Venice

We know Dennis Hopper as the actor who portrayed the carousing biker in “Easy Rider.” Hopper admits there is a bit of himself in the self-destructive types he portrays. Through battles with alcohol and drugs, Hopper has come through as an incisive creative force. A body of his black-and-white photographs executed mostly in the ‘60s bears this out.

Hopper’s personal foibles apparently lent him a penetrating and witty view into the core of the era. His long relationship with movies gives the photos a compositional sophistication.

Hindsight perspective on the hedonistic ‘60s proves Hopper’s images artistically prophetic. Looking like a maniacal Dr. Frankenstein, Ed Keinholz considers a mannequin head for use as art. Hanging from the rafters, Robert Irwin installs a work and we wait for the light bulb he holds in his mouth to spontaneously combust. Several shots of a young Andy Warhol in his pre-fame, pre-bleached wig days capture the innocence and decadence that wrought those magical times.

In the ‘60s Hopper was part of the Ferus circle of artists that included George Herms, so it’s appropriate that the gallery has a tandem show of West Coast junk sculpture by the granddad of the genre, George Herms.

Poet, writer, film maker, printer and pioneer of the California happening (his first was staged to finance the repair of his roof), Herms is--right down to the “LOVE” slogan that appears on nearly every work--quintessential ‘60s. Perhaps more than his retrospective at the Newport Harbor Art Museum in 1979 which was weighted toward early work, this little show demonstrates what Herms has been up to lately.

In spite of the rusted motorcycles, antique diving apparatus, old lamps, pitted household appliances, creaking clocks set behind fogged and weathered glass, there is an unusual elegance to this show. The scrapbook quality of earlier works is replaced by a more formal, self-contained grace.

Works are made of wonderfully illogical combinations of rusted metal debris--like a saw blade with decorative metal tendrils pressed against it, or two open doors of a discarded van embellished with metal filigree and presented almost like screens or painted panels. That’s not to say Hermes has given up his sense of humor. It’s abundant in pieces like “Solar Powered Herms’ Light (Paint Box Pioneer),” a strange collision between a wood knob, an upturned lamp and a coiled crown of candle holders. Another playful concoction of aged debris that whispers what could be the Herms’ second-favorite slogan “GET REAL ART SNOBS.” If all the post-modern stuff we’re seeing is haute cuisine, Hermes is hand-ground wheat bread and it’s tasty. (L.A. Louver, 77 Market Street, both shows through May 20).