worked during the war as a blacksmith in
a village in West Sussex. When he turned to sculpture in 1944, Butler began to
weld iron bars into linear structures like sinewy limbs, allowing the forged farm
implements to impose their own forms on his. Instead of beautifully weathered
rocks, pebbles and wood, he used iron of great tensile strength. He had little
respect for the natural appearance of his material and broke with the solid forms
of Moore and Hepworth, beginning to draw in space with thin metal rods. In
these early sculptures he may have been influenced by the welded sculpture of
Julio Gonzalez and Picasso's surrealist drawings of fantastic anatomies. The
resultant figures — and Butler's sculpture always relates to the human figure —
also resemble bird and insect forms, or skeletal cages whose thorniness recalls
the spiky rituals Graham Sutherland painted during the war.
Butler's first one-man show was at the Hanover Gallery in London in 1949.
As early as 1951 he was receiving sculpture commissions in Great Britain. In
1953 Curt Valentin introduced him to America and in the same year he was
awarded the grand prize in the international competition for a design for the
monument to The Unknown Political Prisoner.
Butler's maquette was attacked by a biased press and by sculptors with vested
interests in retrograde war monuments for being abstract and anti-humanistic.
Yet this is a moving symbol of tyranny in our time. The sculpture (page 42), in
the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, is a replica of the original model
which was damaged by an ill-advised refugee artist during the exhibition at
the Tate Gallery in London in 1953. In a description which accompanied the
maquette, Butler explained that this, unlike the Cenotaph in London (or the
Washington Monument) , is not a purely abstract solution, but consists of "three
elements: the natural rock foundation which provides a fundamentally 'natural'
setting even where the monument may be sited in the center of a city; the three
women in whose minds the unknown prisoner is remembered and who set the
whole dramatic context of the monument; and the tower intended as an easily
identified symbol which both suggests the tyranny of persecution and the capa
11 city of man to rise beyond it."
Once it has the life-size scale planned for it, the spectator will be able to

41
Left : Butler: The Unknown Political Prisoner (project for a monument). (1951-53). Bronze with
stone base, 17i" high. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, Saidie A. May Fund

Right: Butler: Figure in Space. (1957-58). Bronze, 35^" high. Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York
Butler: Girl. (1954-56). Bronze, 7' 5" high.
Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York
identify more readily with the three women and their upward gaze, while their
self-contained silhouette should also set up the necessary esthetic distance. The
contrast between the personages in their helpless isolation and the metal tripod
create the ambiance of humanity versus the rigid machinery of the state. It is
now planned to erect the monument on a height in West Berlin, and it seems
fitting that it should stand in Germany.
The open structure of The Unknown Political Prisoner took on a specific refer
ential function, as did the figures below it. Butler's development since that time
has definitely been in the direction of greater naturalism. At first glance his
evolution from rather abstract, open, welded sculpture to his recent, more
naturalistic, closed, modeled bronzes seems to reverse the history of sculpture
in the twentieth century. But it must be remembered that Butler's change took
place after the mid-century, at a time when earlier innovations — including his
own— had already frozen into cliches and much of the welding of iron rods
had become tinkering rather than formal experiment.
The Girl of 1954-56 (page 43) has the intense vitality of erotic recognition.
This heroic bronze figure, erect, taut, stretching upward from the thin grid on
which she stands, reaches yearningly toward the object of her desire. Each of
the round, conal, and columnar forms re-emphasizes the basic conception of
unsatisfied sensuality. The very recent Figure in Space (page 42) is a full female
torso, swinging on an iron spit. In the spear-like form of this grid-armature
supporting a heavy, curved, voluptuous female body, Butler set himself a
problem in formal relationship of solid mass twisting in open space; it is a
provocative synthesis of his early thin, welded, insectile figures and the later
hedonistic nudes.

44
COSMO CAMPOLI born 1922

Imaginative forces, creativeforces, penetrativeforces, fall through thefunnel which is the

artist, and.through his hands; like a caterpillar turning into a moth, the transformed image
is evolved.
Cosmo Campoli, Chicago, April 1959

When the iconography of the mid-twentieth century is studied, it seems likely

that birth and death will be encountered as two of the leading themes of
contemporary artists. With the vanishing belief in any pre-established dogma
and the lack of collective myth in our culture, artists have turned to the two
certainties of man's existence.
Birth and death are the principal subjects which have occupied Campoli's
attention as a sculptor, but his sculptural forms differ markedly from the pre
vailing style of their time. While most sculpture is open, linear and transparent,
Campoli's is closed, massive and block-like. He has never chosen to weld, but
carves and prefers to model in clay. He speaks of a need to have his "hand
rooted in clay which gives sustenance to the sculptor's being and is the anchor
that holds him to the earth from which all life springs," and his surfaces, for
instance, tend to retain a pitted, earthy quality.
Typical of this aspect of his work is Birth of Death of 1950 (page 46). Quite
possibly influenced in its inception by the squat Aztec goddess of childbirth,
this bronze is a considerably more complex construction. Not only frontal, but
bisymmetrical, it has a secondary axis across the torso from which the legs and
arms come out with concentrated gesture. Like paws the fists cover the eyes,
where shadows create enormous cavities, while the convex forehead repeats the
swelling of the belly.
Birth of 1958 (page 47) deals with the same theme. The problem of the base
has here been fully resolved with the child itself supporting its birth-giving
mother. The whole concept is abstracted further, moving beyond personality:
it is a concrete yet universalized image of the act of giving birth, the forms
suggesting the violent, thrusting rhythm of the female body in the last stages of
labor. "My sculpture," Campoli says, "is not made to match walls, to please or
not to please anyone, or to make some damn dog happy, but to have its own
personality and exist as a strong personality exists. My sculpture is, and shall

45
 m •">
... •

Campoli: Birth of Death. (1950). Bronze, 33" high. Allan

Frumkin Gallery, Chicago
Campoli: Birth. (1958). Plaster model for bronze, 39" high. Allan Frumkin Gallery, Chicago
Campoli: Mother and Child. (1958). Marble, 7" high. Allan Frumkin Gallery,
Chicago

be, strong enough to make an ash tray alongside of it look only like an ash
tray. "12
A large mass, apparently yielding a smaller substance below it — the form of
Birth of Death and Birth — appears again in the Return of the Prodigal Son of 1959
(opposite), where the minor figure of the son kneels below a large, indeed an
enormous, head made up of a multitude of faces. These faces with their bulbous
noses and bulging eyes are beneficent and terrible, threatening and gratified.
The great head floats, disembodied, above a throne, covering the top of it like
a cloud. It is the Godhead, both male and female, angry and kind, and
burgeoning like the flames of the burning bush.
Like ancient sculptures made to propitiate hostile spirits, Campoli's work
also has the quality — found among many of the artists presented here — of
conjuring up supernatural aid. That is to say, for the artist, the work partakes
somewhat of the character of a fetish or shaman: it is, among other things, a
magical image to control the irrational world.

48
Campoli: Return of the Prodigal Son. (1957-59). Plaster model for bronze, 30" high. Allan Frumkin
Gallery, Chicago

49
CESAR born 1921

Cesar Baldacchini does not work in a sculptor's studio; he has instead a small
workshop in a factory in the suburbs of Paris. There, in Saint-Denis, he assembles
old scraps of iron and pieces of machinery and welds them into sculptures. In
Torso (opposite), for example, he has built a fretwork of heavy iron wire in the
back of the figure which supports the shell of the body itself. This torso consists
of a great number of small, irregular iron plates as well as tubes, pipes and nails
which are fused into a more or less continuous surface. In certain areas, such as
the breasts and the inner thighs, these smooth plates are clearly visible, while
elsewhere they have been worked in and melted down below a corruscated
surface. The result is that the body appears to have been eaten away rather
than shattered. Starting with "ready-made" materials of industry and using
the methods of modern technology, Cesar has come forth conversely with a
sinister nude whose decay resembles that of time — a savage assertion of the
corruption and frailty of the once undefiled flesh.
Cesar's earlier subjects included chickens, fishes, insects and all manner of
fabled beasts; frequently a piece would change its identity during the working
process. Today he seems preoccupied with his version of the human figure for
which, however, he seems to have sacrificed none of his supernatural fantasy.
The skin of his nudes (pages 52, 54) evokes association with the scales of
fishes and skins of reptiles, and he sometimes seems to be consciously alluding
to primeval and legendary creatures who are in the state of evolution along an
imaginary philogenetic tree. The winged figures, such as the one on page 53,
refer to man during a strange metamorphosis. His single enormous wing,
growing violently out of the torso deprives him of both head and arms. It is like
a thwarted stage of evolution toward Homo sapiens. Or does this figure merely
allude to the ancient fable of Icarus; to man's great dream of being winged and
the inevitable result of his attempt at flight?
Cesar: Torso. (1954). Welded iron, 30^" high. Private collection, New York
Cesar: Nude of Saint-Denis, I. (1956). Forged and welded iron, 36
high. Collection Robert Elkon, New York
mm

Cesar: Winged Figure, (c. 1957). Cast iron, 56" long. Collection Mr. and Mrs. Richard K. Weil, St. Louis

53
Cesar: Nude of Saint-Denis, IV. (1957). Bronze, 24!" high.
The Hanover Gallery, London
 RICHARD DIEBENKORN born 1922

Painting in the San Francisco Bay Area before and during the War consisted
largely of landscapes, seascapes and cityscapes in which precise lines were super
imposed on thinly painted color patches. There was also a belated influence
coming from Mexican mural painting. In the mid-Forties, however, the Califor
nia School of Fine Arts under the direction of Douglas McAgy established a
meeting ground for advanced painters, which served as a stimulus against the
prevailing styles of watered-down Dufy and palatable Rivera. Clyfford Still
taught there from 1946 until 1950, and Mark Rothko during the summers of
1947 and 1949. These men did not exert any direct stylistic influence, but their
uncompromising individuality, their high regard for the position of the artist,
their vigorous working processes and their penetration into unexplored territory
had a liberating effect of great importance.
Richard Diebenkorn, born in Portland, Oregon, had been a student at Stan
ford University and the University of California before going to the California
School of Fine Arts for a year of study in 1946. He then taught at this school
from 1947 to 1950. The paintings which first brought him recognition were
large canvases in which light colors expanded in flowing forms upon a basic
horizontal-vertical structure. Non-objective in character, they yet had associ
ations with vistas of land or sea in which the open vastness of Western space
found its pictorial equivalent.
In 1955 Diebenkorn followed the older David Park and Elmer Bischoff by
departing from his own version of action painting and turning to a figurative
style which combines the idiom of abstract expressionism with the surrealist,
13 the expressionist, and the fauve heritage. Since that time he has mainly con
centrated on pictures with one or two personages in an interior or against a
landscape vista. His palette — ultramarines, apple greens, cadmiums, siennas,
umbers — has become more sensuous, clearly recalling the canvases of Matisse.
Diebenkorn's color, however, is brushed on more roughly and spontaneously,
with splashes of paint left visible in the finished picture.
The asymmetric structure of verticals and horizontals is now of even greater
importance than in his earlier work in its relationship to the squarish format of
his canvases. The figure is the specific area of concentration, the gathering point
of emphasis in the picture. It is here that the directional lines converge, that
color becomes most intense and the pattern more varied. Thus the spaciousness
of the surrounding areas is greatly enhanced by the familiar measure of the

55
Diebenkorn: Girl on a Terrace. (1956). Oil on canvas, 71 x 66". Collection Mr. and Mrs. Roy R. Neuberger, New York
Diebenkorn: Girl with Cups. 1957.
Oil on canvas, 59 x 54". Collection
Richard Brown Baker, New York

human figure. The faces, generally, are barely indicated, but his large person
ages, awkward and isolated in an ambiguous but always empty space of muted
interiors or brillant landscapes, testify to their insular presence. Diebenkorn
is interested above all in conveying his feelings about color and space. The
figure is used as the empathetic protagonist of this color-space relationship.

57
Diebenkorn: Man and Woman in a Large Room. 1957. Oil on canvas, 71 x 63". Collection Joseph H.
Hirshhorn, New York
 I.--'-

Diebenkorn: Man and Woman Seated. (1958). Oil on canvas, ~jo\ x 83I". Collection Mr. and Mrs. William Zeckendorf, Jr., New York
JEAN DUBUFFET born 190 1

I have attempted to carry the human image (as well as all other subjects dealt with in my
paintings) immediately into the range of effectivenesswithout passing through esthetics.
Esthetics bores me, doesn't interest me at all. The slightest interventionof estheticsobstructs
for me the efficiencyof functioning and spoils the sauce. That is why I try to reject from my
works all that could have the smell of esthetics. People with a short-sighted view have
concludedfrom this that I enjoypainting ugly objects. Not at all! I don't worry about their
being ugly or beautiful; furthermore these terms are meaninglessfor me; I even have the
conviction that they are meaninglessfor everybody; I don't believe that these notions of
ugliness or beauty have the slightestfoundation: they are illusions. I have liked to carry the
human image onto a plane of seriousnesswhere thefutile embellishmentsof esthetics have
no longer any place, onto a plane of high ceremony, of solemnofficeof celebration, by helping
myself with what Joseph Conrad calls: "a mixture offamiliarity and terror," out of which
the devotionis made which many religious minds offer to their gods and which does not, at
times, excludethe use of swear words directedat them. Where the connivanceis total, where
the attachment and esteemis unchangeable,there a new language governs: rugged, elliptical
and unconstrained. I hope one will understandfrom these brief indications, how far the
mood in which I have painted these personages is removedfrom that of buffoonerywhich
one has so generouslyattributed to me. My position is exclusivelythat of celebration, and
whoeverhas thought to detect in it intentions of humor or satire, of bitterness or invective,
has misunderstoodit.
Jean Dubujfet, Paris, February 7.95.9

Jean Dubuffet is perhaps the most significant French painter who has emerged
since the war. Fie was born in Le Fiavre in 1901 and for a short time studied
painting at the Academie Julian, but then went into his family's wine business,
a career which he interrupted a good many times in an attempt to escape from
a humdrum bourgeois existence. In the mid-Thirties he made masks and
marionettes and worked as a puppeteer. He and his friends used plaster, papier-
mache, pastes and many odd substances to make masks of their own faces,
giving Dubuffet a new feeling for materials and their textures, as well as new
imagery. The close relationship between man and his mask — the real and the
grotesque- — has been retained throughout Dubuffet's work.
He made frequent attempts at painting but returned to it seriously only in

60
 .•alfISS

Dubuffet: Childbirth. 1944. Oil on canvas, 39I x 31!". Collection Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Matisse.
New York
2- ig4 His first exhibition, held immediately after the Liberation in October
1944, antagonized the public to such an extent that some of his paintings were
destroyed despite the presence of armed guards. In the most shocking terms he
had expressed the flimsiness of our existence, had even questioned the existence
itself.
Making masks, collecting the "art" of the insane and untutored, studying
cult images, Dubuffet had been searching not only for the sources of creative
inspiration, but for visible signs to express the very sources of life. Childbirth of
1944 (page 61), dates back to his first exhibition. The bright flat colors, the very
child-like execution with its naive frontal vision, the simplified drawing, come
much closer to children's art than does the work of more sophisticated painters
like Klee and Miro who have also been inspired by the same source. Childbirth
captures the naivete of votive pictures; it is like those thank offerings found in
pilgrimage churches and presents a comparable aspect of ritual, of "emotion
recollected in tranquillity," which is as applicable to a religious celebration as
to a work of art. In the statement Dubuffet wrote for this book, he speaks of
ceremony and celebration, and indeed these are key concepts for the compre
hension of his work, because Dubuffet celebrates the human comedy in all its
tragic aspects.
Dubuffet has always been fascinated by the graffiti— rude scratchings found
on walls all the way from paleolithic caves to those of the modern metropolis.
The Archetypes(opposite) was the first of a series of graffiti made by the artist in
1945. The bold outlines of the coarse figures are incised into a dark and heavy
ground. They remind us of the ancient convention of Egyptian painting with
the frontal torso and the profile head, but they reject all the refinements of
Egyptian painting in favor of a more primitive treatment. The material, a paste
resembling an alchemist's concoction, is made out of innumerable ingredients
besides sand, earth and water, to which the pigment is added. Dubuffet's color
and light are really functions of the pigment, which is of extreme importance
to him as it is to many of the artists of his generation. Yet he controls his
material in order to permit the discordant image to emerge. He may throw on
his paint like an angry child, quickly drawing a picture of Teacher, but his
grotesque man with yellow teeth and grasshopper limbs (page 64) differs from
the child's drawing in the intensity of the confrontation. Notwithstanding its
cruel savagery this is a sympathetic, almost humorous "portrait." This fellow
is more basic than Organization Man. Presented front-on and directly, violent
and violated, distorted and agonized, the wild clown is still gesturing agressively,
urging not pity but compassion.

