Next morning we motored along the coast, visited the old mission of
San Juan, which is interesting. The guide showing us over the church
announced impressively that it was 170 years old. “Is _that_ all?” I
exclaimed, looking round at the primitive walls that might have been
archaic and pre-historic. My companion in reply commented on “the
_arrogance_ of foreigners” and completely shut me up.
We then went and called at the house of Francis McComus, the painter.
He and his wife were in. Mrs. McComus is the first human being I have
ever seen who looks like a Gauguin, and attractive, which I never
thought a Gauguin!
I had never seen the work of McComus before, and I was spellbound. One
after another he showed us his Arizona landscapes, with their pure
almost irridescent colors. I am aware that I am given to enthusiasm,
but here is something to be enthusiastic about. Men who produce work at
this level lend to the country they belong to a reflected glory that
should arouse much national pride.
Here is a man that Paris or London would acclaim, and who should not be
allowed his life of indolent contentment on the wild Pacific Coast. How
strange a country this is, how full of surprises and unexpectedness!
That one should drop into a house by the wayside, and find so great an
artist!