The conundrum of art criticism lies in writing about a subject that,
by its very nature, eludes literary extrapolation. This is why it is easier, if not easy, writing about bad or so-so art: failed painting or sculpture lends itself more readily to explaining why it is what it is. Writing about art that is successfully realized on its own
terms is another matter. Metaphor is the best a critic can do in
writing about art, but even that only goes so far. After all,
how much can one really say about a Fra Angelico?

I was reminded of this quandary while visiting the recent exhibition
of sculpture by Christopher Wilmarth (1943–1987).
This is not to say
that the merits of Wilmarth’s sculpture, which are considerable,
accord him a status alongside the Florentine master. Nor am I suggesting
that writing well about art is an impossibility—although given the
inanity of much current criticism one might think so.
But Wilmarth’s sculpture succeeds so completely as
sculpture that words can only give the barest indication of what the
work is like. Firsthand experience is paramount. Which is, of
course, how it should be.

The exhibition at Hirschl & Adler Modern includes eight abstract
sculptures and one drawing. Seven of the sculptures are from the
early to mid-Seventies with one work, from Wilmarth’s more figurative
“Breath” series, from 1981. Wilmarth’s signature sculpture utilizes
sheets of glass, often curved and etched with hydrofluoric acid,
bound together by wire or steel supports.