Is the bracing clarity of Richard Serra’s early work capable of speaking to—if not against—the slippery ambiguity of today? More than usual, the relationship between the work and site of this exhibition set up a then-versus-now situation that it never resolved, leaving me split, but not in the material way that Serra so emphatically had in mind back in the day. Part of this is the result of the slightly awkward entrances to each of the two rooms of the show (both made me feel as if I entered from the wings, requiring me to quickly yet carefully find another spot to orient myself to the work), and the upmarket vibe of Zwirner’s new space, which in my opinion didn’t quite click with the Dan Flavins and Donald Judds in the inaugural show, despite the prices. Based upon the photographic documentation, it’s obvious that the first room of this exhibition was an attempt to recapture the look and, I assume, feel of Serra’s studio circa 1968, even if a couple of works are from 1969, including the pivotal sculpture of his initial development.
At first glance “Cutting Device: Base Plate Measure” (1969) fits Serra’s loose-sounding term “anti-form” very well, as the uncertainty of its selection of materials and their final placements submits to the logic of a procedure: here’s an arrangement of stuff, some of which had been stacked, that has been transformed into a reasonably symmetrical and sufficiently disconnected presentation by way of a couple of unforgiving cuts down the length of each side of its original set up. This, of course, is where the mental splitting also begins: despite Serra’s formidable efforts to banish associations, this work reads as a bilateral body, splayed yet maintaining its composure, and arranged to make a statement that is much, much harder to contain today.