Santa Monica

Richard Beckman is still in graduate school at the University of New Mexico, but his untitled large-scale sculpture in concrete and steel has a calm strength and clean, unfussy presence that bodes well for the future. A majestic spiral of rusted steel contains a graduated set of triangles; another spiral of neatly riveted plywood looks like a giant Slinky; twin curved triangular pieces made of concrete and steel rock low to the floor in separate rhythms.

The biggest piece (nearly 5 feet tall) is a large-gauge steel-mesh cube suspended within a steel-mesh cylindrical enclosure. A sprinkling of small rocks inside the piece--sure to set up a racket as they slip from one resting place to another--suggest the cylinder has a kinetic function. This piece has a rough-and-ready look, like a project a guy tinkers with endlessly in the basement. Particularly after you see how elegant Beckman can be, its awkwardness is refreshing.

Carl H. Johansen also lives in New Mexico. Paintings from his “Black Mesa” series have the smart, knowing veneer that comes of slamming together bits and pieces of art history.

In “Fascist’s Dream,” a big pretty-boy head lolls on its side as if broken off from an insipid statue. Tiny glittered hearts rise to an image that could have been painted by Charles Sheeler: a long red wall scooting back into the distance under a harsh, raking light. A glimpse of an O’Keeffe-like black cross set in a yellow glow; a small, busy painting of heads and flowers in harsh mockery of Picasso’s style and an insouciant strip of hot pink spritzed with glitter complete this dizzy tour through a debauched and deadened brain.

Bits of Navajo rug, Matisse nudes and Van Gogh peasants tromp through this series, but the overwhelming bogeyman to be exorcised here is late Picasso. His ghost wanders into a painting called “Love Like This,” which is otherwise a more searching and quietly enigmatic affair. A twig of dried mullein looks like a sea monster, caged within the chalked yellow walls of a large rectangular space. Skinny, unravelled bits of carpet wander uncertainly. A painted pod-eyed monster with a sword does battle. And there’s a pretty large untenanted area of black paint and flaked metal that gives these oddly evocative components room to breathe. (Natoli--Ross Gallery, 2110 Broadway, to Aug. 5.)