62
Dubuffet: Archetypes. (1945). Mixed media on
canvas, 39^ x 31I". Collection Leo Castelli,
New York

Between April 1950 and February 1951 Dubuffet, whose output is phenome
nal, painted about fifty pictures of the female nude. These Corps de Dames (page
65) are coarsely textured maps of the female body. The Western tradition of
beauty and grace, indeed all of man's illusion about woman are destroyed by
a savage evocation of a never-eradicated archetype going back to paleolithic
stone effigies of fertility.
Dubuffet is related to surrealism, not in style but in basic attitude. He feels
very strongly "that the key to things must not be as we imagine it, but that the
world must be ruled by strange systems of which we have not the slightest

63
 Dubuffet: Dhotel with Tellow Teeth. (1947.)
Mixed media on canvas, 45! x 35".
Private collection, New York

14 inkling." He searches after ambiguity to come closer to the revelation of the

true nature of things. His Woman with Furs (page 66) is a conglomeration of
lichens or organisms seen under a microscope. It recalls the sixteenth-century
figures of Arcimboldo constructed out of fruits and vegetables: an image made
up of items which are quite unrelated to the image itself; a metaphor on
metamorphosis.
Similarly The Dunce Cap (page 67) has the appearance of chameleonlike
change. In the mid-Fifties Dubuffet invented his own form of collage — the
assemblage— in which paintings cut into pieces are re-assembled on a new sur
face and permitted, often quite accidentally to take on new shapes and meanings.

64
Dubuffet: " Corps de dame— foursome." (1950).
Oil on canvas, 45! x 35".
Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York

Playing with these pieces, he will catch an image before it glides away, paste it
down, and paint around its outlines, permitting the patchwork surface to
preserve aspects of equivocation.
Like Schwitters, Dubuffet has collected the debris of civilization. He has
made sculpture out of sponges, slag and lava, charred wood, steel wool, broken
glass. The Knight of Darkness (page 66) is an aggregation of slag and clinkers.
This phantom, ominously confronting us, could be both an oracle of our nuclear
future and a furnace gnome, product of an artist's eye which seeks its release
for fantasy in any casual cast-off object. This equivocal aspect — the "mixture
of familiarity and terror" — is the major motif of Dubuffet's work.
Left: Dubuffet: Woman with Furs. 1954. Oil on canvas, 39^ x 32". Collection Mr. and Mrs.
Ralph F. Colin, New York

Right: Dubuffet: Knight of Darkness. (1954). Slag and clinkers, 35^" high. Collection Mr. and
Mrs. Albert A. List, New York

66
Dubuffet: The Dunce Cap ("La pointe au pitre") . 1956. Assemblage on canvas, 57 x 45I". Pierre
Matisse Gallery. New York

G7
ALBERTO GIACOMETTI born 190 1

Tou ask me about my artistic intentions concerningthe human image. I do not know how
to answeryour question very well.
Sculpture, painting and drawing have always beenfor me the means by which I render
to myself an account of my vision of the outer world and particularly of theface and the
human being in its entirety or, more simply, of myfellow creatures and, particularly, of
those who,for one reason or another, are the closest to me.
Reality for me has never been a pretext to make art objects, but art a necessarymeans
to render to myself a better account of what I see. Hence the position I take with regard to
my conceptionof art is a completelytraditional one.
Tet, I know that it is utterly impossiblefor me to model, paint or draw a head, for
instance, as I see it and, still, this is the only thing I am attempting to do. All that I
will be able to make will be only a pale image of what I see and my successwill always be
less than myfailure or, perhaps, the success will be equal to myfailure. I do not know
whether I work in order to make something or in order to know why I cannot make what
I would like to make.
It may be that all this is nothing but an obsession, the causes of which I do not know,
or a compensationfor a deficiencysomewhere. In any case, I recognize now that your
question is much too vast or too general for me to answer in a precise manner. By asking
this simple questionyou have, in fact, put everythingin question, so how answer it?

Alberto Giacometti, Paris, May iy, 1959

Giacometti was born in the same year as Dubuffet, but has been fully engaged
in sculpture and painting since 1914. The son of an impressionist landscape
painter, he was born in Stampa, Switzerland, and studied at the Ecole des
Arts et Metiers in Geneva. During an early trip to Italy he admired Tintoretto,
Giotto and Cimabue above all others. In 1922 he arrived in Paris and studied
at the Academie de la Grande Chaumiere under Antoine Bourdelle. He writes
of those days in the Twenties when he felt it impossible to grasp a whole head
and when figures were never closed masses for him but always transparent
constructions.
In works such as the Slaughtered Woman (1932) and The Palace at 4 A.M.

68
Giacometti: Man Pointing. 1947. Bronze,
704" high. The Museum of Modern
Art, New York, gift of Mrs. John D.
Rockefeller, 3rd
 (page 14) he was strongly affected by the surrealist mystique and indeed was
an official member of the surrealist group. The "Palace" came to him almost
automatically, took form in his mind, and, according to his statements, "at
tained such reality that its execution in space did not take me more than one
15 day." Eventually, however, he felt that he needed to know more about the
human figure, ffe thought this study would take about two weeks, but "I
worked with the model all day from 1935 to 1940." 16Then he began shaping
his figures from memory, but his sculpture became too small and the figures
achieved a resemblance only when long and bone-thin. "It was necessary to go
7 to the very end, and see what can be done,'" and Giacometti, working in that
pliant material, plaster, built and destroyed, had visions and tried to capture
them before they eluded his fantasy.
The range of subjects over the last twelve years is very limited: mostly tall,
standing figures for which his brother Diego or his wife Annette were the models
(page 69, 72). There is an occasional head of Diego (page 75), a seated version
of Annette, or he will group his figures to give them paradoxically an even
greater feeling of isolation and solitude (opposite).
Dubuffet's figures are seen at exceedingly close range; he analyses a woman's
body as if he were looking through a microscope. But Giacometti's figures are
very distant. No matter how close we come they remain far away, from each
other and from us. Their features do not loom larger as we approach them.
Sartre has pointed out in his essay on Giacometti that for centuries sculptors
have rendered a model as if she were right in front of them; they described
what they knew to be there, not what they actually saw at their distance.
Giacometti, however, not wishing to violate man's privacy, maintains his own
distance. The existentialist philosopher and writer no longer tries to investigate
essences, believing it to be a vain attempt. Camus, characteristically, limits him
self to a forthright description of man's thought and action, as it appears to him.
Giacometti's remote figures seem to have the same function.
Giacometti is supremely conscious of space, which infringes on everything.
8 Of him, his friend Sartre wrote, "to sculpt for him, is to take the fat off space,'"
and Richard Wilbur in his poem Giacometti: "...no nakedness so bare as flesh
9. gone in inquiring of the bone.'" His emaciated figures, although they first
appeared at the end of the second World War are not starved survivors of the
concentration camps: they are simply human beings — alone, inaccessible, and
therefore inviolate.
In the Man Pointing of 1947 (page 69), there was still a great emphasis on the
gesture — the outstretched arm commanding surrounding space. Later even

70
Giacometti: City Square. (1949). Bronze, 9 J"
high x 25J" long. Collection Mr. and Mrs.
Pierre Matisse, New York

Giacometti: Composition with Three Figures and a

Head (The Sand). (1950). Painted bronze, 22"
high. Collection Philip Johnson, New Canaan,
Connecticut

71
 this disappeared, leaving the isolated figure or simply a hand or a leg alone like
an ancient fragment.
It is the ingenious invention of Sartre in No Exit to prevent his characters
from ever closing their eyes, thus depriving them throughout eternity of man's
most blessed release: sleep and loss of consciousness of self and surroundings.
Similarly, Giacometti's Tall Figures — erect, distant and immutable — can
stand or pace but never rest. Wilbur deals with the force of this tension:

And look where Giacometti in a room

Dim as a cave of the sea, has built the man
We are, and made him walk:
Towering like a thin
Coral, out of a reef of plaster chalk,
This is the single form we can assume.

He is pruned of every gesture, saving only

The habit of coming and going. Every pace
shuffles a million feet.
The faces in this face
All all forgotten faces of the street
Gathered to one anonymous and lonely.

No prince and no Leviathan, he is made

2° Of infinite farewells . . .

Left to right: Giacometti: Man Pointing (see page 69); Tall Figure. (1947). Bronze, 6' 7" high. Private collection, New York;
Tall Figure. (1949). Painted bronze, 65" high. Collection Mr. and Mrs. James Thrall Soby, New Canaan, Connecticut

73
 I '

Giacometti: Man Seated. 1950. Oil on canvas, 31^ x 25!". Collection Giacometti: The Artist's Mother. 1950. Oil on canvas,
Mr. and Mrs. Richard Deutsch, Greenwich, Connecticut 34I x 23t". The Museum of Modern Art, New York,
acquired through the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest

GIACOMETTI BY RENE CHAR

Some linen spread out, underlinen and house linen, held by pins, was hanging
from a line. Its carefree owner had willingly let it stay out all night. A fine
white dew was spread over the stones and the grass. Despite the promise of heat,
the countryside had not yet ventured to chatter. The beauty of the morning
amidst the deserted gardens was complete, for the peasants had not yet opened
their door with the great lock and the large key to wake up pails and tools. The
poultry yard was claiming its rights. A couple by Giacometti, abandoning the
nearby path, appeared on the grounds. Nude or not. Slender and transparent
like the windows of burnt-out churches, graceful like ruins which have suffered

74
 B— )

Giacometti: Head of Diego. (1954). Bronze, 26V high. Collection

Mr. and Mrs. Sidney F. Brody, Los Angeles.

much in losing their weight and their ancient blood. Yet proud in bearing in
the manner of those who engage themselves without trembling under the
relentless light of undergrowth and of disasters. These impassioned lovers of
oleander paused in front of the farmer's bush and took in its fragrance for a
long time. The wash on the line became frightened. A stupid dog fled without
barking. The man touched the belly of the woman who thanked him with a
look, tenderly. But only the water in the deep well, under its little roof of
granite, rejoiced in this gesture because it understood in it a distant meaning.
Inside the house in the rustic bedroom of his friends, the great Giacometti was
21 sleeping.

75
 LEON GOLUB born 1922

My recentpaintings can be viewed in various ways:

1 Man is seen as having undergone a holocaust or facing annihilation or mutation. The

ambiguities of these huge forms indicate the stress of their vulnerability versus their
capacitiesfor endurance.

2 Man is seen in an heroic gesture of the very beauty and sensuous organic vitality of even
fragmented forms. The enlarged carnal beauty of thefragment is contrasted to its pathos
and monumentally.

3 These paintings attempt to reinstate a contemporarycatharsis, that measure of man which

is related to an existential knowledge of the human condition— a recognition that looks
back to the symbolic incarnation of classic art.

4 The figures are implacable in their appearance and resistance, stance or stare. They are
implacable in the compactedwearing down of surfaces and forms to simplerforms but with
more complicatedsurfaces. They are implacable as they take on the resistance of stone as
against the undulations of flesh. They are implacable as they know an absolute state of
mind (on the edge of nothingness)just as they know a nearly absolute state of massiveness.

Leon Golub, Bloomington, Indiana, March 795,9

Golub's Damaged Man of 1955 (opposite) depicts a tortured yet still human
head on a body which has been flattened out into a skin, like the flayed hide
of Marsyas. The surface is eroded and encrusted with eruptions as if the life sap
had come to the surface of this mutant, whose carcass is all that remains. Yet
the Damaged Man retains the significance of individual destiny: a pathetic per
sistence in continuing to exist, in spite of mutilation, symbolizes his endurance
and strength.
The apparent contradiction between man's impotence achieved through
mutilation and his courage to survive is the key to Golub's imagery. His earlier
painting, done in Chicago between 1950 and 1956 — the series of burnt men
and thwarted men, of kings, priests and ritualistic sphinxes — leaned heavily on

76
Golub: Damaged Man. (1955). Oil and lacquer on masonite, 48 x 36". Allan Frumkin Gallery,
Chicago

77
 Golub: Colossal Head. (1958). Oil and
lacquer on canvas, 82^ x 48!". Allan
Frumkin Gallery, Chicago

78
 primitivistic imagery to express his feelings of loneliness and dread. His work
then seemed related to the art of the Hittites, the Assyrians, and the Aztecs. A
year's visit to Italy in 1956-57, however, not only altered his form, but seemed
to increase his faith in human endurance.
He now prefers to emphasize the power of the rational rather than the magical
in controlling the irrational and has turned to classical art for his prototype. He
admires the heroic gesture and finds measure in the severe constraints of Greek
and Roman sculpture. Lacking both arms and neck, Orestes (page 81) is a new
version of the Damaged Man. Called Orestes, because he is a symbol of a frustrated
youth unable to control his environment, he is a lonely, tragic figure. This
canvas was first exhibited at the Institute of Contemporary Art in London in
1957. Lawrence Alloway remarked on its relationship to ancient marbles:
"Common to Golub's massive single figures is the idea of sculptural status as a
symbol of the human condition. In Orestes the state of a sculpture is taken as a
literal representation of an anguished and vulnerable human being. The body
22 is the container of a shocked, surprised consciousness."
The Horseman (page 80) and the Colossal Head (opposite), both painted in
1958, become more classical in restraint, less mutilated in body. Golub paints
strong, virile figures of authority with the introspective stare, the "inward look"
which is found in the Constantine giants of fourth-century Rome. This was the
time when the Empire was no longer able to stave off chaos and disaster, when,
with the vanishing of the values of the classical world, man became increasingly
introspective and full of anxiety and turned to the mystery cults of the East.
Golub's colossal figures face the destiny of their isolation with implacability.
Size is important in these paintings and the artist had to choose a scale larger
than that of his own measure to emphasize the monumentality and power of
his figures and to enhance their psychological impact. The Reclining Youth (page
82) is huge without, however, assuming the distortions of a giant. The position
22 of this figure is based on the Dying Gaul from Pergamon, but instead of its
baroque recessions, the Reclining 1 outh is thrust into the frontal plane, brutalized
and reduced to more simple and primitive articulation.
If the body seems mutilated and the skin gnawed at, the canvas itself has
become a celebration in paint. Golub applies successive coats of lacquers, carves
into the surface with a sculpture tool, removes the pigment with solvents, re
builds and recoats until he achieves his texture, which in its opulent and sensu
ous quality is a sign of deep affirmation of the magnificence of man and, indeed,
of the classic tradition.

