Calder’s Mobiles
Gagosian Gallery, Beverly Hills
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The stinking mess of
garage-atelier-haybarn where they meet together, Calder and his pliers,
buckets of paint, spools of steel wire, sheets of metal, blowtorches, the
whole kit ‘n caboodle. There you have the image at the one end.
Elsewhere, along the railroad tracks of history to the outlet stores of the
crescent mind, the glossy pages of books cribbed madly by grad students and
undergrads. We have taken the train, we have gotten off
all right. Somewhere afar in the past distance or remote tense is the article
of conscience freshly-manufactured, and somewhere else entirely are the racks
of basement warehouses filled to the brimming espresso purveyor with coffee table
books. Right here the conditions are propitious for a valuable invention. Mondrian! Miró, even... and indeed,
Calder! un souffle
coulis |
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