In the hands of modern sculptors from Rodin to Lehmbruck, man's anatomy has shrunk as if he were being returned to dust. But no one has reduced the image of man to such near nothingness as Swiss-born Alberto Giacometti. During the 1940s, his sculptures shrank so much that he carried the results of four years' work in six matchboxes in his pocket; and since then, try as he may, his lovely, attenuated figures still look like fugitives from a cane gang. Inevitably, Giacometti's search for essentials gave his work a lean and existential look, leading Jean-Paul Sartre to...
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