initial commit of ebook 27183HEADmain

9 files changed, 15122 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/27183-8.txt b/27183-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ff1e033
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27183-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5309 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gate of Appreciation, by Carleton Noyes
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Gate of Appreciation
+       Studies in the Relation of Art to Life
+
+Author: Carleton Noyes
+
+Release Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #27183]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GATE OF APPRECIATION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Note: for this online edition I have moved the Table of Contents to
+the beginning of the text.  Also I have made one spelling change:
+irrevelant circumstance to irrelevant circumstance.]
+
+
+
+THE GATE OF APPRECIATION
+Studies in the Relation of Art to Life
+
+BY
+
+CARLETON NOYES
+
+BOSTON AND NEW YORK
+HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
+The Riverside Press, Cambridge
+1907
+
+
+COPYRIGHT 1907 BY CARLETON NOYES
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+
+_Published April 1907_
+
+
+TO
+MY FATHER
+AND THE MEMORY OF
+MY MOTHER
+
+
+"Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves,
+As souls only understand souls."
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+Preface                               i
+I.      The Impulse to Expression     i
+II.     The Attitude of Response     23
+III.    Technique and the Layman     44
+IV.     The Value of the Medium      87
+V.      The Background of Art       105
+VI.     The Service of Criticism    137
+VII.    Beauty and Common Life      165
+VIII.   The Arts of Form            201
+IX.     Representation              221
+X.      The Personal Estimate       254
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+IN the daily life of the ordinary man, a life crowded with diverse
+interests and increasingly complex demands, some few moments of
+a busy week or month or year are accorded to an interest in art.
+Whatever may be his vocation, the man feels instinctively that in his
+total scheme of life books, pictures, music have somewhere a place.
+In his own business or profession he is an expert, a man of special
+training; and intelligently he does not aspire to a complete
+understanding of a subject which lies beyond his province. In the
+same spirit in which he is a master of his own craft, he is content to
+leave expert knowledge of art to the expert, to the artist and to the
+connoisseur. For his part as a layman he remains frankly and happily
+on the outside. But he feels none the less that art has an interest and
+a meaning even for him. Though he does not practice any art himself,
+he knows that he enjoys fine things, a beautiful room, noble
+buildings, books and plays, statues, pictures, music; and he believes
+that in his own fashion he is able to appreciate art, I venture to think
+that he is right.
+
+There is a case for the outsider in reference to art. And I have tried
+here to state it. This book is an attempt to suggest the possible
+meaning of art to the ordinary man, to indicate methods of approach
+to art, and to trace the way of appreciation. It is essentially a
+personal record, an account of my own adventures with the problem.
+The book does not pretend to finality; the results are true for me as
+far as I have gone. They may or may not be true for another. If they
+become true for another man, he is the one for whom the book was
+written. I do not apologize because the shelter here put together, in
+which I have found a certain comfort, is not a palace. Rude as the
+structure may be, any man is welcomed to it who may find solace
+there in an hour of need.
+
+     C. N.
+CAMBRIDGE, _November second, 1906._
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE IMPULSE TO EXPRESSION
+
+TOWARD evening a traveler through a wild country finds himself
+still in the open, with no hope of reaching a village that night. The
+wind is growing chill; clouds are gathering in the west, threatening
+rain. There rises in him a feeling of the need of shelter; and he looks
+about him to see what material is ready to his hand. Scattered stones
+will serve for supports and low walls; there are fallen branches for
+the roof; twigs and leaves can be woven into a thatch. Already the
+general design has shaped itself in his mind. He sets to work,
+modifying the details of his plan to suit the resources of his material.
+At last, after hours of hard thought and eager toil, spurred on by his
+sense of his great need, the hut is ready; and fee takes refuge in it as
+the storm breaks.
+
+The entire significance of the man's work is _shelter._ The
+beginning of it lay in his need of shelter. The impulse to action rose
+out of his consciousness of his need. His imagination conceived the
+plan whereby the need might be met, and the plan gave shape to his
+material. The actual result of his labor was a hut, but the hut itself
+was not the end for which he strove. The hut was but the means. The
+all-inclusive import of his work--the stimulus which impelled him to
+act, the purpose for which he toiled, and the end which he
+accomplished--is shelter.
+
+A man of special sensitiveness to the appeal of color and form finds
+himself also in the open. He is weary with the way, which shows but
+broken glimpses of the road. His spirit, heavy with the "burden of
+the mystery," is torn by conflict and confusion. As he looks across
+the stony places to the gnarled and weather-tortured trees beyond,
+and up to the clouds piling black above him, there is revealed to him
+a sudden harmony among the discords; an inner principle,
+apprehended by his imagination, compels the fragments of the
+seeming chaos into a regnant order. These natural forms become for
+him the expression external to himself of the struggle of his own
+spirit and its final resolution. The desire rises in him to express by
+his own act the order he has newly perceived, the harmony of his
+spirit with the spirit of nature. As life comes to him dominantly in
+terms of color and form, it is with color and form that he works to
+expression so as to satisfy his need. The design is already projected
+in his imagination, and to realize concretely his ideal he draws upon
+the material of nature about him. The picture which he paints is not
+the purpose of his effort. The picture is but the means. His end is to
+express the great new harmony in which his spirit finds shelter.
+
+Both men, the traveler and the painter, are wayfarers. Both are
+seeking shelter from stress and storm, and both construct their
+means. In one case the product is more obviously and immediately
+practical, and the informing purpose tends to become obscured in
+the actual serviceableness of the result. The hut answers a need that
+is primarily physical; the need in the other case is spiritual. But it is
+a matter of degree. In essence and import the achievement of the two
+men is the same. The originating impulse, a sense of need; the
+processes involved, the combination of material elements to a
+definite end; the result attained, shelter which answers the need,--they
+are identical. Both men are artists. Both hut and picture are
+works of art.
+
+So art is not remote from common life after all. In its highest
+manifestations art is life at its best; painting, sculpture, poetry, music
+are the distillment and refinement of experience. Architecture and
+the subsidiary arts of decoration adorn necessity and add delight to
+use. But whatever the flower and final fruit, art strikes its roots deep
+down into human need, and draws its impulse and its sustenance
+from the very sources of life itself. In the wide range from the hut in
+the wilderness to a Gothic cathedral, from the rude scratches
+recorded on the cave walls of prehistoric man to the sublimities of
+the Sistine Chapel, there is no break in the continuity of effort and
+aspiration. Potentially every man is an artist. Between the artist,
+so-called, and the ordinary man there is no gulf fixed which cannot be
+passed. Such are the terms of our mechanical civilization to-day that
+art has become specialized and the practice of it is limited to a few;
+in consequence artists have become a kind of class. But essentially
+the possibilities of art lie within the scope of any man, given the
+right conditions. So too the separation of the "useful arts" from the
+"fine arts" is unjust to art and perversive of right appreciation.
+Whatever the form in which it may manifest itself, from the lowest
+to the highest, the art spirit is one, and it may quicken in any man
+who sets mind and heart to the work of his hand. That man is an
+artist who fashions a new thing that he may express himself in
+response to his need.
+
+Art is creation. It is the combination of already existing material
+elements into new forms which become thus the realization of a
+preconceived idea. Both hut and picture rose in the imagination of
+their makers before they took shape as things. The material of each
+was given already in nature; but the form, as the maker fashioned it,
+was new. Commonly we think of art as the expression and
+communication of emotion. A picture, a statue, a symphony we
+recognize as the symbol of what the artist has felt in some passage
+of his experience and the means by which he conveys his feeling to
+us. Art _is_ the expression of emotion, but all art springs out of need.
+The sense of need which impels expression through the medium of
+creation is itself an emotion. The hut which the traveler built for
+himself in the wilderness--shaping it according to the design which
+his imagination suggested, having reference to his need and to the
+character of his materials--was a work of creation; the need which
+prompted it presented itself to him as emotion. The picture which
+the other wayfarer painted of the storm-swept landscape, a harmony
+which his imagination compelled out of discords, was a work of
+creation; the emotion which inspired the work was attended by need,
+the need of expression. The material and practical utility of the hut
+obscures the emotional character of its origin; the emotional import
+of the picture outweighs consideration of its utility to the painter as
+the means by which his need of expression is satisfied. The
+satisfaction of physical needs which results in the creation of
+utilities and the satisfaction of spiritual needs which results in the
+forms of expression we commonly call works of art differ one from
+the other in their effect on the total man only in degree. All works of
+use whose conception and making have required an act of creation
+are art; all art--even in its supreme manifestations--embraces
+elements of use. The measure in which a work is art is established
+by the intensity and scope of its maker's emotion and by his power
+to body forth his feeling in harmonious forms which in turn recreate
+the emotion in the spirit of those whom his work reaches.
+
+In its essence and widest compass art is the making of a new thing in
+response to a sense of need. The very need itself creates, working
+through man as its agent. This truth is illustrated vividly by the
+miracles of modern invention. The hand of man unaided was not
+able to cope with his expanding opportunities; the giant steam and
+the magician electricity came at his call to work their wonders. The
+plow and scythe of the New England colonist on his little farm were
+metamorphosed into the colossal steam-driven shapes, in which
+machinery seems transmuted into intelligence, as he moved to the
+conquest of the acres of the West which summoned him to dominion.
+First the need was felt; the contrivance was created in response. A
+man of business sees before him in imagination the end to be
+reached, and applying his ideal to practical conditions, he makes
+every detail converge to the result desired. All rebellious
+circumstances, all forces that pull the other way, he bends to his
+compelling will, and by the shaping power of his genius he
+accomplishes his aim. His business is his medium of self-expression;
+his success is the realization of his ideal. A painter does no more
+than this, though he works with a different material. The landscape
+which is realized ultimately upon his canvas is the landscape seen in
+his imagination. He draws his colors and forms from nature around;
+but he selects his details, adapting them to his end. All accidents and
+incidents are purged away. Out of the apparent confusion of life
+rises the evident order of art. And in the completed work the artist's
+_idea_ stands forth salient and victorious.
