Word: paint
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...show of paintings by the English artist Leon Kossoff, which opened last ( week at the Robert Miller Gallery in New York City, ought to provoke some reflection. Kossoff, 61, is hardly known in America. He is one of the two English tortoises (the other being Frank Auerbach) who are crossing the finish line just when most of the short-winded art hyped in the 1980s has gone dead on its feet. Both are, so to speak, redemptive artists, sustaining and enlarging a tradition of the expressive human figure that seems largely to have been colonized by ham-fisted ephemerids. When...
Kossoff is, above all, a painter obsessed with oily stuff. His paint is thick without being rhetorical. The surface develops by addition, sometimes over months, and contains an extraordinary range of nuances both in color and in texture: tremulous depths of pinkish-gray held within the sallow planes of a face, innumerable gradations of Venetian red and salmon pink in the body of a nude, rescued from mere allusiveness by the vehement drawing of shadow that gives Kossoff's work its tonal framework. Its solidity is relieved, almost involuntarily, by the whipping of skeins of pigment fallen directly from...
That much bulk is tough to stop in the paint...
...couple of keys sticking in their keyboard. Goodwin's problem with slacks is perhaps symptomatic of a larger malady, something that I once heard Shirley MacLaine during a taping of the Mike Douglas Show call para-pneumoreactionary paralysis. I also have lingering suspicions that Goodwin's obsessive desire to paint LBJ as crazy hints at some problems closer to home. Lurching about accusing the president of being a cuckoo bird, Goodwin is not exactly a cheerful model of sanity. Maybe Johnson's toilet escapades were just imaginative ploys designed to relieve a president of an annoying junior assistant...
...depths of human depravity. Veteran Harvard theatergoers may worry that such a play would be hard enough to sit through without the added trial of Mark Prascak's direction, given Prascak's string of unconventional adaptations. Such worries, however, are groundless. Prascak directs the play straight, on a stark, paint-splattered set, and lets the story--rather than his direction--come to the forefront...