Word: maze
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Maze of Grass. Apart, that is, from earthwork artists. Unfortunately, the Newport show is short on earthworks -simply because land there costs too much. There is one piece by Richard Fleischner, in the grounds of Chateau-sur-Mer, that shows exactly the kind of unpretentious but intelligent relation that an earthwork can have to its environment: an undulating meander maze, a barely noticeable ripple on the lawn, covered with sod grass. It is low-key and perfectly appropriate in its site, harking back to a time when stately homes had garden labyrinths as a matter of course...
...announcing texts for Chem 10 or Soc Sci 120 or Phil 8 is, in a way, an arena of the imagination, a ball field of the mind on which are played out personal fantasies of your future self. The aisles separating the shelves are sinuous paths in a confusing maze of options, of alternatives leading to different life styles that become apparent when you are faced with the decision of choosing four courses from among the thousands offered...
...blink your eyes in the pervasive neon light as you are sucked further into the maze, past Fine Arts, past Sociology. You find yourself in front of Government 116 with its concise, peremptory title--Socialism. As Marx and Lenin stare out at you from behind hortatory covers, you shudder at the sudden bite of the thick moist air settling in the wintry streets of a European capital. The three-story facades of workers' houses are depressing in their black-sooted brick, and the smoke emanating from the stack of a nearby factory leaves an acrid smell in the air. Leaflets...
...daylight a cold, nauseous light hangs about it; at night a devilish darkness settles upon it. You know, perhaps, the fried-fish shops that punctuate every corner in the surrounding maze of streets . . . and the lurid-seeming creatures that glide from nowhere into nothing-Arab, Laskar, Pacific Islander, Chinky, Hindoo, and so on, each carry ing his own perfume. You know, too . . . the cobbly courts, the bestrewn alleys, through which at night gas jets asthmatically splutter; and the mephitic glooms and silences of the dockside...
...same goal: to give as little and seize and enclose as much as possible. The scene in Caracas is one of almost Byzantine intrigue. Africans in flowing robes, Chinese in crisp gray tunics, Indians in Nehru jackets, Western diplomats in stern gray suits-all huddle in the maze of meeting rooms, trying to align dreams, schemes and means...