Los Angeles Nomadic Division

Adam II (the late Paul Cotton) is an artist living in Berkeley, California. His work has been presented in exhibitions including Live in Your Head: When Attitudes Become Form (Kunsthalle Bern, 1969; ICA London, 1969; Fondazione Prada, Venice, 2013), documenta 5 (Kassel, 1972), Paul McCarthy’s Low Life Slow Life Part 1 (CCA Wattis Institute for Contemporary Arts, San Francisco, 2008) State of Mind: New California Art circa 1970 (Orange County Museum of Art, 2011; Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, 2012), Harald Szeemann | Grandfather: A Pioneer Like Us (Swiss Institute, New York, 2019).

For LAND’s 2012 exhibition Perpetual Conceptual: Echoes of Eugenia Butler, Adam created a performance work, Astral-Naught Rabb-Eye in the Reel World in Real Time, within the Standard Hotel in West Hollywood, Los Angeles.

I’ve known Adam, a friend of my father’s from Berkeley, since I was a child. We would visit him every few years during family trips to San Francisco, and he once came to stay with us on Long Island for a long weekend. His presence was memorable: he reminisced about inhabiting a persona he called the Astral-Naught at the first Burning Man at Baker Beach in California, his attempt to enroll in a Buddhist monastery, and his decision to change his name, from Paul Cotton, as I had always known him, to Adam Paulson, and sometimes Adam II, the late Paul Cotton. A few years ago, I shared with him an exhibition I had organized on Paul Thek, the late American artist (and co-participant, with Adam, in Harald Szeeman’s documenta 5). Adam responded several days later with an image, and a story. A photograph of himself outdoors against a muddy pastoral landscape, wearing a 6-foot tall hot pink phallus costume he called The People’s Prick, and bearing a wooden cross, Christ-like. The cross, he said, had been made there and abandoned by Thek. 50 years later, the photograph was Adam’s iPhone background.

In 2023 the Italian artist Alessandro di Pietro and American curator Peter Benson Miller invited me to contribute a short text to a book in development, a collection of speculative texts to be called Ghostwriting Paul Thek. I proposed an interview with Adam about his encounter with Thek’s cross. This interview became a series of conversations through which emerged a vibrant picture of Adam’s life and work.

Adam and I spoke about appropriation, sculpture, the body, Berkeley, Harald Szeeman, Norman O. Brown, language, authority, presence, being, and nothingness. Our conversations took place on November 25, 2023, June 1, 2024, and October 16, 2025.

Owen Laub: Let’s start in Los Angeles. Tell me about your work with Eugenia Butler?

Adam II: Well, in Los Angeles, the first piece I did was in a show called Conception / Perception, and I built a piece that looked like a changing room in the back corner of the gallery. It was painted white and it was defined by two curtains. On one curtain was an embroidered eye, and on the other was an embroidered “thou.” It was an “eye thou” booth, and people could enter into it. Inside the booth you would see an empty chair, like a director’s chair, that said “creator” on it. So it was the moment of creation. Then I would come in wearing a white cap and gown. That was the Trans-parent Teacher. I was nude under the cap and gown, and as a mirror I would reflect that person. It was all silent. In some cases people would choose to take their own clothes off. They would see their body and my body reflecting each other in this space.

OL: In 2012, LAND invited you to make a performance work as part of the exhibition Perpetual Conceptual: Echoes of Eugenia Butler. For this work, Astral-Naught Rabb-Eye in the Reel World in Real Time, staged at The Standard Hotel in West Hollywood, you had a performer enacting the role of the Astral-Naught, a central motif of yours since documenta 5 in 1972. But unlike what I had seen in the documenta staging of the Astral-Naught, the character at The Standard is holding a red, yellow, and black rod -- the staff of Hermes.

Adam: Yes, it’s the caduceus, and the stick part of it was actually made by an artist named Andre Cadere.

OL: I thought it looked like a Cadere staff! How did that come about?

