jacquesdevilliers's review against another edition
4.0
One’s art was not just something one made; one collaborated with it and followed its lead. One risked oneself for it, allowed oneself to be changed by it. Though emphatically a realm of self-government, one’s practice was resolutely for a viewer, to whom it represented a kind of vulnerability. One humbled oneself before the idea of a viewer, though never absolutely—one spoke of one’s work’s capacity, even its desire, to reward an open perspective by becoming and revealing things one did not intentionally place. To speak of one’s art was not to describe what should be seen in it. It was to describe one’s hope that the work would find itself, as it were, in a serious relationship, one in which the work could become more than what it—objectively—was by being seen for exactly what it was. Modernist art was an integral component in a scene of singular plenitude, of the absolute shattering of fixed identities.
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