Art in New York

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Abstract
THE 1938 annual showing of sculpture at the Whitney Museum is a noteworthy event. Sculpture, as ordinarily presented in large exhibitions ineptly placed against a distracting background of paintings usually appears to be merely “among those present.” In fact, sculpture has always been rather a stepchild of American art. Owing to the lack of rapport between architecture and sculpture, the artist has felt his work limited to small figures, portrait busts or garden pieces. Even when he has had visions of massive forms and monumental designs, he has sadly realised that there was no place for them. At the Whitney Museum where ample space, freedom from competition with pictures and careful arrangement combine to afford a proper setting, sculpture comes into its own. The high level of the present show reflects, quite possibly, the stimulation aroused by the various Government projects in which sculpture is accepted as an adjunct of architecture inspiring the artist to utilize all his resources. A hopeful aspect of the exhibit is the indication that we have not gone off the deep end as we appeared to be destined to a few years ago when our enthusiasm for “cutting direct” became such a fetich that modelling in clay was consigned to the general region of “old hat.” There is an admirable balance of both techniques in this grouping, each displaying particular virtues for particular artistic ideas. The whole exhibit impresses one as possessing more sincerity than former ones—that is, the conceptions seem more personal, their working out in terms of sculptural expression appropriate and unforced. Quite naturally, there are inept works; a few that strive for chichi effects, others that are merely skillful in their realism or again others that go in for distortion not as a means to an end but as an end in itself. Yet these negligible pieces are decidedly in the minority. The keynote is set by such distinctive pieces as “Sphinx,” in marble by Nathaniel Kaz with its flow of untroubled surfaces and monumental design, or by Carl Schmitz's “Seated figure in terra cotta” so eloquent in its suggestion of inner life to which bodily gesture conforms, or the sensitively modelled “Torso,” by Concetta Scaravaglione. Completely opposed in conception and treatment, but equally effective are “Bather” in bronze by Charles Rudy, lyrical in its lilting movement; this sense of movement so finely distributed throughout the figure that its sense of solidity is not impaired, and “Men Moving Boulder,” in plaster, by Heinz Warneke. This figure composition by Warneke with its complicated play of bodily rhythms is resolved into complete clarity of harmonious plastic design. Other pieces which should not be missed are Zorach's stone group, “Affection,” power and delicacy combined; the subtle play of contours and flowing surfaces in the bronze “Eve,” by Paul Manship; the power of the simplified design in the massive granite “Head,” by Aaron Ben-Shmuel; Marion Walton's “Head” in alabaster, Ruth Nickerson's “Grieving Figure,” in marble, S. F. Bilotti's “Suzanne” in stone. A large group of watercolors, prints and drawings in other galleries forms an important feature of this annual showing.

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