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Vadim Sidur by Karl EimermacherReview by: John E. BowltLeonardo, Vol. 12, No. 3 (Summer, 1979), pp. 255-256Published by: The MIT PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1574244 .

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typography he also used. He was particularly attracted by photographs as reproduced in newspapers and magazines, wherein the medium of ink on paper had transformed them not only visually but also in terms of their socio-historical function; they served as convenient references to the realities that the artist ridiculed, satirized and, ultimately, tried to transform. Each photographic reproduction that Hausmann incorporated into a dadaist photomontage supplied a whole set of references to the print and communication media as well. Much more than mere historical or cultural artifacts, such images were further modified in their meanings by new arrangements, new juxtaposi- tions and contexts. With reproductions of photographs, the dadaists also were able to question traditional academic views of visual art through this machine imagery (camera images altered by the printing press). For anyone who has studied the Dada movement, of course, this is more or less familiar ground.

While this book includes illustrations of Hausmann's famous dadaist photomontages, more importantly it offers examples of the artist's own photographs. He was careful to call his photographs 'research' rather than finished art, but un- questionably many of these pictures are remarkable, self- sufficient works of art. The 'straight' photographs of found objects are perhaps the least inspired, but there are also handsome motion studies, explorations of the play of light and shadow, visual effects, photomontages made with his own photographs, cameraless 'photograms' and various other examples of delightful but disciplined uses of photographic techniques and materials. The work is generally reminiscent of Laszlo Moholy-Nagy's photographs during the same period, the 1930s and 1940s, but it stands on its own. This work should force a re-evaluation of the major influences in photographic 'experimentation' during this fertile period.

The book is divided into three sections: Festival Dada (1918-1923); Transformations photographiques (1924-1939) and Matiere-Collage (1940-1971), each section being equipped with a separate chronology and with statements and articles by Hausmann. Most of the second section deals with 'straight' or unmanipulated photographs, such as a fine study of the play of light on beer suds in a glass in Hausmann's own self-portrait, but several photomontages of the 1930s are included. At points, his later work, seen in the third section, is introspective and retrospective, as in a 1957 photograph involving super- impositions of his own well-known sculptural assemblage of 1919, the 'T&e mecanique'. The book is a well-organized, definitive and useful sourcebook on Hausmann's use of and attitudes toward photography. It clearly indicates that his later and lesser-known work deserves critical attention, not only by historians of photography, but by historians of 20th-century visual art in general.

Vadim Sidur. Karl Eimermacher. (In German) Universitatsverlag, Constance, Ger. Fed. Rep. 1978. 168 pp., illus. DM 39.80. Reviewed by John E. Bowlt

This is the second monograph on the Soviet artist Vadimir Sidur (b. 1924), one of the more interesting sculptors and book illustrators working in Moscow today. The first monograph (S. Grishin, Vadim Sidur, Adelaide, 1972) introduced the artist's work to Western readers; but this new book examines the sculpture and graphics in more detail, provides a comprehensive bibliography, a biographical scheme and a list of illustrated books. Eimermacher presents a serious appraisal of Sidur's artistic career from the early works of the 1950s to the provocative 'found art' of the 1970s. The author places Sidur within the general context of Soviet culture, arguing, convinc- ingly, that Sidur represents a new Realism in Soviet sculpture after the outmoded canon of Socialist Realism. Eimermacher is careful, however, not to classify Sidur either as 'dissident' or as sympathizer of the 'establishment', and implies that such categories have little to do with the real meaning and worth of Sidur's art.

Sidur's latest endeavors, i.e. the specimens of 'found art', take

typography he also used. He was particularly attracted by photographs as reproduced in newspapers and magazines, wherein the medium of ink on paper had transformed them not only visually but also in terms of their socio-historical function; they served as convenient references to the realities that the artist ridiculed, satirized and, ultimately, tried to transform. Each photographic reproduction that Hausmann incorporated into a dadaist photomontage supplied a whole set of references to the print and communication media as well. Much more than mere historical or cultural artifacts, such images were further modified in their meanings by new arrangements, new juxtaposi- tions and contexts. With reproductions of photographs, the dadaists also were able to question traditional academic views of visual art through this machine imagery (camera images altered by the printing press). For anyone who has studied the Dada movement, of course, this is more or less familiar ground.

While this book includes illustrations of Hausmann's famous dadaist photomontages, more importantly it offers examples of the artist's own photographs. He was careful to call his photographs 'research' rather than finished art, but un- questionably many of these pictures are remarkable, self- sufficient works of art. The 'straight' photographs of found objects are perhaps the least inspired, but there are also handsome motion studies, explorations of the play of light and shadow, visual effects, photomontages made with his own photographs, cameraless 'photograms' and various other examples of delightful but disciplined uses of photographic techniques and materials. The work is generally reminiscent of Laszlo Moholy-Nagy's photographs during the same period, the 1930s and 1940s, but it stands on its own. This work should force a re-evaluation of the major influences in photographic 'experimentation' during this fertile period.

The book is divided into three sections: Festival Dada (1918-1923); Transformations photographiques (1924-1939) and Matiere-Collage (1940-1971), each section being equipped with a separate chronology and with statements and articles by Hausmann. Most of the second section deals with 'straight' or unmanipulated photographs, such as a fine study of the play of light on beer suds in a glass in Hausmann's own self-portrait, but several photomontages of the 1930s are included. At points, his later work, seen in the third section, is introspective and retrospective, as in a 1957 photograph involving super- impositions of his own well-known sculptural assemblage of 1919, the 'T&e mecanique'. The book is a well-organized, definitive and useful sourcebook on Hausmann's use of and attitudes toward photography. It clearly indicates that his later and lesser-known work deserves critical attention, not only by historians of photography, but by historians of 20th-century visual art in general.

Vadim Sidur. Karl Eimermacher. (In German) Universitatsverlag, Constance, Ger. Fed. Rep. 1978. 168 pp., illus. DM 39.80. Reviewed by John E. Bowlt

This is the second monograph on the Soviet artist Vadimir Sidur (b. 1924), one of the more interesting sculptors and book illustrators working in Moscow today. The first monograph (S. Grishin, Vadim Sidur, Adelaide, 1972) introduced the artist's work to Western readers; but this new book examines the sculpture and graphics in more detail, provides a comprehensive bibliography, a biographical scheme and a list of illustrated books. Eimermacher presents a serious appraisal of Sidur's artistic career from the early works of the 1950s to the provocative 'found art' of the 1970s. The author places Sidur within the general context of Soviet culture, arguing, convinc- ingly, that Sidur represents a new Realism in Soviet sculpture after the outmoded canon of Socialist Realism. Eimermacher is careful, however, not to classify Sidur either as 'dissident' or as sympathizer of the 'establishment', and implies that such categories have little to do with the real meaning and worth of Sidur's art.