+
+That consciousness of need which compels creation is the origin of
+art. The owner of a dwelling who first felt the need of securing his
+door so that he alone might possess the secret and trick of access
+devised a lock and key, rude enough, as we can fancy. As the maker
+of the first lock and key he was an artist. All those who followed
+where he had led, repeating his device without modification, were
+but artisans. In the measure that any man changed the design,
+however, adapting it more closely to his peculiar needs and so
+making it anew, to that extent he was an artist also. The man who
+does a thing for the first time it is done is an artist; a man who does a
+thing better is an artist. The painter who copies his object imitatively,
+finding nothing, creating nothing, is an artisan, however skillful he
+may be. He is an artist in the degree in which he brings to his subject
+something of his own, and fashioning it, however crudely, to express
+the idea he has conceived of the object, so creates.
+
+The difference between work which is art and work which is not art
+is just this element of the originating impulse and creative act. The
+difference, though often seemingly slight and not always
+immediately perceived, is all-important. It distinguishes the artist
+from the artisan; a free spirit from a slave; a thinking, feeling man
+from a soulless machine. It makes the difference between life rich
+and significant, and mere existence; between the mastery of fate and
+the passive acceptance of things as they are.
+
+If a mind and heart are behind it to control and guide it to expression,
+even the machine may be an instrument in the making of a work of
+art. It is not the work itself, but the motive which prompted the
+making of it, that determines its character as art. Art is not the way a
+thing is done, but the reason why it is done. A chair, though turned
+on a lathe, may be a work of art, if the maker has truly expressed
+himself in his work. A picture, though "hand-painted," may be
+wholly mechanical in spirit. To set about "making a picture" is to
+begin at the wrong end. The impulse to art flows from within
+outwards. Art is bound up with life itself; like nature, it is organic
+and must grow. The form cannot be laid on from the outside; it is
+born and must develop in response to vital need. In so far as our acts
+are consciously the expression of ourselves they are prompted by the
+art spirit.
+
+All our acts are reducible to one of two kinds: either they are acts of
+creation, effecting a new result, or they are acts of repetition. Acts of
+repetition tend rapidly to become habits; and they may be performed
+without attention or positive volition. Thus, as I am dressing in the
+morning I may be planning the work for the day; while my mind is
+given over to thought, I lose the sense of my material surroundings,
+my muscles work automatically, the motor-currents flowing through
+the well-worn grooves, and by force of habit the acts execute
+themselves. Obviously, acts of repetition, or habits, make up the
+larger part of our daily lives.
+
+Acts of creation, on the other hand, are performed by an effort of the
+will in response to the consciousness of a need. To meet the new
+need we are obliged to make new combinations. I assume that the
+traveler constructed his hut for the first time, shaping it to the special
+new conditions; that the harmony which the painter discerned in the
+tumult around him he experienced for the first time, and the picture
+which he paints, shaped with reference to his need and fulfilling it,
+is a new thing. In the work produced by this act of creation, the
+feeling which has prompted it finds expression. In the making of the
+hut, in the painting of the picture, the impelling need is satisfied.
+
+Although acts of repetition constitute the bulk of life, creation is of
+its very essence and determines its quality. The significance and joy
+of life are less in being than in _becoming._ Growth is expression,
+and in turn expression is made possible by growth. In our
+conscious experience the sense of becoming is one of our supreme
+satisfactions. Growth is the purpose and the recompense of our
+being here, the end for which we strive and the reward of all the
+effort and the struggle. In the exercise of brain or hand, to feel the
+work take form, develop, and become something,--that is happiness.
+And the joy is in the creating rather than in the thing created; the
+completed work is behind us, and we move forward to new creation.
+A painter's best picture is the blank canvas before him; an author's
+greatest book is the one he is just setting himself to write. The desire
+for change for the sake of change which we all feel at times, a vague
+restlessness of mind and body, is only the impulse to growth which
+has not found its direction. Outside of us we love to see the
+manifestation of growth. We tend and cherish the little plant in the
+window; we watch with delight the unfolding of each new leaf and
+the upward reach into blossom. The spring, bursting triumphant
+from the silent, winter-stricken earth, is nature's parable of
+expression, her symbol perennially renewed of the joy of growth.
+
+The impulse to expression is cosmic and eternal. But even in the
+homeliness and familiarity of our life from day to day the need of
+expression is there, whether we are entirely aware of it or not; and
+we are seeking the realization and fulfillment of ourselves through
+the utterance of what we are. A few find their expression in forms
+which with distinct limitation of the term we call works of art. Most
+men find it in their daily occupations, their profession or their
+business. The president of one of the great Western railroads
+remarked once in conversation that he would rather build a thousand
+miles of railroad than live in the most sumptuous palace on Fifth
+Avenue. Railroad building was his medium of expression; it was his
+art. Some express themselves in shaping their material environment,
+in the decoration and ordering of their houses. A young woman said,
+"My ambition is to keep my house well." Again, for her,
+housekeeping is her art. Some find the realization of themselves in
+the friends they draw around them. Love is but the utterance of what
+we essentially are; and the response to it in the loved one makes the
+utterance articulate and complete. Expression rises out of our
+deepest need, and the need impels expression.
+
+The assertion that art is thus involved with need seems for the
+moment to run counter to the usual conception, which regards art as
+a product of leisure, a luxury, and the result not of labor but of play.
+Art in its higher forms becomes more and more purely the
+expression of emotion, the un-trammeled record of the artist's
+spiritual experience. It is only when physical necessities have been
+met or ignored that the spirit of man has free range. But the maker
+who adds decoration to his bowl after he has moulded it is just as
+truly fulfilling a need--the need of self-expression--as he fulfilled a
+need when he fashioned the bowl in the first instance in order that he
+might slake his thirst. Art is not superadded to life,--something
+different in kind. All through its ascent from its rudimentary forms
+to its highest, from hut to cathedral, art is coordinate with the
+development of life, continuous and without breach or sudden end; it
+is the expression step by step of ever fuller and ever deeper
+experience.
+
+Creation, therefore, follows upon the consciousness of need,
+whether the need be physical, as with the traveler, or spiritual, as
+with the painter; from physical to spiritual we pass by a series of
+gradations. At their extremes they are easy to distinguish, one from
+the other; but along the way there is no break in the continuity. The
+current formula for art, that art is the utterance of man's joy in his
+work, is not quite accurate. In the act of creation the maker finds the
+expression of himself. The man who decorates a bowl in response to
+his own creative impulse is expressing himself. The painter who
+thrills to the wonder and significance of nature is impelled to
+expression; and his delight is not fully realized and complete until he
+has uttered it. Such art is love expressed, and the artist's work is his
+"hymn of the praise of things." But the joy for both the potter and
+the painter, the joy which is so bound up with art as to partake of its
+very essence, is the joy which attends self-expression and the
+satisfaction of the need.
+
+A work of art is a work of creation brought into being as the
+expression of emotion. The traveler creates not the wood and stone
+but shelter, by means of the hut; the painter creates not the landscape
+but the beauty of it; the musician creates not the musical tones, but
+by means of a harmony of tones he creates an emotional experience.
+The impulse to art rises out of the earliest springs of consciousness
+and vibrates through all life. Art does not disdain to manifest itself
+in the little acts of expression of simple daily living; with all its
+splendid past and vital present it is ever seeking new and greater
+forms whose end is not yet. I spoke of the work of the traveler
+through the wilderness as art; the term was applied also to
+railroad-building and to housekeeping. The truth to be illustrated by these
+examples is that the primary impulse to artistic expression does not
+differ in essence from the impulse to creation of any kind. The
+nature of the thing created, as art, depends upon the emotional value
+of the result, the degree in which it expresses immediately the
+emotion of its creator, and the power it possesses to rouse the
+emotion in others. To show that all art is creation and that all
+creation tends toward art is not to obscure useful distinctions, but
+rather to restore art to its rightful place in the life of man.
+
+In the big sense, then, art is bounded only by life itself. It is not a
+cult; it is not an activity practiced by the few and a mystery to be
+understood only by those who are initiated into its secrets. One
+difficulty in the way of the popular understanding of art is due to the
+fact that the term art is currently limited to its highest manifestations;
+we withhold the title of artist from a good carpenter or
+cabinet-maker who takes a pride in his work and expresses his creative
+desire by shaping his work to his own idea, and we bestow the name
+upon any juggler in paint: with the result that many people who are
+not painters or musicians feel themselves on that account excluded
+from all appreciation. If we go behind the various manifestations of
+art to discover just what art is in itself and to determine wherein it is
+able to link itself with common experience, we find that art is the
+response to a need. And that need may waken in any man. Every
+man may be an artist in his degree; and every man in his degree can
+appreciate art. A work of art is the expression of its maker's
+experience, the expression in such terms that the experience can be
+communicated to another. The processes of execution involved in
+fashioning a work, its technique, may be as incomprehensible and
+perplexed and difficult as its executants choose to make them.
+Technique is not the same as art. The only mystery of art is the
+mystery of all life itself. Accept life with its fundamental mysteries,
+with its wonders and glories, and we have the clue to art. But we
+miss the central fact of the whole matter if we do not perceive that
+art is only a means. It is by expression that we grow and so fulfill
+ourselves. The work itself which art calls into being is not the end. It
+fails of its purpose, remaining void and vain, if it does not perform
+its function. The hut which does not furnish shelter is labor lost. The
+significance of the painter's effort does not stop with the canvas and
+pigment which he manipulates into form and meaning. The artist
+sees beyond the actual material thing which he is fashioning; his
+purpose in creation is expression. By means of his picture he
+expresses himself and so finds the satisfaction of his deepest need.
