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December 1963-January 1964. These rapidly led him to the kind of works he exhibited in April 1966. 

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Carl Andre, Crib, 1965/1977, styrofoam beams, 77 x 108 x 108".

Now some new questions must be posed. The progenitors of Minimalism favored clean lines; plain surfaces, either painted monochromatically or left bare to utilize the inherent properties of the chosen materials expressively; simple, often compact forms; and human-size proportions. But what does this really reveal about their accomplishments or contribute to an understanding of their various oeuvres.?

Is it sheer coincidence that Sol LeWitt's 1966 Modular Open Cubes measures a bodily graspable 6 by 6 by 6 feet? Its bottom horizontal layer is knee-level; its middle section, elbow level; and its upper portion, head level. Standing and facing its central column, one can stretch one's arms outward and encompass the scope of the structure in its entirety. LeWitt's 1966 Untitled corner piece raises other issues. It is composed of two open square frames of painted white wood fixed to corner walls, and a third resting on the floor. If joined, they would form the base and two sides of a square. These elements look placid, serene, and restful. Yet, the space between them appears charged magnetically; no acetylene torch is needed for the eye to weld them together (or leave them separated).

How do Flavin's tubes function coloristically? Why does green peek out of a room installation where red, gold, pink, and daylight white hues are emitted? When the space is actually entered, why is the same green then washed out by the gold and pink of the 1964 Untitled (to Mr. and Mrs. Giuseppe Agrati)? Furthermore, it has been taken for granted for too long that Flavin's electrical components are frequently the same size. In past art, an expanse of yellow could be equalized by a dab of red. Flavin has managed to balance an 8-foot sliver of gold light with an 8-foot sliver of red light.

Judd, too, is a prestidigitator in his own way. The sides of his 1965 Untitled (Progression) suggest that a red square has had its upper, wall-hugging corner hollowed out; on the front face, however, it looks as if a Harley-Davidson Hi-Fi purple-lacquered rectangular strip supports five red cadmium enameled boxes diminishing in size. What are we to believe? Judd has insisted in the past——just as he reaffirmed to an interviewer last summer——that he does not make sculpture. How should this claim be taken into account? Moreover, Judd has made much of his use of various mathematical systems (Fibonacci's, for example) to show that he is really not "composing." In the 1965 Untitled (Progression), for instance, the measurements of left-to-right planes are balanced by the identical dimensions of open spaces moving from right to left. If that feels like classical balance, Judd is simply relying on numerical incidents the way traditional sculptors had the givens of proportional head, body, arms, and legs to proceed from. Moreover, aren't the five components of metal and space locked together as securely as the five fingers of a right hand are when grasped in those of the left?

Andre embraces spectators' awareness of their own bodies in figurative terms, too. He uses particles which are easily assembled by one person; factory crews, elaborate hauling and lifting devices, and intricate tools are dispensed with. Such works are easy installed, but also wonderfully graspable when experienced in person. In his 1965/1977 Crib (originally executed from white styrofoam planks which are no longer available: it is now colored a pale, sherbet orange), only one's eyes can enter the interior space. It was only a matter of time before Andre would realize that he could compress his materials flush with the floor (in a 1970 Artforum interview, Andre mentioned that he felt the metal plate pieces included the column of air above them which reached upward to the ceiling as limit) and that people could indeed enter the space of his work and walk upon his sculptures.

The recent showing of early Minimalist works at Sperone Westwater Fischer made it evident that the time is ripe for another full-scale exhibition of Minimalism. Value judgements can now be made. What has already been set sporadically has revealed that many of the works have aged well. (Their weathering is another problem: those using easily replaceable, machine units have to be reordered for reconstitution; others with delicate surfaces have been badly scratched; some wood works have been realized in more permanent metals. In other words, the originals no longer exist.) Still, just as various earlier contributions to the art of the 20th century have deserved to be reviewed, re-evaluated, and come to terms with, we should have the chance to see in the most comprehensive way just what the Minimalists wrought.

Phyllis Tuchman is writing her Ph.D dissertation at the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, on Minimalism: Andrew-Flavin-Judd-LeWitt-Morris.