It
didn't seem possible to successfully combine the whiplash dribbles
of Jackson Pollack with the emblems of comic art until Don Sorenson
came along.
The
young L.A. artist debuts with about 10 large, ropy, abstract paintings.
To get an imperfect idea of their appearance, imagine zig-zag
patterns of comic lightning bolts intertwined with writhing intestinal
forms.
Processed
together with cut-out pieces, the pictures strike exactly the
right note during a period of general artistic tepidity. They
express all the campy sleaze of Hollywood Blvd.'s flakiness and
schizophrenic energy. They are also unmistakably fine art of a
high order with a strange, beautifully undefinable compositional
understructure.
Sorenson,
to me, is the most promising artist to appear hereabouts in a
couple of years.
(Nicholas
Wilder Gallery, 82251/2 Santa Monica Blvd., to Feb. 10)
choose
another review...