79
Golub: Horseman. (1958). Oil and lacquer on canvas,
84 x 36". Collection Mrs. Herbert S. Greenwald.
Chicago
Golub: Orestes. (1956). Oil and lacquer on canvas,
82 x 42". Collection Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Manilow,
Chicago
Golub: Reclining Youth. (1959). Oil and lacquer on canvas, 6' 7" x 13' 9". Collection Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Manilow, Chicago
BALCOMB GREENE born 1904

Before 1942 I considered my work completely non-representational and was active in

developinga theoreticalbasisfor this practice. I was thefirst chairman of American Abstract
Artists in 1937, and kept this position two moreyears. Since 1942 I have worked back to
an apparent imagery or representation. The best I can say for a motive is that 1 "felt in
my bones" that I had to go that way. Any theoreticalposition which I now take rests upon
this feeling, and upon its gathering force.
Painting devoid of consciousimagery can be powerful, but it seems to me this power has
lessenedafter Mondrian. The language of abstraction, like an earlier language of visual
accuracy, was most powerful while being learned.
Man is difficult to present in painting becauseit was done so badly by the end of the last
century, but also becausehe seems to our disillusioned minds not worth presenting. I see no
point in using himfor compositionalpurposes, becausehis proportions are naturally pleasing
to himself, or in order to repeat the dreary truth of his corruption, his weaknessand his self-
preoccupation. We should have a respitefrom the ugly and agonizedfaces which are turned
to us bypeople without dignity, who demandpity. We should understand that the Christian
compassionwhich is theprincipal note in the early Rouaults, must havea miserableevolution.
Essential to it is a repudiation of theflesh. Its inevitable sequel is the Pierrot or sad clown
of Rouault, no longerpresenting the generalized love, but man alone without sex and with
out energy— in love with himself. The safest treatment of compassion in art should
emphasizehim who, without self-destruction, mustfeel it. Whoeverrepresentsman, assumes
a moral risk. Great art must give him more energy, and more virtue of a kind or more
heroism, than we commonlyfind in him.
The method is worn out whereby the artist follows his private style and permits the
brush strokes to arrange themselvesto suggest a figure, with an accidental grotesqueness
which pretends seriousness. When the brush misbehavesor the paint drips, such a serious
ness is inevitable. A return to consciousnessin the studio, to an adult and even intellectual
consciousness,is the next move. The doctrine of a pure esthetic which disdains the image
of man, can only be disputedfrom the moralist's position, by those who wish to live. It is
in his violations of such a compact doctrine, but especially in his lapsesfrom the common,
the social and the useful virtues, that the artist renews himself.
It is dangerous to seek in wordsfor the extraordinary and neglected virtues. Somehow
they have to do with an overflowingsexuality, courage which grows with it, and an aware
ness of death. These are not utilities, are not the common virtues, but are goodness in
themselves.No need to be more definite than this.

83
Greene: Seated Woman. (1954). Oil on canvas, 48 x 38". Bertha Schaefer
Gallery, New York

Greene: Gertrude, II. 1956-58. Oil on canvas, 64 x 49^". Collection Mr.

and Mrs. Joseph Weinstein, New York
 No need to crusade against the pure non-objectivists,who may continue their accomplish
ments. They may even dance with a certain dignity, as Schopenhauerwould describeit, on
the edge of the abyss. If worst comes to worst we can join them. We can close our eyes.
The thing to dread is mankind's small vision, his shrinking vision, of himself.

Balcomb Greene, Montauk Point, May 1959

Greene was bom in 1904 in Niagara Falls, New York. He studied literature,
philosophy, the history of art and psychology in New York and in Vienna. Fie
taught English literature at Dartmouth College, and since 1952 he has been
professor of the history of art and esthetics at the Carnegie Institute of Tech
nology in Pittsburgh. He is, however, primarily a painter, although in painting
he has had no formal training. In the Thirties Greene worked in a geometric-
abstract style and in 1937 and 1939 he presided as chairman of the American
Abstract Artists, that highly important, though somewhat restrictive group
which kept abstract art alive in America during a time when it was considered
esoteric and branded as un-American.
Greene's murals at the New York World's Fair of 1939 were still geometrically
constructed, hard-edged and flatly painted, but soon thereafter his work began
to grow looser and to open up like that of many artists at that time. Since then,
for almost twenty years now, he has been engaged in an attempt to capture a
vague image, to lead it into the realm of the sensuous and even the heroic
without ever returning to former modes of expression.
Greene spends most of his time by the sea near Montauk Point, Long Island;
light and air have permeated his paintings, indeed, determine his forms, so that
his once solid shapes have been shattered by light. Although he works from
elaborate sketches, his canvases remain records of the painter's spontaneous
movement. Often it is difficult to recognize the subject in his paintings because
light remains the primary element in his work. At times, as in Gertrude, II (page
85), a whole series of multiple images leaps into our vision only to recede into
the active tissue of the painting itself. The distinction between figure and ground
is left ambiguous: instead the whole canvas participates in a dynamic move
ment which is communicated to the viewer. It is the total experience of seeing
the interaction of light, color, woman, space.

86
Greene: Anguish. (1956). Oil on canvas, 48 x 60". Bertha Schaefer Gallery, New York
de Kooning: Woman. (1950). Oil on canvas, 64 x 46". Department of Art, The Woman's
College of the University of North Carolina, Greensboro

88
WILLEM DE KOONING born 1904

In 1916 when de Kooning was twelve years old he started working as an

apprentice in a decorator's shop in his native Rotterdam and soon after that
he began to study at the Academie voor Beeldende Kunsten in the evenings.
There, he says, young art students ran the gamut from rigid academicians who
made them copy plaster casts to young instructors who, as members of the
avant garde, exposed them to the geometric abstraction of de Stijl. While de
Kooning was very much attracted to Mondrian, his taste was broad enough
to include van Gogh and the prevailing background of Art Nouveau's evocative
convoluting line. After graduating in 1924, he continued studying painting and
design in Brussels and Antwerp and then came to the United States in 1926.
He was at first a house painter in New Jersey, then a commercial artist in New
York. Like most of his contemporaries, in the mid-Thirties, he worked on the
WPA Federal Art Project. It was then that his painting became more abstract.
In 1939 he did murals for the New York World's Fair but when asked about
them now, he does not seem to remember them too fondly. It took a relatively
long time for de Kooning to develop into a mature and significant painter, and
nourishment from a great many sources was necessary. He himself talks about
Picasso, Giacometti, Miro, Stuart Davis and his very close friend Arshile Gorky.
In the early Forties he had done pictures of women which were still largely
cubist in their form; he then exploded these restrictions upon vehement large
surfaces. His black-and-white and his cream-colored paintings of irregular
shapes and calligraphic interfacings — restless rhythms expanding in a compact
space — were among the most original commitments made by an artist to the
creative process itself. De Kooning was known and admired for this work by
his fellow-artists a long time before his first one-man show at the Egan Gallery
in 1948. By this time he was already in the center of attention in the new
movement in American painting.

I hen in 1949 the figure came back into his work, and everyone was surprised
and nobody seemed to know why. Recently I asked de Kooning whether it was
really true, as has often been suggested, that the working process itself, the
actual act of painting, evoked these women on the canvas. He did not think so.
He said he was definitely interested in painting Woman, a figure, just as
throughout the ages artists have made symbols of female goddesses or cult
images. It was a traditional idea, and he felt that he wanted to continue the
Western tradition by painting the symmetrical female figure, but he also

89
 de Kooning: Figure in Landscape, No. 2. (1951).
Oil on canvas, 33 f x i6T'. Collection Joseph
H. Hirshhorn, New York

de Kooning: Woman, I. (1950-52). Oil on canvas, 75I x 58".

The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Purchase

90
 wanted to make a new figure and "it had to be stark."
He would receive a rapid image when a woman walked into a room; it was
essential to catch that glimpse, and he tied the image down quickly; knowing
where the head and legs had to be placed, and not leaving very much space
between them. Then he would cut mouths out of magazines — the toothy smiles
of Miss Rheingold — and pasted them on his paintings. But he didn't want to
make collages; these, after all, had been done, so he painted in his own mouths
with their mocking grins and the picture became frantic.
"Are they horrible, masochistic women whose distortion expresses great
suffering?" De Kooning feels that they are also humorous. After all, there is
the atom bomb, a world in turmoil; it would drive one insane to face all the
implications. Therefore relief, tragi-comic relief, is needed, and the Women
combine comedy with tragedy. He sees humor in them — the angry humor of
tragedy.
He painted these shamelessly erotic women close-up, in immediate encounter,
giving us the feeling of uncanny familiarity and presence and simultaneously
destroying classic proportions. Their large, square frames, he feels, are male as
well as female; but above all female. He did not work from models, because to
him the model would be a real woman and not a posed set-up. But he looked
at photographs in the men's magazines, cut them out, and turned them upside
down, constantly changing parts to get new and surprising realities. Thighs
became arms and vice versa, giving the figure a new and powerful twist. The
breasts had to be large, not so much, he says, for the psychological reasons
which some interpreters have suggested, but because the vigorous movement
of his arm naturally made large, sweeping curves.
After the black-and-white canvases, color came back when he painted the
women. Why, he asks, if Gauguin made figures yellow and Picasso painted
them blue, couldn't one use flesh color? After all, Rubens did masterfully, and
24 "Flesh was the reason why oil painting was invented" in the first place. So he
painted the women in almost vulgar flesh colors, and then other colors ap
peared: violets, vermilions, oranges, lemon yellows and biting greens.
It was important to paint the Women, de Kooning recalls. Yet his paintings
remained abstract. It is as if the abstract forms were invested with more specific
symbols of anger, pain, humor. But the pictorial needs of the painting itself
continued to determine the forms and colors. And now, after an interval of
some years devoted almost entirely to non-figurative painting, he says that he
expects to paint the figure once more- — men as well as women — exploring new
possibilities which will derive from his most recent achievement.

92
de Kooning: Woman and Bicycle.
(1952-53). Oil on canvas, 76^ x 49".
Whitney Museum of American Art,
New York
de Kooning: Two Women's Torsos. (1952). Pastel, 18J X 24". The Art Institute of Chicago, the John
H. Wrenn Fund
de Kooning: Marilyn Monroe. (1954). Oil on canvas, 50 X30". Collection
Mr. and Mrs. Roy R. Neuberger, New York
 RICO LEBRUN born 1900

In painting, as in everythingelse, I prefer situations which make both myself and the image
vulnerable, and thus open to risk as well as to discovery.Design isfor me the speechofform
tried and altered by vicissitudes. And because of this, the human figure is myfavorite
subject; I prefer its vertical, horizontal and oblique gestures to all other propositions of
abstraction, being convincedthat they are the richest and most alive in everysense.
Because of my place of birth, I am, essentially, in love with wall painting. By wall
painting I mean the tragic arabesque, organic and pertinent as a seismograph, and not the
descriptive nor the historical. Paradoxically enough I call what I wish to do Interior
decoration. But the "Interior" has here another meaning, and the room, the parlor I wish
to speak about, is in the edificeof man.
The painter, faced with the contest betweenfreewheeling ego expressionitself, and the
canonicalpoints of thefigure questioning this expression,has a hard task. In the words of
Emily Dickinson, hefinds that, if "A Bone has obligations, a Being has the sameA
I believe that if an authentic, unprecedentedimage of man is to appear, it will only be
through a complete acceptance of that obligation to sponsor, reveal and celebrate man's
condition. This is a subject which cannot be prefabricated by conceits,but may condescend,
now and then, to be measured by love. Its terrain is immense. We have sofar only written
postcards about "wishing to be there," or at best made trial trips, and, in trying to cross
it, have often thrown in the sponge, and achieved those silhouettes of capitulation which
pass for "style." For sight and mind are dull and frequently unequal to the task of shaping
Composition with the same appalling unity man can maintain through the most terrible
reverses.He is the organic and spiritual marvel and the textfor revelations.
In the painting of Buchenwald and Dachau I wanted to express the belief that the
human image, even when disfigured by the executioner,is grand in meaning. No brutality
will ever cancel that meaning. Painting may increase it by changing what is disfiguredinto
what is transfigured.
The theme is about those who disappeared and are no longer mentioned. When their
hour struck and they were dumped in the pit, the dial of their limbs marked the awful time
of day. So compositionwas born out of the shockedheart. First a man, seconda draughts-

Lebrun: Buchenwald Pit. (1955). Charcoal on canvas, 8' 2" x 6' 8J". Jacques Seligmann & Co., New York

97
Lebrun: " Doble Disparate (1958). Casein and oil
on board, 84 x 45V. Owned by the artist
 man, I had tofind outfor myself that pain has a geometryof its own; and that my being,
through a revulsion against all tolerable and manageable skill, wanted to speak out in a
single shout.
It is this coincidenceof ink or paint with the sentiments, which I hope tofind now more
and more in my work as I proceed. Compassion and the resolute heart shall be the only
guides, shall be, in fact, the technique.
Rico Lebrun, New Haven, Conn., 1959