Sidur's latest endeavors, i.e. the specimens of 'found art', take

typography he also used. He was particularly attracted by photographs as reproduced in newspapers and magazines, wherein the medium of ink on paper had transformed them not only visually but also in terms of their socio-historical function; they served as convenient references to the realities that the artist ridiculed, satirized and, ultimately, tried to transform. Each photographic reproduction that Hausmann incorporated into a dadaist photomontage supplied a whole set of references to the print and communication media as well. Much more than mere historical or cultural artifacts, such images were further modified in their meanings by new arrangements, new juxtaposi- tions and contexts. With reproductions of photographs, the dadaists also were able to question traditional academic views of visual art through this machine imagery (camera images altered by the printing press). For anyone who has studied the Dada movement, of course, this is more or less familiar ground.

While this book includes illustrations of Hausmann's famous dadaist photomontages, more importantly it offers examples of the artist's own photographs. He was careful to call his photographs 'research' rather than finished art, but un- questionably many of these pictures are remarkable, self- sufficient works of art. The 'straight' photographs of found objects are perhaps the least inspired, but there are also handsome motion studies, explorations of the play of light and shadow, visual effects, photomontages made with his own photographs, cameraless 'photograms' and various other examples of delightful but disciplined uses of photographic techniques and materials. The work is generally reminiscent of Laszlo Moholy-Nagy's photographs during the same period, the 1930s and 1940s, but it stands on its own. This work should force a re-evaluation of the major influences in photographic 'experimentation' during this fertile period.

The book is divided into three sections: Festival Dada (1918-1923); Transformations photographiques (1924-1939) and Matiere-Collage (1940-1971), each section being equipped with a separate chronology and with statements and articles by Hausmann. Most of the second section deals with 'straight' or unmanipulated photographs, such as a fine study of the play of light on beer suds in a glass in Hausmann's own self-portrait, but several photomontages of the 1930s are included. At points, his later work, seen in the third section, is introspective and retrospective, as in a 1957 photograph involving super- impositions of his own well-known sculptural assemblage of 1919, the 'T&e mecanique'. The book is a well-organized, definitive and useful sourcebook on Hausmann's use of and attitudes toward photography. It clearly indicates that his later and lesser-known work deserves critical attention, not only by historians of photography, but by historians of 20th-century visual art in general.

Vadim Sidur. Karl Eimermacher. (In German) Universitatsverlag, Constance, Ger. Fed. Rep. 1978. 168 pp., illus. DM 39.80. Reviewed by John E. Bowlt

This is the second monograph on the Soviet artist Vadimir Sidur (b. 1924), one of the more interesting sculptors and book illustrators working in Moscow today. The first monograph (S. Grishin, Vadim Sidur, Adelaide, 1972) introduced the artist's work to Western readers; but this new book examines the sculpture and graphics in more detail, provides a comprehensive bibliography, a biographical scheme and a list of illustrated books. Eimermacher presents a serious appraisal of Sidur's artistic career from the early works of the 1950s to the provocative 'found art' of the 1970s. The author places Sidur within the general context of Soviet culture, arguing, convinc- ingly, that Sidur represents a new Realism in Soviet sculpture after the outmoded canon of Socialist Realism. Eimermacher is careful, however, not to classify Sidur either as 'dissident' or as sympathizer of the 'establishment', and implies that such categories have little to do with the real meaning and worth of Sidur's art.

Sidur's latest endeavors, i.e. the specimens of 'found art', take

typography he also used. He was particularly attracted by photographs as reproduced in newspapers and magazines, wherein the medium of ink on paper had transformed them not only visually but also in terms of their socio-historical function; they served as convenient references to the realities that the artist ridiculed, satirized and, ultimately, tried to transform. Each photographic reproduction that Hausmann incorporated into a dadaist photomontage supplied a whole set of references to the print and communication media as well. Much more than mere historical or cultural artifacts, such images were further modified in their meanings by new arrangements, new juxtaposi- tions and contexts. With reproductions of photographs, the dadaists also were able to question traditional academic views of visual art through this machine imagery (camera images altered by the printing press). For anyone who has studied the Dada movement, of course, this is more or less familiar ground.

While this book includes illustrations of Hausmann's famous dadaist photomontages, more importantly it offers examples of the artist's own photographs. He was careful to call his photographs 'research' rather than finished art, but un- questionably many of these pictures are remarkable, self- sufficient works of art. The 'straight' photographs of found objects are perhaps the least inspired, but there are also handsome motion studies, explorations of the play of light and shadow, visual effects, photomontages made with his own photographs, cameraless 'photograms' and various other examples of delightful but disciplined uses of photographic techniques and materials. The work is generally reminiscent of Laszlo Moholy-Nagy's photographs during the same period, the 1930s and 1940s, but it stands on its own. This work should force a re-evaluation of the major influences in photographic 'experimentation' during this fertile period.

The book is divided into three sections: Festival Dada (1918-1923); Transformations photographiques (1924-1939) and Matiere-Collage (1940-1971), each section being equipped with a separate chronology and with statements and articles by Hausmann. Most of the second section deals with 'straight' or unmanipulated photographs, such as a fine study of the play of light on beer suds in a glass in Hausmann's own self-portrait, but several photomontages of the 1930s are included. At points, his later work, seen in the third section, is introspective and retrospective, as in a 1957 photograph involving super- impositions of his own well-known sculptural assemblage of 1919, the 'T&e mecanique'. The book is a well-organized, definitive and useful sourcebook on Hausmann's use of and attitudes toward photography. It clearly indicates that his later and lesser-known work deserves critical attention, not only by historians of photography, but by historians of 20th-century visual art in general.

Vadim Sidur. Karl Eimermacher. (In German) Universitatsverlag, Constance, Ger. Fed. Rep. 1978. 168 pp., illus. DM 39.80. Reviewed by John E. Bowlt

This is the second monograph on the Soviet artist Vadimir Sidur (b. 1924), one of the more interesting sculptors and book illustrators working in Moscow today. The first monograph (S. Grishin, Vadim Sidur, Adelaide, 1972) introduced the artist's work to Western readers; but this new book examines the sculpture and graphics in more detail, provides a comprehensive bibliography, a biographical scheme and a list of illustrated books. Eimermacher presents a serious appraisal of Sidur's artistic career from the early works of the 1950s to the provocative 'found art' of the 1970s. The author places Sidur within the general context of Soviet culture, arguing, convinc- ingly, that Sidur represents a new Realism in Soviet sculpture after the outmoded canon of Socialist Realism. Eimermacher is careful, however, not to classify Sidur either as 'dissident' or as sympathizer of the 'establishment', and implies that such categories have little to do with the real meaning and worth of Sidur's art.

Sidur's latest endeavors, i.e. the specimens of 'found art', take

introductory essays by J. E. Bowit and by D. V. Sarabianov. Had it been possible to include a few major works of Socialist Realists of the early and mid-1930s, the significance of the two post- revolutionary decades might have been even more apparent. Even without this, the exhibition succeeds in making a very important point: until the dominant current of representational art in Russia from 1700 to the 1950s is fully analyzed and understood, it will be quite impossible to appreciate correctly the place of rival tendencies in the overall development.

Brancusi/The Kiss. Sidney Geist. Harper & Row, New York. 1978. 111 pp., illus. Paper ?3.95. Reviewed by Eugen Ciuca*

In the first chapter of this book, entitled Theme, the author analyzes in much detail Brancusi's first version of 'The Kiss' (1907), as regards both the sculpture's artistic qualities and its method of execution. He says: 'for, surely, one of the revelations of "The Kiss" was the necessity of direct carving as a way both of working and thinking' (p. 9). His short discussion of direct carving is, perhaps, useful for students, but they should be warned that he is wrong when he calls it 'primitivistic carving' on the basis of the sculptures made by painters such as Gauguin and Derain. Brancusi's direct carving is not similar to that of these painters.

