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No links provided by the New Yorker for one of this week's Showcase pieces titled ART JOCKS penned by Alexi Worth which focuses on the new Joel Shapiro instalation in (on?) the Met's roof top garden (that's Mr Wilson's stomping ground). He kicks it off with a reference to Ad Reinharts quote on sculpture. "...somthing you bumped into when stepping back to look at a painting", then switched "painting" to "Dakota" for the occasion. Shapiros have long been the "must have" pool-patio adornment of choice in top (and near top) LA circles. He goes on to describe the five pieces, "flying Waleda like clusters of limbs", "speed skates", "marches", "topples", "kicks". "His biggest yet at 24' in bronze, aluminum and polychrome rocket-red."
You can tell he wants to slam them, but just won't spit it out. Not untill the final paragraph, I quote :
"Over the past thirty years, Shapiro's sculptures have become more insidiously likable and less conceptually demanding. Critics have implied that this is a bad thing, a drift toward Henry Moore-ish accessability. But Moore's matriarchs invite you to carress them; Shapiro's athletes want you to get out of their way. They project a healthy impatience, linking Degas's self-absorbed ballerinas to John Woo's kung-fu fighters. Sure, they're simpler and less mobile than we are. But they're also having a better time."
Finally ! (but he will still be able to eat lunch in this town again.)