Mellow Master

"It's an ordeal for an artist to see most of the work he's done in the past decade all put together," said British Sculptor Henry Moore recently in Manhattan. "It's like reviewing your life and being --well, a bit critical." He was tired after a week spent supervising the installation of two large one-man shows in two midtown galleries, but Henry Moore need not have worried. At 71, his work shows fresh subtleties of invention and a heightened sensuousness of surface.

Eccentric Orbit. The New York shows include a total of 43 bronzes at the Marlborough Gallery and 17 stone carvings at M. Knoedler & Co., all done since 1961. Even the smallest pieces have authority. Helmet Head is only 18| in. high; yet it has the majesty of a public monument. "You can see in it the idea of protecting, of mother and child, I suppose," says Moore, "but it doesn't want you to know all about it. One could make a whole career out of this one form."

Pointed Torso is not much larger, but its highly polished surfaces reflect everything within sight and bring a whole world into eccentric orbit around it. "Those points would break off in stone," says Moore. "That's one reason I work in bronze. Another is the time element. Life isn't eternal, you know, and I can make three ideas in bronze for every one I make in stone." Nevertheless, carving was Moore's first love. "When I was a young sculptor nine out of every ten pieces I did were in wood or stone. I thought that a stone carver was superior to a modeler." In recent years Moore has increasingly indulged himself in carving. Since 1965, he has spent his summers at Forte dei Marmi near the famous Carrara marble quarries. He sometimes spends whole days tramping over the quarries to find the right piece of stone. "I like the actual activity of carving. With a hammer and chisel in hand, my worries go, and I begin to whistle and sing without knowing why."

Two Nuns originated when Moore picked up a shell on the beach at Forte dei Marmi. "I thought it would be nice to carve, and I made one version, then another," says Moore. "After everything was finished, the two sculptures reminded me of nuns' veils. In Italy nuns always go around in pairs, and that's why I gave them that name." Bust of a Girl, though highly abstract, suggests a perky little tomboy with a hat pulled down over her eyes. "They're both little bits of fantasy," he says.

These recent pieces embody the warm and expansive feeling for life that distinguishes Moore from other great modern sculptors. No matter how far from realistic appearances, they lovingly echo the forms and rhythms of nature. No matter how small, they are touched by an elemental grandeur. But something has been added. Like the Chinamen in Yeats' Lapis Lazuli, Moore's ancient glittering eye is gay.

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