He recognizes Brancusi's artistic talent, when he says: "'The Kiss"... is a work of sheer art' (p. 12). But he concludes his first chapter with doubts about Brancusi's originality by using terms such as 'very like' (p. 16), 'surprisingly similar' (p. 18), 'influenced by' (p. 19) and 'directly indebted' (p. 37)'. On page 40 he says: 'The factors that seem most directly to have contributed to the creation of Brancusi's "The Kiss" are three: Derain's exhibition; Matisse's paintings; and the meetings with Morice.' From this I would be led to conclude that Brancusi was not very talented as a sculptor of originality.

The second chapter, entitled Variations, is devoted to a didactic analysis of the visual characteristics of the variations of 'The Kiss' that Brancusi made between 1908 and 1945, the last entitled 'Boundary Marker'. Geist makes assertions about these works that I find highly tendentious. For example, he writes: 'Brancusi's invention is only a slight variation of a type of pilaster or decorative panel which exists since the Renaissance' (p. 57). 'Essentially, Brancusi has altered the Renaissance design by introducing the deep vertical channel' (p. 58). But Geist does not understand that Brancusi was interested in figurative fine art, not in decorative art.

The third chapter, entitled In Time, consists of a general commentary and of conclusions drawn by Geist from the analyses presented in the first two chapters. It left me, as a sculptor, convinced that he understood very little about Brancusi's variations of 'The Kiss'.

Raoul Hausmann: Je ne suis pas un photographe. (In French) Michel Giroud, ed. Editions du Chene, Paris, 1975. 160 pp., illus. Reviewed by David Haberstich**

This book, a tribute to Raoul Hausmann, unequestionably one of the pre-eminent Dada luminaries, is also a provocative document about the role of photographic imagery in visual art. The paradoxical sub-title is explained early in the Avertissement; as if one had not already guessed, the reason Hausmann did not consider himself a photographer was that he never sought to reproduce that which he saw but preferred to 'enlarge and transform vision' through photographic techniques. One might have quibbled with him (and doubtlessly certain photographer/ artists did) that it is, indeed, within the purview of any sensitive photographer to 'enlarge and transform vision', not simply to record or to duplicate reality. Initially, to be sure, he in his Dada 'salad' days was not a photographer at all, because he employed the photographs of others in his photomontages. Photographs and photographic reproductions were raw material, like the

introductory essays by J. E. Bowit and by D. V. Sarabianov. Had it been possible to include a few major works of Socialist Realists of the early and mid-1930s, the significance of the two post- revolutionary decades might have been even more apparent. Even without this, the exhibition succeeds in making a very important point: until the dominant current of representational art in Russia from 1700 to the 1950s is fully analyzed and understood, it will be quite impossible to appreciate correctly the place of rival tendencies in the overall development.

Brancusi/The Kiss. Sidney Geist. Harper & Row, New York. 1978. 111 pp., illus. Paper ?3.95. Reviewed by Eugen Ciuca*

In the first chapter of this book, entitled Theme, the author analyzes in much detail Brancusi's first version of 'The Kiss' (1907), as regards both the sculpture's artistic qualities and its method of execution. He says: 'for, surely, one of the revelations of "The Kiss" was the necessity of direct carving as a way both of working and thinking' (p. 9). His short discussion of direct carving is, perhaps, useful for students, but they should be warned that he is wrong when he calls it 'primitivistic carving' on the basis of the sculptures made by painters such as Gauguin and Derain. Brancusi's direct carving is not similar to that of these painters.

He recognizes Brancusi's artistic talent, when he says: "'The Kiss"... is a work of sheer art' (p. 12). But he concludes his first chapter with doubts about Brancusi's originality by using terms such as 'very like' (p. 16), 'surprisingly similar' (p. 18), 'influenced by' (p. 19) and 'directly indebted' (p. 37)'. On page 40 he says: 'The factors that seem most directly to have contributed to the creation of Brancusi's "The Kiss" are three: Derain's exhibition; Matisse's paintings; and the meetings with Morice.' From this I would be led to conclude that Brancusi was not very talented as a sculptor of originality.

The second chapter, entitled Variations, is devoted to a didactic analysis of the visual characteristics of the variations of 'The Kiss' that Brancusi made between 1908 and 1945, the last entitled 'Boundary Marker'. Geist makes assertions about these works that I find highly tendentious. For example, he writes: 'Brancusi's invention is only a slight variation of a type of pilaster or decorative panel which exists since the Renaissance' (p. 57). 'Essentially, Brancusi has altered the Renaissance design by introducing the deep vertical channel' (p. 58). But Geist does not understand that Brancusi was interested in figurative fine art, not in decorative art.

The third chapter, entitled In Time, consists of a general commentary and of conclusions drawn by Geist from the analyses presented in the first two chapters. It left me, as a sculptor, convinced that he understood very little about Brancusi's variations of 'The Kiss'.

Raoul Hausmann: Je ne suis pas un photographe. (In French) Michel Giroud, ed. Editions du Chene, Paris, 1975. 160 pp., illus. Reviewed by David Haberstich**

This book, a tribute to Raoul Hausmann, unequestionably one of the pre-eminent Dada luminaries, is also a provocative document about the role of photographic imagery in visual art. The paradoxical sub-title is explained early in the Avertissement; as if one had not already guessed, the reason Hausmann did not consider himself a photographer was that he never sought to reproduce that which he saw but preferred to 'enlarge and transform vision' through photographic techniques. One might have quibbled with him (and doubtlessly certain photographer/ artists did) that it is, indeed, within the purview of any sensitive photographer to 'enlarge and transform vision', not simply to record or to duplicate reality. Initially, to be sure, he in his Dada 'salad' days was not a photographer at all, because he employed the photographs of others in his photomontages. Photographs and photographic reproductions were raw material, like the

introductory essays by J. E. Bowit and by D. V. Sarabianov. Had it been possible to include a few major works of Socialist Realists of the early and mid-1930s, the significance of the two post- revolutionary decades might have been even more apparent. Even without this, the exhibition succeeds in making a very important point: until the dominant current of representational art in Russia from 1700 to the 1950s is fully analyzed and understood, it will be quite impossible to appreciate correctly the place of rival tendencies in the overall development.

Brancusi/The Kiss. Sidney Geist. Harper & Row, New York. 1978. 111 pp., illus. Paper ?3.95. Reviewed by Eugen Ciuca*

In the first chapter of this book, entitled Theme, the author analyzes in much detail Brancusi's first version of 'The Kiss' (1907), as regards both the sculpture's artistic qualities and its method of execution. He says: 'for, surely, one of the revelations of "The Kiss" was the necessity of direct carving as a way both of working and thinking' (p. 9). His short discussion of direct carving is, perhaps, useful for students, but they should be warned that he is wrong when he calls it 'primitivistic carving' on the basis of the sculptures made by painters such as Gauguin and Derain. Brancusi's direct carving is not similar to that of these painters.

