Cobra Kai Never Dies

In The Writing’s on the Wall: Language and Silence in the Visual Arts, on view at the Hill Art Foundation, curator Hilton Als examines the relationship between visual art and written language. The exhibit spans a range of mediums, from cement sculptures to oversized erasers, exploring how words can converge with media and art—whether through circular scribbles on a chalkboard or the profound silence of a blank page.

Alongside the exhibition is the curatorial essay The Poetics of Silence. The essay begins: “I’ve been asked to say a few words about this exhibition… but I don’t want to.” Four pages of writing ensue, outlining Als’s personal life and his experiences with art that led him to create an exhibition that draws connections between art and language. Als begins by describing his intention to evoke “a line between language…and being, which requires nothing more than your presence first and language second.” This concept is explored further throughout the essay, with reflections on how silence can elucidate our relationship with communication and on his personal choices to include specific works in the collection. These works are accompanied by audio clips of Als describing his thought process, accessible through QR codes placed next to the respective pieces. 

In the second half of the essay, Als delves into the idea of “connoisseurship,” for which he cites Merriam-Webster’s definition: “trained a person to become ‘especially competent to pass critical judgements in an art, particularly one of the fine arts, or matters of taste’ (Merriam-Webster).” He connects the concept of “taste” to wealth and an inherent “knowing” of what and how to critique that wealth creates, questioning the notion that art should only be understood by those who understand the history behind the artists and the meaning they give to their art. However, while the individual pieces of the collection delve into Als’s concepts of language, art, and perspective, the exhibit as a whole lacks the cohesive structure necessary to convey this theme, ultimately undermining the curator’s vision.

The exhibit opens with a series of three framed works—two by Christopher Knowles, featuring a blank page with typewriter-style text, small and set to the top of the page. Untitled (Dance) showcases the title “DANCE” across the top, followed by a line of “Dance Dance Dance…” repeated. The second piece, Untitled (Chilly Billy), similarly presents the title "CHILLY BILLY” with variations of “Billy” and “Chilly” typed across the top of the page, leaving the majority of the space blank. The third piece, Agnes Martin’s Untitled (1979), features a square parchment-like paper set inside a larger frame. Drawn over the watercolor stained canvas are thin, inked lines creating boxes reminiscent of lines in a notebook. In his introduction to The Writing’s on the Wall, Als highlights the contrast between language and a lack thereof, placing seemingly meaningless words above an empty space and evoking contemplation as the eye settles upon this blank space. Together, these three pieces serve as a strong introduction to Als’s curatorial ideas, which are interspersed at halting points throughout the rest of the exhibit. His inclusion of two pieces representing language as a form of art—and then one that depicts how art can evoke language—introduces two themes that he explores across the exhibit.

As the exhibition continues, the pieces become increasingly dynamic and larger-than-life. Rachel Harrison’s Hermes 3000 (2021) presents a small typewriter in varying shades of teal and a muted gray blue juxtaposed below a sculpture representation of the machine. Emerging from a base of rectangular forms stacked over one another, a tornado-like spiral becomes an iridescent mass of green, teal, blue, yellow, and purple, taking the simplistic forms of the Hermes 3000 typewriter and turning said forms into boxes entrapped in the swirling mass. This piece takes words created with the help of machinery and turns them into art, building an artist’s perception on the creation of language. A small, unassuming box that types words creates a sculptural cloud of thought, rising into the sky—a mountain of ideas that become language.

In the same room, Jennie C. Jones’ Fluid Red Tone (in the break) displays a rectangular scarlet red acoustic panel, overlaid by thick layers of crimson felt, jumping out from the solid block behind it. Accompanying the work is a Truman Capote quote: “To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the music the words make.” In an audio, Als describes how a painting is “inspired by the sound of music” and “anchors the first floor.” Als’s choice to include a piece that explores the relationship between music and art could stand as a statement on its own. However, it fails to connect to any themes discussed in his extensive curatorial notes or connect to the rest of the collection’s focus on language.

Ellen Gallagher’s DeLuxe (2004-2005)—a central piece of the exhibition—spans a wall with a grid of sixty mixed media pieces. Collages within white frames display cutouts of newspaper clippings with vibrant geometric embossings of yellow, white, and pink that stand out against the pages behind them. Most of the clippings depict features of African American culture, focusing on representation and identity in mainstream culture; the multilayered textures play with the ways history can be perceived, written over, and reconstructed in the present. Als’s inclusion of DeLuxe explores the use of language in commercial spaces and its influences on culture and art. This work is a powerful piece on its own but ventures into a cultural and historical aspect of language that is fragmented across the exhibit, appearing intermittently in a bust of James Baldwin and a framed page featuring an image of Joan Didion. Other works featuring Baldwin are dispersed throughout the exhibition. This creates a lack of structure while walking from piece to piece that ultimately does more to confuse the viewer than further Als’s message.

In The Poetics of Silence, Als breaks down his aversion to traditional connoisseurship. Despite this, The Writing’s on the Wall seems to fall in line with his definition of connoisseurship. Als features celebrated artists from the 70s, 80s, and 90s, including pieces that already carry a rich history only known to viewers with knowledge behind the artists’ names and pieces. While certain works individually make an accessible statement on culture, art, and communication (such as Gallagher’s DeLuxe), to truly comprehend Als’s argument, visitors must be familiar with the artists and their contributions. Thus, Als falls into a similar concept of “connoisseurship” that he critiques in his essay; knowledge of well-known artists is necessary to understand his exhibition.

Als further writes that he aims to “show… what words looked like to artists.” Though he delves into the concept of a universal language in his essay, his ideas are not representative of his curation. Two of the works in his forty-six piece collection surrounding language are written in a language other than English, and the majority of the artists are American. How can an exhibition that aims to connect language and art, accompanied by a curatorial essay against the elitism of limited comprehension, not reflect languages other than English?

While the individual pieces in The Writing’s on the Wall are evocative, the lack of cohesion and fragmented structure leave it unable to convey Als’s theme. His curatorial essay, focused on his aversion to connoisseurship and other broad themes, adds to the confusion, ultimately falling short of Als’s goal of a universal understanding of art.