HUNGRY FOR FAME
The born artist has a passion for creation. This is true whether his art
expresses itself through paints and brushes, through chisel and stone, on
the stage, through musical tones, through bricks and mortar, or through
the printed page. The born artist may or may not have, as companion to his
passion for creation, a hunger for fame, an ear which adores applause. Few
artists, however, have ever become famous who were not spurred on by an
eager desire for the plaudits of their fellows.
It is possible to have the passion for creation without the hunger for
fame. It is also possible to have a hunger for fame without the passion
for creation. In the "Light That Failed," Kipling tells of little Maisie,
who toiled and struggled, not to create beauty, but for success. Yet, poor
Dick, who loved her, was forced to admit that there was no special reason
why her work should be done at all.
Horace Annesley Vachell, in "Brothers," tells the story of Mark Samphire's
tragedy. "When, after three years of most gruelling, hard work as an art
student, he turned to his great master and asked: 'When you were here last
you said to a friend of mine that it was fortunate for me that I had
independent means. You are my master; you have seen everything I have
done. Pynsent knows my work, too, every line of it. I ask you both: Am I
wasting my time?'
"Neither answered.
"'No mediocre success will content me,' continued Mark. 'I ask you again:
Am I wasting my time?'
"'Yes,' said the master gruffly. He put on his hat and went out.
"'He's not infallible,' Pynsent muttered angrily.
"'Then you advise me to go on? No, you are too honest to do that. I shall
not go on, Pynsent; but I do not regret the last three years. They would
have been wasted, indeed, if they had blinded me to the truth concerning
my powers.'"
WHEN THE DIVINE FIRE IS NOT AFLAME
The art schools of Paris! History, fiction, reminiscence, your own
knowledge, perhaps your own experience, join in piling mountain-high the
tale of wasted years, blasted ambitions, broken hopes and shattered
ideals. Worse than this, perhaps, they tell of homes, galleries and shops
disfigured with mediocre work and criminally hideous daubs.
The music studios of Paris, Berlin, New York, and other large cities, the
schools of dramatic art, the theological seminaries, and the departments
of literature in our universities could add their sad testimony.
Theatrical managers, editors of magazines, publishers, art dealers, and
lyceum bureaus are besieged by armies of aspiring misfits.
Probably there is no more difficult and hazardous undertaking in all the
experience of the vocational counsellor than that presented by people of
this type. The mere fact that a young man has painted scores of pictures
which have been rejected has no bearing on the case. Artistic and literary
history is studded with the glorious names of those who struggled through
years of failure and rejection to final success. This is, in fact, true of
nearly all of the great artists and writers. True, the mere dictum of any
authority, however high, would have very little effect in turning the true
creative artist from his life work, but what a pity it would have been if
Richard Mansfield, Booth Tarkington, Mark Twain, and a host of others had
paid any attention to the advice of those who told them they never could
succeed! And yet, unless the vocational counsellor can encourage and urge
on those who have the divine spark, and turn back from their quest those
who have it not, he has failed in one of his most important tasks.
ELEMENTS OF SUCCESS IN ART
Let us, therefore, examine some of the elements of success in art. We have
seen that the born artist has a passion for creation. He _must_ draw, or
paint, or act, or sing, or write. That which is within him demands
expression and will not be denied. His love is for the work and not for
the reward or the applause. These are but incidental. His visions and
dreams are of ever greater achievements and not of an ever increasing
income or wider popularity. Work well done and the conscious approval of
his own mind are the sweetest nectar to his soul.
But this passion of creation is, perhaps, not enough in itself. "Art is a
jealous mistress." Even the passion for creation must wait upon slowly and
painfully acquired technique, and, in the case of painting, sculpture,
instrumental music, and some other forms of art, upon inherent capacity
and manual skill. Many an artist's soul is imprisoned in a clumsy body
which will not do its bidding.
"Art is long," and he who is unwilling or unable to keep alive the divine
spark through years of poverty had better turn back before he sets forth
upon the great adventure. Searching the portraits of the world's great
artists, living and dead, you will not find a lazy man amongst them.
AN ATTEMPT TO MIX INDOLENCE AND POETRY
During our school days we made the acquaintance of Larime Hutchinson, then
a lad of twenty, shy, self-conscious, pathetically credulous, and hobbled
by a prodigious ineptitude which made him a favorite butt for schoolboy
jokes and pranks. Larime was in great disfavor with the teachers because
he almost never had his lessons. He was also in disfavor with the college
treasurer because he did not pay his bills. Larime's father was a country
minister and could send him only a few dollars a month. The rest of his
financial necessities he was supposed to meet by sawing wood, mowing
lawns, attending furnaces, and other such odd jobs. But Larime never could
hold these jobs because he was too lazy to do them well. He was also in
high disfavor with his schoolmates, first, because of his timidity and
self-consciousness; second, because of the strange air of superiority
which, paradoxically enough, he managed to affect even in spite of these
handicaps. A little confidential consorting with this peculiar young man
soon revealed the fact that he yearned to be heralded with great acclaim
as "The Poet of the New World." Not only did he yearn; he confidently
expected it. Nay, more; he already was "The Poet of the New World," and
awaited only the day of his acknowledgment by those who, despite their
prejudices and envy, would eventually be compelled to accord him his true
position. To prove his claims, Larime read us some of his "poetry." It was
bad, very bad, and yet it was not quite bad enough to be good.
