WILSHIRE CENTER

Harold Rosenberg once described contemporary sculpture as “a species of centaur; half art materials, half words.” Jean-Pierre Raynaud is obviously relying on the critics to do the lion’s share of the work as far his current exhibition is concerned. Plunging his paw into the Minimalist bag, Raynaud comes up with bits of lint from the ‘70s--and his paltry offerings are like an invitation to the prom for elitist critics with a penchant for arcane mumbo jumbo.

Including sculptural objects and photographs of previous Raynaud installations (most of which are pristine geometric constructions made of white tile), the exhibition builds to a crescendo with an arrangement of three identical groupings of large, tin industrial canisters, nine cans to a set. Are they waste receptacles? Do they hold toxic chemicals? Whatever Raynaud’s metaphorical intentions, the theories he puts forth are old hat and the entire enterprise fairly begs the viewer to call his bluff. There are, of course, card-carrying members of the avant garde who like nothing better than a lengthy contemplation of a tin can. If that sounds appealing, then this Bud’s for you. (Wenger Gallery, 828 N. La Brea Ave., to Jan. 13.)