Adam: Well, I met him at documenta. He was actually invited to documenta. He had sent the documenta office postcards from different places along his journey from Paris to documenta, in Kassel. He had said he was walking from Paris to Kassel, with the Round Bar of Wood — that’s what the artwork was called, and it was designed to be shown anywhere. His walking with it from Paris to Kassel was an art piece. But apparently in the end, he revealed that he was arriving by plane from Paris. The walking trip and the postcards were all a story. Apparently Harald Szeeman got angry, and responded by putting out a letter saying that Cadere was not part of documenta. Then, Cadere duplicated that letter, went to the show with his Round Bar of Wood, stood in the entranceway and handed out the letter saying that he wasn’t part of documenta. He was like that, a big joker. He was known to go to an art show with one of his Round Bars of Wood and lean it against the wall, and he would become a part of the art show. He would take it over. When I met him, he was alone in an alcove in one of the rooms of documenta, just standing there with a long Round Bar of Wood. They could be six feet tall or more. He was playing a recording of the French national anthem with the Round Bar of Wood, so he was on display in one of the rooms at documenta. He called himself the trickster of documenta. He died in 1978 of cancer. He was a young man, and already in his last years.

OL: And so at documenta he gave you this staff? And you turned it into the caduceus?

Adam: Right.

OL: Did you use the caduceus in other iterations of the Astral-Naught?

Adam: Yes. The Astral-Naught is a Hermes-figure. A messenger. For LAND, the Astral-Naught had a winged top hat and winged sandals. The Astral-Naught is a symbol of man back in the garden. Adam was the first man, and Christ was a symbol of Adam back on earth. That’s what the Astral-Naught symbolizes, that we’re living in the garden. The Astral-Naught also had rabbit-ear antennae, and above that, a halo, and above that, a dove. The dove has a radio chip in its mouth, a symbol of landing in the world of instant media. The Astral-Naught also had a sound system playing from it. On the Astral-Naught’s heart is a red foot. In Buddhist iconography, the presence of the Buddha was often illustrated with an empty chair, and footsteps leading to and from the chair. On the back of the costume embroidered in large letters is the phrase “Buddha Hood.” One of my poetic statements when I first made the piece was, “turn your neighborhoods into Buddhahoods.” The Astral-Naught held the caduceus in one hand, and in the other hand the “Eunichorn.” It was supposed to have a microphone in it and be connected to a broadcast, but we had technical difficulties.

OL: In one part of the documentation, I see Paul McCarthy wearing headphones given to him by the Astral-Naught.

Adam: Yes, the meeting with Paul McCarthy and Barbara Smith. I invited them both to see the Astral-Naught. We met them in a restaurant. The Astral-Naught appeared in different places in The Standard. Behind the main desk where you meet the manager or whatever there was an atrium, a long horizontal empty space with glass doors. The Astral-Naught posed there silently for about an hour, and then we went into different rooms in the hotel, and to the pool.

OL: It actually reminds me of some of the photos from documenta, where the Astral-Naught is in a plaza, or in a garden, outside of a museum or kunsthalle or cultural space. Was that part of the intention, to be in a public space?

Adam: When I made a living sculpture, part of the symbolism was that it was part of ordinary everyday experience. When I decided to do it at The Standard, I wanted to do it in a situation where it was seen as a part of everyday life.

OL: How did you begin making art?

Adam: When I started to do my work as an artist I did things that I could never have imagined myself doing before that. I had gone to Tufts Dental School for ten days, and then I quit. I had wanted to go to art school after high school and everyone in my family was against that. When I finally did get to Cal (The University of California, Berkeley) it was in the second year of the Free Speech movement. It was a time of real awareness, of knowing beyond authority. A lot of what we learn in school is about authority. Everything you say has to be footnoted, and you’re proving other people’s work. Cal was the perfect stage for me at that moment. Then for my master’s degree, for the master’s jury, I presented myself in a white canvas suit as my work of art in the jury room, and I was told I could not be there because I was a student. They said, “you can’t be here.” I said, “I am my sculpture”, and then I went stone silent. Eventually they voted nineteen to one that I should get my master’s. They also had a closed vote, and voted to carry me out and put me in the hall, which they did, and then they threw out my sculpture. I had made a bus stop out of two white styrofoam bus benches.

OL: I didn’t know about the bus stop.

Adam: I saw the jury room as a moment in time and space. I made a line out of white styrofoam dashes that went from outside the building, like a highway line, through a doorway, into the jury room, and past another doorway. The two bus stop benches I made out of styrofoam at three quarter scale reflected each other in the doorway. That was the bus stop. I had also painted the bus. Friends were going to dance in with the bus and pick me up at the bus stop and take me out. I called this dashed line an Art Link Letter. That was the first time I made this dashed line. I made one at the Venice Biennale in 1980, and I've made several since. It stands for a line of energy, or a highway line. At the end of a performance, I would cut them and address them to people and send them out in the mail.