Rico Lebrun was born in Naples in 1900. Intermittently between 1916 and
192 1 he attended night classes at the Academia di Belle Arti in Naples, but a
more important factor in his formation as a painter was his close association
with the large frescoes and the monumental sculpture in the baroque churches
of that city. In 1924 he came to the Linked States and worked as a commercial
artist in New York until 1935 when he received his first Guggenheim grant. In
1937 he settled in California, where he became the recognized leader of a
number of prominent artists.
His early paintings — his beggars, clowns, cripples and street musicians —
some of which were included in the exhibition "Americans 1942" at the Museum
of Modern Art, showed the influence of Italian and Spanish baroque painting
and were highly romantic in mood. It was only by slow and deliberate stages
that he achieved his unique dramatic monumentality. From 1947 to 1950 he
25 was engaged in his most ambitious undertaking — the "Crucifixion Series" —
where he had the courage to use a subject most heavily weighted with tradition
for a revelant communication of "man's blindness and inhumanity." The
broken-up, almost disparate forms and the agitated restless line of some two
hundred paintings and drawings, which made up the great cycle, express the
fragmented character of modern disaster.
If some of Lebrun's figures for the Crucifixionwere done under the undeniable
impact of Picasso's Guernica, his work in the early Fifties went through a re-
evaluation of formal means. From a two-year stay in Mexico the artist returned
with a series of vast abstract collages which manifested a new approach to form,
combining brilliant, flat color with powerful shape. By pasting down large
pieces of paper, he worked out a system of two-dimensional space relationships
which strengthened his powers of composition.
Commenting on the Crucifixionseries he had written: "The crying women are,
like all bereaved mothers, empty houses pierced by screams, for I have never

99
26 seen pretty sorrow." Lebrun, whose work was always characterized by moral
outrage and human passion, was now ready to approach the theme of the
concentration camp and the gas chamber. The concentration camp series — the
paintings and drawings of Buchenwald and Dachau — are frighteningly real
pictures of death and disintegration. At the same time they use the contempo
rary device of multiple imagery. Forms are part of a visual rhythm relating to
one another as in multiple exposures. The drawin g, Buchenwald Pit of 1955 (page
96), is still rather static in its symmetrical composition and seems to express a
carefully structured architecture of horror. Th e Studyfor Dachau Chamber (oppo
site) of 1958 makes use of cinematic frame devices to link the thrusting and
pushing baroque elements to a mid-twentieth century conception of time.
These paintings, murals in both concept and scale, are reminiscent of the
later Gothic frescoes by Orcagna, and, especially of Francesco Traini's Triumph
27 of Death in the Campo Santo in Pisa. In these grotesquely beautiful pictures,
there is a similar rigid symmetry combined with the simultaneous represen
tation of events. Moreover, the same moral and philosophical purpose is ap
parent in the terrifying figures of Death and of demons, the crowd of leprous
beggars, and the procession of fatuous nobles passing before the open coffins
containing the rotten cadavers of bishops and kings — the Quick and the Dead.
Lebrun saw and studied these frescoes in Pisa, and in 1930 he climbed all over
the Cathedral of Orvieto and copied Signorelli's Last Judgement; he never forgot
the Renaissance painter's energetic action and austere agony of the nude, almost
skinned, human body, submitted to the eternal physical punishments of hell.
Lebrun, perhaps more than any other artist discussed here, must be seen
in the light of Western tradition. In addition to Traini, Signorelli and Picasso,
his work bears —-in the Crucifixion series — a close relationship to Griinewald's
Isenheim Altarpiece, but it is perhaps Goya to whom Lebrun now has the
closest affinity. In Goya he finds "all that the human cage can contain of malice,
lust, contradiction and splendor expressed in the world of paint, a world of
maniacs dolled up like butterflies, or the dual image to express what we all
28 carry in us."
The Doble Disparate of 1958 (page 98) is a large superhuman figure silhouetted
against a background which barely suggests a landscape. Sitting firmly on the
columnar support of the leg is a heavy, violently twisting torso surmounted by
the double image of a head with wide-open, contorted mouths and holes for
eyes. The heads are flattened out, isolated in space. The expression contrasts
with the splendor of the vibrant color which now achieves the effect of fluid
spontaneity.

100
Lebrun: Study for Dachau Chamber. 1958. Oil on canvas, 6' 6j" x 7'. Jacques Seligmann & Co., New York

IOI
JAMES McGARRELL born 1930

Neither the presence nor the absence of thefigure or any other subject guarantees anything
about the quality of painting today. I am stuck with thefigure becauseI am too hopelessly
anthropomorphicto disembody the gesture in a painting without dehumanizing it and the
space within which it functions. This doesn't keep mefrom admiring the work of those
who can, however.
Besides this the figure allows my pictures a kind of encyclopedicinclusivenessof many
almost incompatible things: personal conceits as well as universal ones, intellectual con
structions as well as intuitive discoveries,order and clarity as well as Eros and violence.
Some oj these things may be unnatural to the art of painting but I am notyet convincedthat
a picture must grow naturally and exclusivelylike a flower, that it is not largely a synthetic
object even if it can be made to look inevitable.
James McCarrell, Portland, Oregon,igyg

James McGarrell, the youngest painter in this exhibition, is indeed young

enough to show the influence of other artists represented here without any
detriment to his own work, which reveals extraordinary individuality.
McGarrell's world is an eccentric and irrational one. There is an uncanny,
almost a hallucinatory quality to his paintings. A picture like Bathers (page 104)
seems influenced by Lebrun, especially in the limbs of the figures, but the effect
— the strange and haunting quality — is more closely akin to Bacon. The
painting appears innocent enough at first glance, but then the deep hollow
between hip and thigh of the large kneeling man becomes obsessive, as does the
shadow — more that of a dog than of a man. The group seems to be partici
pating in a weird, esoteric ritual, understood only by themselves and excluding
the uninitiated, though its disquieting enigma continues to haunt the spectator.
And what is the meaning of Equinox (opposite) with its surrealist jungle of
flame-like forms and its distorted figure of undetermined sex? Is it merely out
of focus and will we understand it if we look at it more intensely? Will the
violent storm inaugurate a comprehensible change; are we to witness the necro
mantic instant in which this painful and unnatural alteration occurs? Is that
why the colors, belonging neither to summer nor to winter, are so outlandishly
tinted? Again the spell which the artist is able to cast persists in the mind and

102
McGarrell: Equinox. 1956. Oil on canvas, 41 x 47". Collection Wright Ludington, Santa Barbara

eye of the viewer. In the same way one wonders about both the psychological
and the spatial relationships of the seated man with his long arms and the nude
reclining woman in Rest in Air (page 105). McGarrell's dream world, in which
logic has no place and our associations betray us, has its own mystery and takes
us back to de Chirico's silent Uncertainties of the Poet.

103
McGarrell: Bathers. 1956. Oil on canvas, 43^ x 48". Collection Sterling Holloway, Encino, California
McGarrell: Rest in Air. 1958. Oil on masonite, 48 x 59I". Frank Perls Gallery, Beverly Hills
JAN MULLER 1922-1958

In our age theartist cannot takeflightfrom the rottennessof society to portray just the spirit
of man. He has a responsibility toward that stench if any awareness and must try to reach
the more social position in his ethical and moral evaluation of life. He should portray life,
but as life of possibility not the refuge and well-being stimulated by acrobatics without
content. He has tofind a way to the closerrelationship among things and has to becomeaware
of man's multiple sensitivenessnot just tied down to the string of an apron of one thing
called purity in our age. But what is purity, perfection or a multitude of ideas?

The artist has a responsibility toward that stench and cannot take flight to the Elysian
Fields of the preciousness of perfection, the prism of the eye, but has to deal with matter
complex.If not comingto the conclusionhe must hint and try to portray and achieve the most
of his inherent capacity instead of taking refuge into the laws pre-establishedfor him, the
prism of the eye of our age. Art is first and foremost content, actually any human mani
festation with critical faculty goes away from the therapeutic element of the norm. . .

From a notebook igg6, Jan Mutter

Miiller: The Heraldic Ground. (1952-53). Oil on canvas, 14I x 40^". Collection Mrs. Jan Miiller,
New York

106
 Jan Miiller was born in Hamburg in 1922. Persecuted by the Nazis, his family
fled to Czechoslovakia and from there to Switzerland and on to Holland and
to Vichy-France. In 1941 Miiller came to the United States. During his en
forced travels he had developed rheumatic fever. A heart operation in 1954 did
not prove successful and fully aware of his condition he continued working
without abatement. Between 1952 and 1958 he had eight one-man shows. On
January 29, 1958, he died at the age of thirty-five.
Like Yves Tanguy, Miiller was incited to paint by the experience of seeing
a picture by de Chirico, but his work was to take an entirely different direction.
He studied painting with Vaclav Vytlacil at the Art Students League and then
with Hans Hofmann, both in New York and Provincetown from 1945 to 195 1.
Hofmann taught him a great deal about the intrinsic and dynamic quality of
color, and between 1948 and 1950 Midler's paintings were made up of small
and irregular squares of raw, mostly primary colors. Hofmann's tenet that color
and form are sufficient onto themselves was at variance with the aim of a
number of younger painters who were to join forces in the Hansa Gallery
group, "representatives of a new generation of artists to whom figurative art
was in a sense more revolutionary than abstraction and who pursued distinctly
20 individual goals apart from the mainstream of Abstract Expressionism."
In Jan Midler's own work the patches of color became slowly more than mere
quilt work and specific figuration emerged as in The Heraldic Ground of 1953
(opposite) where the color areas are directed into a vigorous and exciting
movement, which is emphasized by diagonals of the lances and culminates in
the central group of a dark and a white horse confronting each other as if in
battle. Although it was only in this country that he started to paint, the imagery
which began to assert itself in Midler's work was peculiarly Northern and
medieval. He drew inspiration from late Gothic altarpieces and made triptychs,
folding panels and hanging pieces (page 108) where he combined a number
of panels depicting all kinds of scenes reminiscent of the medieval bestiaries or
gargoyles. Here are the horsemen, the mocking garish heads, women riding
women, or the bacchanalian revels and abductions. He also turned his attention
to great literary masterpieces and took for his paintings such themes as the
gravedigger scene from Hamlet, the Walpurgis Night from Faust , or Jacob's
Ladder from Genesis. In Hamlet and Horatio (page no) the large vertical blue
figure of Hamlet cradling the skull seems continued and buttressed by the
smaller one of Horatio, painted in the same blue. Down below, the "grave-
maker" digs "the house that will last till doomsday" with great vigor — an
orange arrow shooting into the picture. Miiller seemed to be preoccupied with

107
Miiller: Hanging Piece. (1957). Oil on wood, 81" high.
Collection Horace Richter, New York
t

Miiller: Temptation of Saint Anthony. (1957). Oil on canvas, 6' 9" x io' 2 Collection Mrs. Jan Muller, New York

*
i
109
Miiller: Hamlet and Horatio. (1956). Oil on canvas, 50!- x 48^". Collection Richard Brown Baker,
New York
 the ancient contrast between the active and the contemplative life. The black
and grey tree root in the background is like a living animal ready to rear up
— a symbol of impending danger and death.
His paintings seemed to become larger in scale as they grew more complex
and inventive in organization. His Temptation of Saint Anthony (page 109) was
completed only a few months before his death. The flying figures in the upper
left form the spikes of a wheel. In the center a devil is pulling a "soul" in the
form of a rectangular, stiff and dead woman. Another wheel formation — as if
the wheel were symbolic of the turbulence of the Temptation — occurs around
the group on the right which reminds one of a church choir. In the center of
this group is Saint Anthony, the man with a blue peaked hat and the book.
His round, open, innocent face is in great contrast to the grimaces of his
companions and the masks of the witches, demons and devils. He stands and
observes a tumultuous drama in which human beings fall, fly, ride and are
dragged in all directions. It is a Last Judgment as well as a Temptation, which,
like a medieval mystery play, is enacted by masked folk. As we look at the two
naked women riding the dragon on the lower left, and notice that its eyes and
toe nails are painted red, we fully enter into the artist's spirit of grim humor.

STATEMENT BY MEYER SCHAPIRO

A year ago died Jan Midler, a young artist of thirty-five, one of the hopes of
painting in America. He left an impressive body of work, intensely personal,
outside the current of the familiar abstract styles, and marked throughout by
a deep seriousness. From love of life, accepting a death which he knew to be
very near, he composed an impassioned imagery of nakedness and joyous nature,
of the innocent and the demonic, often in mythical terms: Saint Anthony and
Faust. His landscapes and flowers are glowing ardent works that breathe his
30 purity of spirit.

111
Oliveira: Standing Man with Stick. 1959. Oil on canvas, 68^ x 6oi". The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of
Joseph H. Hirshhorn
NATHAN OLIVEIRA born 1928

Every artist deals with his sense of reality; this reality isfor him to determine, and involves
a broad and varied range of expressivesymbols.
The image of the human figure is the vehicle with which I can most positively relate.
My concernfor the figure is primarily a formal one, growing out of the problems of
painting itself. The implications are unconscious,for I have no desire to illustrate stories.

Nathan Oliveira, San Francisco, iggg

Nathan Oliveira states that his study with Max Beckmann at Mills College in
the summer of 1950 was the most important experience of his formative years.
Oliveira's two-dimensional figures are very different from the plastic volumes
of Beckmann's bodies, and there is none of the German's complex iconography
in his work. Both, however, are preoccupied with the relationship of the solid
figure to the surrounding void, though Beckmann, in a need to protect himself
"from the infinity of space," has filled it with a jumble of objects, while Oliveira
welcomes the void emphatically.
Unlike most of his contemporaries, Oliveira is not concerned with activating
the total surface of the picture plane; instead he places his figures solidly against
a vacant and neutral background thus revealing his predilection for fifteenth-
century Italian portraiture. His exhibition at the Alan Gallery in 1958 included
two collages entitled After Gentile Bellini ; and the painting Standing Woman with
Hat (page 116) bears a strange resemblance to Piero della Francesca's Portrait
of the Duchess of Urbino, not only because of stance and headdress but precisely
because of the placement of the figure against the simple background. Her
austere profile and inflexible doll's body are portrayed against the stunning
blankness of space. There is a somewhat greater affinity between figure and
ground in the slightly earlier Seated Man with Object (page 114) where the
scratches and streaks link the man to the grey surface. These scratchmarks have,
in fact, a directional flow, so that the figure appears to be traveling rapidly
through space, while holding on to its chair and its black "object."
Oliveira experimented with the two-dimensional aspects of the figure by
means of collages in which he pasted his subjects on sheets of paper, as if they

"3
 Oliveira: Seated Man with Object. 1957.
Oil on canvas, 60 X48". Collection
Richard Brown Baker, New York

were suspended in mid-air. After this, even a subject presented in front view,
like the Man Walking (opposite), is primarily experienced in terms of an outline
shape. The large expanse of sky and the low horizon line make the dark form
appear menacingly large as it looms at the front of the canvas.
J
1 14
Oliveira: Man Walking. (1958). Oil on
canvas, 60 x 48". Collection Joseph H.
Hirshhorn, New York

In the recent Standing Alan with Stick (page 112) the paint has been so heavily
applied that it literally oozes from the surface, modeling the figure in low relief.
The rest of the canvas is a thinly painted neutral ground. The colors of the
figure itself are also of low intensity with certain areas suddenly emphasized by

"5
 Oliveira: Standing Woman with Hat. (1958). Oil on
canvas, 40 X30". Collection Mr. and Mrs. Roy
R. Neuberger, New York

jewel-bright splashes of pigment. The head is a dark brown oval, haunting in

its effect through lack of specific features.
Oliveira's faceless figures seem as empty as the blank against which they are
silhouetted. These personages travel through space which itself lacks both defi
nition and limitation, and they appear as though they might vanish again in a
moment. They are not so much the ghosts of humans as they are merely shapes,
rapid, volatile emergences brought by the whim of the artist's brush, and
bearing a deeper affinity to the soft void of his background than to the world
of the viewer whose stance or shape they may casually assume.

