abroad, in art or life. He is interested and at once sets about learning
and comprehending. He _loves_ the new and the strange _instinctively_
because they excite his curiosity and pique his intelligence. He loves
to meet the new and the strange as an archeologist loves to find an
inscription in an unknown tongue--for the hidden significance.
* * * * *
This chapter may be concluded appropriately by four warnings which
Chinese wisdom pours into the ears of art students. Many of the modern
painters should ponder these precepts.
“Ja, Kan, Zoku, Rai.”
“_Ja_ refers to attempted originality in a painting without the ability
to give it character, departing from all law to produce something not
reducible to any law or principle.
“_Kan_ is producing only superficial pleasing effect without any _power_
in the brush stroke--a characterless painting, to charm only the
ignorant.
“_Zoku_ refers to the fault of painting from a mercenary motive
only--thinking of money instead of art.
“_Rai_ is the base imitation of or copying or cribbing from others.”
X
UGLINESS
The modern movement is in the direction of greater freedom, freedom to
produce beautiful things in one’s own way.
_Unhappily many of the things produced are not beautiful now_--not
nearly so dignified and beautiful as thousands upon thousands of old
pictures.
One’s _first_ impression on entering an exhibition of extreme modern
works is not an impression of beauty but of _ugliness_.
There is no denying that, and it takes even the most impartial and
sympathetic observer a long time to pick out the things which are fine
in color and line and to readjust his notions of beauty.
Many of the pictures are brutal and most of them are crude, but while
the first impression may be one of ugliness it is more, it is one of
_exceeding vitality_.
There is nothing musty about the moderns, their canvases are so alive
_they scream_.
As compared with the subdued tones of an academic exhibition a modern
seems like a babel of discordant sounds, but the confusion is more
apparent than real. By going day after day one gets accustomed to the
newness, the freshness, the strangeness of it all and begins to
understand and appreciate the one big, dominant note--_vitality_.
* * * * *
Then, too, when we say the _first_--and last for most people--impression
is one of ugliness, we must not forget
[Illustration:
DERAIN
Forest at Martigues
]
that our appreciations are primarily the result of environment and
habit, and only secondarily, and with comparatively few, the result of
intelligent discipline.
We like what we are accustomed to and dislike what we are not accustomed
to. Few take the pains to discipline their likes and dislikes.
* * * * *
Seventy years ago public and critics thought Turner ugly in the extreme.
Sixty years ago public and critics thought Millet ugly in the extreme.
Fifty years ago public and critics thought Manet ugly in the extreme.
Forty years ago public and critics thought Monet ugly in the extreme.
Thirty years ago public and critics thought Cézanne ugly in the extreme.
Twenty years ago public and critics thought Gauguin ugly in the extreme.
Ten years ago public and critics thought VanGogh ugly in the extreme.
Today public and critics think the Cubists and nearly all the new men
ugly in the extreme.
Each decade has its men in art, music, science, literature whose works
at first seem ugly, only to win out in the long run.
Hence the danger in pronouncing this or that painting ugly; it may seem
grotesque and hideous today; thirty years hence it may command thousands
from men and museums eager to possess it. That has been the history of
many great paintings.
* * * * *
Still we do have our notions regarding the ugly and the beautiful, and
while our notions change and develop year by year they naturally control
at each given moment; that is, we cannot say we _think_ a picture or a
piece of music is beautiful today because the chances are we will think
it beautiful a dozen years hence, any more than we can say we like
olives on first tasting them, simply because most people come to like
them after a time.
To the London public in 1840 the pictures of Turner were absurd.
To the Paris public in 1874 the pictures of the Impressionists were
ridiculous.
To the New York public in 1913 the pictures of the Cubists were
grotesque.
These several publics were not to blame; they could not help their
impressions. They had been brought up on very different picture-food and
did not like the taste of the new.
The attitude of the public was normal, logical, and sane. If the people
had received the new men with wild acclamations of joy and called them
great on first sight it would have meant such instability of opinion and
character as to render the homage absolutely worthless.
In a sense, tenacity of opinion on the part of the public is the
salvation of art as well as of morals; it is essential to substantial
progress.
