Stages, scaffolding, a litter of broken plaster and a husky ex-cowboy occupied the small, tall Gallery of Contemporary American Art in the Detroit Arts Institute last week. Occasionally letting out a hearty "goddam" when something went wrong, the ex-cowboy was delicately daubing soft hues on the wet plaster walls, shaping dreamy, feminine figures.
Listening to John Carroll's salty talk, looking at his brawny arms and deep-tanned, seamy face, most observers would conclude that here was a man who, if he painted at all, would do something like the Rivera murals of Industry downstairs...
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