Viewing page 54 of 62

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

-3-
UNTITLED (Continued)

Inattention is taken to its highest level. A series --- persistent and bland --- emerges without composition. Nothing is composed in this nerve-less structure. Judd has laid the fondation for the "specific" paralysis of art. "Painting is dead." he says. "Sculpture is dead." But the art habitat continues. "The generality and the specific" are in his words "a handy device". Familiar forms take the eye into an [[strikethrough]] ?? [[/strikethrough]] hermetically exclusive paradox of to vacant. Multiplicity hangs on multiplicity, not by any direct reason, but by a tired logic. Judd is always tired of being tired. The object is compounded into a maze of right-angles; some hidden, some visible. The mind is eclipsed by the promise of understanding something hidden. An amalgam of elements place iton the eye-level, till it decomposes into anmemory. A unfathomable memory. Other artists spill into one's mind, as a possible clue to the objects meaning --- Albricht Durer for example. Or Alfred Lord Tennyson, who said: 
"Let me not cast in endless shade. 
What is so wonderfully made."
There is nothing to explain, that this object is a metaphor of many nohentities, a parade of muliple aspects and confused relations. The conclusion, if any, is never reached, the object evolves ito a vacant end. Judd's omissions are inspired. A lack of talent is at the root of all great art. Judd's object fits that root. It is the comon factor in the substrata of emptiness. Judd has reconstituted his basic incoherence into a semblance of order. But not for long in the mind of the viewer, all is reduplicated into a false impression. The ideal tautology fails. The eye's rapture is thrown off by cance distractions. The unity denies unity by asserting it. We are suddenly at the ouskirts of futility. Dualism forces the mind into an artificial infinity for an instant, then goes back to torrential meaninglessness. This is the enigma of the hidden abstraction that overcomes one's expect-ation. Time crawls over the cubic regularity of the specific object, eversoslowly. Second by second, module by module, while the gray bar remains at rest. Deposits of Time  build up and down. The eyes don't move, the are swallowed by the