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Art of a Million Styles. Smith like many contemporary artists shares the impatience to see the future, even in mockups, for he feels that the U.S. is on the verge of a major artistic breakthrough. So far, he points out, the forms that the U.S. has contributed to Western civilization have been largely architectural: skyscrapers, grain silos, factories, petroleum drums, bridges. But Egypt matched its pyramids and temples with obelisks and sphinxes, while Greece's Parthenon was glorified by the handiwork of Phidias. Michelangelo unified Florence's Piazza della Signoria with his 14-ft.-high David—which was positioned in front of the Palazzo Vecchio by a committee that included Leonardo da Vinci and Botticelli.
Obviously, something larger is needed to match the scale of today's American cities. Indoor sculptures the size of Smoke, Smith thinks, are only a beginning. Says he: "I'm interested in fresh air. You can't really characterize what we've done in the past the way you can recognize the style of ancient Egypt. Our style has no landmark. Until now, the art of our country has been a million styles."
Stabiles in Harlem. But as he is the first to admit, it is the public's infatuation with the fast-unfolding art scene, magnified by massive dissemination through almost instantaneous communication and reproduction, that has prepared the way for acceptance of art as a natural and stimulating part of both private and public life.
The new art is challenging traditional painting and sculpture in the museums; the Philadelphia Museum of Art has currently installed "American Sculpture of the Sixties," with George Rickey's 37-ft.-high red blades soaring and Alexander Calder's white-petaled Ghost wafting under the 85-ft.-high ceiling of the Great Stair Hall before Saint-Gauden's bronze Diana (see color opposite). The new art is also demanding a permanent place there. This month, Minneapolis' Walker Art Center has installed its first permanent luminal-art gallery for light sculptures. And, because of its size, sculpture is now shouldering its way out of the museums and claiming space in the cities' public areas.
As a preview of what the future may hold, New York City's Administration of Recreation and Cultural Affairs is staging a month-long display of 25 massive works by the most imaginative sculptors that its advisory committee could line up. A glittering concatenation of neon by Chryssa attracts commuters in Grand Central Station. Three giant dolls by Marisol face Central Park at 59th Street, black stabiles by Alexander Calder stand in Harlem, police cars parade through gigantic, candy-colored building blocks by Lyman Kipp in Central Park.
In the year 1967, the styles and statements of America's brash, brilliant and often infuriating contemporary artists have not only become available to the man in the street, but are virtually unavoidable. And with proliferation comes confusion. Whole new schools of painting seem to charge through the art scene with the speed of an express train, causing Pop Artist Andy Warhol to predict the day "when everyone will be famous for 15 minutes."