1 16
 EDUARDO PAOLOZZI born 1924

Most of my work is made in wax, then taken to thefoundry, either in London or Paris where
artisans cast statues employinga techniqueonly modifiedsince the Egyptians.
The metamorphosisfrom orange coloured ephemeral wax originals to metal is accom
plished by other hands.
The atmosphere in a foundry is of hard labour, patience, nervous tension and an
unpretentious language.
No Romantic Ideas here concerningtools or work.
Several years ago at Welding school somewhere in Cricklewood, after happy weeks
making constructions,cutting steel scraps for assembly, masquerading as a Worker with
Luminous Ideas, the transfer of finished work to my largest crucible became inevitable.
To become a victim of technical methods or, equally frightening, a Prisoner of
spontaneity and red-hot improvisation, seemed to me only equalled by assuming the role
of a bronze lay figure maker, variouspermutations to order.
A CERTAIN KIND OF ACCURACY BECAME NECESSARY AND THE NEED TO INCLUDE

IRONY.
I was more interested in destroying certainformal ambiguities by using ready-mades of
a mechanical nature than creating some kind of philosophy about machines, at the same
time collaging words out of magazines. The inclusion of the phrase please leave me
alone on the back of St. Sebastian the Second, now resident in New York, is an
arrow aimed at compassion.
Eduardo Paolozzi, Thorpe-le-Soken, Essex, 1959

"Rational order in the technological world can be as fascinating as the fetishes

31 of a Congo witch doctor," according to Paolozzi. What he creates, indeed,
are necromantic fetishes of the technological world, automatons born of its
fragmentation.
Eduardo Paolozzi was born in Edinburgh of Italian parents. He studied
sculpture at the Slade School from 1944 to 1947 and then lived, studied and
worked in Paris from 1947 until 1950. His metal constructions were exhibited
at the Galerie Maeght and at the Realitees Nouvelles. Convinced of the need
to integrate sculpture with architecture, he did a series of steel and concrete
fountains — abstract constructions of water and light — in London and Ham
burg. But he soon tired of these eulogies on technology, and of designing for the

"7
service of industry, and began working toward a less utilitarian art, one which
might be complete in itself.
During his stay in Paris, Paolozzi had grown close to Jean Dubuffet and
became interested in art brut, and eventually was influenced by both. He ad
mired Henri Michaud and also Giacometti. In Pompeii he found the petrified
bodies of people and dogs haunting and hypnotic and somehow relevant to our
time with its consciousness of death and destruction. He felt increasingly that
the multi-evocative sculpture in the international exhibitions which relies al
most entirely on spectator interpretations, was insufficient for him. During
several years of introspection and experimentation he developed a more specific
imagery to deal with man as part of a mechanized society, and began making
powerful fetishes, encrusted with the scavenged rejects of technology.
His current, very personal technique was developed around 1956. Taking
random objects, he presses them into slabs of clay, forming a negative im
pression into which he then pours liquid wax. When the wax solidifies with all
the impressions on it, he has a storehouse of designs from which he can draw
at will, assembling them into wax figures. These he sends off to the bronze
foundry for unique castings.
Clockworks, wheels, locks, forks, parts of radios, phonographs, automobiles,
bomb sights — all are used to create his rich surfaces, reminiscent of Chinese
bronzes; at the same time they have the psychological effect of reminding the
spectator of the nature of his civilization. The figures are static, columnar
beings, pierced with gaping holes, yet retaining a basically closed, two-
dimensional form. His St. Sebastians, and Japanese War Gods, his Jason and
Icarus (pages 119, 120) and Cyclops are weird mythological heroes who have
turned into pitiful robots — their armor corroded, their mechanism run down.
Paolozzi: Jason. (1956). Bronze, c. 66" high. The Museum
of Modern Art, New York. Purchase
Paolozzi: Icarus, II. 1957. Bronze, 60" high.
Betty Parsons Gallery, New York
 Paolozzi: Little King. 1958. Bronze, 61" high.
Betty Parsons Gallery, New York

The sculpture by Eduardo Paolozzi, Little King, illus

trated on p. 121 should be credited to The Hanover
Gallery, London. Another sculpture bearing the same
title, from the Betty Parsons Gallery, New York, has
been substituted in the exhibition.
Paolozzi: Very Large Head. (1958). Bronze, 6' high. Collection Mrs. H. Gates Lloyd, Washington,
D.C.

122
JACKSON POLLOCK 1912-1956

The black and white paintings of 1951 are neglected in many assessments of
Pollock. The ambiguous unification of disparate qualities in these works, which
gives them their originality and their richness, also makes them difficult. In the
more obviously astonishing inventions of the previous period, when Autumn
Rhythm, Out of the Web and Number 32, iggo appeared with their all-over energy,
their chain-lightning and falling snow and sunlight, to apprehend one quality of
a work, whether it was violence or lyricism, anxiety or nostalgia (as in Lavender
Mist), was to be on the right track. Insight into one quality led onward to
another until gradually the painting revealed itself in the history of one's re
sponses: the violence of these works when they were first seen was only the sign
of a subtlety which could not be immediately or easily assimilated. The con
junction of their qualities pictorially is scale, and it is achieved by that most
aristocratic of contemporary artistic means: detail. But the black and white
pictures of 1951 are another matter.
They are unsubtle and very complex. They are frontal assaults on imagery
which had appeared in Pollock's work in the early 1940s and which, as if
lurking in his subconscious through the intervening years, now come trium
phantly to the fore. These paintings are the Chants de Maldoror of American art.
Their compulsive figurative elements call forth associations which are totally
false: we mistake the artist's subconscious for our own. Each work is a unique
statement, simultaneously in terms of imagery and of esthetic stance. To fasten
on any one quality is to misinterpret. Number 3, iggi (page 124), is not an
arabesque; Number 6, 1332 (page 127), has tenderness as its subject where a
vicious spatial mutation, on first sight, seems to be occurring. As images they
are counter to the theory of the collective unconscious; they are private and
mysterious.
It is probably because they are not images at all, but ideographs from a
subjective world we do not know. Just as Maldoror has a surface Byronism which
leads us to feel familiar with it before we have known it sufficiently to experience
its strangeness, so the semi-figurative aspect of this overt period of Pollock leads
us to believe that we ascertain overt meanings. And we are quite wrong. Pollock
did not "take up" the figure as a means of clearer communication. He employed
it as one of the elements in an elaborate defense of his psyche, and through it he
was able to make explicit and intransigent his conviction of the mystery of

123
Pollock: No. 3, 195 i. Oil on canvas, 56! x 24".
Collection Robert W. Ossorio, New York
Pollock: Black and White Painting, iggi-^2. Oil on canvas, 35 x 31". Collection Dr. and Mrs.
Russel H. Patterson, Jr., New York
Pollock: No. 23, 1951. Oil on canvas, 58J x 47". Collection Mrs. Martha Jackson, New York
Pollock: No. 6, 1952. Oil on canvas, 56 x 47". Collection Mrs. Leo Castelli, New York
 creativity. By this means he shows us the paltriness of recognitions, the vulgarity
of obsessions, and the prodigal and lofty expenditure of his innermost resources
which was so characteristic of him.
Alfonso Ossorio wrote, in his preface to the first exhibition of these works at
the Betty Parsons Gallery, "His painting confronts us with a visual concept
organically evolved from a belief in the unity that underlies the phenomena
32 among which we live." These phenomena include inner changes and the out
ward terror they produce. They also include, for Pollock, his own phenomenal
work, a major oeuvreaccomplished in barely fifteen years. The black and white
paintings present the crisis of Pollock's evaluation of his own accomplishment.
Unlike Franz Kline, who found in black and white the ultimate colors, Pollock
here expounds no-color. It is as if, from 1947 to 1950, Pollock had so seduced
and subdued the surface of the painting that it was now avaricious to absorb
the essence of his life's action. As one looks, one does not know how long these
signs, written large and plain, will last. Where before the canvas was a ground,
a field, to be worked and developed, here it is a skin, the skin of an abyss which
is contemplating its own nourishment. One of the dramas of these paintings is
the intolerable conflict between an artistic intent of unerring articulateness and
a medium which is seeking to devour its meaning. In the traditional sense,
there is no surface, as there is no color. There is simply the hand of the artist,
in mid-air, awaiting the confirmation of form. And these forms, which could
have as well been painted on air, or on glass, like the Number 29, 1950, manage
to refrain from disappearing, even though the complexity of motivation and
demand is so extreme, because their own identity is his, and he is there and has
the power to hold them. It is drawing, as so many of the great masters seem to
tell us, that holds back the abyss.
Frank O'Hara

128
 Richier: The Grasshopper. (1946-55). Bronze, 21" high.
Collection Mr. and Mrs. Harold Kaye, Great Neck, New York

I959
9°4~ GERMAINE RICHIER I

The human image has never beenforgotten in the arts. The sculptor is not protected from
the crises which have jolted modern art , but in sculpture, an art of slower evolution
according to some, the disruptions are of a different nature. In some way it is sculpture
that knew how to preserve the humanface from these upheavals (in fact, today's sculptors
do not renounce the making of busts). The face: that is to say, an entity, a whole of
expressionsand gestures brought into accord with the form.
This form, clearly, evolvedto such a point that I would call it "hybrid. " Whencecome
the dangers which threaten us through excess; and which are tempered through measure.
As an art of measure, the contemporarysculpture can and should erect and set up its
forms, not in the pediments, but in front of monumentsand public places. In order to make
our times and the public understand the works of today, sculpture would have to take over
the sites which— one asks why— have been denied it: large public squares, gardens,
theaters, buildings, stadiums. As long as sculpture is not brought back into the "domain
of man and woman," into the places commonto humanity, its face will be as if it were
disfigured.

129
 Richier: Hydra. (1954). Bronze, 31" high. Collection Richier: Ogre. (1951). Bronze, 30" high. Allan Frumkin
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph R. Shapiro, Oak Park, Illinois Gallery, Chicago

What characterizes sculpture, in my opinion, is the way in which it renouncesthe full,

solidform. Holes and perforations conductlikeflashes of lightening into the material which
becomesorganic and open, encircledfrom all sides, lit up in and through the hollows. A
form lives to the extent to which it does not withdraw from expression. And we decidedly
cannot conceal human expressionin the drama of our time.
Germaine Richier, Paris, igyg

3° I
 Born near Aries, Germaine Richier came to Paris in 1925 and became a student
of Bourdelle's about the time Giacometti left that atelier. Later she worked as
Bourdelle's assistant. He himself had been chief assistant to Rodin for many
years, and Richier seems to carry on the great master's comprehension of
sculptural form: his animated, hollowed surfaces; his powerful masses; his ex
pressive gestures and symbolist rhythm. Moreover for Richier the human figure
remains the most important vehicle of expression, a means of interpreting the
varieties of human experience. But Richier's world has become even more
unquiet and menacing than the Gates of Hell. Rodin's figures are prisoners of
an emotional and intellectual conflict, while Richier's, with their corroded
surfaces, are often in a state of physical decay. Believing in the ancient struggle
of the spirit against the flesh, Rodin still seems to leave hope for the ultimate
victory of the spirit. Fifty years later Richier's figures have already been
partially transmuted into insectile and vegetable matter.
Using the traditional techniques of the sculptor, she has cast in bronze a race
of hydras, spiders, bats, praying mantises, six-headed horses and other ogres.
Her effigies affect us by their strangeness, their existence on the frontier of
human-ness. The Grasshopper (page 129), an enormous figure of which only the
maquette is illustrated, seems to plead while threatening to pounce: an ambi
guity which is far more human than animal. The ominous Ogre (opposite),
with its swollen, gangrenous head; Don Quixote oj the Forest (page 133), who has
become a tree (or a tree which has become Don Quixote); the Hydra (opposite),
whose once-human head is transformed into a threatening pitchfork or perhaps
a petrified flower — these creatures with the odd grace of their hesitant stance
and their romanticized ugliness initiate us into a mysterious world. A world,
where to be ugly is somehow to appeal, and to be human is to partake at the
same time of the qualities of animals, insects, plants, even objects — a kind of
pantheism in which man is the spirit inhabiting all things.
Germaine Richier's sculpture, in contrast to that of her constructivist con
temporaries, makes no reference to science. Yet hers is still a world of growth,
change and decay. Like that of so many artists of this time, her work is con
cerned with transmutation, metamorphosis and organic interaction relating to
the pattern unraveled by the physical scientists in their discovery of a con
tinuous process in which the absolutes of time, space and matter have been
abolished.

3I I
Richier: The Grain. (1955). Bronze, 59" high.
Galerie Creuzevault, Paris
Richier: Don Quixote of the Forest. (1950-51).
Bronze, f 9" high. Walker Art Center, Minneapolis
THEODORE ROSZAK born 1907

"At first we cannot see beyondthe path that leads downwards to ''dark and hateful things''
— but no light or beauty will ever comefrom the man who cannot bear this sight."

C. G. Jung

Because the total condition of man in the modern world is undergoing great change,
symbols that onceacted as powerful agents in relating him to a sphere of ethical and moral
values have been steadily losing their meaning. Confronted by an historic and cultural
impasse, yet deeply concernedfor thefate of his essential personality, man has no recourse
other than to recoverthe ground of his "Being. "
The modernartist, acutely aware of the human predicament, re-createsproto-images that
cut across time. He mirrors the eternal spirit of man despite technocracys chronicindifference
to his intuitive life, and wars against the current reduction of man's personality to a docile
and convenientcipher.
The new human content, as it appears in modern art is shaped organically out of an
evolution of forms that have a correspondingbearing upon historic necessityfor us today.
It arises painfully, yet naturally, out of heaps of fragments and experiments that result
from decadesof accumulated " visual ideas." It emergesout of a plethora of plastic elements
that belong entirely to our contemporary vocabulary, visually revealing bones, nerves and
senses as well as man's varied state of being. The life abundance suggested here, is ofino
less importance than the inexhaustible store of shapes, volumesand space.
When considered in this light, sculpture emerges as a language of visual content in
space. The meaning of its forms evolvesfrom the same organic source as the content within
forms — not as an "act" sufficientunto itself, nor as a repositoryfor the "object" either
lost or found— but as an unequivocalstatement charged to fulfill man's awakened sense
of his inner realities, upon whose threshholcl of affirmation stands delineated—a new
image.

