Let There Be Sculpture

ByJacob Epstein
THE stormy petrel of British art here offers his apologia, which the reader is at first inclined to take with grins of delight as prima facie evidence that British criticism in this held is deplorably prosaic. The tremendous pother which a new work by Mr. Epstein raises all the way from John o’ Groat’s House to Land’s End has for years been immensely diverting; Mr. Epstein’s documentation of it is a priceless thesaurus of unconscious humor. His contention, however, is highly serious and wholly sound. Mr. Epstein is no ignorant and bumptious tyro. Working in the great tradition of sculpture, he has proved over and over again that he can do anything that any other living sculptor can do, and most of the dead ones. This gives him the right to experiment outside the tradition in any way his inspiration or his fancy may lead him. He is entitled to any hideosity he may produce. If his contemporaries accept it, well and good; if not, posterity may; it neither, that is the end of the matter; so why get into a great sweat about it? The book is excellent, both on its lighter side and on its serious side, and as such we recommend it.