There are signs of life at the Art Institute. In throwing out Charles
Kinney, it stated the case against itself more emphatically than Kinney
ever could have done. When an “institution” becomes violent over
criticism there is too much work for one reformer.
This seems to have been a season for things Art to be stating the case
against themselves. At the last meeting of the Chicago Society of
Artists, when there was a slight murmur of dissatisfaction with the
management of the Institute, one of the older men quickly reminded the
painters that they were but guests of the Institute—and there was
silence. Art has come by hard ways, but never to worse than this:—the
guest of the Corn Exchange Bank!
Again at a meeting for the formation of the new Arts Club, before the
matter of the Club could be discussed there had to be a speech assuring
the Art Institute that the artists would never, in any way, _ever_ do
anything on their own, but would always conform to the ideas of the
directors of the Institute. But where they really proved themselves was
at the annual dinner, at the opening of the Chicago Artists’ Exhibition.
Herded into a room they meekly submitted to oyster stew and a speech by
a minister of the Gospel. Artists! That is their case as stated by
themselves.
Kinney blames the directors pro tem., and the Dean, for the “factory
system” in the school. Knowing that all the small towns in the West and
Middle West having any kind of an Art School pattern after the Art
Institute, he is excited and fears the factory system will prevail
everywhere. But he might have hope that here and there accidentally a
few artists may get mixed up among the other students and frustrate this
plan.
It would be interesting to know whether the administration by its
methods has so completely discouraged artists that they no longer seek
the Art Institute as a place of study, or whether the administration is
simply changing its methods to meet the demands of the kind of student
now attending the Institute.
This much is certain: no administration could take away every ancient
prerogative of art students; lead them gently into organization; impose
discipline upon them; and appoint God a chaperone over their play—in
fact make a crêche of the school—if there were any of the stuff in them
of which artists are made.
There always has been a fight on the part of the school to get what it
wanted from the directors; but things can be done. Read the list of
“illustrious names” of visiting instructors, years ago, and then compare
the student roll of the same time. Once the Art Institute was an art
school with art students, who were artists, who in spite of everything
led the life of artists, knew the analogy between painting and the other
Arts, swarmed to concerts and the theatres, and created their own
atmosphere. That was the time when Bernhardt came to the school in her
yellow-wheeled carriage and walked down a double line of quaking,
adoring art students. And when Calvé came to sing.... How many students
there now know these names, know anything beyond fashion drawing?
They have indicted themselves. If there were artists the Art Institute
could seek exhibitions. If there were art students we could have an art
school, not a “factory.” And if the directors of the Art Institute and
its patrons really wanted Art, and the directors would throw the
Institute open to all kinds of exhibitions, we might even in time find
Art.