Venice Biennale 1980, Courtesy Adam II, the late Paul Cotton.

OL: What was your relationship like with the faculty in the art department at Berkeley?

Adam: There was an element of being in school that enabled me. It was sort of my playground, like I was on stage. One of my teachers was David Hockney. He taught a painting class. One time, everyone brought in their paintings and hung them up to be talked about, and I brought a drawing that I had done on a piece of typewriter paper and I put that up next to all the other paintings. I remember him saying, “Do you think it’s enough?” and I said yes, and he said “Well, if you think it’s enough, it’s enough.” There were times I would go into a painting seminar and I would sit there nude with a Band-Aid on my mouth. People were trying to figure out what I was doing, and how to talk about it. I was able to do things that were totally made for that context.

OL: What was Berkeley like at that time?

Adam: Well, there was People's Park. Do you know People's Park at all? It was land that was taken over by the community. It was supposed to be a parking lot, and they made it into a park. For years it was an issue between the community and the university. The People's Prick refers to that. The actual People’s Prick, that pink costume that I wore, was buried in People's Park. We had a ceremony to bury it in People's Park.

OL: So the People’s Prick was something you brought with you to Europe?

Adam: Yes.

OL: What had you planned to do with it?

Adam: I'm not sure that I knew. I brought it to the Kunsthalle in Düsseldorf. I did an event called Landing on the Earth: The Word Made Flesh, where I was carried into a performance. At that time, the People's Prick was like a rocket ship or a vehicle that brought me from one dimension into another, and the Astral-Naught came out of that. I was exploring time and space, so when I say I’m landing the first man on the earth, in fact, I am. At the time I was doing this, there was a revival of Marcel Duchamp's popularity. Duchamp did a lot of work in the teens that was out of bounds, like the urinal. It was all about seeing life itself as a work of art. That was the thread that I was continuing with my work, and that's why I continue to talk about it as sculpture, as painting, rather than performance. The Hermes sculpture is made out of the body and real time and space. In the Random House Converter, I am mirroring every body. I took a step through the looking glass, which is to see the body itself. Sculpture, you know, has become ultra real. There are sculptors like Duane Hanson, whose sculptures are very realistic. One time there was a Duane Hanson sculpture show at the university art museum, and I went in with a friend and we just stood still. At the end of the day they kept on saying “the museum is closing,” and people were gathering more and more around us to see if we were alive or not. One of the administrators, I used to call them “Art Officials,” came over to me and said, “I’m sorry, you’ll have to break,” and so we did. The whole museum applauded us. So that was another way of reflecting on sculpture.

OL: In 1970 you made a work with the People’s Prick and a cross made by Paul Thek at the Mickery Theater in Loenersloot, in the Netherlands. Tell me about that?

Adam: Well, I had been invited to be in a show at the Kunsthalle in Düsseldorf. They had a series called between, and I was invited to between 4. The title referred to being between the art and the audience, or the artist and the audience, and also because it was between two major shows. In that show, I presented the Random House Converter.

OL: The Random House Converter is a series of doorways? Or, a series of walls with openings?

Adam: Actually they’re stretched canvases, with an open frame inside the canvas so that it creates a doorway. The first canvas in the series is on a wall, so you’re looking at an illusion of space; you’re looking at canvases on a wall. But then, you can go in through the doorway, into another room and into another space. Gilbert and George were performing in the hallway outside. At that time we were between sculpture as object, and sculpture as experience and life. So, I was invited to be in this show, and I’m not sure exactly how I got hooked up with the Mickery, but they invited me to come and do a show there, and I did another installation of the Random House Converter. It was the third set of the Random House Converters.

Paul Cotton, Random House Converter, 1972, documenta 5, Kassel, Germany. Courtesy of the Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (2011.M.30). Photographer: Balthasar Burkhard. © J. Paul Getty Trust.

OL: What did the Random House Converter entail in its completed state? What happens in relation to it, or, in what way is it participatory?