He recognizes Brancusi's artistic talent, when he says: "'The Kiss"... is a work of sheer art' (p. 12). But he concludes his first chapter with doubts about Brancusi's originality by using terms such as 'very like' (p. 16), 'surprisingly similar' (p. 18), 'influenced by' (p. 19) and 'directly indebted' (p. 37)'. On page 40 he says: 'The factors that seem most directly to have contributed to the creation of Brancusi's "The Kiss" are three: Derain's exhibition; Matisse's paintings; and the meetings with Morice.' From this I would be led to conclude that Brancusi was not very talented as a sculptor of originality.

The second chapter, entitled Variations, is devoted to a didactic analysis of the visual characteristics of the variations of 'The Kiss' that Brancusi made between 1908 and 1945, the last entitled 'Boundary Marker'. Geist makes assertions about these works that I find highly tendentious. For example, he writes: 'Brancusi's invention is only a slight variation of a type of pilaster or decorative panel which exists since the Renaissance' (p. 57). 'Essentially, Brancusi has altered the Renaissance design by introducing the deep vertical channel' (p. 58). But Geist does not understand that Brancusi was interested in figurative fine art, not in decorative art.

The third chapter, entitled In Time, consists of a general commentary and of conclusions drawn by Geist from the analyses presented in the first two chapters. It left me, as a sculptor, convinced that he understood very little about Brancusi's variations of 'The Kiss'.

Raoul Hausmann: Je ne suis pas un photographe. (In French) Michel Giroud, ed. Editions du Chene, Paris, 1975. 160 pp., illus. Reviewed by David Haberstich**

This book, a tribute to Raoul Hausmann, unequestionably one of the pre-eminent Dada luminaries, is also a provocative document about the role of photographic imagery in visual art. The paradoxical sub-title is explained early in the Avertissement; as if one had not already guessed, the reason Hausmann did not consider himself a photographer was that he never sought to reproduce that which he saw but preferred to 'enlarge and transform vision' through photographic techniques. One might have quibbled with him (and doubtlessly certain photographer/ artists did) that it is, indeed, within the purview of any sensitive photographer to 'enlarge and transform vision', not simply to record or to duplicate reality. Initially, to be sure, he in his Dada 'salad' days was not a photographer at all, because he employed the photographs of others in his photomontages. Photographs and photographic reproductions were raw material, like the

introductory essays by J. E. Bowit and by D. V. Sarabianov. Had it been possible to include a few major works of Socialist Realists of the early and mid-1930s, the significance of the two post- revolutionary decades might have been even more apparent. Even without this, the exhibition succeeds in making a very important point: until the dominant current of representational art in Russia from 1700 to the 1950s is fully analyzed and understood, it will be quite impossible to appreciate correctly the place of rival tendencies in the overall development.

Brancusi/The Kiss. Sidney Geist. Harper & Row, New York. 1978. 111 pp., illus. Paper ?3.95. Reviewed by Eugen Ciuca*

In the first chapter of this book, entitled Theme, the author analyzes in much detail Brancusi's first version of 'The Kiss' (1907), as regards both the sculpture's artistic qualities and its method of execution. He says: 'for, surely, one of the revelations of "The Kiss" was the necessity of direct carving as a way both of working and thinking' (p. 9). His short discussion of direct carving is, perhaps, useful for students, but they should be warned that he is wrong when he calls it 'primitivistic carving' on the basis of the sculptures made by painters such as Gauguin and Derain. Brancusi's direct carving is not similar to that of these painters.

He recognizes Brancusi's artistic talent, when he says: "'The Kiss"... is a work of sheer art' (p. 12). But he concludes his first chapter with doubts about Brancusi's originality by using terms such as 'very like' (p. 16), 'surprisingly similar' (p. 18), 'influenced by' (p. 19) and 'directly indebted' (p. 37)'. On page 40 he says: 'The factors that seem most directly to have contributed to the creation of Brancusi's "The Kiss" are three: Derain's exhibition; Matisse's paintings; and the meetings with Morice.' From this I would be led to conclude that Brancusi was not very talented as a sculptor of originality.

The second chapter, entitled Variations, is devoted to a didactic analysis of the visual characteristics of the variations of 'The Kiss' that Brancusi made between 1908 and 1945, the last entitled 'Boundary Marker'. Geist makes assertions about these works that I find highly tendentious. For example, he writes: 'Brancusi's invention is only a slight variation of a type of pilaster or decorative panel which exists since the Renaissance' (p. 57). 'Essentially, Brancusi has altered the Renaissance design by introducing the deep vertical channel' (p. 58). But Geist does not understand that Brancusi was interested in figurative fine art, not in decorative art.

The third chapter, entitled In Time, consists of a general commentary and of conclusions drawn by Geist from the analyses presented in the first two chapters. It left me, as a sculptor, convinced that he understood very little about Brancusi's variations of 'The Kiss'.

Raoul Hausmann: Je ne suis pas un photographe. (In French) Michel Giroud, ed. Editions du Chene, Paris, 1975. 160 pp., illus. Reviewed by David Haberstich**

This book, a tribute to Raoul Hausmann, unequestionably one of the pre-eminent Dada luminaries, is also a provocative document about the role of photographic imagery in visual art. The paradoxical sub-title is explained early in the Avertissement; as if one had not already guessed, the reason Hausmann did not consider himself a photographer was that he never sought to reproduce that which he saw but preferred to 'enlarge and transform vision' through photographic techniques. One might have quibbled with him (and doubtlessly certain photographer/ artists did) that it is, indeed, within the purview of any sensitive photographer to 'enlarge and transform vision', not simply to record or to duplicate reality. Initially, to be sure, he in his Dada 'salad' days was not a photographer at all, because he employed the photographs of others in his photomontages. Photographs and photographic reproductions were raw material, like the

*21 Shore Lane, Bay Shore, NY 11706, U.S.A. **Div. of Photographic History, National Museum of History

and Technology, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC 20560, U.S.A.

*21 Shore Lane, Bay Shore, NY 11706, U.S.A. **Div. of Photographic History, National Museum of History

and Technology, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC 20560, U.S.A.

*21 Shore Lane, Bay Shore, NY 11706, U.S.A. **Div. of Photographic History, National Museum of History

and Technology, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC 20560, U.S.A.

*21 Shore Lane, Bay Shore, NY 11706, U.S.A. **Div. of Photographic History, National Museum of History

and Technology, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC 20560, U.S.A.

various anthropomorphic forms in conglomerations of ma-

tDept of Slavic Languages, University of Texas, Box 7217, Austin, TX 78712, U.S.A.

various anthropomorphic forms in conglomerations of ma-

tDept of Slavic Languages, University of Texas, Box 7217, Austin, TX 78712, U.S.A.

various anthropomorphic forms in conglomerations of ma-

tDept of Slavic Languages, University of Texas, Box 7217, Austin, TX 78712, U.S.A.

various anthropomorphic forms in conglomerations of ma-

tDept of Slavic Languages, University of Texas, Box 7217, Austin, TX 78712, U.S.A.