+The beginning and the end of art is life.
+
+But the artist's work of expression is not ultimately complete until
+the message is received, and expression becomes communication as
+his utterance calls out a response in the spirit of a fellow-man. Art
+exists not only for the artist's sake but for the appreciator too. As art
+has its origin in emotion and is the expression of it, so for the
+appreciator the individual work has a meaning and is art in so far as
+it becomes for him the expression of what he has himself felt but
+could not phrase; and it is art too in the measure in which it is the
+revelation of larger possibilities of feeling and creates in him a new
+emotional experience. The impulse to expression is common to all;
+the difference is one of degree. And the message of art is for all,
+according as they are attuned to the response. Art is creation. For the
+artist it is creation by expression; for the appreciator it is creation by
+evocation. These two principles complete the cycle; abstractly and
+very briefly they are the whole story of art.
+
+To be responsive to the needs of life and its emotional appeal is the
+first condition of artistic creation. By new combinations of material
+elements to bring emotion to expression in concrete harmonious
+forms, themselves charged with emotion and communicating it, is to
+fashion a work of art. To feel in material, whether in the forms of
+nature or in works of art, a meaning for the spirit is the condition of
+appreciation.
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE ATTITUDE OF RESPONSE
+
+IT is a gray afternoon in late November. The day is gone; evening is
+not yet come. Though too dark to read or write longer, it is not dark
+enough for drawn shades and the lamp. As I sit in the gathering dusk,
+my will hovering between work done and work to do, I surrender to
+the mood of the moment. The day is accomplished, but it is not yet a
+remembrance, for it is still too near for me to define the details that
+made up its hours. Consciousness, not sharp enough for thought,
+floats away into diffused and obscure emotion. The sense is upon
+me and around me that I am vaguely, unreasoningly, yet pleasantly,
+unhappy. Out of the dimness a trick of memory recalls to me the
+lines,--
+
+     "Tears! tears! tears!
+     In the night, in solitude, tears,
+     On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the sand,
+     Tears, not a star shining, all dark and desolate,
+     Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head;
+     O who is that ghost? that form in the dark, with tears?
+     What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch'd there on the sand?
+     Streaming tears, sobbing tears, throes, choked with wild cries;
+     O storm, embodied, rising, careering with swift steps along the
+          beach!
+     O wild and dismal night storm, with wind--O belching and
+          desperate!
+     O shade so sedate and decorous by day, with calm countenance
+          and regulated pace,
+     But away at night as you fly, none looking--O then the
+          unloosened ocean
+     Of tears! tears! tears!"
+
+Now I know. My mood was the mood of tears. The poet, too, has
+felt what I was feeling. And as a poet he has been able to bring his
+emotion to expression. By the magic of phrase and the mystery of
+image he has, out of the moving of his spirit, fashioned a concrete
+reality. By means of his expression, because of it, his emotion
+becomes realized, and so reaches its fulfillment. And for me, what
+before was vague has been made definite. The poet's lines have
+wakened in me a response; I have felt what he has phrased; and now
+they become my expression too. As my mood takes form, I become
+conscious of its meaning. I can distill its significance for the spirit,
+and in the emotion made definite and realizable as consciousness I
+feel and know that I am living. Doubly, completely, the poem is a
+work of art. And my response to it, the absorption of it into my own
+experience, is appreciation.
+
+I appreciate the poem as I make the experience which the poet has
+here phrased my own, and at the instant of reading I live out in
+myself what he has lived and here expressed. I read the words, and
+intellectually I take in their signification, but the poem is not
+realized in me until it wakens in me the feeling which the words are
+framed to convey. The images which an artist employs have the
+power to rouse emotion in us, so that they come to stand for the
+emotion itself. We care for nature and it is beautiful to us as its
+forms become objectively the intimate expression for us of what we
+feel.
+
+     "O to realize space!
+     The plenteousness of all, that there are no bounds,
+     To emerge and be of the sky, of the sun and moon and flying
+          clouds, as one with them."
+
+In his contact with the external world the artist identifies himself
+with his object. If he is painting a tree he in a measure becomes the
+tree; he values it at all because it expresses for him concretely what
+he feels in its presence. The object and his spirit fuse; and through
+the fusion they together grow into a new and larger unity. What his
+work expresses is not the object for its own sake but this larger unity
+of his identity with it. To appreciate the artist's work, therefore, we
+must in our turn merge ourselves in his emotion, and becoming one
+with it, so extend our personality into larger life.
+
+To make the artist's emotion our own, to identify ourselves with the
+object which he presents to us, we must pass beyond the material
+form in which the work is embodied, letting the spirit and meaning
+of it speak to our spirit. In itself an individual picture or statue or
+symphony is an objective, material thing, received into
+consciousness along the channel of the senses; but its origin and its
+end alike are in emotion. The material form, whether in nature or in
+works of art, is only the means by which the emotion is
+communicated. A landscape in nature is composed of meadow and
+hills, blue sky and tumbling clouds; these are the facts of the
+landscape. But they are not fixed and inert. The imagination of the
+beholder combines these elements into a harmony of color and mass;
+his spirit flows into consonance with the harmony his imagination
+has compelled out of nature, becoming one with it. To regard the
+world not as facts and things, but as everywhere the stimulus of
+feeling, feeling which becomes our own experience, is the condition
+of appreciation.
+
+To the awakening mind of a child, life is full of wonder, and each
+unfolding day reveals new marvels of excitement and surprise. As
+yet untrammeled by any sense of the limitations of material, his
+quick imagination peoples his world with creatures of his fancy,
+which to him are more real than the things he is able actually to see
+and touch. For him the external world is fluid and plastic, to be
+moulded into forms at will in obedience to his creative desire. In the
+tiny bundle of rags which mother-love clasps tight to her heart, a
+little girl sees only the loveliest of babies; and a small boy with his
+stick of lath and newspaper cap and plume is a mightier than
+Napoleon. The cruder the toy, the greater is the pleasure in the game;
+for the imagination delights in the exercise of itself. A wax doll, sent
+from Paris, with flaxen hair and eyes that open and shut, is laid away,
+when the mere novelty of it is exhausted, in theatric chest, and the
+little girl is fondling again her first baby of rag and string. A real
+steel sword and tin helmet are soon cast aside, and the boy is back
+again among the toys of his own making. That impulse to creation
+which all men feel, the impulse which makes the artist, is especially
+active in a child; his games are his art. With a child material is not
+an end but a means. Things are for him but the skeleton of life, to be
+clothed upon by the flesh and blood reality of his own fashioning.
+His feeling is in excess of his knowledge. He has a faculty of
+perception other than the intellectual. It is imagination.
+
+The child is the first artist. Out of the material around him he creates
+a world of his own. The prototypes of the forms which he devises
+exist in life, but it is the thing which he himself makes that interests
+him, not its original in nature. His play is his expression. He creates;
+and he is able to merge himself in the thing created. In his play he
+loses all consciousness of self. He and the toy become one, caught
+up in the larger unity of the game. According as he identifies himself
+with the thing outside of him, the child is the first appreciator.
+
+Then comes a change.
+
+     "Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
+     Shades of the prison-house begin to close
+          Upon the growing Boy,
+     But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
+          He sees it in his joy;
+     The Youth, who daily farther from the east
+     Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
+          And by the vision splendid
+          Is on his way attended;
+     At length the Man perceives it die away,
+     And fade into the light of common day."
+
+Imagination surrenders to the intellect; emotion gives place to
+knowledge.
+
+Gradually the material world shuts in about us until it becomes for
+us a hard, inert thing, and no longer a living, changing presence,
+instinct with infinite possibilities of experience and feeling. Now
+custom lies upon us
+
+          "with a weight,
+     Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!"
+
+It happens, unfortunately for our enjoyment of life, that we get used
+to things. Little by little we come to accept them, to take them for
+granted, and they cease to mean anything to us. Habit, which is our
+most helpful ally in lending our daily life its practical efficiency, is
+the foe of emotion and appreciation. Habit allows us to perform
+without conscious effort the innumerable little acts of each day's
+necessity which we could not possibly accomplish if every single act
+required a fresh exercise of will. But just because its action is
+unconscious and unregarded, habit blunts the edge of our
+sensibilities. "Thus let but a Rising of the Sun," says Carlyle, "let but
+a creation of the World happen _twice,_ and it ceases to be
+marvelous, to be noteworthy, or noticeable."
+
+"Except ye become as little children!" Unless the world is
+new-created every day, unless we can thrill to the beauty of nature with
+its fair surfaces and harmonies of vibrant sounds, or quicken to the
+throb of human life with its occupations and its play of energies, its
+burdens and its joys, unless we find an answer to our needs, and
+gladness, in sunlight or storms, in the sunset and evening and
+solitude under the stars, in fields and hills or in thronging city streets,
+in conflict and struggle or in the face of a friend, unless each new
+day is a gift and new opportunity, then we cannot interpret the
+meaning of life nor read the riddle of art. For we cannot truly
+appreciate art except as we learn to appreciate life. Until then art has
+no message for us; it is a sealed book, and we shall not open the
+book nor loose the seals thereof. The meaning of life is for the spirit,
+and art is its minister. To share in the communion we must become
+as children. As a child uses the common things of life to his own
+ends, transfiguring them by force of his creative desire, and
+fashioning thus a wonderful world of his own by the exercise of his
+shaping imagination, a world of limitless incident and high
+adventure, so we must penetrate the visible and tangible actuality
+around us, the envelope of seemingly inert matter cast in forms of
+rigid definition, and we must open ourselves to the influence of
+nature. That influence--nature's power to inspire, quicken, and
+dilate--flowing through the channel of the senses, plays upon our
+spirit. The indwelling significance of things is apprehended by the
+imagination, and is won for us in the measure that we feel.