Therefore the everlasting conflict between the old and the new is a
normal conflict; the clash between the public and new art, new music,
new thought is a healthful clash, because the fiercer the conflict the
more certain that what survives will be worth having.
* * * * *
The only excuse for an ugly picture is superb technic--and even then the
excuse is not a very good one for the same technic should paint a
beautiful thing.
There were plenty of ugly pictures in the exhibition; some were
interesting on account of their technic, others were without any excuse
at all--_just ugly_.
A great painter may paint things, a great writer may write things which
no amount of good painting and no amount of good writing can
excuse--there are plenty of such paintings and books in the world.
But because there were a number of ugly--ugly to the extent of being
objectionable--pictures in the exhibition, that should not and does not
detract from the merits of men who did not paint them.
An ugly work is a comment upon him who produces it and upon those who
accept it. It is a golden opportunity, a touchstone to those who reject
it.
* * * * *
There is a great deal of the ugly in the work of Matisse, mixed with a
great deal of extraordinary technic. He is a good man to study, but a
bad man to imitate--for that matter, the same, in a profounder sense,
may be said of every man of ability.
Then, too, it should never be forgotten that _refinement_ is an
essential element in all _great_ art.
* * * * *
The supreme justification of the new art is that its works shall tend
toward the beautiful. If they make for ugliness their existence is
without rhyme or reason. Many of the new men seem to forget this.
However, even the ugly, the grotesque, the hideous has its use. Any art
may become so smug, so complacent, so conceited that it requires the
shock of the ugly to stir it to new life.
After Bouguereau, Matisse was inevitable.
However, a very little of the ugly goes a long ways, a very little of
Matisse at his worst is all that is needed as an antidote to Bouguereau.
Zola-like fidelity in depicting the ugly in life has its uses--and
abuses.
* * * * *
It is easy enough to paint a conglomeration of angles and cubes, but it
will be as hollow and meaningless as the pattern of an oilcloth unless
it has sincerity behind it.
No doubt many of the new men lack sincerity. Doubtless not a few are
inspired with simply the desire to create a sensation, but these men
soon betray themselves.
The artist may not succeed in making _his_ meaning clear, but the
public--yes, even the much despised public--will instinctively _feel_
whether there is _some_ meaning, _some_ intention worth finding out.
That was the secret of the success of the Cubist pictures. They
attracted throngs because they were strange, but the throngs would never
have gazed as they did unless behind the outward strangeness there had
not been an inward seriousness of purpose.
“Those fellows are trying to do something,” was an expression often
heard.
* * * * *
The papers would say, “They are simply making fun of the public,” but
the public, generally speaking, did not feel that way.
A goodly section of the public made fun of the pictures, but very few
people honestly felt the pictures made fun of the public--if anything
they were rather too serious.
* * * * *
To return to the proposition that a Cubist picture--being so largely
_esoragoto_--must be well painted.
[Illustration: JAWLENSKY
Head of a Girl]
The painter of scenes and things is helped out by his subject.
The portrait of a beautiful woman may be very badly painted, but if it
conveys the impression of a beautiful woman it is accepted.
The Cubist who tries to paint _his_ impression of a beautiful woman has
no likeness to help him out; he must make his painting so beautiful in
itself that those who see it will, without knowing why, get some of the
enjoyment from the mere composition of line and color that the artist
received from knowing the woman who inspired the picture.
To do this a man must be a greater master of line and color, a greater
technician, than the average portrait painter.
* * * * *
Ask the average portrait painter to paint a composition of line and
color, beautiful in itself without reference to any object, and not one
in a hundred can do it.
The average portrait painter finds his compositions of line and color
ready-made; he takes them as they come to him. He has little practice in
_composing_ for himself.
* * * * *
However disconcerting the exhibition was to most painters it should have
been stimulating to decorators and interior furnishers.
The older pictures are of little help to the decorator. On the contrary
he rather dreads their presence on his walls. A room may be quite upset
by a strong picture. To make the Leyland dining room harmonize with the
“Princess from the Land of Porcelain” Whistler painted practically every
inch of walls and ceilings, completely covering costly woodwork and old
Spanish leather.