Adam: The Random House Converter creates a threshold into the eternal present in which everything is seen as a work of art. It’s a sculpture literally, but it’s also doorways. The Astral-Naught, the piece that I did after that, was done within that space with the Astral-Naught as a Hermes sculpture. Hermes is the god of doorways. When I was doing this work, I was painting with my body. The idea of performance was not on people’s minds at that time, or the word was not. I didn’t consider myself to be a performer. I considered myself to be an artist, a painter in real time and space, and I think that was the connection to Paul Thek. I don’t know what he did inside the Mickery, but outside, he did this cross for anybody to carry. “Any body” I think it was written. That also connected with me. The whole Christian thing is a celebration that we’re all members of one body.

OL: Were you and Thek there at the same time?

Adam: No, he had been there before.

OL: So you didn’t see his performance, it was just the cross that remained?

Adam: Yes, just the cross, and there was a tree where he had jars filled with various… I’m not even sure, an assortment of things, some in liquid maybe, some of them were dry, and they were hung on a tree in the meadow behind the Mickery gallery. Perhaps that’s all he did, the pieces outside the gallery. I don’t remember seeing anything within the gallery space itself relating to Paul Thek. He and I were in documenta 5, which was after this period, but I never actually met him. I saw his installation there.

OL: At the Mickery Theater, tell me about how you engaged with the cross?

Adam: One of the things about Hermes is that he calls us out of doors, so the work that I did was outside of the gallery. I often did that, at documenta, too, and in other places. All of my work has been about seeing the body itself as sculpture. So the piece I did in the Mickery Gallery was a ritualization around the Random House Converter, seeing that we are all in one body; the body is the common denominator. You know, when you said you were going to call me and that you were looking forward to talking to me I responded, ditto, and ditto itself was a very popular way of reproducing duplicates. There were ditto machines, and the ditto machine always printed a purple text. I think I found a ditto machine in Loenersloot and printed a poem using it. It amused me that I used the word ditto and I hadn’t used it for years. Some of my work was deliberately printed on ditto machines, and purple itself was part of the way I presented myself. In fact, when I went to the between show in Germany, I came into Düsseldorf wearing a purple cowboy hat and a purple velvet cowboy shirt and purple pants and cowboy boots, and I called myself The Loener Ranger.

OL: [Laughs] From Loenersloot.

Adam: It turns out that I arrived at Fasching time, which is kind of like Mardi Gras in Germany, so my costume was accepted. In public I appeared only in costume, with that or the Peoples’ Prick or the Astral-Naught.

Photo courtesy Adam II, the late Paul Cotton.

OL: Does the color purple, or the color pink, have any special significance to you?

Adam: Yes, purple is the transition between one color scale and another. It’s violet and then red again. Incidentally I was thinking about that, that we were going into a new dimension and a new color continuum.

OL: What about the pink color of the Peoples’ Prick?

Adam: Well, I used to have a calling card, and the calling card was printed with either pink or baby blue. A continuous theme was that I was rebirthing myself. I was calling myself Adam, the son of Paul; Adam Paul’s Son. The project was to land the first man on the earth.

OL: That's fantastic. Do you still have any of those cards?

Adam: Yes I do. On the card it said, The Messiah is Come. That also has a sexual reference to it. Then it said, Paul Cotton Conducting., and below that, God is an orphan seeking the trans-parents. The idea of being transparent is the idea of just being, without an ego. A part of my consciousness in all of this work was to let it flow through me without it being me.

OL: Tell me about Norman O. Brown?

Adam: Over the transom, above the entrance into my studio, there was a sign that said “Way Out.” So my studio is the way out, or, I'm working on a way out. It specifically refers to a speech that was given by Norman O. Brown, who wrote a book called Life Against Death, which was very popular in the ‘60s. He called it “the psychoanalytic meaning of history.” There’s a thread through my work that connects to Norman O. Brown. In 1960, he gave a speech to the Phi Beta Kappa academy called, “Apocalypse: The Place of Mystery in the Life of the Mind,” and it starts with, “Is there a way out?” Norman was constantly saying, “I cannot live my vision,” and I was living his vision. This is one of the things about sculpture. To put a sculpture in a museum is to put it in the past; to give it an authority that it doesn’t have otherwise. I later read Norman’s speech in Harper’s Magazine, and I knew then that part of my task as an artist was to bring that work to life. This is something I haven’t thought about in years, but that's what it was, that's the connection. People would call my studio “the way out.”

