new-york

Anish Kapoor

Gladstone Gallery | West 21st St

As sculptural object, the cube has been done to death—it’s a tired emblem of modernist purity and autonomy—but there is something different about Whiteout, 2004, the large white cube in Anish Kapoor’s recent show: It seemed oddly vacuous. Like a doubting Thomas, I touched it, and lo and behold, there was nothing to touch: My arm went right through its “side,” into a void. I had been blind to it, but when my arm was in the sculpture I was able to discern that its surface was concave—an oddly lingering inward curve. Looking around the gallery, I realized that curvature, however varied, informed the small stainless-steel sculptures that clung to the floor, and also “structured” a black sculpture cut into a white wall. Putting my arm into this, I experienced an odd vertigo, as though I were being drawn into an abyss.

The tour de force of the exhibition was Carousel, 2004, a towering sculpture,

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