Such visions of glory as obscured Larime Hutchinson's sensible view of the
practical world are, perhaps, common enough in adolescence, and, as a
general rule, work no serious harm. There were, however, two fatal defects
of character in this case. The first was that Larime continued to dream
and to write what he thought was verse, when he ought to have been at work
plowing corn, for he had qualities which, with industry, would have made
him a successful farmer. Second, he was mentally too lazy for the drudgery
even the greatest poet must perform if he is to perfect his technique.
A MIND FOCUSSED ON DETAILS
The case of Marshall Mears, a young man who consulted us a few years ago
with reference to his ambition to become a journalist and author, well
illustrates a different phase of this same problem. This young man was of
the tall, raw-boned, vigorous, active, energetic, industrious type. There
was not a lazy bone in his body. In addition to his energy, he had unusual
powers of endurance, so that he could work fifteen, eighteen, or twenty
hours a day for weeks at a time without seeming to show any signs of
fatigue. He was ambitious for success as a writer. He was willing to work,
to work hard, to work long, to wait for recognition through years of
constant effort. He had secured a fairly good education and, in many ways,
seemed well fitted for the vocation he had chosen to pursue.
A careful examination, however, showed two fundamental deficiencies in
Marshall Mears which training could only partially overcome. First, his
was one of those narrow-gauge, single-track minds. He was incapable of any
breadth of vision. His mind was completely obsessed with details. He would
go to a lecture, or to a play, and invariably, instead of grasping the
main argument of the lecture, or the lesson of the play, he saw only a few
inconsequential details of action in the play, and remembered only stray
and somewhat irrelevant statements made by the lecturer. A novel or an
essay appealed to him in the same way. Present to him a business
proposition and his whole attention would be absorbed by some chance
remark. He was a devoted admirer of the late Elbert Hubbard and he had
longed for years to hear the great man lecture. Finally his opportunity
came and he was greatly elated, and not a little excited, as he looked
forward to what he believed to be one of the treats of a lifetime. When he
returned from the lecture, as we had feared, instead of being uplifted and
delighted, he was manifestly disappointed.
"Didn't you like the lecture?" we asked.
"I cannot understand," he complained, "why as intelligent a man as Hubbard
should split his infinitives."
Naturally, a man with a mind like this could not construct a plot or
outline an article. His writings, like his conversations, were long drawn
out, meandering and painfully tiresome recitations of trifling and, for
the most part, irrelevant detail.
We counselled him to lay aside his pen and take hold of plow handles
instead. He has since become a successful farmer, perfectly happy, working
out all the infinitude of minutiae in connection with the intensive
cultivation of small fruits.
LACK OF DISCRIMINATION A HANDICAP
Still another phase of this problem is presented by the case of N.J.F.
This man also wanted to be an editor and writer. He was a big,
fine-looking fellow, fairly well educated, had some ability in written
expression, and frequent good ideas. With his aptitudes, training, and
talents, it seemed, at first sight, that he certainly ought to be able to
succeed in an editorial capacity. Further examination showed, however, a
lamentable lack of discrimination, a deficient sense of the fitness of
things, and consequently, unreliable judgment. These deficiencies are
worse than handicaps to an editor. They are absolute disqualifications. An
editor's first duty is to discriminate, to sift, to winnow the few grains
of wheat out of the bushels of chaff that come to his mill. Editors must
have a very keen sense of the fitness of things. It is true that the
discriminating reader of newspapers and magazines may be tempted to feel
at times that this sense of the fitness of things is very rare in editors.
Unquestionably, it could be improved in many cases, and yet, on the whole,
it must be admitted that newspaper and magazine editors perform at least
one important function with a very fair degree of acceptability, namely,
they purvey material which is at least interesting to the particular class
of readers to whom they wish to appeal. If readers could be induced to
wade through for a week the masses of uninteresting material which is
submitted, they would doubtless have far greater respect for the
intelligence, criticism, peculiarities, and sense of fitness of things of
the editors.