Books Books Books Books 255 255 255 255

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chinery lying in coffins. Ultimately, these Coffin-Women, Coffin- Men, Coffin-Children hold little visual interest and fall beyond criteria of 'good' and 'bad' art, but they are exceptional in the Soviet context and contrast sharply with the orthodox directions favored by most contemporary Soviet sculptors. Essentially, Sidur's 'found art' is a silent art, unresponsive, destroying one's preconceptions of esthetic value and, above all, severing any real connection with the discipline of sculpture, i.e. with the art of composition. If such art is to be described at all, then it must be seen as construction, as a branch of engineering without a utilitarian function. Sidur has every right to express his sentiments in this way, but I hope that he will return to his smoother, more harmonious forms of earlier years: works such as 'Saxophonist' (1958) and 'Torso' (1963) indicated a potential and innovative extension of the Moore/Hepworth tradition, i.e. the concern with strictly formal, esthetic elements. At this point, Sidur was maintaining the fine principles of early 20th-century Russian and Ukrainian sculpture-of Archipenko, Korolev and Mukhina.

Eimermacher gives particular attention to Sidur's drawings, all of them figurative and often satirical. Sidur has steadily maintained a deep interest in graphics, producing many preparatory sketches for his sculptures, as well as a number of independent graphic pieces. But Sidur, surely, in my view, is an artist of three dimensions, not of two, and these depictions of copulating monsters and phallic supermen seem strangely impotent on paper and demand a tactile, sculptural embodiment. There are more than enough young Moscow artists who can draw and paint but very few who know how to make works from stone and metal.

Anton Krajcovic. Iva Mojzisova. (In Slovak) (Summaries in English, French, German and Russian). Pallas, Bratislava, Czechoslovakia, 1975. 167 pp., illus. 60.00 Kc. Reviewed by John E. Bowlt*

This is a comprehensive album of the artistic work of Anton Krajcovic (b. 1928), one of Eastern Europe's leading cinema and television set designers. The author presents a straightforward life-and-work study, tracing Krajcovic's development from his enrollment at the Bratislava Technicum, through his assistant- ship at the State Cinema Studios in Prague to his return to Bratislava in 1952. As Mojziisova implies, cinema and television set design is a young art form, lacking traditional principles, especially in provincial centers such as Bratislava. Krajcovic, therefore, became the founder of the Slovak cinema and tele- vision design industry, participating in cinema productions from 1952 onwards and turning his attention to television in 1956.

Although Krajcovic's art is not highlyinnovative, its images and style relate to a defined conception of set design, one that treats this as a particular artistic discipline, a true composite of various art forms and not simply a branch of applied art. Essentially, Krajcovic's approach is a narrative, intelligible one, although he manifests elements of Constructivism (e.g. in the film 'Udolie vecnych karavan', 1968) and Expressionism (in the film 'Dvanast', 1967) from time to time. For a mass audience, Krajcovicds exaggerated satirical renderings of theatrical per- sonages should meet with success, and his fine graphic sense should work well in the black and white medium of television.

In retrospect, Krajcovic's first set designs for both film and television seem trite and, at best, 1940s' Hollywood, but the elaborate and sophisticated sets of the 1960s such as for the films 'Balada o siedmich obesenych' (1968) and 'Kubo' (1966) display an understanding of mobile and immobile elements of formal montage and multiplicity of vantage points. These qualities are visible, above all, in the several shots of'Udolie vecnnych karavan' with its constructivist frames, superimpositions and geometries-reminiscent, perhaps coincidentally, of Isaak Rabinovich's work for 'Lysistrata', produced at the Musical Studio of the Moscow Arts Theatre in 1923. The set designs of the 1970s such as for the film 'Skryty pramefi' (1973), mark a return to the historical, narrative scenery, a development that

chinery lying in coffins. Ultimately, these Coffin-Women, Coffin- Men, Coffin-Children hold little visual interest and fall beyond criteria of 'good' and 'bad' art, but they are exceptional in the Soviet context and contrast sharply with the orthodox directions favored by most contemporary Soviet sculptors. Essentially, Sidur's 'found art' is a silent art, unresponsive, destroying one's preconceptions of esthetic value and, above all, severing any real connection with the discipline of sculpture, i.e. with the art of composition. If such art is to be described at all, then it must be seen as construction, as a branch of engineering without a utilitarian function. Sidur has every right to express his sentiments in this way, but I hope that he will return to his smoother, more harmonious forms of earlier years: works such as 'Saxophonist' (1958) and 'Torso' (1963) indicated a potential and innovative extension of the Moore/Hepworth tradition, i.e. the concern with strictly formal, esthetic elements. At this point, Sidur was maintaining the fine principles of early 20th-century Russian and Ukrainian sculpture-of Archipenko, Korolev and Mukhina.

Eimermacher gives particular attention to Sidur's drawings, all of them figurative and often satirical. Sidur has steadily maintained a deep interest in graphics, producing many preparatory sketches for his sculptures, as well as a number of independent graphic pieces. But Sidur, surely, in my view, is an artist of three dimensions, not of two, and these depictions of copulating monsters and phallic supermen seem strangely impotent on paper and demand a tactile, sculptural embodiment. There are more than enough young Moscow artists who can draw and paint but very few who know how to make works from stone and metal.

Anton Krajcovic. Iva Mojzisova. (In Slovak) (Summaries in English, French, German and Russian). Pallas, Bratislava, Czechoslovakia, 1975. 167 pp., illus. 60.00 Kc. Reviewed by John E. Bowlt*

This is a comprehensive album of the artistic work of Anton Krajcovic (b. 1928), one of Eastern Europe's leading cinema and television set designers. The author presents a straightforward life-and-work study, tracing Krajcovic's development from his enrollment at the Bratislava Technicum, through his assistant- ship at the State Cinema Studios in Prague to his return to Bratislava in 1952. As Mojziisova implies, cinema and television set design is a young art form, lacking traditional principles, especially in provincial centers such as Bratislava. Krajcovic, therefore, became the founder of the Slovak cinema and tele- vision design industry, participating in cinema productions from 1952 onwards and turning his attention to television in 1956.

Although Krajcovic's art is not highlyinnovative, its images and style relate to a defined conception of set design, one that treats this as a particular artistic discipline, a true composite of various art forms and not simply a branch of applied art. Essentially, Krajcovic's approach is a narrative, intelligible one, although he manifests elements of Constructivism (e.g. in the film 'Udolie vecnych karavan', 1968) and Expressionism (in the film 'Dvanast', 1967) from time to time. For a mass audience, Krajcovicds exaggerated satirical renderings of theatrical per- sonages should meet with success, and his fine graphic sense should work well in the black and white medium of television.