Theodore Roszak, New York ifjfj')

Roszak: Skylark. (1950-51). Steel, 8' 3" high. Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York

134
 Roszak: Rite of Passage. (1952-53). Steel, silver-nickel and copper,
48" high. Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York

136

1
 In the late Thirties and early Forties, Theodore Roszak, who had been a painter
of cubist-romantic pictures, made constructions of brass, steel, wood and plastic.
During a trip to Prague in 1929 and 1930 he had been tremendously impressed
by the contrast of the medieval city and its modern surroundings. Recognizing
that the machine was able to make clean and even beautiful shapes, he felt that
art could and should be a functioning part of the new and better world which
33 was to come about by synthesizing art, science and technology. His friendship
with Moholy-Nagy re-enforced his belief in construed vist laboratory experi
ments for the purpose of discovering the socio-biological relationships of man
and modern society.
In time, however, Roszak found this approach disappointing. The theories
of constructivism did not stand up against an industrial colossus with its mass
values, its consumer surveys, its salesman's mentality. After teaching at the
Design Laboratory in New York, he built airplanes and taught aircraft me
chanics during the war. All the skills, all the extreme refinements of industrial
precision, were used for purposes of devastation, and Roszak found himself
becoming completely disillusioned with mechanization. He began to feel that
art must look into nature for its inspiration, and that introspection might be
more likely to produce meaningful results in his search for human values than
would design for technology. He believes that the artist, alienated from society,
can only acknowledge and respect this alienation.
His constructivist experiments had given him wide experience in the use of
materials and techniques, as well as a broad understanding of the problems of
form in space. Work with tools and machines, together with a rational and
highly trained mind, has made it possible for him to proceed deliberately from
drawings to blueprints to armatures before shaping and welding the steel of his
finished sculptures. He does not rely on haphazard accidents.
While the techniques of constructivism were an aid, his sculptures since about
1945 are thoroughly different in form and feeling from his earlier works. They
are pitted and gnarled where they used to be smooth and clean-cut. The
interiors of his complex forms have become of uppermost importance. Agonized
and convulsive forms organically determine a scorched exterior. This exterior
is still sharp but no longer straightedged. Yet its hooks and thorns and prongs,
in spite of their prickly appearance, are also beautifully textured from the rich
brazing of copper, nickel and silver onto the steel.
The Skylark of 1950-51 (page 135) is an eight-foot skeleton surmounted by a
bursting star, which could also be a maze, or a crown of thorns or the thyrsus
carried by Dionysus and his satyrs. Indeed the figure seems "possessed.'" Roszak

137
 himself prefers to think of it as full of ambiguities with its upper part exultant
and its lower half scorched and impotently exhausted. It is like a modern Icarus
in whom flight and fall are expressed simultaneously. "It is this contrast,"
writes Paul Klee in his Pedagogical Sketchbook, "between power and prostration
that implies the duality of human existence. Half winged- half imprisoned, this
34 is man."
If the Skylark is baroque in its thrusting dynamism, Rite of Passage of 1952-53
(page 136) seems more restrained. The very stylization and severe frontality
recall ritual effigies. The figure moves in a slow dancing step, its arms coming
down like feathered wings. The open bowl of the head resembles a crescent
moon, and this crescent shape, bending downward or upward, gaining or
waning, is repeated throughout the figure — a figure which is as majestic in its
stance as it is vulnerable in its skeletal form.
In the Surveyor (page 140) Roszak develops the gesture, already important in
the Skylark and Rite of Passage, so that it is the chief characteristic of the figure.
The imperious stroke of the arm, a bow stretching up hugely before it reaches
its straight vertical drop, is achieved with a complete absence of facial ex
pression, as the gesture so often is in contemporary art. Yet the Surveyor has
achieved mastery of his strange instrument, glittering like a jewel. Similar to an
attribute of a medieval saint, this filigree of bright wire appears to have the
importance of magic — an enigmatic power which is, however, controlled by
the dominating gesture.
Suddenly, in the recent Iron Throat (opposite) Roszak dismisses the gesture
as a major expressive means. This canine-human head is the portrait bust of a
scream — agony, terror, warning. It is the iron cage of sound, its skull structure
an intricate assemblage of metal webs and planes but yet altogether pared
down, rejecting any gesticulating hand or striding foot in favor of the simple
leaping throat, the reverberating hollows of the skull — an image of sound in
clangorous flight.

138
Roszak: Iron Throat. (1959). Steel, 42" high. Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York
Roszak: Surveyor. 1959. Steel and silver-nickel,
7' high, (detail). Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York
 H. C. WESTERMANN born 1922

H. C. Westermann can be seen as part of the Dada revival which has been
flourishing during the last decade and which seems to be as little confined to
any particular locality as was the original movement. The Dada groups which
sprang up in Zurich and New York during the First World War were a rebellion
against the lies of convention, against militarism and the suicide of the war. It
is hardly surprising that at a time when the means of mass communication have
made for a much greater conformity and when lunacy seems to have become
world policy, young artists conjure up a new kind of trenchant mockery.
35 But Westermann, who works in Chicago, must also be seen as a highly
individualistic artist whose sardonic humor carries desperate implications. His
work lends itself to careful description. It states a message and can even be
considered literal in its forthright exposition. He makes objects — not sculp
ture—and, having set aside esthetic form, he creates unmistakable signs of
merciless intensity.
The Evil New War God (page 145), made of narrow brass and nickeled strips,
is a man in the shape of a blockhouse. Less whimsical than Paul Klee's graphic
similes, this is a grim image of war upon which our national motto has been
written with eloquent derision. Westermann served with the Marines during
the Second World War and again during the Korean War. Believing perhaps
in the power of the word, he scratched "Stop War" on the base of The Mysterious
Yellow Mausoleum (page 144). The purpose of this carefully carpentered struc
ture is illusion. You can usually peep into Westermann's buildings through the
miniature windows and portholes, and as you explore the inside, you discover
steps which do not lead anywhere, a mirror contrived to make the viewer three-
eyed, a crucifix in the style of Mexican carvings, a black cat's head, a very old
newspaper clipping showing a dead soldier, a gallows, the sign of the skull and
bones surmounting the legs of a circus lady. Outside there is Brady's photograph
of Daniel Webster montaged upon Henry Clay's shoulders. All this is com
manded by a tower with handless clock and graceless balcony and surmounted
by the deadpan baby-doll painted yellow with blue eyes.
The large Memorial to the Idea oj Man If He Was an Idea (pages 142, 143) is his
most powerful creation. It is again a carefully worked box of laminated wood,
this time with wildly painted arms, vulgarly akimbo. Its castellated, monocular
head is topped by a toy globe, balanced on a pointed finger. A small man is

141
\
 Westermann: Memorial to the Idea of Man If He Was an Idea. 1958. Wood and metal, 55" high.
Collection Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Manilow, Chicago

Below: View with door open. Detail.

43 T
Westermann: The Mysterious Yellow Mausoleum.
(1958). Wood, 49" high. Collection Arthur J.
Neumann, Chicago
 drawn on the glass between the heart-shaped lips. And a pigeon trough appears
on the back: memorials to the idea of man may commemorate his vulnerability
but they are still memorials and thus associated with pigeons.
The man's torso is a box with a door which opens to set us aghast. Here is
a garish ocean of bottlecaps. The homeless Koreans are said to have built them
selves houses out of empty beer cans left by the American soldiers. The jetsam
of the civilization — the objet trouve— became their homes. Here the bottlecaps
serve as the ambiance for a headless baseball player, a helpless trapeze acrobat,
a sinking ship. In one respect this is a self portrait: Westermann has been a
circus acrobat and he served on the U.S.S. Enterprise during the war. The in
scription to the "Mad Cabinetmaker" certainly applies with devilish accuracy.
But this is also a succinct view of the world which has become a madhouse.

Westermann: The Evil New War God. (1958). Brass,

partly chrome-plated, 17" high. Collection Howard W.
Lipman, New York

45 :
FRITZ WOTRUBA born 1907

The human figure, now as much as ever, remainsfor me the starting point for my work, it
stands at the beginning and will stand at the end. As I see the theme, it carries no limitation
and I find it to be as topical as ever. It is not and never was a question whether to retain
thefunctional credibility in the creation of thefigure. On the contrary,for me as a sculptor,
man in his physical reality is never as important as thefact that, because of his spiritual
and physical facets, he is the strongest stimulant among all existing objects and cannot be
replaced by anything else.
The metamorphosisand reduction may lead beyondrecognition, but just as well to the
canon of the academy. Nevertheless, man himself is and remains the motivepower for the
creative realization, even if nothing more of him is visible than a grimace.

Fritz Wotruba, Vienna, March 31, iggg

In physics and philosophy, in technology and communication, the elements of

change and motion underlie the concepts of our time. In one way or another,
a great many artists have attempted to cast these principles of transformation
and of a world in flux into visual form. Wotruba's sculpture, however, in its
search for permanence, harmony and structural density reveals itself as an
articulate protest against this emphasis on fluctuation. Time, motion have no
place in his ponderous and massive forms.
Born in Vienna, Fritz Wotruba is a truly rare phenomenon in the history of
art: an Austrian sculptor. At twenty he was carving torsos of classical propor
tions which, in fact, leaned rather heavily upon Greek models. In 1938, soon
after the Nazification of Austria, he went to live and work in Switzerland,
coming back to Vienna only in 1945 to become director of sculpture at the
Vienna Akademie der Bildenden Kiinste.
Since his return, he has dismissed the beauty and grace even of classical
sculpture as too-fleeting aspects of form, in favor of a more primitive severity.
His standing, lying or seated figures are compressed and compact, simplified
and static. The Seated Figure of 1948 (opposite) — a bronze cast from the original
limestone — has retained the rough-hewn quality of the carving. With its slab
like body and cubed head, it recalls a pile of rocks found in a quarry or perhaps
at Stonehenge. Without resembling any particular primitive form, the figure

146
Wotruba: Seated Figure (" Penseur "). (1948). Bronze, 32!" high. Fine Arts Associates, New York
 Wotruba: Head. (1954-55)- Bronze, i6|" high. The
Museum of Modern Art, New York, Blanchette
Rockefeller Fund

has those universal qualities of inwardness and impersonal solidity found in

faceless primeval idols. Wotruba does not like protuberances on his basic shapes.
His Head of 1954-55 (above) is divested of all incidentals. It is a cylinder in
which the large vertical gash and the triple furrows at right angles to it suffice
to suggest a human head of barbaric strength and geometric precision. His
more recent Figure with Raised Arms (opposite), carved directly in limestone, is
a monumental variation on the theme of the cylinder. Cylindrical forms of
various lengths and different positions off the vertical axis are played against
each other to create a slow rhythm of verticality within the confines of the block.
The stance and the proportion evoke feelings of dignity and strength. While this
limestone figure may still recall classical art, it takes us back not to the pedi-
mental sculpture at Olympia, but rather to the coarse-grained and unadorned
drums of the ancient columns which stand among the pines in the sacred groves
in the plain of the river Alpheus.

148
Wotruba: Figure with Raised Arms. (1956-57).
Limestone, 76!" high. Fine Arts Associates, New York
NOTES TO THE TEXT

1 Albert Camus, The Rebel (New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 10 Leonard Baskin: Introduction to catalogue on Kollwitz
1954) p. 46. (Northampton, Smith College Museum of Art, 1958)
p. 10.
2 Guillaume Apollinaire, The Cubist Painters (New York,
Wittenborn, Schultz, 1949) p. 22-23. 11 From Reg Butler's description of the prize-winning model,
from catalogue insert in The Unknown Political Prisoner
3 George Heard Hamilton, Object and Image in Modern Art (London, Tate Gallery, 1953).
and Poetry (New Haven, Yale University, 1954) [p. 5].
12 Cosmo Campoli, in Patrick T. Malone and Peter Selz,
4 Francis Bacon [from a tribute to Matthew Smith, pub "Is there a New Chicago School?" Art News, vol. 54, no. 6,
lished in Smith retrospective exhibition catalogue, Tate October 1955, p. 37.
Gallery, 1953], reprinted: The New Decade, (New York,
Museum of Modern Art, 1955) p. 60-61. 13 Paul Mills discusses the development of the new figurative
painting in the Bay Area in Contemporary Bay Area Figur
5 The raw and spontaneous art of the insane, the deranged ative Painting, a catalogue which accompanied the impor
and the feeble-minded but also eccentric. tant exhibition he organized in September 1957 at the
Oakland Art Museum. In addition to Park, Bischoff
6 Kenneth Armitage: Statement by the artist, The New and Diebenkorn, a number of younger painters were
Decade (New York, The Museum of Modern Art, 1955) included in the exhibition; among these William
P- 57- Brown, Bruce McGaw and Paul Wonner are of particular
interest.
7 Herbert Read in Art Since ig4j (New York, Harry N.
Abrams, [1958]) p. 236. 14 Jean Dubuffet, from a statement in the catalogue for his
exhibition at the Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York,
8 Bacon's Dog of 1952 is closely related to a certain surrealist February — March, 1952.
sequence at the end of Bunuel's film The Toung and the
Damned of 1950. 15 Alberto Giacometti, 1 + 1 =3..., Trans/formation
(New York) vol. 1, no. 3, 1952, p. 165.
9 Compare Vincent van Gogh's The Painter on the Road to
Tarascon, 1888. Kaiser Friedrich Museum, Magdeburg, 16 Alberto Giacometti letter in Alberto Giacometti exhibition
Germany. Below. catalogue (New York, Pierre Matisse Gallery, 1948) p. 44.

17 Jean-Paul Sartre, "The Search for the Absolute" in

Alberto Giacometti exhibition catalogue (New York, Pierre
Matisse Gallery, 1948) p. 4.

18 Ibid. p. 6.

19 Richard Wilbur, from "Giacometti," in Ceremony and

Other Poems (New York, Harcourt, Brace and Company,
(n.d.) p. 51.

20 Ibid. p. 51.

21 Rene Char, Recherche de la Base et du Sommet suivi de

Pauvrete et Privilege (Paris, Gallimard, 1955) p. 142.

22 Lawrence Alloway, introduction to exhibition catalogue

on Leon Golub (Chicago, Allan Frumkin Gallery [1957])
[p. 4].

150
 23 Compare Dying Gaul, Rome, Capitoline Museum.
Right.

24 Willem de Kooning, "The Renaissance and Order," in

Trans /formation (New York), vol. 1, no. 2, 195L P* 86.

25 The Crucifixion triptych, which is the culmination of the

series, was exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art in
the Spring of 195 1.

26 Rico Lebrun, "Notes by the Artist on the Crucifixion

Theme" in Rico Lebrun exhibition 'catalogue (Los Angeles Dying Gaul.
County Museum, 1950) p. 8.

27 Compare Francesco Traini: The Three Qiiick and the Three

Dead, detail of the fresco The Triumph of Death, about
1350, in Pisa, Campo Santo. Right.

28 Rico Lebrun, letter to the author, dated April 19, 1959.

29 Martica Sawin, "Jan Miiller: 1922-1958,' Arts vol. 33

no. 5, February 1959, p. 39.

30 Foreword of the catalogue to a retrospective exhibition

(New York, Hansa Gallery, December 1958).

31 Eduardo Paolozzi, "Notes from a lecture at the Institute

of Contemporary Arts, 1958," Uppercase, London [1958], Traini: The Triumph of Death. Detail.
(n.p.).