+
+As we respond to the emotional appeal of the great universe external
+to ourselves we come to realize that the material world which we see
+and touch is not final. In the experience of us all there are moments
+of exaltation and quickened response, moments of illumination
+when--
+
+          "with an eye made quiet by the power
+     Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
+     We see into the life of things."
+
+The "life of things" is their significance for the spirit. By spirit I
+mean the sum of our conscious being, that complete entity within us
+which we recognize as the self. The material world, external, visible,
+tangible, may be regarded as the actual world. The real world is the
+world of spiritual forces and relations, apprehended by the
+imagination and received with feeling. Life, in the sense of our
+conscious experience of the world, is the moving of the spirit in
+emotion.
+
+The measure of life for the individual, therefore, is the degree of
+intensity with which he feels. Experience is not meted out by weeks
+and months; it is to be sounded by the depth and poignancy of
+instant emotion. Variety and multitude of incident may crowd
+through insentient years and leave no record of their progress along
+the waste places of their march. Or a day may be a lifetime. In such
+moments of intensest experience time and space fall away and are
+not. The outermost bounds of things recede; they vanish altogether:
+and we are made free of the universe. At such moments we are truly
+living; then we really _are._
+
+As the meaning of art is not the material thing which it calls into
+form, but what the work expresses of life, so in order to appreciate
+art it is necessary to appreciate life, which is the inspiration of art
+and its fulfillment. To appreciate life is to send out our being into
+experience and to _feel_,--to realize in terms of emotion our
+identity with the great universe outside of us, this world of color and
+form and sound and movement, this web of illimitable activities and
+energies, shot through with currents of endlessly varied and
+modulated feeling. "My son," says the father in Hindu lore, pointing
+to an animal, a tree, a rock, "my son, thou art that!" The universe is
+one. Of it we are each an essential part, distinct as individuals, yet
+fusing with it in our sense of our vital kinship with all other parts
+and with the whole. I am sauntering through the Public Garden on a
+fragrant hushed evening in June; touched by the lingering afterglow,
+the twilight has not yet deepened into night. Grouped about a bench,
+children are moving softly in the last flicker of play, while the
+mother nods above them. On the next bench a wanderer is stretched
+at full length, his face hidden in his crooked-up arm. I note a couple
+seated, silent, with shoulder touching shoulder. I meet a young man
+and woman walking hand in hand; they do not see me as I pass.
+Beyond, other figures are soundless shadows, gathering out of the
+enveloping dusk. It is all so intimate and friendly. The air, the
+flowers, the bit of water through the trees reflecting the lights of the
+little bridge, are a caress. And it is all for me! I am a child at his
+tired play, I am the sleeping tramp, I am the young fellow with his
+girl. It is not the sentiment of the thing, received intellectually, that
+makes it mine. My being goes out into these other lives and becomes
+one with them. I feel them in myself. It is not thought that
+constitutes appreciation; it is emotion.
+
+Another glimpse, caught this time through a car window. Now it is a
+winter twilight. The flurry of snow has passed. The earth is
+penetrated with blue light, suffused by it, merged in it, ever blue.
+Vague forms, still and shadowy, of hills and trees, soppy with light,
+are blue within the blue. The brief expanse of bay is deeply
+luminous and within the pervasive tempering light resolves itself
+into the cool and solemn reaches of the sky which bends down and
+touches it. Once more my spirit meets and mingles with the spirit of
+the landscape. By the harmony of nature's forms and twilight tones I
+am brought into a larger harmony within myself and with the world
+around.
+
+All experience offers to us at any moment just such possibilities of
+living. The infinite and ever-changing expressiveness of nature at
+every instant of day and night is ours to read if we will but look
+upon it with the inner vision. The works of men in cities and
+cultivated fields, if we will see beyond the actual material, may
+quicken our emotions until we enact in ourselves their story of
+struggle, of hopes and ambitions partly realized, of defeat or final
+triumph. The faces seen in a passing crowd bear each the record of
+life lived, of lives like ours of joys or disappointments, lives of great
+aims or no aims at all, of unwritten heroisms, of hidden tragedies
+bravely borne, lives sordid and mean or generous and bright. The
+panorama of the world unrolls itself _for us._ It is ours to experience
+and live out in our own being according as we are able to feel. Just
+as the impulse to expression is common to all men, and all are artists
+potentially, differing in the depth of their insight into life and in the
+degree of emotion they have to express, so appreciation lies within
+the scope of all, and the measure of it to us as individuals is
+determined by our individual capability of response.
+
+Life means to each one of us what we are able to receive of it in
+"wise passiveness," and then are able by the constructive force of
+our individuality to shape into coherence and completeness. As the
+landscape which an artist paints is the landscape visioned in
+imagination, though composed of forms given in nature, so life
+furnishes us the elements of experience, and out of these elements
+we construct a meaning, each for himself. To one man an object or
+incident is commonplace and blank; to another it may be charged
+with significance and big with possibilities of fuller living. "In every
+object." says Carlyle, "there is inexhaustible meaning; the eye sees
+in it what it brings means of seeing." To _see_ is not merely to
+receive an image upon the retina. The stimulation of the visual organ
+becomes sight properly only as the record is conveyed to the
+consciousness. When I am reading a description of a sunset, there is
+an image upon my retina of a white page and black marks of
+different forms grouped in various combinations. But what I see is
+the sunset. Momentarily to rest the eye upon a landscape is not
+really to see it, for our mind may be quite otherwhere. We see the
+landscape only as it becomes part of our conscious experience. The
+beauty of it is in us. A novelist conceives certain characters and
+assembles them in action and reaction, but it is we who in effect
+create the story as we read. We take up a novel, perhaps, which we
+read five years ago; we find in it now new significances and appeals.
+The book is the same; it is we who have changed. We bring to it the
+added power of feeling of those five years of living. Art works not
+by information but by evocation. Appreciation is not reception but
+response. The artist must compel us to feel what he has felt,--not
+something else. But the scope of his message, with its overtones and
+subtler implications, is limited by the rate of vibration to which we
+are attuned.
+
+     "All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it,
+     (Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of
+          the arches and cornices?)
+     All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by
+          the instruments."
+
+And again Whitman says, "A great poem is no finish to a man or
+woman, but rather a beginning." The final significance of both life
+and art is not won by the exercise of the intellect, but unfolds itself
+to us in the measure that we feel.
+
+To illustrate the nature of appreciation and the power from which
+appreciation derives, the power to project ourselves into the world
+external to us, I spoke of the joy of living peculiar to the child and to
+the childlike in heart. But that is not quite the whole of the story. A
+child by force of his imagination and capacity of feeling is able to
+pass beyond the limits of material, and he lives in a world of
+exhaustless play and happiness; for him objects are but means and
+not an end. To transcend thus the bounds of matter imposed by the
+senses and to live by the power of emotion is the first condition of
+appreciation. The second condition of appreciation is to feel and
+know it, to become conscious of ourselves in our relation to the
+object. To _live_ is the purpose of life; to be aware that we are
+living is its fulfillment and the reward of appreciation.
+
+Experience has a double value. There is the instant of experience
+itself, and then the reaction on it. A child is unconscious in his play;
+he is able to forget himself in it completely. At that moment he is
+most happy. The instant of supreme joy is the instant of ecstasy,
+when we lose all consciousness of ourselves as separate and distinct
+individualities. We are one with the whole. But experience does not
+yield us its fullest and permanent significance until, having
+abandoned ourselves to the moment, we then react upon it and
+become aware of what the moment means. A group of children are
+at play. Without thought of themselves they are projected into their
+sport; with their whole being merged in it, they are intensely living.
+A passer on the street stands and watches them. For the moment, in
+spirit he becomes a child with them. In himself he feels the
+absorption and vivid reality to them of what they are doing. But he
+feels also what they do not feel, and that is, what it means to be a
+child. Where they are unconscious he is conscious; and therefore he
+is able, as they are not, to distill the significance of their play. This
+recognition makes possible the extension of his own life; for the
+man adds to himself the child. The reproach is sometimes brought
+against Walt Whitman that the very people he writes about do not
+read him. The explanation is simple and illustrates the difference
+between the unconscious and the conscious reception of life. The
+"average man" who is the hero of Whitman's chants is not aware of
+himself as such. He goes about his business, content to do his work;
+and that makes up his experience. It is not the average man himself,
+but the poet standing outside and looking on with imaginative
+sympathy, who feels what it means to be an average man. It is the
+poet who must "teach the average man the glory of his daily walk
+and trade." It is not enough to be happy as children are
+happy,--unconsciously. We must be happy and know it too.
+
+The attitude of appreciation is the attitude of response,--the
+projection of ourselves into new and fuller ranges of feeling, with
+the resultant extension of our personality and a larger grasp on life.
+We do not need to go far afield for experience; it is here and now.
+To-day is the only day, and every day is the best day. "The readiness
+is all." But mere contact with the surface of life is not enough.
+Living does not consist in barely meeting the necessities of our
+material existence; to live is to feel vibrantly throughout our being
+the inner significance of things, their appeal and welcome to the
+spirit. This fair world of color and form and texture is but a show
+world, after all,--this world which looms so near that we can see it,
+touch it, which comes to us out of the abysms of time and recedes
+into infinitudes of space whither the imagination cannot follow it.
+The true and vital meaning of it resides within and discovers itself to
+us finally as emotion. Some of this meaning art reveals to us, and in
+that measure it helps us to find ourselves. But art is only the means.
+The starting-point of the appreciation of art, and its goal, is the
+appreciation of life. The reward of living is the added ability to live.
