Sweet little book of Beuys playing with his oxides and what other organic materials. By his training *at least a sculptor and this small book, not on the level of sketching skill of a Henry Moore or Chillida, let alone Rodin —still shows that the B's instinct was in the 3D and that he perhaps wasted too much time and talent pursuing the political and social agendas. But that was, in retrospect, the great curse of the 1960's. And into the 1970's.
Used to have, or still do, both of these Werner Schade elegant softcover books, but probably prefer the one with B's 'drawings'.
Also, within this one, the lovely lovely sketch of a three-legged (oxidized) stag. One of his shamanic obsessive themes.