32 Jackson Pollock (New York, Betty Parsons' Gallery, 195 1).

33 Between 1937 and 1943 Roszak made many construc

tions such as the Construction in White. 1937. Wood, steel
and plastic, 24" high. Owned by the artist. Right.

34 Paul Klee, Pedagogical Sketch Book (New York, Frederick

A. Praeger, 1953) p. 54.

35 Franz Schulze, reviewing Westermann's first one-man

show at the Frumkin Gallery, Chicago, sees him in the
context of the "Chicago School." "...it is the most in
tensely private and compelling manner to emerge here
in years and Westermann quite logically joins the Monster
Roster (Campoli, Cohen, Golub, Halkin, Leaf, Rosofsky,
et al) which has dominated Chicago art for a decade."
Art News, vol. 57 no. 10, February 1959, p. 56. Roszak: Construction in White.

5I I
 CATALOGUE OF THE EXHIBITION

In dimensions height precedes width, with the exception of somepieces LEONARD BASKIN. American, born 1922
of sculpture where the length is given. Dates enclosed in parentheses do
not appear on the works of art. 16 Man with a Dead Bird. (1954). Walnut, 64" high. The
KAREL APPEL. Dutch, born 192 1 Museum of Modern Art, New York, A. Conger Good
year Fund. 111.p. 34.
1 The Condemned. 1953. Oil on canvas, 55J X 45-J:".Stedelijk 17 Walking Man. (1955). Oak, 17J" high. Collection Dr.
v. Abbe Museum, Eindhoven, The Netherlands. 111.p. ig. and Mrs. Malcolm W. Bick, Springfield, Mass. 111.p. 38.
2 Person in Grey. 1953. Oil on canvas, 46x35". Martha 18 Poet Laureate. (1956). Bronze, 9" high. Collection Mr.
Jackson Gallery, New York. 111.p. 17. and Mrs. Roy R. Neuberger, New York. 111.p. 36.
3 Portrait of Sandberg. 1956. Oil on canvas, 51JX31J". In 19 Seated Man. (1956). Bronze, 13J" high. Collection Dr.
stitute of Contemporary Art, Boston, Provisional Collec and Mrs. Julius S. Held, New York. 111.p. 38.
tion through Mr. and Mrs. Lester H. Dana. 111.p. 21. 20 The Great Dead Man. (1956). Limestone, 5' 10" long.
4 Blue Nude. 1957. Oil on canvas, 76JX51J". Collection Owned by the artist. 111.p. 37.
Philippe Dotremont, Brussels. 111.p. 22.
5 Count Basie. 1957. Oil on canvas, 60X45". Phoenix Art REG BUTLER. British, born 19 13
Museum, gift of Peter Riibel. 111.p. 20. 21 Woman. (1949). Forged iron, 7' 3" high. The Tate
Gallery, London. 111.p. 40.
KENNETH ARMITAGE. British, born 1916
22 The Unknown Political Prisoner {project for a monument).
1^)- 6 Seated Woman with Arms Raised. (1953-57). Bronze, 41 J" (^S Bronze with stone base, 17^" high. The
high. Albright Art Gallery, Buffalo, gift of Seymour H. Museum of Modern Art, New York, Saidie A. May
Knox. 111.p. 26. Fund. 111.p. 42.
7 The Seasons. (1956). Bronze, 34" high. Collection Mr. 23 Girl. (1954-56). Bronze, 7' 5" high. Pierre Matisse
and Mrs. Charles Zadok, New York. 111.p. 26. Gallery, New York. 111.p. 43.
8 Model for Krefeld Monument. (1956). Bronze, 13J" high. 24 Figure in Space. (1957-58). Bronze, 35J" high. Pierre
Collection Mr. and Mrs. Walter Ross, New York. 111.p. 24. Matisse Gallery, New York. 111.p. 42.
9 Model for Large Seated Group. (1957). Bronze, 10" high.
Collection Mr. and Mrs. Maxime L. Hermanos, New COSMO CAMPOLI. American, born 1922
York. 111.p. 24. 25 Birth of Death. (1950). Bronze, 33" high. Allan Frumkin
10 Diarchy. (1957). Bronze, 68J" high. Collection Mr. and Gallery, Chicago. 111.p. 46.
Mrs. Arnold H. Maremont, Winnetka, Illinois. 111.p. 25. 26 Birth. (1958). Bronze, 39" high. Allan Frumkin Gallery,
Chicago. 111.p. 47.
FRANCIS BACON. British, born 1910
27 Mother and Child. (1958). Marble, 7" high. Allan Frum
11 Man in a Blue Box. (1949). Oil on canvas, 58x51". kin Gallery, Chicago. 111. p. 48.
Collection Mr. and Mrs. Joseph R. Shapiro, Oak Park, 28 Return of the Prodigal Son. (1957-59). Plastic for bronze,
Illinois. 111.p. 31. 30" high. Allan Frumkin Gallery, Chicago. 111. p. 49.
12 Study of a Figure in a Landscape. (1952). Oil on canvas,
78 x 54". Phillips Collection, Washington, D. C. 111.p. 28. CESAR (Baldacchini). French, born 1921
13 Study after Velasquez' Portrait of Pope Innocent X. (1953). 29 Torso. (1954). Welded iron, 30J" high. Private collec
Oil on canvas, 6oJ x 46j". Collection Mr. and Mrs. tion, New York. 111.p. 51.
William A. M. Burden, New York. 111.p. 30. 30 Nude of Saint-Denis, I. (1956). Forged and welded iron,
14 Study for Portrait of van Gogh, No. 1. (1956). Oil on canvas, 36" high. Collection Robert Elkon, New York. 111.p. 52.
60X46J". Collection Mr. and Mrs. R. J. Sainsbury, 31 Nude of Saint-Denis, IV. (1957). Bronze, 24!" high. The
London. 111. p. 32. Hanover Gallery, London. 111.p. 54.
15 Studyfor Portrait of van Gogh, No. 3. ( 1957) . Oil on canvas, 32 Winged Figure, (c. 1957). Cast iron, 56" long. Collection
78I X 56I". Collection Joseph H. Hirshhorn, New York. Mr. and Mrs. Richard K. Weil, St. Louis. (Exhibited
111.p. 33. in New York only.) 111. p. 53.

52 J
 RICHARD DIEBENKORN. American, born 1922 50 Man Seated. 1950. Oil on canvas, 311x25!". Collection
Mr. and Mrs. Richard Deutsch, Greenwich, Connecti
33 Girl on a Terrace. 1956. Oil on canvas, 71 X 66". Collection cut. (Exhibited in New York only.) 111.p. 74.
Mr. and Mrs. Roy R. Neuberger, New York. 111.p. 56. 51 Head of Diego. (1954). Bronze, 26!" high. Collection Mr.
34 Girl with Cups. 1957. Oil on canvas, 59X54". Collection and Mrs. Sidney F. Brody, Los Angeles. (Exhibited in
Richard Brown Baker, New York. 111.p. 57. New York only.) 111.p 75.
35 Man and Woman in a Large Room. 1957. Oil on canvas,
LEON GOLUB. American, born 1922
71 X63". Collection Joseph H. Hirshhorn, New York.
111.p. 58. 52 Damaged Man. (1955). Oil and lacquer on masonite,
36 Man and Woman, Seated. (1958). Oil on canvas, 70JX 48x36". Allan Frumkin Gallery, Chicago. 111. p. 77.
83J". Mr. and Mrs. William Zeckendorf, Jr., New York. 53 Orestes. (1956). Oil and lacquer on canvas, 82X42".
111.p. 59. Collection Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Manilow, Chicago. 111.
p. 81.
JEAN DUBUFFET. French, born 1901 54 Colossal Head. (1958). Oil and lacquer on canvas,
37 Childbirth. 1944. Oil on canvas, 39! X31J". Collection 82i X48I". Allan Frumkin Gallery, Chicago. 111.p. 78.
Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Matisse, New York. 111.p. 61. 55 Horseman. (1958). Oil and lacquer on canvas, 84X36".
38 Archetypes. (1945). Mixed media on canvas, 39JX31J". Collection Mrs. Herbert S. Greenwald, Chicago. 111.
Collection Leo Castelli, New York. 111.p. 63. p. 80.
39 D hotel with Tellow Teeth. (1947). Mixed media on can 56 Reclining Youth. (1959). Oil and lacquer on canvas, 6'
vas, 45IX35". Private collection, New York. 111.p. 64. 7" x 13' 9". Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Manilow, Chicago. 111.
40 " Corps de dame - Foursome." (1950). Oil on canvas, p. 82.
45f X35". Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York. 111.p. 65.
BALCOMB GREENE. American, born 1904
41 Woman with Furs. 1954. Oil on canvas, 391x32".
Collection Mr. and Mrs. Ralph F. Colin, New York. 57 Seated Woman. (1954). Oil on canvas, 48x38". Bertha
111.p. 66. Schaefer Gallery, New York. 111.p. 84.
42 Knight of Darkness. (1954). Slag and clinkers, 35J" high. 58 Anguish. (1956). Oil on canvas, 48x60". Bertha Schae
Collection Mr. and Mrs. Albert A. List, New York. fer Gallery, New York. 111. p. 87.
111. p. 66. 59 Gertrude, II. 1956-58. Oil on canvas, 64X49I". Collec
43 The Dunce Cap ("La pointe au pitre"). 1956. Assemblage tion Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Weinstein, New York. 111.p. 85.
on canvas, 57 X 454"- Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York.
WILLEM DE KOONING. American, born The Nether
111.p. 67.
lands 1904.
ALBERTO GIACOMETTI. Swiss, born 1901 60 Woman. (1950). Oil on canvas, 64X46". Department of
44 Man Pointing. 1947. Bronze, 70J" high. The Museum of Art, The Woman's College of the University of North
Modern Art, New York, gift of Mrs. John D. Rocke Carolina, Greensboro. 111.p. 88.
feller, 3rd. 111.p. 69, 72. 61 Woman, I. (1950-52). Oil on canvas, 75IX58". The
45 Tall Figure. (1947). Bronze, 6' 7" high. Private collec Museum of Modern Art, New York. Purchase. 111.p. 91.
tion, New York. 111.p. 72. 62 Figure in Landscape, No. 2. (1951). Oil on canvas, 33 J X
46 Tall Figure. (1949). Painted bronze, 65" high. Collection 16J". Collection Joseph H. Hirshhorn, New York. 111.p. 90.
Mr. and Mrs. James Thrall Soby, New Canaan, 63 Two Women's Torsos. (1952). Pastel, 18^X24". The Art
Connecticut. 111.p. 72. Institute of Chicago, the John H. Wrenn Fund. 111.p. 94.
47 City Square. (1949). Bronze, gf" high X 25I" long. 64 Woman and Bicycle. (1952-53). Oil on canvas, 761x49".
Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Matisse, New York. 111. p. 71. Whitney Museum of American Art, New York. 111.p. 93.
48 Composition with Three Figures and a Head (The Sand). 65 Marilyn Monroe. (1954). Oil on canvas, 50 X30". Collec
(1950). Painted bronze, 22" high. Collection Philip tion Mr. and Mrs. Roy R. Neuberger, New York. 111.p. 95.
Johnson, New Canaan, Connecticut. 111.p. 71.
RICO LEBRUN. American, born Italy 1900
49 The Artist's Mother. 1950. Oil on canvas, 34! X 23J". The
Museum of Modern Art, New York, acquired through 66 Buchenwald Pit. (1955). Charcoal on canvas, 8' 2"x6'
the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest. 111. p. 74. 8J". Jacques Seligmann & Co., New York. 111. p. 96.

53 :
67 Studyfor Dachau Chamber. 1958. Oil on canvas, 6' 6J" X 7'. 85 No. 23, 1951. Oil on canvas, 58^X47". Collection Mrs.
Jacques Seligmann & Co., New York. 111.p. 101. Martha Jackson, New York. 111.p. 126.
68 " Doble Disparate ." (1958). Casein and oil on board, 86 Black and White Painting, 1931-32. Oil on canvas,
84X45J". Owned by the artist. 111. p. 98. 35 X31". Collection Dr. and Mrs. Russel H. Patterson,
Jr., New York. 111. p. 125.
JAMES MCGARRELL. American, born 1930
87 No. 6, 1932. Oil on canvas, 56 X 47". Collection Mrs.
69 Bathers. 1956. Oil on canvas, 43JX48". Collection Ster Leo Castelli, New York. 111.p. 127.
ling Holloway, Encino, California. 111.p. 104.
GERMAINE RICHIER. French, 1904-1959
70 Equinox. 1956. Oil on canvas, 41 X47". Collection
Wright Ludington, Santa Barbara. 111. p. 103. 88 The Grasshopper. (1946-55). Bronze, 21" high. Collection
71 Rest in Air. 1958. Oil on masonite, 48 X 594". Frank Perls Mr. and Mrs. Harold Kaye, Great Neck, New York.
Gallery, Beverly Hills. 111. p. 105. 111.p. 129.
89 Don Quixote of the Forest. (1950-51). Bronze, 7' 9" high.
JAN MULLER. American, born Germany. 1922-1958
Walker Art Center, Minneapolis. 111.p. 133.
72 The Heraldic Ground. (1952-53). Oil on canvas, 14J X go Ogre. (1951). Bronze, 30" high. Allan Frumkin Gallery,
40 f. Collection Mrs. Jan Midler, New York. 111.p. 106. Chicago. 111.p. 130.
73 Hamlet and Horatio. (1956). Oil on canvas, 50^X48^". 91 Hydra. (1954). Bronze, 31" high. Collection Mr. and
Collection Richard Brown Baker, New York. 111.p. no. Mrs. Joseph R. Shapiro, Oak Park, Illinois. 111.p. 130.
74 Hanging Piece. (1957). Oil on wood. Eight separate 92 The Grain. (1955). Bronze, 59" high. Galerie Creuze-
panels, 81" high. Collection Horace Richter, New York. vault, Paris. 111.p. 132.
111.p. 108.
THEODORE J. ROSZAK. American, born Poland 1907.
75 Temptation of Saint Anthony. (1957). Oil on canvas, 6' 9" X
10' 2J". Collection Mrs.JanMuller,NewYork.Ill.p. 109. 93 Skylark. (1950-51). Steel, 8' 3" high. Pierre Matisse
Gallery, New York. 111.p. 135.
NATHAN OLIVEIRA. American, born 1928
94 Rite of Passage. ( 1952-53) . Steel, silver-nickel and copper,
76 Seated Man with Object. 1957. Oil on canvas, 60X48". 48" high. Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York. 111.p. 136.
Collection Richard Brown Baker, New York. 111.p. 114. 95 Surveyor. 1959. Steel and silver-nickel, 7' high. Pierre
77 Standing Woman with Hat. (1958). Oil on canvas, 40 X Matisse Gallery, New York. 111.p. 140.
30". Collection Mr. and Mrs. Roy R. Neuberger, New 96 Iron Throat. (1959). Steel, 42" high. Pierre Matisse
York. 111.p. 116. Gallery, New York. 111.p. 139.
78 Man Walking. (1958). Oil on canvas, 60x48". Collec
H. C. WESTERMANN. American, born 1922
tion Joseph H. Hirshhorn, New York. 111.p. 115.
79 Standing Man with Stick. 1959. Oil on canvas, 68 J X 60J". 97 The Mysterious Tellow Mausoleum. (1958). Wood, 49"
The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of Joseph high. Coll. Arthur J. Neumann, Chicago. 111. p. 144.
H. Hirshhorn. 111.p. 112. 98 Memorial to the Idea of Man If He Was an Idea. 1958. Wood
and metal, 55" high. Collection Mr. and Mrs. Lewis
EDUARDO PAOLOZZI. British, born 1924
Manilow, Chicago. 111. p. 142, 143.
80 Jason. (1956). Bronze, c. 66" high. The Museum of 99 The Evil New War God. (1958). Brass, partly chrome-
Modern Art, New York. Purchase. 111.p. 119. plated, 17" high. Collection Howard W. Lipman, New
81 Icarus, II. 1957. Bronze, 60" high. Betty Parsons Gallery, York. 111.p. 145.
New York. 111.p. 120.
FRITZ WOTRUBA. Austrian, born 1907
82 Little King. 1958. Bronze, 61" high. Betty Parsons Gal
lery, New York. 111.p. 121. 100 Seated Figure (" Penseur'j . (1948). Bronze, 32j" high.
83 Very Large Head. (1958). Bronze, 6' high. Collection Mrs. Fine Arts Associates, New York. 111.p. 147.
H. Gates Lloyd, Washington, D. C. 111.p. 122. 101 Head. (1954-55). Bronze, i6|" high. The Museum of
Modern Art, New York, Blanchette Rockefeller Fund.
JACKSON POLLOCK. American. 1912-1956
111.p. 148.
84 No. 3, 1931. Oil on canvas, 56 J x 24". Collection Robert 102 Figure with Raised Arms. (1956-57). Limestone, 76I"
W. Ossorio, New York. 111.p. 124 high. Fine Arts Associates, New York. 111.p. 149.