+And life yields its fullest opportunities, its deepest tragedies, its
+highest joys, all its infinite scope of feeling, to those who enter by
+the gate of appreciation.
+
+
+
+III
+
+TECHNIQUE AND THE LAYMAN
+
+A PEASANT is striding across a field in the twilight shadow of a
+hill. Beyond, where the fold of the hill dips down into the field,
+another peasant is driving a team of oxen at a plow. The distant
+figures are aglow with golden mellow light, the last light of day,
+which deepens the gloom of the shadowing hillside. The sower's cap
+is pulled tight about his head, hiding under its shade the unseeing
+eyes. The mouth is brutal and grim. The heavy jaw flows down into
+the thick, resistive neck. The right arm swings powerfully out,
+scattering the grain. The left is pressed to his body; the big, stubborn
+hand clutches close the pouch of seed. Action heroic, elemental; the
+dumb bearing of the universal burden. In the flex of the shoulder,
+the crook of the outstretched arm, the conquering onward stride, is
+expressed all the force of that word of the Lord to the first toiler, "In
+the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread."
+
+Three men are standing before Millet's canvas.
+
+One recognizes the subject of the picture. With the pleasure of
+recognition he notes what the artist has here represented, and he is
+interested in the situation. This is a peasant, and he is sowing his
+grain. So the onlooker stands and watches the peasant in his
+movement, and he _thinks_ about the sower, recalling any sower he
+may have read of or seen or known, his own sower rather than the
+one that Millet has seen and would show to him. This man's pleasure
+in the picture has its place.
+
+The second of the three men is attracted by the qualities of execution
+which the work displays, and he is delighted by what he calls the
+"actual beauty" of the painting. With eyes close to the canvas he
+notes the way Millet has handled his materials, his drawing, his
+color, his surfaces and edges, all the knack of the brush-work,
+recognizing in his examination of the workmanship of the picture
+that though Millet was a very great artist, he was not a great painter,
+that the reach of his ideas was not equaled by his technical skill.
+Then as the beholder stands back from the canvas to take in the
+ensemble, his eye is pleased by the color-harmony, it rests lovingly
+upon the balance of the composition, and follows with satisfaction
+the rhythmic flow of line. His enjoyment is both intellectual and
+sensuous. And that too has its place.
+
+The third spectator, with no thought of the facts around which the
+picture is built, not observing the technical execution as such,
+unconscious at the moment also of its merely sensuous charm, feels
+within himself, "_I_ am that peasant!" In his own spirit is enacted
+the agelong world-drama of toil. He sees beyond the bare subject of
+the picture; the medium with all its power of sensuous appeal and
+satisfaction becomes transparent. The beholder enters into the very
+being of the laborer; and as he identifies himself with this other life
+outside of him, becoming one with it in spirit and feeling, he adds
+just so much to his own experience. In his reception of the meaning
+of Millet's painting of the "Sower" he lives more deeply and
+abundantly.
+
+It is the last of these three men who stands in the attitude of full and
+true appreciation. The first of the three uses the picture simply as a
+point of departure; his thought travels away from the canvas, and he
+builds up the entire experience out of his own knowledge and store
+of associations. The second man comes a little nearer to appreciation,
+but even he falls short of full realization, for he stops at the actual
+material work itself. His interest in the technical execution and his
+pleasure in the sensuous qualities of the medium do not carry him
+through the canvas and into the emotion which it was the artist's
+purpose to convey. Only he truly appreciates the painting of the
+"Sower" who feels something of what Millet felt, partaking of the
+artist's experience as expressed by means of the picture, and making
+it vitally his own.
+
+But before the appreciator can have brought himself to the point of
+perception where he is able to respond directly to the significance of
+art and to make the artist's emotion a part of his own emotional
+experience, he must needs have traveled a long and rather devious
+way. Appreciation is not limited to the exercise of the intellect, as in
+the recognition of the subject of a work of art and in the interest
+which the technically minded spectator takes in the artist's skill. It
+does not end with the gratification of the senses, as with the delight
+in harmonious color and rhythmic line and ordered mass. Yet the
+intellect and the senses, though they are finally but the channel
+through which the artist's meaning flows to reach and rouse the
+feelings, nevertheless play their part in appreciation. Between the
+spirit of the artist and the spirit of the appreciator stands
+the individual work of art as the means of expression and
+communication. In the work itself emotion is embodied in material
+form. The material which art employs for expression constitutes its
+language. Certain principles govern the composition of the work,
+certain processes are involved in the making of it, and the result
+possesses certain qualities and powers. The processes which enter
+into the actual fashioning of the work are both intellectual and
+physical, requiring the exercise of the artist's mind in the planning of
+the work and in the directing of his hand; so far as the appreciator
+concerns himself with them, they address themselves to his intellect.
+The finished work in its material aspect possesses qualities which
+are perceived by the senses and which have a power of sensuous
+delight. Upon these processes and these qualities depends in part the
+total character of a work of art, and they must be reckoned with in
+appreciation.
+
+In his approach to any work of art, therefore, the layman is
+confronted first of all with the problem of the language which the
+work employs. Architecture uses as its language the structural
+capabilities of its material, as wood or stone, bringing all together
+into coherent and serviceable form. Poetry is phrased in words.
+Painting employs as its medium color and line and mass. At the
+outset, in the case of any art, we have some knowledge of the
+signification of its terms. Here is a painting of a sower. Out of
+previous experience of the world we easily recognize the subject of
+the picture. But whence comes the majesty of this rude peasant, the
+dignity august of this rough and toil-burdened laborer, his power to
+move us? In addition to the common signification of its terms, then,
+language seems to have a further expressiveness, a new meaning
+imparted to it by the way in which the artist uses it. In a poem we
+know the meaning of the words, but the _poetry_ of it, which we
+feel rather than know, is the creation of the poet, wrought out of the
+familiar words by his cunning manipulation of them.
+
+     "The grey sea and the long black land;
+     And the yellow half-moon large and low;
+     And the startled little waves that leap
+     In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
+     As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
+     And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.
+
+     "Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
+     Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
+     A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
+     And blue spurt of a lighted match,
+     And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
+     Than the two hearts beating each to each!"
+
+A drama in twelve lines. These are words of common daily usage,
+every one,--for the most part aggressively so. But the romance
+which they effuse, the glamour which envelops the commonplace
+incident as with an aura, is due to the poet's strategic selection of his
+terms, the one right word out of many words that offered, and his
+subtle combination of his terms into melody and rhythm. The
+wonder of the poet's craft is like the musician's,--
+
+     "That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a
+          star."
+
+A building rises before us; we recognize it as a building, and again
+easily we infer the purpose which it serves, that it is a temple or a
+dwelling. And then the beauty of it, a power to affect us beyond the
+mere feet that it is a building, lays hold upon us, an influence
+emanating from it which we do not altogether explain to ourselves.
+Simply in its presence we feel that we are pleased. The fact, the
+material which the artist uses, exists out there in nature. But the
+beauty of the building, the majesty and power of the picture, the
+charm of the poem,--this is the _art_ of the artist; and he wins his
+effects by the way in which he handles his materials, by his
+_technique._ Some knowledge of technique, therefore,--not the
+artist's knowledge of it, but the ability to read the language of art as
+the artist intends it to be read,--is necessary to appreciation.
+
+The hut which the traveler through a wild country put together to
+provide himself shelter against storm and the night was in essence a
+work of art. The purpose of his effort was not the hut itself but
+shelter, to accomplish which he used the hut as his means. The
+emotion of which the work was the expression, in this case the
+traveler's consciousness of his need, embodied itself in a concrete
+form and made use of material. The hut which he conceived in
+response to his need became for him the subject or motive of his
+work. For the actual expression of his design he took advantage of
+the qualities of his material, its capabilities to combine thus and so;
+these inherent qualities were his medium. The material wood and
+stone which he employed were the vehicle of his design. The way in
+which he handled his vehicle toward the construction of the hut,
+availing himself of the qualities and capabilities of his material,
+might be called his technique.
+
+The sight of some landscape wakens in the beholder a vivid and
+definite emotion; he is moved by it to some form of expression. If he
+is a painter he will express his emotion by means of a picture, which
+involves in the making of it certain elements and certain processes.
+The picture will present selected facts in the landscape; the
+landscape, then, as constructed according to the design the painter
+has conceived of it, becomes the motive or subject of his picture.
+The particular aspects of the landscape which the picture records are
+its color and its form. These qualities of color and form are the
+painter's medium. An etching of the scene would use not color but
+line to express the artist's emotion in its presence; so line is the
+medium of etching. But "qualities" of objects are an abstraction
+unless they are embodied in material. In order, therefore, to give his
+medium actual embodiment the painter uses pigment, as oil-color or
+water-color or tempera, laid upon a surface, as canvas, wood, paper,
+plaster; this material pigment is his vehicle. The etcher employs
+inked scratches upon his plate of zinc or copper, bitten by acid or
+scratched directly by the needle; these marks of ink are the vehicle
+of etching. To the way in which the artist uses his medium for
+practical expression and to his methods in the actual handling of his
+vehicle is applied the term technique. The general conception of his
+picture, its total design, the choice of motive, the selection of details,
+the main scheme of composition,--these belong to the great strategy
+of his art. The application of these principles in practice and their
+material working out upon his canvas are an affair of tactics and fall
+within the province of technique.