OL: I know that in at least one work, The Second Norman Invasion, you personally encountered Norman O. Brown. Tell me about that?

Adam: Well, his book was called Life Against Death, and my work has all been about life, and the body itself as a medium and message, so I felt that actually confronting him or engaging him was necessary. Norman was not going to get engaged with anything other than as a teacher; he saw teaching as his engagement. And it’s true, he was inspiring. But I invaded his classroom. Several times, actually. The Second Norman Invasion was the second time I appeared in his classroom. Did you know that?

OL: No, I didn’t.

Adam: That was in 1969. I had called him on the phone, written to him, and I had letters of recommendation to him from Jim Melchert. My relationship to him was as a student to a teacher.

OL: So what was his response?

Adam: He was teaching a class called “Myth and History,” which I felt was very significant, and I jumped into his classroom in The People’s Prick. So he’s teaching, and this large six or seven-foot tall phallus jumps into the classroom, and there’s this huge uproar from the class. It was completely unexpected. Nobody knew I was coming. I had a friend with a camera, but it turned out he didn’t have any film in it, so no photographs remained. Norman was engaged enough, and with a sense of humor he tackled me. He tackled The People’s Prick and threw me to the ground. Then I unzipped it, and I was nude inside, and I jumped out of the costume. There was another uproar from the class. Norman went back to his podium and started teaching again. So then I jumped onto a piano. There was a little baby grand piano there, which I was able to stand on. I had with me, a little three-foot People’s Prick that I had made, like a teddy bear. I held it as if I was Zeus firing a lightning bolt. I stood still there in that position for a while, and then as he was teaching I threw it at him and it bounced off of him. Again there was this great laughter from the class, and finally he said, “Get out of here, or I’ll lose my job!” That was the answer to the whole question of what people on the faculty had to consider when they supported rebellious students. So in a sense this was the story of “life against death,” and language. He and John Cage and Marshall McLuhan were three intellectuals that inspired me and a lot of students to go beyond the literal activity of sculpture or music or poetry or whatever. For me, it all had to do with the body itself being the medium.

OL: Did you have any expectations for how Norman would respond?

Adam: I don’t know what I expected from it, but my feeling was that I was working on actually doing what he was talking about.

OL: I’m not so familiar with his writing, could you describe the ideas of his that were compelling or important?

Adam: One of his ideas as an historian was that time itself is always now. He was teaching a class called “Myth and History,” it was a class about Roman gods and classical history, but he was teaching it as though it had threaded its way through time and was always happening now. Another idea was the question of what was beyond language. You know, beyond these words that we’re saying, and you and me being alive and breathing at this moment and talking to each other across the miles and being recorded at this moment, there is language itself, which exists in the present in a different way than it ever did before. There’s a book by Buckminster Fuller: I Seem to be a Verb. You know, I feel like I did have a calling, and the calling was to create sculpture that is about life itself, that is always present.

OL: Tell me about Harald Szeemann. How did you encounter him?

Adam: The first time I met him, he came to my studio on Forest Street in Oakland. Jim Melchert was a teacher of sculpture at the university, and he was a wonderful friend and mentor to many, many students. He brought Harald to my studio. At documenta 5, Harald had put the Random House Converter as a doorway into “Individual Mythologies,” and right across the hallway from me was Paul Thek's installation. We were on the same floor, the second floor. Harald eventually invited me to be in a show called, Live in Your Head: When Attitudes Become Form. He took the Table of Contents and put it in that show.

OL: What was the Table of Contents?

Adam: The Table of Contents is a table I made which has a partition, or a proscenium separation, between one side and another. The proscenium is a little frame with an opening between the two sides, like the frame in the Random House Converter. On one side of the proscenium is real, exposed plywood, and on the other side is contact paper plywood that looks like the real plywood on the other side. The frame sets up a dynamic between illusion and reality; it sets up a kind of theater situation

OL: In 2019 there was an exhibition about Harald Szeeman at the Swiss Institute in New York, and on display was a letter from you to Harald. Now I understand the context. The letter said, Dear Harald Szeeman, I would like you to make a copy of this paper in Swiss and put it on the real plywood side of the piece, and put this on the other side of the piece.