In retrospect, Krajcovic's first set designs for both film and television seem trite and, at best, 1940s' Hollywood, but the elaborate and sophisticated sets of the 1960s such as for the films 'Balada o siedmich obesenych' (1968) and 'Kubo' (1966) display an understanding of mobile and immobile elements of formal montage and multiplicity of vantage points. These qualities are visible, above all, in the several shots of'Udolie vecnnych karavan' with its constructivist frames, superimpositions and geometries-reminiscent, perhaps coincidentally, of Isaak Rabinovich's work for 'Lysistrata', produced at the Musical Studio of the Moscow Arts Theatre in 1923. The set designs of the 1970s such as for the film 'Skryty pramefi' (1973), mark a return to the historical, narrative scenery, a development that

chinery lying in coffins. Ultimately, these Coffin-Women, Coffin- Men, Coffin-Children hold little visual interest and fall beyond criteria of 'good' and 'bad' art, but they are exceptional in the Soviet context and contrast sharply with the orthodox directions favored by most contemporary Soviet sculptors. Essentially, Sidur's 'found art' is a silent art, unresponsive, destroying one's preconceptions of esthetic value and, above all, severing any real connection with the discipline of sculpture, i.e. with the art of composition. If such art is to be described at all, then it must be seen as construction, as a branch of engineering without a utilitarian function. Sidur has every right to express his sentiments in this way, but I hope that he will return to his smoother, more harmonious forms of earlier years: works such as 'Saxophonist' (1958) and 'Torso' (1963) indicated a potential and innovative extension of the Moore/Hepworth tradition, i.e. the concern with strictly formal, esthetic elements. At this point, Sidur was maintaining the fine principles of early 20th-century Russian and Ukrainian sculpture-of Archipenko, Korolev and Mukhina.

Eimermacher gives particular attention to Sidur's drawings, all of them figurative and often satirical. Sidur has steadily maintained a deep interest in graphics, producing many preparatory sketches for his sculptures, as well as a number of independent graphic pieces. But Sidur, surely, in my view, is an artist of three dimensions, not of two, and these depictions of copulating monsters and phallic supermen seem strangely impotent on paper and demand a tactile, sculptural embodiment. There are more than enough young Moscow artists who can draw and paint but very few who know how to make works from stone and metal.

Anton Krajcovic. Iva Mojzisova. (In Slovak) (Summaries in English, French, German and Russian). Pallas, Bratislava, Czechoslovakia, 1975. 167 pp., illus. 60.00 Kc. Reviewed by John E. Bowlt*

This is a comprehensive album of the artistic work of Anton Krajcovic (b. 1928), one of Eastern Europe's leading cinema and television set designers. The author presents a straightforward life-and-work study, tracing Krajcovic's development from his enrollment at the Bratislava Technicum, through his assistant- ship at the State Cinema Studios in Prague to his return to Bratislava in 1952. As Mojziisova implies, cinema and television set design is a young art form, lacking traditional principles, especially in provincial centers such as Bratislava. Krajcovic, therefore, became the founder of the Slovak cinema and tele- vision design industry, participating in cinema productions from 1952 onwards and turning his attention to television in 1956.

Although Krajcovic's art is not highlyinnovative, its images and style relate to a defined conception of set design, one that treats this as a particular artistic discipline, a true composite of various art forms and not simply a branch of applied art. Essentially, Krajcovic's approach is a narrative, intelligible one, although he manifests elements of Constructivism (e.g. in the film 'Udolie vecnych karavan', 1968) and Expressionism (in the film 'Dvanast', 1967) from time to time. For a mass audience, Krajcovicds exaggerated satirical renderings of theatrical per- sonages should meet with success, and his fine graphic sense should work well in the black and white medium of television.

In retrospect, Krajcovic's first set designs for both film and television seem trite and, at best, 1940s' Hollywood, but the elaborate and sophisticated sets of the 1960s such as for the films 'Balada o siedmich obesenych' (1968) and 'Kubo' (1966) display an understanding of mobile and immobile elements of formal montage and multiplicity of vantage points. These qualities are visible, above all, in the several shots of'Udolie vecnnych karavan' with its constructivist frames, superimpositions and geometries-reminiscent, perhaps coincidentally, of Isaak Rabinovich's work for 'Lysistrata', produced at the Musical Studio of the Moscow Arts Theatre in 1923. The set designs of the 1970s such as for the film 'Skryty pramefi' (1973), mark a return to the historical, narrative scenery, a development that

chinery lying in coffins. Ultimately, these Coffin-Women, Coffin- Men, Coffin-Children hold little visual interest and fall beyond criteria of 'good' and 'bad' art, but they are exceptional in the Soviet context and contrast sharply with the orthodox directions favored by most contemporary Soviet sculptors. Essentially, Sidur's 'found art' is a silent art, unresponsive, destroying one's preconceptions of esthetic value and, above all, severing any real connection with the discipline of sculpture, i.e. with the art of composition. If such art is to be described at all, then it must be seen as construction, as a branch of engineering without a utilitarian function. Sidur has every right to express his sentiments in this way, but I hope that he will return to his smoother, more harmonious forms of earlier years: works such as 'Saxophonist' (1958) and 'Torso' (1963) indicated a potential and innovative extension of the Moore/Hepworth tradition, i.e. the concern with strictly formal, esthetic elements. At this point, Sidur was maintaining the fine principles of early 20th-century Russian and Ukrainian sculpture-of Archipenko, Korolev and Mukhina.

Eimermacher gives particular attention to Sidur's drawings, all of them figurative and often satirical. Sidur has steadily maintained a deep interest in graphics, producing many preparatory sketches for his sculptures, as well as a number of independent graphic pieces. But Sidur, surely, in my view, is an artist of three dimensions, not of two, and these depictions of copulating monsters and phallic supermen seem strangely impotent on paper and demand a tactile, sculptural embodiment. There are more than enough young Moscow artists who can draw and paint but very few who know how to make works from stone and metal.

Anton Krajcovic. Iva Mojzisova. (In Slovak) (Summaries in English, French, German and Russian). Pallas, Bratislava, Czechoslovakia, 1975. 167 pp., illus. 60.00 Kc. Reviewed by John E. Bowlt*

This is a comprehensive album of the artistic work of Anton Krajcovic (b. 1928), one of Eastern Europe's leading cinema and television set designers. The author presents a straightforward life-and-work study, tracing Krajcovic's development from his enrollment at the Bratislava Technicum, through his assistant- ship at the State Cinema Studios in Prague to his return to Bratislava in 1952. As Mojziisova implies, cinema and television set design is a young art form, lacking traditional principles, especially in provincial centers such as Bratislava. Krajcovic, therefore, became the founder of the Slovak cinema and tele- vision design industry, participating in cinema productions from 1952 onwards and turning his attention to television in 1956.

Although Krajcovic's art is not highlyinnovative, its images and style relate to a defined conception of set design, one that treats this as a particular artistic discipline, a true composite of various art forms and not simply a branch of applied art. Essentially, Krajcovic's approach is a narrative, intelligible one, although he manifests elements of Constructivism (e.g. in the film 'Udolie vecnych karavan', 1968) and Expressionism (in the film 'Dvanast', 1967) from time to time. For a mass audience, Krajcovicds exaggerated satirical renderings of theatrical per- sonages should meet with success, and his fine graphic sense should work well in the black and white medium of television.