+
+The ultimate significance of a work of art is its content of emotion,
+the essential controlling idea, which inspires the work and gives it
+concrete form. In its actual embodiment, the expressive power of the
+work resides in the medium. The medium of any art, then, as color
+and mass in painting, line in drawing and etching, form in sculpture,
+sound in music, is its means of expression and constitutes its
+language. Now the signification of language derives from
+convention. Line, for example, which may be so sensitive and so
+expressive, is only an abstraction and does not exist in nature. What
+the draughtsman renders as line is objectively in fact the boundary
+of forms. A head, with all its subtleties of color and light and shade,
+may be represented by a pencil or charcoal drawing, black upon a
+white surface. It is not the head which is black and white, but
+the drawing. Our acceptance of the drawing as an adequate
+representation of the head rests upon convention. Writing is an
+elementary kind of drawing; the letters of the alphabet were
+originally pictures or symbols. So to-day written or printed letters
+are arbitrary symbols of sounds, and grouped together in arbitrary
+combinations they form words, which are symbols of ideas. The
+word _sum_ stood to the old Romans for the idea "I am;" to
+English-speaking people the word signifies a "total" and also a problem in
+arithmetic. A painting of a landscape does not attempt to imitate the
+scene; it uses colors and forms as symbols which serve for
+expression. The meaning attaching to these symbols derives from
+common acceptance and usage, Japanese painting, rendering the
+abstract spirit of movement of a wave, for example, rather than the
+concrete details of its surface appearance, differs fundamentally
+from the painting of the western world; it is none the less pregnant
+with meaning for those who know the convention. To understand
+language, therefore, we must understand the convention and accept
+its terms. The value of language as a means of expression and
+communication depends upon the knowledge, common to the user
+and to the person addressed, of the signification of its terms. Its
+effectiveness is determined by the way in which it is employed,
+involving the choice of terms, as the true line for the false or
+meaningless one, the right value or note of color out of many that
+would almost do, the exact and specific word rather than the vague
+and feeble; involving also the combination of terms into articulate
+forms. These ways and methods in the use of language are the
+concern of technique. Technique, therefore, plays an important part
+in the creation and the ultimate fortunes of the artist's work.
+
+Just here arises a problem for the layman in his approach to art. The
+man who says, "I don't know anything about art, but I know what I
+like," is a familiar figure in our midst; of such, for the most part, the
+"public" of art is constituted. What he really means is, "I don't know
+anything about technique, but art interests me. I read books, I go to
+concerts and the theatre, I look at pictures; and in a way they have
+something for me." If we make this distinction between art and
+technique, the matter becomes simplified. The layman does not
+himself paint pictures or write books or compose music; his contact
+with art is with the purpose of appreciation. Life holds some
+meaning for him, as he is engaged in living, and there his chief
+interest lies. So art too has a message addressed to him, for art starts
+with life and in the end comes back to it. If art is not the expression
+of vital feeling, in its turn communicating the feeling to the
+appreciator so that he makes it a real part of his experience of life,
+then the thing called art is only an exercise in dexterity for the maker
+and a pastime for the receiver; it is not art. But art is not quite the
+same as life at first hand; it is rather the distillment of it. In order to
+render the significance of life as he has perceived and felt it, the
+artist selects and modifies his facts; and his work depends for its
+expressiveness upon the material form in which the emotion is
+embodied. The handling of material to the end of making it
+expressive is an affair of technique. The layman may ask himself,
+then, To what extent is a knowledge of technique necessary for
+appreciation? And how may he win that knowledge?
+
+On his road to appreciation the layman is beset with difficulties.
+Most of the talk about art which he hears is either the translation of
+picture or sonata into terms of literary sentiment or it is a discussion
+of the way the thing is done. He knows at least that painting is not
+the same as literature and that music has its own province; he
+recognizes that the meaning of pictures is not literary but pictorial,
+the meaning of music is musical. But the emphasis laid upon the
+manner of execution confuses and disturbs him. At the outset he
+frankly admits that he has no knowledge of technical processes as
+such. Yet each art must be read in its own language, and each has its
+special technical problems. He realizes that to master the technique
+of any single art is a career. And yet there are many arts, all of
+which may have some message for him in their own kind. If he must
+be able to paint in order to enjoy pictures rightly, if he cannot listen
+intelligently at a concert without being able himself to compose or at
+least to perform, his case for the appreciation of art seems hopeless.
+
+If the layman turns to his artist friends for enlightenment and a little
+sympathy, it is possible he may encounter a rebuff. Artists
+sometimes speak contemptuously of the public. "A painter," they
+say, "paints for painters, not for the people; outsiders know nothing
+about painting." True, outsiders know nothing about painting, but
+perhaps they know a little about life. If art is more than intellectual
+subtlety and manual skill, if art is the expression of something the
+artist has felt and lived, then the outsider has after all some standard
+for his estimate of art and a basis for his enjoyment. He is able to
+determine the value of the work to himself according as it expresses
+what he already knows about life or reveals to him fuller
+possibilities of experience which he can make his own. He does not
+pretend to judge painting; but he feels that he has some right to
+appreciate art. In reducing all art to a matter of technique artists
+themselves are not quite consistent. My friends Jones, a painter, and
+Smith, a composer, do not withhold their opinion of this or that
+novel and poem and play, and they discourse easily on the
+performances of Mr. James and Mr. Swinburne and Mr. Shaw; but I
+have no right to talk about the meaning to me of Jones's picture or
+Smith's sonata, for my business is with words, and therefore I cannot
+have any concern with painting or with music. To be sure, literature
+uses as its vehicle the means of communication of daily life, namely,
+words. But the _art_ in literature, the interpretation of life which it
+gives us, as distinct from mere entertainment, is no more generally
+appreciated than the art in painting. A man's technical
+accomplishment may be best understood and valued by his
+fellow-workmen in the same craft; and often the estimate set by artists on
+their own work is referred to the qualities of its technical execution.
+As a classic instance, Raphael sent some of his drawings to Albert
+Dürer to "show him his hand." So a painter paints for the painters.
+But the artist gives back a new fullness and meaning to life and
+addresses all who live. That man is fortunate who does not allow his
+progress toward appreciation to be impeded by this confusion of
+technique with art.
+
+The emphasis which workers in any art place upon their powers of
+execution is for themselves a false valuation of technique, and it
+tends to obscure the layman's vision of essentials. Technique is not,
+as it would seem, the whole of art, but only a necessary part. A work
+of art in its creation involves two elements,--the idea and the
+execution. The idea is the emotional content of the work; the
+execution is the practical expressing of the idea by means of the
+medium and the vehicle. The idea of Millet's "Sower" is the emotion
+attending his conception of the laborer rendered in visual terms; the
+execution of the picture is exhibited in the composition, the color,
+the drawing, and the actual brush-work. So, too, the artist himself is
+constituted by two qualifications, which must exist together: first,
+the power of the subject over the artist; and second, the artist's
+power over his subject. The first of these without the second results
+simply in emotion which does not come to expression as art. The
+second without the first produces sham art; the semblance of art may
+be fashioned by technical skill, but the life which inspires art is
+wanting. The artist, then, may be regarded in a dual aspect. He is
+first a temperament and a mind, capable of feeling intensely and
+able to integrate his emotions into unified coherent form; in this
+aspect he is essentially the _artist_. Secondly, for the expression of
+his idea he brings to bear on the execution of his work his command
+of the medium, his intellectual adroitness and his manual skill; in
+this aspect he is the _technician_. Every artist has a special kind of
+means with which he works, requiring knowledge and dexterity; but
+it may be assumed that in addition to his ability to express himself
+he has something to say. We may test a man's merit as a painter by
+his ability to paint. As an artist his greatness is to be judged with
+reference to the greatness of his ideas; and in his capacity as artist
+his technical skill derives its value from the measure in which it is
+adequate to their expression. In the case of an accomplished pianist
+or violinist we take his proficiency of technique for granted, and we
+ask, What, with all this power of expression at his command, has he
+to say? In his rendering of the composer's work what has he of his
+own to contribute by way of interpretation? Conceding at once to Mr.
+Sargent his supreme competence as a painter, his consummate
+mastery of all his means, we ask, What has he seen in this man or
+this woman before him worthy of the exercise of such skill? In terms
+of the personality he is interpreting, what has he to tell us of the
+beauty and scope of life and to communicate to us of larger
+emotional experience? The worth of technique is determined, not by
+its excellence as such, but by its efficiency for expression.
+
+It is difficult for an outsider to understand why painters, writers,
+sculptors, and the rest, who are called artists in distinction from the
+ordinary workman, should make so much of their skill. Any man
+who works freely and with joy takes pride in his performance. And
+instinctively we have a great respect for a good workman. Skill is
+not confined to those who are engaged in what is conventionally
+regarded as art. Indeed, the distinction implied in favor of "art" is
+unjust to the wide range of activities of familiar daily life into which
+the true art spirit may enter. A bootblack who polishes his shoes as
+well as he can, not merely because he is to be paid for it, though too
+he has a right to his pay, but because that is his work, his means of
+expression, even he works in the spirit of an artist. Extraordinary
+skill is often developed by those who are quite outside the pale of art.
+In a circus or music-hall entertainment we may see a man throw
+himself from a trapeze swinging high in air, and after executing a
+double somersault varied by complex lateral gyrations, catch the
+extended arms of his partner, who is hanging by his knees on
+another flying bar. Or a man leaning backwards over a chair shoots
+at a distance of fifty paces a lump of sugar from between the
+foreheads of two devoted assistants. Such skill presupposes
+intelligence. Of the years of training and practice, of the sacrifice
+and the power of will, that have gone to the accomplishment of this
+result, the looker-on can form but little conception. These men are
+not considered artists. Yet a painter who uses his picture to exhibit a
+skill no more wonderful than theirs would be grieved to be
+accounted an acrobat or a juggler. Only such skill as is employed in
+the service of expression is to be reckoned with as an element in art;
+and in art it is of value not for its own sake but as it serves its
+purpose. The true artist subordinates his technique to expression,
+justly making it a means and not the end. He cares for the
+significance of his idea more than for his sleight of hand; he effaces
+his skill for his art.
