Word: art
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...garbled tape recording, the voice of Ruth White-middle-aged, pensive, measured and monotonous-fills the box and the theater. The voice is almost sleep inducing, like water lapping persistently at a sea wall. Actress White's monologue consists of some pretentious restatements of the obvious: Art is order; craftsmanship is waning; children in far-off places are starving to death...
...visible thematic link between the speeches, though a mood of melancholy and decay permeates the evening. Each speaker seems to be addressing himself, a form of alienation that succeeds wonderfully in alienating the audience. It may be that Albee had in mind Walter Pater's dictum that "all art constantly aspires towards the condition of music." The kind of music one gets in Box-Mao is the dead space between notes...
Ever since artists took to proclaiming that anything is art if the artist says it is, critics have been wondering where the brush would strike next. The instrument they had to fear was the shovel. In Manhattan's Dwan Gallery, the newest frontier is called "Earthworks," and the ingredients on display include dirt, worms, rocks, photographs and written descriptions. "Our original idea," explains the gallery's earth mother, Virginia Dwan, "was just to show earth as a medium, but it's difficult to know where to draw the line...
...their lives being part of that noise. I like the second half." He painted the noise, in hurtling compositions that were apt to bear the names of locomotives or place-names of his native Pennsylvania coal country. Together with his fellow abstract expressionists, he split the Manhattan art world of the early 1950s into two camps. The conservatives damned them because their work not only obliterated the human image but looked slapdash, crude and unfinished. Nonsense, replied the avantgarde; those traits were inevitable if a modern painter was to record his own vision...
...late 1930s and early 1940s were sturdily realistic. At the time, he was decorating the walls of the Bleecker Street Tavern with $5 murals, to make ends meet. His break into abstraction was sudden and dramatic. For years, he had been making increasingly simplified sketches; as an art student in London, he had also collected Japanese prints. One day in 1949, he was visiting a friend who had a Balopticon projector; they enlarged several Kline sketches on the wall. The blown-up image wrenched the drawings out of all relation to reality. Kline saw before him an abstract composition that...