In retrospect, Krajcovic's first set designs for both film and television seem trite and, at best, 1940s' Hollywood, but the elaborate and sophisticated sets of the 1960s such as for the films 'Balada o siedmich obesenych' (1968) and 'Kubo' (1966) display an understanding of mobile and immobile elements of formal montage and multiplicity of vantage points. These qualities are visible, above all, in the several shots of'Udolie vecnnych karavan' with its constructivist frames, superimpositions and geometries-reminiscent, perhaps coincidentally, of Isaak Rabinovich's work for 'Lysistrata', produced at the Musical Studio of the Moscow Arts Theatre in 1923. The set designs of the 1970s such as for the film 'Skryty pramefi' (1973), mark a return to the historical, narrative scenery, a development that some critics might welcome but one that I find hard to appreciate after his audacious innovations in 'Udolie'. I hope that, with his

*Dept. of Slavic Languages, University of Texas, Box 7217, Austin, TX 78712, U.S.A.

some critics might welcome but one that I find hard to appreciate after his audacious innovations in 'Udolie'. I hope that, with his

*Dept. of Slavic Languages, University of Texas, Box 7217, Austin, TX 78712, U.S.A.

some critics might welcome but one that I find hard to appreciate after his audacious innovations in 'Udolie'. I hope that, with his

*Dept. of Slavic Languages, University of Texas, Box 7217, Austin, TX 78712, U.S.A.

some critics might welcome but one that I find hard to appreciate after his audacious innovations in 'Udolie'. I hope that, with his

*Dept. of Slavic Languages, University of Texas, Box 7217, Austin, TX 78712, U.S.A.

confident technique and acute sense of the interaction of mobile and immobile elements, Krajcovic will continue to investigate more abstract, more formal possibilities.

La Genese d'une peinture. Jacques Mandelbrojt. J. P. Collot, Aix en Provence, France, 1977. 38 pp. illus. 40 FF Hand-painted version, 180 FF. Reviewed by Etienne Souriau**

The author of this small book, a French physicist and painter of talent, paradoxically describes painting as an art in which light and shade and color are of no importance or, at least, are subordinated to kinesthetic elements.

His general thesis is that pictorial fine art depends entirely on images in the minds of artists, which they report on in their prictures. These mental images are presented by means of gestural strokes of a brush or some other tool. Thus, he says, painters do not so much depict forms or objects as the physical and psychical movements through which they become conscious of them. Color, which is not related in any way with the subject of a painting, is used as an affective analogon.

Mandelbrojt refers his thesis to the views of Sartre, Piaget and Bachelard and also to those of Berenson. His subtle analysis leads him to interesting opinions about figurative painting as 'incarnate abstractions', the development of Cubism, the feasibility of preparing a dictionary of 'abstract structures' and, finally, the relationships between art and science. All this is acutely analyzed and supported by psychological citations that belong to what an aesthetician at the beginning of this century called 'the muscle school'. It corresponds to a certain artistic sensibility, which Mandelbrojt makes evident through his introspective sincerity and evident ability. This same sensibility can be found in many artists of our time and of any time. It is what conditions their peculiar style.

There are, of course, painters with other sensibilities for whom a picture does not originate from a kinesthetic impulse but from an almost carnal taste for colors or for the effects produced by light and shade. Some do not work from a preliminary mental image but have a direct hold of their artwork.

In the various arts one can note a duality of the sensual and the kinesthetic; particularly in music one can easily distinguish the temporal that gives primacy to rhythm and the acoustical that gives first place to the specific quality of sounds. There is more than one room in the house of the arts.

The Art of Sketching. Albert W. Porter. Davis Publications, Inc., Worcester, Mass., 1977. 136 pp., illus. $7.00. The Drawing Handbook: Approaches to Drawing. Stuart Purser. Davis Publications, Inc., Worcester, Mass., 1978. 331 pp., illus. $13.95. Reviewed by James W. Davist

The overriding emphasis in Porter's book is upon rapidly executed interpretations of observed and imagined subjects through the use of traditional methods of drawing. He evokes the plein air image of artists with sketchbook in hand at all times and avidly on the lookout for inspirational subject matter. He states that it is 'hard to think of one significant artist who did not draw either well or on a continuous basis'.

While the above might suggest a rather indulgent nostalgia for the past, Porter does suggest that the purposes of sketching are to develop skills for capturing a thought, an idea or the essence of fleeting subject matter, to express ideas with personal conviction and vigor and to freely explore visual processes that penetrate ideas and generate solutions.

The various sections of the book emphasize conventional techniques and tools for sketching. A majority of the illustrations possess qualities that are more akin to caricature or to illustration than to serious drawing, due to their rather predictable applications of stereotyped images and mannered style.

The book is clearly written, although rather simplistic in tone and would probably appeal to younger, developing artists.

confident technique and acute sense of the interaction of mobile and immobile elements, Krajcovic will continue to investigate more abstract, more formal possibilities.

La Genese d'une peinture. Jacques Mandelbrojt. J. P. Collot, Aix en Provence, France, 1977. 38 pp. illus. 40 FF Hand-painted version, 180 FF. Reviewed by Etienne Souriau**

The author of this small book, a French physicist and painter of talent, paradoxically describes painting as an art in which light and shade and color are of no importance or, at least, are subordinated to kinesthetic elements.

His general thesis is that pictorial fine art depends entirely on images in the minds of artists, which they report on in their prictures. These mental images are presented by means of gestural strokes of a brush or some other tool. Thus, he says, painters do not so much depict forms or objects as the physical and psychical movements through which they become conscious of them. Color, which is not related in any way with the subject of a painting, is used as an affective analogon.

Mandelbrojt refers his thesis to the views of Sartre, Piaget and Bachelard and also to those of Berenson. His subtle analysis leads him to interesting opinions about figurative painting as 'incarnate abstractions', the development of Cubism, the feasibility of preparing a dictionary of 'abstract structures' and, finally, the relationships between art and science. All this is acutely analyzed and supported by psychological citations that belong to what an aesthetician at the beginning of this century called 'the muscle school'. It corresponds to a certain artistic sensibility, which Mandelbrojt makes evident through his introspective sincerity and evident ability. This same sensibility can be found in many artists of our time and of any time. It is what conditions their peculiar style.

There are, of course, painters with other sensibilities for whom a picture does not originate from a kinesthetic impulse but from an almost carnal taste for colors or for the effects produced by light and shade. Some do not work from a preliminary mental image but have a direct hold of their artwork.

In the various arts one can note a duality of the sensual and the kinesthetic; particularly in music one can easily distinguish the temporal that gives primacy to rhythm and the acoustical that gives first place to the specific quality of sounds. There is more than one room in the house of the arts.

The Art of Sketching. Albert W. Porter. Davis Publications, Inc., Worcester, Mass., 1977. 136 pp., illus. $7.00. The Drawing Handbook: Approaches to Drawing. Stuart Purser. Davis Publications, Inc., Worcester, Mass., 1978. 331 pp., illus. $13.95. Reviewed by James W. Davist

The overriding emphasis in Porter's book is upon rapidly executed interpretations of observed and imagined subjects through the use of traditional methods of drawing. He evokes the plein air image of artists with sketchbook in hand at all times and avidly on the lookout for inspirational subject matter. He states that it is 'hard to think of one significant artist who did not draw either well or on a continuous basis'.

While the above might suggest a rather indulgent nostalgia for the past, Porter does suggest that the purposes of sketching are to develop skills for capturing a thought, an idea or the essence of fleeting subject matter, to express ideas with personal conviction and vigor and to freely explore visual processes that penetrate ideas and generate solutions.