+
+A recognition of the skill exhibited in the fashioning of a work of art,
+however, if seen in its right relation to the total scope of the work, is
+a legitimate source of pleasure. Knowledge of any subject brings its
+satisfactions. To understand with discerning insight the workings of
+any process, whether it be the operation of natural laws, as in
+astronomy or chemistry, whether it be the construction of a
+locomotive, the playing of a game of foot-ball, or the painting of a
+picture, to see the "wheels go round" and know the how and the
+wherefore,--undeniably this is a source of pleasure. In the
+understanding of technical processes, too, there is a further occasion
+of enjoyment, differing somewhat from the satisfaction which
+follows in the train of knowledge.
+
+     "There is a pleasure in poetic pains
+     Which only poets know,"
+
+says the poet Cowper. There is a pleasure in the sense of difficulties
+overcome known only to those who have tried to overcome them.
+But such enjoyment--the pleasure which comes with enlightened
+recognition and the pleasure of mastery and triumph--derives from
+an intellectual exercise and is not to be confounded with the full
+appreciation of art. Art, finally, is not the "how" but the "what" in
+terms of its emotional significance. Our pleasure in the result, in the
+design itself, is not the same as our pleasure in the skill that
+produced the work. The design, with the message that it carries, not
+the making of it, is the end of art.
+
+Too great preoccupation with technique conflicts with full
+appreciation. To fix the attention upon the manner of expression is
+to lose the meaning. A style which attracts notice to itself is in so far
+forth bad style, because it defeats its own end, which is expression;
+but beyond this, our interest in technical execution is purely
+intellectual, whereas art reaches the emotions. At the theatre a critic
+sits unmoved; dispassionately he looks upon the personages of the
+drama, as they advance, retreat, and countermarch, little by little
+yielding up their secret, disclosing all the subtle interplay of human
+motives. From the heights of his knowledge the critic surveys the
+spectacle; with an insight born of his learning, he penetrates the
+mysteries of the playwright's craft. He knows what thought and skill
+have gone into this result; he knows the weary hours of toil, the
+difficulties of invention and selection, the heroic rejections, the
+intricacies of construction, the final triumph. He sees it all from the
+point of view of the master-workman, and sympathetically he
+applauds his success; his recognition of what has been accomplished
+is his pleasure. But all the while he has remained on the outside. Not
+for a moment has he become a party to the play. He brings to it
+nothing of his own feeling and power of response. There has been
+no union of his spirit with the artist's spirit,--that union in which a
+work of art achieves its consummation. The man at his side, with no
+knowledge or thought of how the effect has been won, surrenders
+himself to the illusion. These people on the stage are more intensely
+and vividly real to him than in life itself; the artist has distilled the
+significance of the situation and communicates it to him as emotion.
+The man's reaction is not limited to the exercise of his intellect,--he
+gives himself. In the experience which the dramatist conveys to him
+beautifully, shaping discords into harmony and disclosing their
+meaning for the spirit, he lives.
+
+A true artist employs his medium as an instrument of expression;
+and he values his own technical skill in the handling of it according
+to the measure that he is enabled thereby to express himself more
+effectively. On the layman's part so much knowledge of technique is
+necessary as makes it possible for him to understand the artist's
+language and the added expressiveness wrought out of language by
+the artist's cunning use of it. And such knowledge is not beyond his
+reach.
+
+In order to understand the meaning of any language we must first
+understand the signification of its terms, and then we must know
+something of the ways in which they may be combined into
+articulate forms of expression. The terms of speech are words; in
+order to speak coherently and articulately we must group words into
+sentences according to the laws of the tongue to which they belong.
+Similarly, every art has its terms, or "parts of speech," and its
+grammar, or the ways in which the terms are combined. The terms
+of painting are color and form, the terms of music are tones. Colors
+and forms are brought together into harmony and balance that by
+their juxtaposition they may be made expressive and beautiful.
+Tones are woven into a pattern according to principles of harmony,
+melody, and rhythm, and they become music. When technique is
+turned to such uses, not for the vainglory of a virtuoso, but for the
+service of the artist in his earnest work of expression, then it
+identifies itself with art.
+
+A knowledge of the signification of the terms of art the layman may
+win for himself by a recognition of the expressive power of all
+material and by sensitiveness to it. The beholder will not respond to
+the appeal of a painting of a landscape unless he has himself felt
+something of the charm or glory of landscape in nature; he will not
+quicken and expand to the dignity or force caught in rigid marble
+triumphantly made fluent in statue or relief until he has realized for
+himself the significance of form and movement which exhales from
+every natural object. Gesture is a universal language. The mighty
+burden of meaning in Millet's picture of the "Sower" is carried by
+the gesture of the laborer as he swings across the background of
+field and hill, whose forms also are expressive; here, too, the
+elemental dignity of form and movement is reinforced by the
+solemnity of the color. Gesture is but one of nature's characters
+wherewith she inscribes upon the vivid, shifting surface of the world
+her message to the spirit of man. A clue to the understanding of the
+terms of art, therefore, is found in the layman's own appreciation of
+the emotional value of all objects of sense and their multitudinous
+power of utterance,--the sensitive decision of line, the might or
+delicacy of form, the splendor and subtlety of color, the magic of
+sound, the satisfying virtue of harmony in whatever embodiment, all
+the beauty of nature, all the significance of human life. And this
+appreciation is to be won largely by the very experience of it. The
+more we feel, the greater becomes our power for deeper feeling.
+Every emotion to which we thrill is the entrance into larger capacity
+of emotion. We may allow for growth and trust to the inevitable
+working of its laws. In the appreciation of both life and art the
+individual may be his own teacher by experience.
+
+The qualities of objects with their inherent emotional values
+constitute the raw material of art, to be woven by the artist into a
+fabric of expressive form and texture. Equipped with a knowledge of
+the terms of any art, the layman has yet to understand something of
+the ways in which the terms may be combined. Every artist has his
+idiom or characteristic style. Rembrandt on the flat surface of his
+canvas secures the illusion of form in the round by a system of light
+and shade; modeling is indicated by painting the parts in greater
+relief in light and the parts in less relief in shadow. Manet renders
+the relief of form by a system of "values," or planes of more and less
+light. The local color of objects is affected by the amount of light
+they receive and the distance an object or part of an object is from
+the eye of the spectator. Manet paints with degrees of light, and he
+wins his effects, not by contrasts of color, but by subtle modulations
+within a given hue. Landscape painters before the middle of the
+nineteenth century, working with color in masses, secured a total
+harmony by bringing all their colors, mixed upon the palette, into
+the same key. The "Luminarists," like Claude Monet, work with
+little spots or points of color laid separately upon the canvas; the
+fusion of these separate points into the dominant tone is made by the
+eye of the beholder. The characteristic effect of a work of art is
+determined by the way in which the means are employed. Some
+knowledge, therefore, of the artist's aims as indicated in his method
+of working is necessary to a full understanding of what he wants to
+say.
+
+In his effort to understand for his own purposes of appreciation what
+the artist has accomplished by his technique, the layman may first of
+all distinguish between processes and results. A landscape in nature
+is beautiful to the beholder because he perceives in it some harmony
+of color and form which through the eye appeals to the emotions.
+His vision does not transmit every fact in the landscape;
+instinctively his eye in its sweep over meadow and trees and hill
+selects those details that compose. By this act of _integration_ he is
+for himself in so far forth an artist. If he were a painter he would
+know what elements in the landscape to put upon his canvas. But he
+has no skill in the actual practice of drawing and of handling the
+brush, no knowledge of mixing colors and matching tones; he
+understands nothing of perspective and "values" and the relations of
+light and shade. He knows only what he sees, that the landscape as
+he sees it is beautiful; and equally he recognizes as beautiful the
+presentment of it upon canvas. He is ignorant of the technical
+problems with which the painter in practice has had to contend in
+order to reach this result; it is the result only that is of concern to
+him in so far as it is or is not what he desires. The painter's color is
+significant to him, not because he knows how to mix the color for
+himself, but because that color in nature has spoken to him
+unutterable things and he has responded to it. The layman cannot
+make a sunset and he cannot paint a picture; but he can enjoy both.
+So he cares, then, rather for what the painter has done than for how
+he has done it, because the processes do not enter into his own
+experience. The picture has a meaning for him in the measure that it
+expresses what he perceives and feels, and that is the beauty of the
+landscape.
+
+Any knowledge of technical processes which the layman may
+happen to possess may be a source of intellectual pleasure. But for
+appreciation, only so much understanding of technique is necessary
+as enables him to receive the message of a given work in the degree
+of expressiveness which the artist by his use of his medium has
+attained. A clue to this understanding may come to him by intuition,
+by virtue of his own native insight and intelligence. He may gain it
+by reading or by instruction. He may go out and win it by intrepid
+questioning of those who know; and it is to be hoped that such will
+be very patient with him, for after all even a layman has the right to
+live. Once started on the path, then, in the mysteries of art as in the
+whole complex infinite business of living, he becomes his own tutor
+by observation and experience; and he may develop into a fuller
+knowledge in obedience to the law of growth. Each partial clue to
+understanding brings him a step farther on his road; each new
+glimmer of insight beckons him to ultimate illumination. Though
+baffled at the outset, yet patient under disappointment, undauntedly
+he pushes on in spite of obstacles, until he wins his way at last to
+true appreciation.
+
+If the layman seeks a standard by which to test the value of any
+technical method, he finds it in the success of the work itself. Every
+method is to be judged in and for itself on its own merits, and not as
+better or worse than some other method. Individually we may prefer
+Velasquez to Frans Hals; Whistler may minister to our personal
+satisfaction in larger measure than Mr. Sargent; we may enjoy Mr.
