D-VIII 60 1960

Oskar Holweck’s ‘D-VIII 60’ appears to have been made by cutting and tearing at the surface of paper. It’s a strangely destructive act, like he’s digging in, excavating these triangular, almost architectural forms, or are they stalactites? I imagine Holweck hunched over his work, a blade in hand, each cut a small, deliberate rebellion. You know, sometimes making art feels like that, a battle with the material, a conversation where you push and pull, and the paper pushes back, resisting, until suddenly it yields. The texture here is so important; that ragged edge, the shadow it casts, the way the light catches each tiny imperfection. It reminds me of Fontana and his slashed canvases, a similar urge to break through the surface, to find something underneath. But instead of paint, we have this pure, unadulterated paper, speaking volumes in its silence. It speaks about how sometimes the simplest acts can be the most profound. How one artist can challenge another to think differently about material, form, and expression.