The rubble of post-war Germany—from its famine and ruined cities to its lost dreams and moral bankruptcy—haunts the art of two generations. Beuys, Richter, Kiefer, and company seem to have sucked in Kant and Hegel with their mothers' milk; death and the sublime are their bread and butter. Their lesser-known contemporary Dieter Roth, whose life and anarchic sensibility veered wildly from his youth in fascist Germany, was content to play the fool instead, mocking their solemnities with an antic art that still spoke... More >>>