California Dreamin’

California Dreamin'

http://www.observer.com/2010/california-dreamin%E2%80%99

By Phyllis Tuchman
June 9, 2010

The embryonic counterculture of the late 1950s and early 1960s gets
short shrift in art history textbooks, which usually leap from
Abstract Expressionism to Pop and Minimalism with barely a nod to the
radical, imaginative innovators in between. Two solo shows at major
Chelsea galleries right now fill in the blanks.

At first glance, Mark di Suvero's soaring, 24-foot-high sculpture
Nova Albion and Edward Kienholz's intricate, trailer-size Roxy's
couldn't seem more dissimilar. But both Mr. di Suvero and Kienholz
were Californians in their early 30s when they created the
masterworks in these solo shows, both used scavenged and recycled
materials-and both here mostly display the ingenuity and
inventiveness that are hallmarks of the finest American sculptors.

In 1965, Mr. di Suvero worked on the beach at Point Reyes, 20 miles
north of San Francisco, hard-pressed to find a space anywhere else
where he could execute a construction as tall and expansive as Nova
Albion. As water lapped the shoreline, he (astonishingly, working
alone) hoisted, angled and balanced lengths of steel, cable and local
redwood into a playful, ebullient network of lines of varying
thicknesses. Silhouetted against open space, the weathered trees were
in sharp contrast to the smooth, manufactured metal parts.
Originally, Nova Albion included a broad, low-lying element upon
which a couple could lie, swinging back and forth. Mark di Suvero
literally demonstrated that for ambitious sculptors, the sky's the limit.

Critics back in the day didn't get it. Because Mr. di Suvero's
exhilarating medley of materials bore a superficial resemblance to
superstar Franz Kline's calligraphic slashes, his structures were
compared to the Abstract Expressionist's canvases. They didn't
acknowledge the originality of his quirky, towering art as forcefully
as they should have. Fortunately, with his current show at Paula
Cooper Gallery, we now have the opportunity to right that wrong.

Mr. di Suvero's exhibition illustrates his versatility by including
other aspects of his practice. A large, somewhat psychedelic painting
at the entrance to the gallery evokes the artist's hippie roots. And
three relatively recent, elegant steel sculptures suggest that the
artist shapes, cuts and welds geometric forms as if he were using
paper, glue and scissors. The bold imagery and the raw surfaces of
this trio reveal Mr. di Suvero to be a master not just of the
complex, but the understated.

Two blocks downtown, Roxy's is the late Edward Kienholz's imaginative
1960-1961 re-creation of a decrepit, 1940s-style bordello. As you
approach the Kienholz, you hear old tunes wafting from a Wurlitzer
jukebox stocked with Artie Shaw, Frank Sinatra and Benny Goodman.
Sometimes, you're also greeted by the smell of stale tobacco smoke or
cheap perfume. The entryway table is strewn with issues of Time, Life
and the Saturday Evening Post from 1943. Sofas that have seen better
days are arranged on faded Persian rugs. Various end tables hold
ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts; a glass globe encasing a
red rose; and a tchotchke of the three monkeys who see no evil, hear
no evil and speak no evil. Roxy's (at David Zwirner Gallery through
June 19) probably has one detail too many.

Kienholz was a co-founder of the legendary Ferus Gallery, and this is
his first tableau, the term the Los Angeles-based artist used for his
walk-through environments that addressed the day's big themes-the
Vietnam War, abortion-as well as life in backwater America. He made
art about sex in the backseat of jalopies, about state mental
hospitals and, here, about bordellos. The bordello is populated with
eight bizarre, fragmented figures, including Miss Cherry Delight, A
Lady Named Zoa and Cockeyed Jenny, assembled from a plethora of found
objects, ranging from an old-fashioned sewing machine table to an
antiquated mail drop box. Occasionally, a bag covers the head of
Dianna Poole, Miss Universal, to underscore her being as ugly as sin.

Fifty years ago, Kienholz's Roxy's was viewed as a searing commentary
on its epoch. But as the decades have passed, the works have remained
artful-but lost much of their bite. Nonetheless, the artist's and
artwork's historical importance is indisputable: Like many of his
room-size sculptures, Roxy's is a precursor of installation art. His
bizarre figures formed from all sorts of oddities have influence
beyond their time and call to mind today's current crop of figurative
sculptures (the work of Matthew Monahan, Thomas Houseago).

Fifty years ago, these sculptures, Nova Albion and Roxy's, were
infamous and radical, and their creators were at the fringe. They now
belong to the core of American art.
--

Mark di Suvero at Paula Cooper, 534 West 21st Street, Chelsea,
through July 31, www.paulacooper.com.

Edward Kienholz at David Zwirner, 519 West 19th Street, Chelsea,
through June 19, www.davidzwirner.com.

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