To rightly hold a Rembrandt a room must be subdued and rich in tone,
otherwise the picture is a dead weight. The greater the picture, the
more completely the surroundings must either rise to it or be completely
subordinated to it.
It is not so with the more abstract Cubist pictures; they do not thrust
a great landscape or a powerful personality into the room; they are not
intended to thrust any object upon the attention of the visitor.
Intended to express simply the mood or emotion of the painter, they are
unobtrusive, as unobtrusive as a pattern of the wall covering, a rug, or
a tapestry; in effect they are not unlike a tapestry, save they are
essentially modern in feeling, and therefore fit into our modern rooms
as tapestries--and often rugs--do not.
* * * * *
Imagine the editorial room of a live, up-to-date newspaper--say a
typical yellow journal--hung with Titians and Rembrandts! The paper
would be paralyzed, the editorial staff would be depressed by the
dignity and the sobriety, by the old-world flavor.
Whereas a lot of Cubist, Futurist, Orphist pictures would be quite in
keeping with modern journalistic methods, and stimulating in the
extreme. In the picturesque language of current journalism, they would
be “live stuff.”
* * * * *
It is worth noting in passing that the time is probably coming when
about as many pictures will be bought for offices as for homes, and
fewer and fewer will be bought for those graveyards of art--private
galleries.
Why should men buy pictures and hang them where they are seldom seen,
often in places where the light is so bad they cannot be seen?
Where do most men spend most of their time? In their places of business.
Then why not make their places of business attractive and livable?
Every man knows how relaxing and delightful it would be if in the midst
of a busy afternoon he could drop business for a moment and read an
interesting book or listen to some good music. Well, we can’t do that;
it takes too long to get into a book, and music is not at hand.
But we can turn from our desks and in a second lose ourselves in the
contemplation of a beautiful picture.
* * * * *
The physician covers the walls of his office with prints of such
pictures as Rembrandt’s “Lesson in Anatomy.” Ugh!
The lawyer covers the walls of his office with dusty lawbooks. Whew!
The manufacturer covers the walls of his office with prints of
factories, machinery, goods, etc., etc. Shop! Shop! Shop!
No relief anywhere for man, patient, client, or customer.
Tired eyes that seek rest in change are met with the same old
story--reflections of the daily grind.
Speaking from experience, I can say that next to getting out of an
office for a brief respite, the contemplation of pictures yields the
greatest rest, actually enabling one to do more work per day with less
fatigue.
It is so refreshing to get up from one’s desk for only a few moments and
be instantly transported far away on the wings of the imagination of a
painter.
It is a rest, a complete rest, for the tired brain-cells, to lift one’s
eyes from one’s work and gaze at a picture--the effect is like unto that
of distant music wafted through the open window.
Of all men in the world, the busy American is most in need of pictures
on the walls of his office--not one or two, but many. The busier he is,
the more he needs; his walls should be a blaze of color.
* * * * *
Most of our bankers and corporation magnates spend large sums in “solid
mahogany fittings.” Their offices resemble old-fashioned Pullman
sleepers. Cost is the one impressive feature. Woodwork, furniture, rugs,
everything to the inkstand are massive and--oppressive. Everything is
admirably calculated to make work more burdensome; commercial and
financial life more sombre.
Why not the reverse of all this? Why fit up an office so that it is
about as inviting as a tomb?
Why not make it so attractive that a man will look forward each morning
to entering it? Why not so inviting that friends and strangers will be
glad to visit it?
Why should an office be a place where no one goes except for business?
Why should not men say to one another, “Come in a minute; I have a new
picture I want to show you”?
* * * * *
One has simply to enter the offices and school-rooms of any art
institute to realize the hollowness of the pretense of love for the
beautiful. Infinite pains are taken to arrange the pictures and
sculpture in the galleries; once out of the galleries, and all feeling
of art disappears; the offices and school-rooms are more sordid, barren,
and uninviting than most shops and factories.
In other words, the very men who are supposed to be devoting their lives
to the service of art, to making the world more beautiful, who promote
exhibitions and urge people to buy pictures, are content to pass all
their working lives amidst surroundings unrelieved by a single picture,
unadorned by a single fresco.