The various sections of the book emphasize conventional techniques and tools for sketching. A majority of the illustrations possess qualities that are more akin to caricature or to illustration than to serious drawing, due to their rather predictable applications of stereotyped images and mannered style.

The book is clearly written, although rather simplistic in tone and would probably appeal to younger, developing artists.

confident technique and acute sense of the interaction of mobile and immobile elements, Krajcovic will continue to investigate more abstract, more formal possibilities.

La Genese d'une peinture. Jacques Mandelbrojt. J. P. Collot, Aix en Provence, France, 1977. 38 pp. illus. 40 FF Hand-painted version, 180 FF. Reviewed by Etienne Souriau**

The author of this small book, a French physicist and painter of talent, paradoxically describes painting as an art in which light and shade and color are of no importance or, at least, are subordinated to kinesthetic elements.

His general thesis is that pictorial fine art depends entirely on images in the minds of artists, which they report on in their prictures. These mental images are presented by means of gestural strokes of a brush or some other tool. Thus, he says, painters do not so much depict forms or objects as the physical and psychical movements through which they become conscious of them. Color, which is not related in any way with the subject of a painting, is used as an affective analogon.

Mandelbrojt refers his thesis to the views of Sartre, Piaget and Bachelard and also to those of Berenson. His subtle analysis leads him to interesting opinions about figurative painting as 'incarnate abstractions', the development of Cubism, the feasibility of preparing a dictionary of 'abstract structures' and, finally, the relationships between art and science. All this is acutely analyzed and supported by psychological citations that belong to what an aesthetician at the beginning of this century called 'the muscle school'. It corresponds to a certain artistic sensibility, which Mandelbrojt makes evident through his introspective sincerity and evident ability. This same sensibility can be found in many artists of our time and of any time. It is what conditions their peculiar style.

There are, of course, painters with other sensibilities for whom a picture does not originate from a kinesthetic impulse but from an almost carnal taste for colors or for the effects produced by light and shade. Some do not work from a preliminary mental image but have a direct hold of their artwork.

In the various arts one can note a duality of the sensual and the kinesthetic; particularly in music one can easily distinguish the temporal that gives primacy to rhythm and the acoustical that gives first place to the specific quality of sounds. There is more than one room in the house of the arts.

The Art of Sketching. Albert W. Porter. Davis Publications, Inc., Worcester, Mass., 1977. 136 pp., illus. $7.00. The Drawing Handbook: Approaches to Drawing. Stuart Purser. Davis Publications, Inc., Worcester, Mass., 1978. 331 pp., illus. $13.95. Reviewed by James W. Davist

The overriding emphasis in Porter's book is upon rapidly executed interpretations of observed and imagined subjects through the use of traditional methods of drawing. He evokes the plein air image of artists with sketchbook in hand at all times and avidly on the lookout for inspirational subject matter. He states that it is 'hard to think of one significant artist who did not draw either well or on a continuous basis'.

While the above might suggest a rather indulgent nostalgia for the past, Porter does suggest that the purposes of sketching are to develop skills for capturing a thought, an idea or the essence of fleeting subject matter, to express ideas with personal conviction and vigor and to freely explore visual processes that penetrate ideas and generate solutions.

The various sections of the book emphasize conventional techniques and tools for sketching. A majority of the illustrations possess qualities that are more akin to caricature or to illustration than to serious drawing, due to their rather predictable applications of stereotyped images and mannered style.

The book is clearly written, although rather simplistic in tone and would probably appeal to younger, developing artists.

confident technique and acute sense of the interaction of mobile and immobile elements, Krajcovic will continue to investigate more abstract, more formal possibilities.

La Genese d'une peinture. Jacques Mandelbrojt. J. P. Collot, Aix en Provence, France, 1977. 38 pp. illus. 40 FF Hand-painted version, 180 FF. Reviewed by Etienne Souriau**

The author of this small book, a French physicist and painter of talent, paradoxically describes painting as an art in which light and shade and color are of no importance or, at least, are subordinated to kinesthetic elements.

His general thesis is that pictorial fine art depends entirely on images in the minds of artists, which they report on in their prictures. These mental images are presented by means of gestural strokes of a brush or some other tool. Thus, he says, painters do not so much depict forms or objects as the physical and psychical movements through which they become conscious of them. Color, which is not related in any way with the subject of a painting, is used as an affective analogon.

Mandelbrojt refers his thesis to the views of Sartre, Piaget and Bachelard and also to those of Berenson. His subtle analysis leads him to interesting opinions about figurative painting as 'incarnate abstractions', the development of Cubism, the feasibility of preparing a dictionary of 'abstract structures' and, finally, the relationships between art and science. All this is acutely analyzed and supported by psychological citations that belong to what an aesthetician at the beginning of this century called 'the muscle school'. It corresponds to a certain artistic sensibility, which Mandelbrojt makes evident through his introspective sincerity and evident ability. This same sensibility can be found in many artists of our time and of any time. It is what conditions their peculiar style.

There are, of course, painters with other sensibilities for whom a picture does not originate from a kinesthetic impulse but from an almost carnal taste for colors or for the effects produced by light and shade. Some do not work from a preliminary mental image but have a direct hold of their artwork.

In the various arts one can note a duality of the sensual and the kinesthetic; particularly in music one can easily distinguish the temporal that gives primacy to rhythm and the acoustical that gives first place to the specific quality of sounds. There is more than one room in the house of the arts.

The Art of Sketching. Albert W. Porter. Davis Publications, Inc., Worcester, Mass., 1977. 136 pp., illus. $7.00. The Drawing Handbook: Approaches to Drawing. Stuart Purser. Davis Publications, Inc., Worcester, Mass., 1978. 331 pp., illus. $13.95. Reviewed by James W. Davist

The overriding emphasis in Porter's book is upon rapidly executed interpretations of observed and imagined subjects through the use of traditional methods of drawing. He evokes the plein air image of artists with sketchbook in hand at all times and avidly on the lookout for inspirational subject matter. He states that it is 'hard to think of one significant artist who did not draw either well or on a continuous basis'.

While the above might suggest a rather indulgent nostalgia for the past, Porter does suggest that the purposes of sketching are to develop skills for capturing a thought, an idea or the essence of fleeting subject matter, to express ideas with personal conviction and vigor and to freely explore visual processes that penetrate ideas and generate solutions.

The various sections of the book emphasize conventional techniques and tools for sketching. A majority of the illustrations possess qualities that are more akin to caricature or to illustration than to serious drawing, due to their rather predictable applications of stereotyped images and mannered style.

The book is clearly written, although rather simplistic in tone and would probably appeal to younger, developing artists.

**41, rue Boulard, 75014 Paris, France. t216 N. Normal St., Macomb, IL 61455, U.S.A. **41, rue Boulard, 75014 Paris, France. t216 N. Normal St., Macomb, IL 61455, U.S.A. **41, rue Boulard, 75014 Paris, France. t216 N. Normal St., Macomb, IL 61455, U.S.A. **41, rue Boulard, 75014 Paris, France. t216 N. Normal St., Macomb, IL 61455, U.S.A.

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This content downloaded from 62.122.77.94 on Wed, 11 Jun 2014 07:22:57 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions