Word: reals
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...their growing audience in the U.S. Festooned with colorful rugs and cluttered with instruments, the stages on which they appeared had the aura of gypsy encampments. That aura was heightened by an occasional waft of incense and by the presence of two girls known as Licorice and Rose (real names: Caroline McKechnie and Rose Simpson), who live, travel and perform with the band. Resplendent in beads, braid, silks and velvet, Robin and Mike wandered about, sipped tea, and spent interminable intervals tuning up. But once they started singing, they wove a trance...
They may not be real, but they are certainly presences-insistent as memory, disturbing as a sudden hush in a crowded room. Ghostly white, implacably still, they command a whole ambiance around themselves. Step too close to the motel bed with its sprawled, exhausted girl, and you feel as awkward as an intruder. Even the simplest figure-a naked girl slumped on a chair by a window, a woman emerging from a shower stall-seems not just a piece of sculpture but a centerpiece of some invisible living space. The mind's eye creates walls, curtains, furniture that...
...results seem inexplicable to most viewers. Segal knows what he is doing. "I deal primarily in mystery, and in the presentation of mystery," he says. "If I cast someone in plaster, it is the mystery of a human being that is presented. If I put this next to a real object, it also raises a question about the nature of the real object...
...placed his new figures in real environments. He grouped diners'around a real table, put a truck driver behind a real steering wheel. For his Subway, he discovered that the Transit Authority was about to scrap a car, and trucked it to his old chicken barn, which he now uses as a studio. Dismembered, refurbished, equipped with programmed flashing lights and one lone girl passenger rapt in some dream of her own, Subway now transforms one wall of the Janis gallery into a vivid simulation of the flickering trauma of underground travel...
Maybe so. But the strange white figures in the real shower stalls or the garage attendant slouched outside a real winking sign that says "Park," by their whiteness and strangeness, take on a kind of eerie archetypal relevance. The girl in Subway is every girl or any girl who has nervously taken a lonely train home late one night. The couple in Motel is all guilty couples who have ever sneaked away for a surreptitious rendezvous...