Word: dubuffet
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Irony and Narrative. Next to Miro and Dubuffet, the oldest painter in the show is Jean Helion. Having been one of the leading abstract artists in France between the wars, Helion returned to figuration in 1947. "I looked through my studio window," he recalls, "and I found that the outside world was more beautiful than my picture." He is now 71 and at the height of his powers. What pervades his paintings is a wry and original sense of human stance and gesture; under the cubist planes of the surface lies a marked appetite for the sensuality of commonplace things...
About a month ago, a friend of mine gave me a book on Jean Dubuffet. I haven't looked at it much, except to notice that he left the price tag on it, and that the stuff shown inside looks very bizarre. At any rate, the Rolly Michaux gallery is showing gouaches, lithographs and aquatints by Dubuflet Calder and Miro (who I'd at least heard of before) through March 21. Calder is mostly known for his mobiles, copies of which have a tendancy to end up in banks. The gallery is at 125 Newbury St. in Boston...
...joke to the comic actor. A painter for 40 years, Zero had his first one-man show of more than 60 recent paintings and collages in Manhattan. "Let the paintings speak for themselves," he declared. And so they do, but in the accents of modern masters like Dubuffet, Klee and Miró. Zero's authentic voice can best be savored these days as he cavorts in a national touring company production of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Currently: Valley Forge...
...small, stooped, gnomelike figure working in his bare feet was French Artist Jean Dubuffet, 71. He was putting the last touches on his Coucou Bazar, an art-dance event using his own brightly colored cutouts, which will be presented along with his retrospective at the Guggenheim Museum. "I'm satisfied. Who else at my age can say he is satisfied?" Dubuffet chirruped. Moreover, he likes Manhattan, especially Wall Street, where one of his sculptures has been installed. Said he, relaxed as could be: "It is the solar plexus of the world. It is the heart where the blood comes...
Getting back to innocence, or to primal crudity (for Dubuffet they are the same), without becoming a stylist is one of the 20th century's dreams. It presupposes a return to the origins of form, to the half-articulate, the instinctive: uncensored desire. Me Tarzan, you Raphael. Dubuffet's art speaks directly to anyone who wants to abolish the humanist past-that area of art that insists that man is the flower of the universe and can, by force and subtlety of intellect, control it. His images assert the opposite: a nude becomes a lump of hairy pink...