There is a great opportunity for missionary work in this direction. Why
should not the many organizations such as “Friends of American Art,”
etc., whose disinterested purpose is to advance art, organize a movement
the object of which will be to place, by loaning if necessary, pictures
and small sculpture in the offices and business haunts of the busy
American man, and so create a new demand for beautiful things?
Once fill a man’s office with pictures, he will be reluctant to let them
go.
XI
FUTURISM
There were no Futurist pictures in the exhibition, but there were
several more or less influenced by Futurism, notably the “Nude
Descending the Stairs,” by Duchamp.
In many respects this was the least satisfactory of his pictures,
because it is neither good Cubism nor good Futurism.
It is easy to distinguish a figure drawn in more or less Cubist fashion,
at the right--the spectator’s right--of the confused mass of lines; it
is quite easy, if the balance of the picture be covered.
The confused mass is just so many overlapping figures coming down the
stairs. As a child exclaimed one day, “Why, I see them; there’s one on
every step.” The Cubist drawing did not bother the child.
* * * * *
A sympathetic writer says of the picture:
M. Duchamp says in effect something like this: “If you paint a girl
coming downstairs, on any one step you will not show her moving. If
you paint a girl on every step, like Burne-Jones with the ‘Golden
Stair’ you have a crowd and still no movement. But if you get the
forms down to simplest and most essential, just swaying shoulders
and hip and knee, bent head and springy sole--and then show them on
every step and between all the steps, passing and always passing
one into the next, you give the sense of movement, as with a run of
arpeggios on the harp or a cadenza on the violin. You and your
friends don’t feel the movement--too bad, my friends and I do.” And
pure movement is what, after all, here was sought.
Pure movement, it will hardly be questioned, these men can give.
[Illustration: BALLA
Dog and Person in Movement]
Picabia makes the lines in his “Dance at the Spring” leap and swing
and flicker like a fiddler’s bow. If he and others want, when they
choose, to abandon the last pretense of representation and convey
directly to you the way they feel mass and motion, as music conveys
inner experience always, who is to stop them?
* * * * *
Futurism had its beginning in Italy a few years ago. The first
exhibition in Paris was held in February, 1912. One of its fundamental
notions in painting is a certain theory regarding the painting of
motion. It is that in order rightly, scientifically, to indicate motion
on a canvas it is not sufficient to paint the figure of a man in an
attitude of walking, but a series of more or less clearly outlined
figures must be shown overlapping, a sort of cinematograph effect; very
much as every painter shows a blur of spokes to indicate a wheel
turning, if an individual is in motion there must be a blur of many
overlapping individuals. (See the half-tone of the girl with the dog.)
The theory is interesting, it is based on recognized optical conditions,
and no doubt the experiments will have their value. Some very
interesting results have been obtained in photography already.
* * * * *
The program of the Futurists is, however, far more ambitious than the
mere painting of motion effects. They have issued the following formal
“Manifestoes”:
1. “Manifesto of Futurism,” February, 1909; written by F. T.
Marinetti.[63]
2. “Manifesto of Futurist Painters,” April, 1910.
3. “Manifesto of Futurist Musicians,” May, 1911.
4. “Manifesto of the Futurist Woman,” March, 1912.
5. “Manifesto of Futurist Sculpture,” April, 1912.
6. “Manifesto of the Technic of Futurist Literature,” May, 1912.
Supplement to same, August, 1912.
And every few months new declarations of faith are issued in Milan,
each, if possible, more violent and extravagant than its forerunner.
If the public looked upon the Cubist pictures as “crazy,” what would it
think of these manifestoes if printed in English and scattered
broadcast?
The work of madmen!
So many madmen and visionaries have influenced the world by their
utterances that we must not turn a deaf ear.
* * * * *
The Futurists are the anarchists of the art and literary world.
The Cubists, Orphists, and other extreme moderns all _reason from_ the
past; the Futurists would _break with_ the past entirely--as if it were
possible!
All who do not agree with them are _Pass-ists_, and every form of art
and literature up to Futurism belongs to _Pass-ism_, and is therefore
condemned.