*54
 SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY by Ilse Falk

GENERAL REFERENCES New York. Museum of Modern Art. The new decade:
22 European painters and sculptors; edited by Andrew
Art Since 1945. 374 p. ill. (col. pi.) New York, Abrams
Carnduff Ritchie. 112 p. ill. New York, Museum of Modern
[1958].
Art, 1955.
Texts on contemporary painting by M. Brion, W. Groh-
Exhibition catalogue. Refers to Appel, Armitage, Bacon,
mann, Sam Hunter, H. Read and others. Includes
Butler, Dubuffet, Richier. Statements by the artists.
references to Appel, Armitage, Bacon, Butler, Cesar,
Selected bibliography.
Dubuffet, Giacometti, Paolozzi and Pollock.
Oakland. Art Museum. Contemporary Bay Area figura
Ashton, Dore. Art [a column]. Arts and Architecture 1955
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— current.
Catalogue of exhibit with text by Paul Mills.
New York correspondent regularly reviews current ex
hibitions. Ritchie, Andrew C. Sculpture of the twentieth century.
240 p. ill. New York, Museum of Modern Art, 1952.
Barr, Alfred H., Jr. Masters of modern art. 240. p. ill.
Includes references to Butler, Giacometti, Paolozzi and
(col. pi.) New York, Museum of Modern Art, 1954.
Roszak. Bibliography.
Survey of major works and movements in the Museum
collections. Bibliography. Schapiro, Meyer. The younger American painters of
today. The Listener 60 no. 1404: 146-147 Jan. 1956.
Giedion- Welcker, Carola. Contemporary sculpture: an
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evolution in volume and space. 327 p. ill. New York,
Gallery: "Modern Art in the United States."
Wittenborn, 1955.
Refers to Armitage, Butler, Paolozzi, Richier. Selective Urbana. University of Illinois. College of Fine
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painting and sculpture] 1948- current.
Greenberg, Clement. "American-type" painting. Parti
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Guggenheim, Peggy, ed. Art of this century... 1910 to
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Exhibition catalogue with introduction by George Heard
Hess, Thomas B. Abstract painting: background and Amer Hamilton. Refers to Armitage, Bacon, Giacometti,
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Catalogue of exhibit of 14 artists including Cosmo Cam- English summary, p. 203.
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George, Waldemar. Karel Appel, le Hollandais volant.
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can painting as shown in eight European countries 1958-
Alloway, Lawrence. Background to action: cobra notes.
1959. 96 p. ill. New York, Museum of Modern Art, 1959.
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national Program. Foreword by Rene d'Harnoncourt,
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Alfred H. Barr, Jr. Statements by the artists. Refers to de Burrey, Suzanne. Karel Appel: Dutch muralist. Architec
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55 J
KENNETH ARMITAGE Heron, Patrick. The changing forms of art. p. 226-232 ill.
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no. 3: 14-15 ill. Dec. 1957. Matisse, Pierre, Gallery. Reg Butler, sculpture and
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Exhibition catalogue. Includes letter and poem by the
Venice. Esposizione Biennale. Catalogo. p. 269-278 ill. artist.
Venice, 1958.
29th biennale; includes sculpture and drawings, Kenneth COSMO CAMPOLI
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paintings, William Scott; introduction by Herbert Read. Chicago school? Art News 54 no. 6: 36-39, 58-59 ill. Oct.
Also separate catalogues issued by the British Council,
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London for circulating this exhibition in Europe. Includes Campoli, Golub and others.
FRANCIS BACON CESAR (Baldacchini)
Melville, Robert. Francis Bacon. Horizon 20 no. 120- Cogniat, Raymond. Cesar moderne Vulcain. Prisme des
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Hunter, Sam. Francis Bacon: the anatomy of horror. Rouve, Pierre. No ides of March. Art News and Review 9
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Hoctin, Luce. Francis Bacon et la hantise de l'homme. Review of exhibition at the Hanover Gallery.
XXe Siecle (n.s.) no. 11: 53-55 ill. Dec. 1958. Hanover Gallery. Cesar. 19 p. ill. London, 1957.
LEONARD BASKIN Exhibition catalogue with introduction by John Russell.

Graphic artists. Art in America 44 no. 1: 48-49 ill. Feb. 1956. RICHARD DIEBENKORN
Statement by the artist. Chipp, Herschel B. Diebenkorn paints a picture. Art
Worcester, Mass. Art Museum. Leonard Baskin, News 56 no. 3: 44-47 ill. May 1957.
sculpture, drawings, woodcuts. 15 p. ill. Worcester, 1957. Johnson, Ellen. Diebenkorn's "Woman by a Large
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New York, Devin-Adair, 1957. Oakland. Art Museum. Contemporary Bay Area figura
Reported interview. tive painting, p. 10-13 ill. Oakland, 1957.
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REG BUTLER Parrot, Louis. Jean Dubuffet. 20 p. plus ill. Paris, Pierre
Melville, Robert. Personages in iron: work of Reg Seghers, 1944.
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Alloway, Lawrence. Britain's new iron age. Art News 52 de J. Dubuffet. 57 p. ill. Paris, Galerie Rene Drouin, 1946.
no. 4: 18-20, 68-70 ill. June 1953. Dubuffet, Jean. Prospectus aux amateurs de tout genre.
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Jean DubufFet. n p. ill. New York, 1951. and Los Angeles University of California Press, 1956.
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Golub, Leon. A critique of abstract expressionism. College
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Translated into Italian in 1 4 Soli 4 no. 1: 11 Jan. -Feb.
Hess, Thomas B. ... Is today's artist with or against the
1957-
past? Art News 57 no. 4: 26-29, 56-57. June 1958.
Series of interviews which includes de Kooning. Creenberg, Clement. The present prospects of American
painting and sculpture. Horizon 16 no. 93-94: 20-30 Oct.
RICO LEBRUN 1947-
Lebrun, Rico. A letter from Rico Lebrun. Chicago Art Includes Jackson Pollock.
Institute Quarterly 50: 18-20 ill. Feb. 1956. Pollock, Jackson. My painting. Possibilities (New York)
Lebrun, Rico. Art and artist, p. 68-88, ill. Berkely and Los 1 no. 4: 78-83 ill. Winter 1947-48.
Angeles, University of California Press, 1956. Translated into Italian in 1 4 Soli 4 no. 1: 11 Jan. -Feb.
!957-
Rodman, Selden. The "Crucifixion" of Rico Lebrun.
Perspectives U.S.A. no. 15: 69-81 ill. 1956. Parker, Tyler. Jackson Pollock: the infinite labyrinth.
Magazine of Art 43 no. 3: 92-93 ill. Mar. 1950.
Longo, Vincent. Exploration through collage: interview
with Rico Lebrun. Arts (New York) 31 no. 2: 68-69 ill- Parsons, Betty, Gallery. Jackson Pollock, 1951. [17] p.
Nov. 1956. ill. New York, 1951.
Exhibition catalogue with introduction by Alfonso Osso-
Seldis, Henry J. Artists of the West Coast. Art in America rio. Reprinted in "15 Americans," New York, Museum of
6-H 44 no. 3: 37"4° HI- Fa !95 Modern Art, 1952.
Statement by the artist.
Goodnough, Robert. Pollock paints a picture. Art News
Langsner, Jules. Rico Lebrun, interim report. Arts and 50 no. 3: 38-41 ill. May 195 1.
Architecture 74 no. 6: 20-21, 31 ill. June 1957.
Greenberg, Clement. "American-type" painting. Partisan
Lebrun, Rico. Rico Lebrun: drawings and paintings. (Fall Review 22 no. 2: 179-196 Spring 1955.
release). 150 p. ill. Berkeley and Los Angeles, University of
California Press, i960. Friedman, B. H. Profile: Jackson Pollock. Art in America 43
Introduction by James T. Soby. no. 4: 49, 58-59 ill. Dec. 1955.

New York. Museum of Modern Art. Jackson Pollock.

JAN MULLER
36 p. ill. New York, 1956.
Sawin, Martica. Jan Muller: 1922-1958. Arts (New York) Exhibition catalogue. Text by Sam Hunter. Also issued as
: 33 no- 5 38-45 HI- Feb. 1958. Museum Bulletin 24 no. 2 1956-57. Selected bibliography.

158
GERMAINE RICHIER THEODORE ROSZAK
Gasser, Manuel. Germaine Richier. Werk 33 no. 3: 69-77 Rosz ak, T heodore J. Some problems of modern sculpture.
ill. Mar. 1946. Magazine of Art 42 no. 2: 53-56 ill. Feb. 1949.

Limbour, Georges. Visite a un sculpteur: Germaine Krasne, Belle. A Theodore Roszak profile. Art Digest 27
Richier. Arts de France no. 17-18: 51-58 ill. 1947- no. 2: 9-18 Oct. 1952.
Extensive quotations from the artist.
Maeght, Galerie, Paris. Germaine Richier. 7 p. ill.
Paris, 1948. Minneapolis. Walker Art Center. Theodore Roszak...
Derriere le Miroir, no. 13. Texts by Ponge, Limbour, de 55 p. ill. Minneapolis, 1956.
Solier. Exhibition catalogue, in collaboration with the Whitney
Museum of American Art. Text by H. H. Arnason. Selected
Solier, Rene de. Germaine Richier. Cahiers d'Art 28:
bibliography.
123-129 ill. 1953.
Roszak, Theodore. In pursuit of an image. Quadrum no.
Frumkin, Allan, Gallery. The sculpture of Germaine
2: 49-60 ill. Nov. 1956.
Richier... [First American exhibition]. 12 p. ill. Chicago,
French summary: p. 211.
1954. Introduction by Rene de Solier and Francis Ponge.
Grenier, Jean. Germaine Richier, sculpteur du terrible. H. C. WESTERMANN
L'Oeil no. 9: 26-31 ill. Sept. 1955.
Schulze, Franz. Art news from Chicago. Art News 57 no.
Translated in The Selective Eye, New York, Reynal [1956]-
10: 49, 56 ill. Feb. 1959.
Paris. Musee National d'Art Moderne. Germaine
Frumkin, Allan, Gallery. H. C. Westermann, recent
Richier. [Preface de Jean Cassou]. 13 p. plus ill. Paris,
work. 10 p. ill. Chicago [1959].
Editions des Musees Nationaux, 1956.
Catalogue with introduction by Dennis Adrian.
Mandiargues, A. Pieyre de. L'humour cruel de Ger
maine Richier. XXe Siecle (n.s.) no. 8: 45—48 ill. Jan. 1957- FRITZ WOTRUBA
Guth, Paul. Encounter with Germaine Richier. Tale French Salis, Jean-R. de. Fritz Wotruba. 31 p. ill. plus plates
Studies no. 19-20: 78-84 plus ill. Spring 1957-Winter 1958. Zurich, Edition Graphis; Amstutz & Herdeg, 1948.
Text in English, German, French.
Walker Art Center. Sculpture by Germaine Richier.
[Preface by H. H. Arnason]. 12 p. ill. Minneapolis, 1958. Hoffmann, Werner. Neue Arbeiten von Fritz Wotruba.
Werk 41 no. 2: 69-72 ill. Feb. 1954.
Creuzevault, Galerie. Germaine Richier. [Preface de
Georges Limbour]. [28] p. ill. Paris, 1959. Canetti, Elias. Fritz Wotruba. 63 p. ill. Vienna, Briider
74 works, drawings; biography, list of exhibitions, col Rosenbaum, 1955.
lections, bibliography. English text.

PHOTOGRAPH CREDITS

Alinari, Rome. No. 5997, p. 151 top; Victor Amato, Wash London, pp. 24, 26 right; Lidbrooke, London, p. 26 left;
ington, p. 28; Oliver Baker, N.Y., pp. 17, 20, 38 right, 66 Herbert Matter, N.Y., pp. 14, 69, 71, 72; Rheinisches
left, 67, 75, 88, 90, 94, 95, 115, 116, 125, 126, 129; Paul Bildarchiv, Cologne, p. 25; Walter Rosenblum, p. 36;
Bijtebier, Brussels, p. 22; Brassai, Paris, p. 132; Brogi, Rome, Courtesy City Art Museum of St. Louis, p. 53; Edwin Smith,
No. 2243, p. 151 lower left; Rudolph Burckhardt, N.Y., pp. London, p. 122; Soichi Sunami, N.Y., pp. 12, 13, 30, 34, 42
57, 58, 63, 66 right, 106, 127; Cohen, N.Y., pp. 64, 65, 74 left, 51, 74 right, 91, 108, no, 124, 148; Charles Swedlund,
left; Martien Coppens, Eindhoven, p. 19; Gwil Evans, Chicago, pp. 142, 143, 144, 145; Marc Vaux, Paris, pp. 52,
Portland, O., p. 105; David Farrell, Gloucester, England, 54; Herbert Walden, Worcester, Mass., p. 38 left.
pp. 119, 120; Richard Fish, Los Angeles, p. 98; Sandra Flett,

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THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART NEW YORK