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Vagueness and insubstantiality are the qualities at hand when Antonio Parr wakes up in the morning. Parr is a man in his 30s who has a small private income and has worked without delight as a teacher, a failed novelist and a junk sculptor. "I resorted as little as possible to welding," explains the hero of Frederick Buechner's ruefully funny new novel, "but used balance wherever I could or the natural capacity of one odd shape to fit somehow into or on top of or through another-entirely autobiographical, in other words-the idea being to leave...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Gainful Godliness | 4/12/1971 | See Source »

...symbolism intended, says Sculptor Marisol. It's just there for balance...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Letters, Jan. 18, 1971 | 1/18/1971 | See Source »

Magic and Line. The most mysterious and commanding work in the show is by a young New York sculptor. Nancy Graves. 30. Her Shaman is a group of ten objects made of latex, muslin and wire, hanging from the ceiling. They derive (she says) from the ceremonial costumes worn by priests of the Kwakiutl Indian tribe in North America, and they have an eerie "presence," as if the magicians, like shadows, had vacated the elaborate cloaks and headdresses, which were also their skins of power, and left the shucked-off relics behind them, battered but still imbued with magical force...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Art: Out of the Junkyard | 1/4/1971 | See Source »

...week. For out-of-town visitors, for the aged and for expectant mothers in their ninth month, there was the additional labor pain of a taxi strike. It seemed that the complex urban understanding was going through another periodic fit, obeying the logic of a self-destroying machine by Sculptor Jean Tinguely. Titled, perhaps, Immobility...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: American Notes: Comforts of Crisis | 12/21/1970 | See Source »

...paint and you're an artist, caress a microphone and you're a singer, gyrate your crotch and you're a dancer, take off your clothes and you're an actor, dump a ton of cement on the floor and you're a sculptor. Doing your own thing is all right for a genius. But, dear reader, you are not a genius. Neither am I. We need rules to build on. If you do something good today, it is bound to be modern...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Press: Death of a Master Machinist | 12/21/1970 | See Source »

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