But we digress. N.J.F. was incapable of sound judgment, not because he did
not know the facts, but because, instead of reasoning logically to his
conclusion, in accordance with the facts, he was entirely governed by his
rather erratic feelings. In other words, he could not reason well from
cause to effect; he did not understand people, and so could not sense what
would interest them, and his powers of criticism, such as he possessed,
were destructive rather than constructive.
Contrary to our advice, N.J.F. persisted in his editorial ambitions and in
time managed to persuade the owner of a certain publication to entrust him
with its editorial management. Almost immediately the periodical began to
lose subscribers. Down, down, down went its circulation until it almost
reached the vanishing point. Finally, it expired. The trouble was not that
its pages contained anything bad, harmful or illiterate, but simply that
there was page after page of dry, discursive, uninteresting, valueless
material. It was a pity, because, under a competent editor, the periodical
in question had occupied an important and useful place in the current
literature of the period, and also because, as a dealer in coal, lumber,
lime, and building materials, N.J. F. would have been a useful and
successful member of the community.
[Illustration: FIG. 33. John Masefield, Poet. Idealistic,
sentimental, dreamy, impractical, but intensely responsive to beauty,
rhythm and imagery. Has creative power. Note high, straight forehead, very
high head, fine texture, finely chiseled features, and dreamy, mystic
expression.]
[Illustration: FIG. 34. Edward DeReszke, Opera Singer. Great
artistic and musical talent, with capacity for sentiment and emotion. Note
width of brows; dome of head over temples; fulness of eyes, curves of
nose, cheeks and lips, Also large physical frame, especially chest and
abdomen.]
[Illustration: _Copyright by A. Dupont, N.Y._
FIG. 35. Puccini. Composer. Has artistic talent and creative ability
together with, energy, ambition, persistence, courage, determination.
Rather mild in disposition. Not a particularly good business man. More
interested in music than in money. Note width of forehead at eyes and at
upper corners and its narrowness between; high nose; brunette color;
square, strong jaw and chin; straight, firm mouth, and calm, determined
expression.]
[Illustration: FIG. 36. John S. Sargent, R.A., Portrait Painter.
Keen powers of observation, high ambition, great energy, fine
discrimination, excellent powers of expression, and social qualities. Note
unusual development of brows, height of head; fulness of forehead at
center; fulness of eyes, large, high nose, and fulness of backhead.]
[Illustration: _Photo by American Press Association._
FIG. 37. Pietro Mascagni. Composer. Musical, emotional sensuous,
impulsive, spasmodically energetic. Note width of forehead at brows, full
lips, dimpled chin, heavy cheeks, thick-lidded eyes, large nose, and
intense, ardent expression.]
[Illustration: FIG. 38. Richard Burton. Author. Has fine,
sentimental, idealistic, artistic and literary talents, intellectual,
creative and inventive ability, together with energy, determination, and
ambition. Note height and width of forehead; fulness back of upper
corners; large, but finely chiseled features, and thoughtfully intense,
but calm, serious, poised expression.]
[Illustration: FIG. 39. Mendelssohn, Composer. Very refined, sensitive,
responsive, emotional and delighted with appreciation and applause.
Creative, musical, capable of great industry and perseverance. Note width
of forehead at brows; large, glowing eyes; finely chiseled, regular
features; short upper lip; beautifully curved lips; high head, rounded
above temples. Compare this with Figure 20.]
[Illustration: FIG. 40. Massenet, Composer. Artistic ability, backed up
by ambition, energy, determination, courage, and persistence. Note width
of lower portion of forehead; large, well-formed nose; firm mouth, jaw and
chin; height and width of head; square hands and finger-tips. Also very
emotional and intense nature. Note round, dome-shaped head, smooth
fingers, and dreamy expression.]
THE INSANITY OF GENIUS
The greatest artists, musicians, writers, and thinkers are men of genius
and are, therefore, in a sense, abnormal. Lombroso, in his work, "The Man
of Genius," produces a great deal of interesting evidence showing the
similarity between the manifestations of genius and those of insanity.
Lombroso's conclusions have been more or less discredited, but later
investigations and practically all students agree that the true genius is
more or less an abnormality. In his case, some one or two faculties are
developed out of all reasonable proportion to the others. Naturally
enough, in such cases there is no need for a vocational counsellor. The
genius devotes himself to his music, or his painting, or his writing,
because there is nothing else he can do, nothing else in which he takes
any interest, and because the inner urge is so powerful as to be
irresistible.