* * * * *
There is much in Futurism that is repellant, just as there is much in
Anarchism that is repellant.
When men push their opposition to established order to extremes, their
hatred of the traditional and conventional is such they indulge in wild
and foolish excesses; they even defy law and order and decency, and
require curbing.
* * * * *
The unprejudiced reader will find a great deal that is suggestive in
some of these Futurist declarations mixed with much that is
philosophically and ethically unsound.
Take, for instance, some of the propositions regarding the technic of
the literature of the future:
1. Use only the _infinite form_ of the verb, because only the infinite
mood gives the sense of the _continuity of life_.
2. Abolish the use of the _adjective_ so that the noun _standing alone_
may speak for itself with all its force. The adjective implies
modification, an arrest of judgment, meditation, and is, therefore,
opposed to the _human vision dynamic_, to the _force_ and _energetic
flow_ of human thought.
3. Abolish the _adverb_, which is a _superfluous refinement_, a
fastidious hampering of human expression.
4. New _punctuation_: Adjectives and adverbs and conjunctive phrases
being suppressed, punctuation goes with them naturally, in the varied
continuity of a living style which creates itself without the use of
absurd commas and periods. To accentuate certain movements and indicate
their directions, certain mathematical and unusual signs will be used.
5. Abolish the “I” from literature, that is to say, _psychology_;
replace the “I,” the ego, by the _matter_, the essence of which must be
appreciated by intuitions. Heretofore the matter, the real substance of
a book or a poem, has been obscured by the intervention of the ego of
the writer, by the persistent “I” of the author, who is too much
pre-occupied with himself and filled with prejudices and conceits in his
own supreme wisdom. In short, writers use the subjects of the works as
vehicles to exploit themselves.
(Here the Futurists certainly put their finger on one of the weak spots
in literature.)
6. Revolution in _typographical_ appearance: Suppress the ornaments,
fancy initials, &c., &c., of the presented printed page, which impede
rather than assist the natural flow of expression. “We will employ on
the same page three or four inks of different colors, and twenty
different characters, if necessary: for example, italics to express
rapid sensations; capitals for violent; &c., &c. New conception of the
_graphic_ printed page.”
* * * * *
All of which sounds wildly extravagant, but in sum and substance it
simply means the death of the, let us say, Henry James style and the
apotheosis of the front page of the modern sensational journal.
And is it not true that the painfully involved and boresome style of
Henry James--the adjectival and adverbial style, the style of endless
qualifications, the assertion and amplification of the “ego” style--is
rapidly becoming obsolete in fiction as it has long been obsolete in
American journalism?
And is it not true that the _terse_, the _substantive_, the
_journalistic_ style, together with the printed page in many colors and
many types, is gaining vogue?
In even the matter of punctuation the painstaking use of the comma and
the semicolon has yielded to the free use of the dash. Only a short time
ago there appeared a lamentation by a well-known writer over the use of
the dash in dialogue. He counted an unbelievable number on one page of a
popular magazine, each of which, he thought, should have been replaced
by one of the more orthodox signs.
But the orthodox signs are _too slow_. Modern conversation does not move
in studied phrases and rounded periods; its sign is the _dash_, because
the dash either breaks the thought abruptly or carries it over into the
words of the next speaker.
* * * * *
Furthermore, before leaving the subject, it should be
[Illustration: VAN REES
Maternity]
noted that there is coming over our literature a profound, a radical
change, _a change in the direction of terser, more forcible expression_;
a change in the _direction of the elimination of superfluous words_, of
_condensation_, to the end that the imagination and intelligence of the
_reader_ will be called more and more into play.
It is conceivable that the reading public may become so _intelligent_
and so keenly _sensitive_ that _one word_ will suffice to convey a
wealth of information or suggestion where _a page_ is now necessary.
Certain it is, if mankind is progressing at all, it is progressing in
_that direction_.
* * * * *
The _rise_ of the _printed_ drama means the _fall_ of the _descriptive_
novel.
A few years ago no American publisher would risk the printing of a play;
now every play of any merit and many of no merit are issued in book
form.