Paul Cotton, Astral-Naught, 1972, documenta 5, Kassel, Germany. Courtesy of the Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (2011.M.30). Photographer: Balthasar Burkhard.

Adam: You know, there was a lot of emotional charge about going to Germany because of the Holocaust, and then, when I got there, they were so nice to me. At one point, I was nude, and I formed a circle with all the people visiting the museum, and I asked people to take their shoes off. I had a spool of thread, and we’d pass the spool from toe to toe around the circle. For me, to do that was to be totally present. I had another piece called A Chain of Beings, which was a little box which had a roll of white paper, the kind from a cash register, and people would sign the chain of beings when they came into this space. Harald was one of the people who could really relate to these performances as actions. He was an amazing man. I hear his archive at the Getty is over half a mile long. He was very, very kind to me and wrote to me quite a lot. Anyway, Harald invited me to be in Live in Your Head: When Attitudes Become Form, and then they did a reboot at the Venice Biennale recently, in 2013, and they invited me to re-present the Table of Contents.

OL: Tell me more about documenta 5 and the work you did there. The Harald Szeeman photo archives are digitized and the Getty has made them accessible, for the most part. There are amazing images of you, or maybe a series of collaborators, in white Astral-Naught costumes with a tail and antennas. There is an image of you…

Adam: On top of a sculpture?

OL: Yes, exactly.

Adam: Yes. That was out in front. Harald took me as the Astral-Naught on a walk through the city, and I climbed up on the top of this sculpture, which I think is a sculpture of Ceres, the goddess of cereal, and she has a little boy peeking out from behind her skirt. The Astral-Naught climbed up. The word Astral-Naught is significant, it's an astral-nothing. In that state of mind, everything is nothing. You know, a lot of people will talk about the process of painting. I love Rothko, he is a spirit that I really find very inspiring. He would talk about the act of painting; being; letting things flow through him. The whole act of painting is being ready to receive it, and that is, I think, the state of mind that the Astral-Naught is in. I’m trying to land the first man on the earth. The Astral-Naught is an astronaut suit that I made to land the first man on the earth.

OL: I also see images of the Random House Converter at documenta in the Getty files, in this incredible skylit room, and there’s an image of you holding a dark pouch with a lightning bolt on it. The pouch looks like it could have contained a book.

Adam: Yes. That book was called The Book of Life, and in it were a lot of ditto pages that said, “I author-eyes the word made flesh to reflect myself…” Everybody who signs it authorizes the Trans-parent Teacher to reflect them. A lot of this work was about letting something become an image by putting it out in the sun. About nothingness. About seeing life as sculpture coming to life.

Owen Laub is a strategist, producer, and independent curator. His art historical research has focused on artists who work on the scale of environment or installation, and whose processes take critical approaches to architecture and performance. He recently edited the monograph Robert Wilson: Chairs, published by Raisonné and August Editions (2025). He has organized exhibitions on artists including Robert Wilson and Paul Thek. More information: owenlaub.com

References/Endnotes

Adam II: Born 1938, Fitchburg, MA.

State of Mind: New California Art circa 1970 exhibition toured to: Smart Museum of Art, Chicago, 2012; The Bronx Museum of the Arts, New York, 2013; SITE Santa Fe, 2013; Morris and Helen Belkin Art Gallery, Vancouver, 2013.

Conception / Perception was presented at Eugenia Butler Gallery, Los Angeles. 1 - 25 July, 1969.

between 4: Bernd und Hilla Becher, Marcel Broodthaers, Rosemarie Castoro, Paul Cotton, Peter M. Dürr, Gilbert & George, Tony Morgan; Filme: Sigmar Polke, Paul Shartis, Johannes Stüttgen, Timm Ulrichs, Renate Weh, Kunsthalle Düsseldorf, February 14–15, 1970.

Paul Thek, The Procession / Easter in a Pear Tree, 1969 (mirrors, empty fish tanks, a sink, silk cord, a toothbrush in a glass, rope, ladder, wax-meat, a painted wooden cross, newspaper, feathers, and a pear tree in a field); Crèche, 1970 (wood and other material), Mickery Gallery, Loenersloot.

“Individual Mythologies” was one thematic section of Harald Szeeman’s documenta 5.

Paul Thek, Ark, Pyramid, 1972, documenta 5, Kassel.