A Few Words About Art

It has been remarked by Herr Saurestuff - an atrabilious friend of the writer's - that they who make the most ado about virtue have the least of it. Of course, Herr 8. is a cynic : but I have often fancied that his sarcasm is true enough of art, and I know it to be true of " culchah." Whenever I am asked (as now and then happens) "Mr. Opleque, do you love ' a-aht f' " my staccato-" Thank God, no ma'am ! " is as far from art as possible. Indeed, the whole breed of a-aA-lovers cali me " vulgah." Ah, tny dear reader, some of us are " vulgah " by even the bounty of the Creator. Let us be thankful for it; not pufled-up, but humbly and devoutly thankful. All that we here deprécate is cant, not culture ; and of all cant, art-cant is the most contemptiblc, because afoolish vani ty impelís us to assume that which we not only have not, but also are not blamef ui for not having. Of all vain assumptions perhaps this is the quickliest detected, for Nature is hardest of all to counterfeit, and real art-love is nature and not ar!, is always nascitur non fit. This spurious " culchah '' leads to art twaddle; it cunnot distinguish between a Corregió anda tobacconist's "enromo"' unless it is tutored by a Guide Book or " crammed " by a catalogue. When the blooming glory of a Titian is grimed with dust, and wafted by cruel fortune as a waif iuto some second-hand auct!ou-room this pseudo-culture cannot discern the hand of the Master, as poor Toni detecte( that " trick i' the yoice " although the sorrow-crazed Klog spake in tlie storm anc the darkness. This "culchah" can be placed in the very atmosphere of art Heaven-inspired art, and bo as insensible to its divincness as is a thistle-eating ass to the glory of a sumise in the vale Tempe. But thistles were made to be eat en, and henee asses. Amidst stich art-tttaddle as we have heard in even this " Athens of the West ' there is much thistle-eating; and we are led to this saddening conclusión by a portrait which is now hanging in the tasteful reception room of Messrs. Lewis & Gibsou. In a catalogue it would figure as "A Portrait of a Gentleman," and, as the modest artist's name has not yet been noised abroad, it would be passed unheeded by your creature of "culchah." But let us- you and I, reader, who do not know on e single phrase of cheap artslang. We see a good-natured face looking at usfrom the canvas, and the silvered beard and baldcrown speak silently of the past-meridian. This fellovv-man has passed life's equinoctial line, and happily too. What an air ofcalm repose the face wears; what a gentle forbearance his blue eyes betoken, and yet the f urrowed lines teil of trials met and passed- even such trials and cares as are now harrassing you and me. "Will we be furrowed and wrinkled too? Ah, yes! Will our furrows and wrinkles teil as kindly a tale of trust, and thetriumph of trust? Please God, yes. We do not know why, but, somehow, thig silent face on the canvass has Insensibly ïnfused 6ome of its own trust and tience tito you and me. We are better men, more hopeful men, and therefore stronger men for baring looked on this picture. Now let the modest and llttleknown artist lift up his hcart, and work, and wait- -work hopefully and wait trustfully. Do you know why, O creature of "culchah?" Ah, such knowledge is not for you - it has no menning for you - avaunt ! But you wbo stand looking with me have caught it- you feel that the portrait bas character; the very soul of that man bears witness of itself in even the modest artist's " countcrfeit presentment." Let us take off our bats, for we are in the presence of art. We see the bigliest consummalion of art. This man shall die, and the worm shall hold its derastating feast, yet when its tenement is dust the soul that movsd this man sliall mutely teil what nianner of man be was by this the artist's eidolon. O Henven-born art, tliou shalt give a succedaneum lor Immortality to all of them who shall wcep wlien tbls man has " gone over to the majority." Tbis, my reader, is the chiefest function of art, and It is loye, not " culchah," that teaches us tofeZart. But look at Ihe face again. What makes it stand-out so? You caunot see behind the head but don't t look as if your hands really could reach around it And that prominent nose - wouldn't it sneeze it' you held a snuft-box under it ; and wouldu't a cbirping grandchild - Giandpa's pet- actually think it could pull it. Of course there is a technical teim for the subtle cunning which gives this flesh-aiid-bone projectiveness to a flat surf ace - but what care you and I for terms. We feel the eflect, and there ends the function of art. But look at the flesh and bloodness of the face! ïliat tinge tells of sun and mind- the man got his flesh-tints In the open air; but where, oh where, did our modest aitist get his? "Aw, Mr. Opie, how do you mix your patota ? asked a peifumed creature of "culouah," "Wlth Braiii9, Sir." Our too-little-known artist has got the identieal ingredienïS beyond a peradventure. And, now, O gentle reader, you will pardon one art term if I own that it is used only to avoid a regular freight train of synonym- "Pre-Raphaelism." There it is-its quickly learned, easily said, and with chiaro oscuro and "foreshortening" will form quite a stock In trade for your creature of "culchah." It means, for Instance, the-painting-of-a-leaf-so-exceedingly-accurately-that-you-have-represent- thrilled with-sap-in-it. That gives the meaning of Pre-Raphaelism, and is'utit a regular freight-train-of-a-synouym with words for cars and hyphens for couplet? The thing iiself is one of the consummations of art, tor it too is an effect - a producer of feeling; but it is a meaiis that must be sparingly used, or it becomes slavish and wearisome. Rightly and fitly used, it is a tour de maitre. Now please look at the beard- it ilows adown fioni the chin as graceful as a violet through a meadow. Note the transparency of lts thinnest parts. It is'nt a mat of huir; you can see through it, and you feel as if you surely could run your ringers through it. Surely, if the wind blew on it that beard would wave: A little closer, picase. There ! Look at the uioustache on the right-hand side of the face and slantingly back frorr, what Professor Ford woukl cal!, the commisure of the lips. As I live, there is one solitary hair standing out alone as indupendently as au adopted citizeu on election day. My dear creature of "culchali" did it ever occur to you that there is a shrine of true Art in our owu leaf-clad Ann Arbor and an Artist, "born not made," abiding his time there in all the unconscious and all the modest self distrust of absolute genius? If not, keep away from that modest studio, for even Genius can't paint your portrait and- put a soul in it.