But grossly deceived are those who imagine that the fire of genius burns
away any necessity for drudgery. On the other hand, genius seems to
consist very largely of a capacity for almost infinite drudgery. A
prominent engineer once said to us that all great inventions which become
commercially practicable are the joint product of a genius and a drudge,
or rather, of a genius and a corps of drudges. The genius, in a flash of
inspiration, conceives a new idea. Having conceived it, he can only sit
down and wait for a new inspiration, while the drudges take his idea, work
out its details, modify and conform it to conditions, and, finally,
harness it to the commercial wagon. This sounded well and has a great deal
of truth in it. Yet the most slavish drudge in the Edison laboratories and
factories is Edison himself. The hardest worker in all the Westinghouse
plant was Westinghouse. And who but the Wright brothers themselves made a
commercial success of the aeroplane? Sometimes, it is true, one man
conceives an idea which he is unable to work out and which must be made
practical by others, but more often than not he stumbles on the idea more
by accident than because he is looking for it. So the young man or the
young woman who has hopes of winning fame in the world of art, music, or
literature should assay himself or herself first of all for a willingness
to work, to work hard, and to work endlessly.
INDICATIONS OF ENERGY
Such energy is indicated by the large nose, high in the bridge, which
admits large quantities of oxygen into the lungs; by high cheek bones,
oftentimes by a head wide just above the ears, by square hands and
square-tipped fingers, by hard or elastic consistency of fibre.
Persistence and patience are indicated by brunette coloring and plodding
by a well-developed and rather prominent jaw and chin. Havelock Ellis and
other anthropologists have noted the fact that dark coloring is more
frequently found in artists and actors than light hair, eyes, and skin.
Artistic, musical, and literary ability are as various in their
indications as they are in their manifestations. One man is a painter,
another a sculptor, another an architect. One man paints flowers, another
landscapes, another portraits, another allegorical scenes, and still
another the rough, virile, vigorous, or even horrible and gruesome aspects
of life. One musician sings, another plays the violin, still another the
piano, and another the pipe organ. One conducts a grand opera, another
conducts a choir. One musician composes lyrics, another oratorios, another
ragtime, and still another symphonies. One man writes poetry, another
stories, another essays, another history, another philosophy, and still
another the hard, dry, mathematical facts of science. Obviously, it would
only confuse the reader were we to attempt to describe the physical
appearance of all these different classes.
INDICATIONS OF ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT
In general, we may say that an appreciation of form, color, proportion,
size, and distance is indicated by well-developed brows, broad and full at
the outer angles, and by eyes set rather widely apart. But size, form,
color, and proportion are but the mediums through which the artist's soul
conveys its message. Whether or not one has the soul which can conceive a
worthy message is indicated by the expression of the eyes, an expression
which cannot be described but which, once seen and recognized, can never
afterward be mistaken.
Inherent capacity for music is indicated by a forehead wide at the brows.
Going over the portraits of all the famous composers and performers, you
will find that while they differ in most other particulars, they are all
alike in the proportionate width of the forehead at the brows. The kind
and quality of music one may create depends partially upon training and
partially upon the kind and quality of his soul, which, again, expresses
itself in the eyes.
Capacity for literature and expression is indicated by fulness of the eye,
by heighth and width of the forehead, and, perhaps, especially by the
development of the head and forehead at the sides just above the temples
and back of the hair line. Any portrait gallery of great authors will show
this development in nine out of ten (see figures).
The artistic, musical, or literary man with fine, silken hair, fine,
delicate skin, small and finely chiselled features, and a general
daintiness of build will express refinement, beauty, tender sentiments,
and sensitiveness in his work, while the man with coarse, bushy or wavy
hair, coarse, thick skin, large, rugged features, and a general ruggedness
and clumsiness of build, even when his size is small, will express vigor,
virility, ruggedness, and even gruesomeness and horror, in his work. There
may be in his productions a wild, virile type of beauty, as in the music
of Wagner and the sculpture of Rodin, but the keynote of his work is
elemental force.
The dilettante has conical hands, with small, tapering fingers; this is
the hand which is popularly supposed to accompany artistic temperament.
He loves art. He appreciates art. He may even win fame and fortune as a
competent critic of art, but he cannot create it. Your true artist has
square, competent hands, with blunt, square-tipped fingers. The hands
shown in figure 57 page 317 are those of a music lover who can neither
play nor sing. Those in figure 58 are the hands of a true artist on the
piano and pipe organ. The true producing artist nearly always has square
hands, with large thumbs set near the wrist, thus giving a wide reach
between tip of thumb and tip of forefinger, as shown in figure 58. Actors
and operatic singers sometimes have conical hands, with tapering fingers.
They express emotion and beauty with voice, gesture, and facial expression
rather than with their hands.
In the world of art and literature many are called but few are chosen. The
pathway to the heights is steep and rugged and there are many pitfalls.
There are many by-paths. Furthermore, it is cold and lonesome on the
mountain-top. Before anyone sets out on the perilous journey he should
read Jack London's "Martin Eden," Louis M. Alcott's autobiography, the
story of Holman Hunt, the Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, and the
biographies of others who have attained fame in these fields.