+James better than Stevenson; Richard Strauss may stir us more
+deeply than Brahms. We do not affirm thereby that impressionism is
+inherently better than realism, or that subtlety is more to be desired
+than strength; the psychological novel is not necessarily greater than
+romance; because of our preference "programme music" is not
+therefore more significant than "absolute music." The greatness of
+an artist is established by the greatness of his ideas, adequately
+expressed. And the value of any technical method is determined by
+its own effectiveness for expression.
+
+There is, then, no invariable standard external to the work itself by
+which to judge technique. For no art is final. A single work is the
+manifestation of beauty as the individual artist has conceived or felt
+it. The perception of what is beautiful varies from age to age and
+with each person. So, too, standards of beauty in art change with
+each generation; commonly they are deduced from the practice of
+preceding artists. Classicism formulates rules from works that have
+come to be recognized as beautiful, and it requires of the artist
+conformity to these rules. By this standard, which it regards as
+absolute, it tries a new work, and it pretends to adjudge the work
+good or bad according as it meets the requirements. Then a Titan
+emerges who defies the canons, wrecks the old order, and in his own
+way, to the despair or scorn of his contemporaries, creates a work
+which the generation that follows comes to see is beautiful. "Every
+author," says Wordsworth, "as far as he is great and at the same time
+_original,_ has had the task of creating the taste by which he is to be
+enjoyed." Wordsworth in his own generation was ridiculed; Millet,
+when he ceased painting nudes for art-dealers' windows and
+ventured to express himself, faced starvation. Every artist is in some
+measure an innovator; for his own age he is a romanticist. But the
+romanticist of one age becomes a classic for the next; and his
+performance in its turn gives laws to his successors. Richard Strauss,
+deriving in some sense from Wagner, makes the older man seem a
+classic and conservative. Then a new mind again is raised up, a new
+temperament, with new needs; and these shape their own adequate
+new expression. "The cleanest expression," says Whitman, "is that
+which finds no sphere worthy of itself and makes one." As all life is
+growth, as there are no bounds to the possibilities of human
+experience, so the workings of the art-impulse cannot be
+compressed within the terms of a hard and narrow definition, and
+any abstract formula for beauty is in the very nature of things
+foredoomed to failure. No limit can be set to the forms in which
+beauty may be made manifest.
+
+"The true poets are not followers of beauty, but the august masters
+of beauty." And Whitman's own verse is a notable example of a new
+technique forged in response to a new need of expression. Dealing
+as he did with the big basic impulses of common experience
+accessible to all men, Whitman needed a largeness and freedom of
+expression which he did not find in the accepted and current poetic
+forms. To match the limitlessly diversified character of the people,
+occupations, and aspirations of "these States," as yet undeveloped
+but vital and inclosing the seed of unguessed-at possibilities, to tally
+the fluid, indeterminate, outward-reaching spirit of democracy and a
+new world, the poet required a medium of corresponding scope and
+flexibility, all-inclusive and capable of endless modulation and
+variety. Finding none ready to his hand, he created it. Not that
+Whitman did not draw for his resources on the great treasury of
+world-literature; and he profited by the efforts and achievement of
+predecessors. But the form in his hands and as he uses it is new.
+Whatever we may think of the success of his total accomplishment,
+there are very many passages to which we cannot deny the name of
+poetry. Nor did Whitman work without conscious skill and
+deliberate regard for technical processes. His note-books and papers
+reveal the extreme calculation and pains with which he wrote,
+beginning with the collection of synonyms applying to his idea and
+mood, and so building them up gradually, with many erasures,
+corrections, and substitutions, into the finished poem. Much of the
+vigor of his style is due to his escape from conventional literary
+phrase-making and his return to the racy idiom of common life. His
+verse, apparently inchoate and so different from classical poetic
+forms, is shaped with a cunning incredible skill. And more than that,
+it is art, in that it is not a bare statement of fact, but communicates to
+us the poet's emotion, so that we realize the emotion in ourselves.
+When his purpose is considered, it is seen that no other technique
+was possible. His achievement proves that a new need creates its
+own means of expression.
+
+What is true of Whitman in respect to his technique is true in greater
+or less degree of every artist, working in any form. It is true of
+Pheidias, of Giotto and Michelangelo and Rembrandt, of Dante and
+Shakespeare, of Beethoven and Wagner, of Monet, of Rodin, in fine,
+from the beginnings of art to the day that now is. All have created
+out of existing forms of expression their own idiom and way of
+working. Every artist owes something to his predecessors, but
+language is re-created in the hands of each master and becomes a
+new instrument. There can be then no single formula for technical
+method nor any fixed and final standard of judgment.
+
+An artist himself is justified from his own point of view in his
+concern with technique, for upon his technique depends his
+effectiveness of expression. His practice serves to keep alive the
+language and to develop its resources. Art in its concrete
+manifestations is an evolution. From Velasquez through Goya to
+Manet and Whistler is a line of inheritance. But a true artist
+recognizes that technique is only a means. As an artist he is seeking
+to body forth in external form the vision within, and he tries to make
+his medium "faithful to the coloring of his own spirit." Every artist
+works out his characteristic manner; but the progress must be from
+within outwards. Toward the shaping of his own style he is helped
+by the practice of others, but he is helped and not hindered only in
+so far as the manner of others can be made genuinely the expression
+of his own feeling. Direct borrowing of a trick of execution and
+servile imitation of a style have no place in true art. A painter who
+would learn of Velasquez should study the master's technique, not
+that in the end he may paint like Velasquez, but that he may
+discover just what it was that the master, by means of his individual
+style, was endeavoring to express, and so bring to bear on his own
+environment here in America to-day the same ability to see and the
+same power of sympathetic and imaginative penetration that
+Velasquez brought to his environment at the court of seventeenth-century
+Spain. The way to paint like Velasquez is to be Velasquez. No man
+is a genius by imitation. Every man may seek to be a master
+in his own right. Technique does not lead; it follows. Style is the
+man.
+
+From within outwards. Art is the expression of sincere and vital
+feeling; the material thing, picture, statue, poem, which the artist
+conjures into being is only a means. The moment art is worshiped
+for its own sake, that moment decadence begins. "No one," says
+Leonardo, "will ever be a great painter who takes as his guide the
+paintings of other men." In general the history of art exhibits this
+course. In the beginning arises a man of deep and genuine feeling,
+the language at whose command, however, has not been developed
+to the point where it is able to carry the full burden of his meaning.
+Such a man is Giotto; and we have the "burning messages of
+prophecy delivered by the stammering lips of infants." In the
+generations which supervene, artists with less fervor of spirit but
+with growing skill of hand, increased with each inheritance, turn
+their efforts to the development of their means. The names of this
+period of experiment and research are Masaccio, Uccello, Pollaiuolo,
+Verrocchio. At length, when the fullness of time is come, emerges
+the master-mind, of original insight and creative power. Heir to the
+technical achievements of his predecessors, he is able to give his
+transcendent idea its supremely adequate expression. Content is
+perfectly matched by form. On this summit stand Michelangelo,
+Raphael, Leonardo. Then follow the Carracci, Domenichino,
+Guercino, Guido Reni, Carlo Dolci, men who mistake the master's
+manner for his meaning. The idea, the vital principle, has spent itself.
+The form only is left, and that is elaborated into the exuberance of
+decay. Painters find their impulse no longer in nature and life but in
+paint. Technique is made an end in itself. And art is dead, to be
+reborn in another shape and guise.
+
+The relation of technique to appreciation in the experience of the
+layman begins now to define itself. Technique serves the artist for
+efficient expression; an understanding of it is of value to the layman
+in so far as the knowledge helps him to read the artist's language and
+thus to receive his message. Both for artist and for layman technique
+is only a means. Out of his own intelligent and patient experience
+the layman can win his way to an understanding of methods; and his
+standard of judgment, good enough for his own purposes, is the
+degree of expressiveness which the work of art, by virtue of its
+qualities of execution, is able to achieve. Skill may be enjoyed
+intellectually for its own sake as skill; in itself it is not art.
+Technique is most successful when it is least perceived. _Ars celare
+artem:_ art reveals life and conceals technique. We must understand
+something of technique and then forget it in appreciation. When we
+thrill to the splendor and glory of a sunset we are not thinking of the
+laws of refraction. Appreciation is not knowledge, but emotion.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE VALUE OF THE MEDIUM
+
+AS I swing through the wide country in the freshness and fullness of
+a blossoming, sun-steeped morning in May, breathing the breath of
+the fields and the taller by inches for the sweep of the hills and the
+reaches of sky above my head, every nerve in my body is alive with
+sensation and delight. My joy is in the fragrance of earth, the
+ingratiating warmth of the fresh morning, the spacious, inclosing air.
+My pleasure in this direct contact with the landscape is a physical
+reaction, to be enjoyed only by the actual experience of it; it cannot
+be reproduced by any other means; it can be recalled by memory but
+faintly and as the echo of sensation. There is, however, something
+else in the landscape which can be reproduced; and this recall may
+seem more glorious than the original in nature. There are elements
+in the scene which a painter can render for me more intensely and
+vividly than I perceived them for myself. These elements embody
+the value that the landscape has for my emotions. The scene appeals
+to something within me which lies beyond my actual physical
+contact with it and the mere sense of touch. The harmony that the
+eye perceives in these open fields, the gracious line of trees along
+the stream's edge, the tossing hills beyond, and the arch of the blue
+sky above impregnating the earth with light, is communicated to my
+spirit, and I feel that this reach of radiant country is an extension of
+my own personality. A painter, by the manipulation of his color and
+line and mass, concentrates and intensifies the harmony of it and so
+heightens its emotional value. The meaning of the scene for the
+spirit is conveyed in terms of color and mass.
+
+Color and mass are the painter's medium, his language. The final
+import of art is the _idea,_ the emotional content of the work. On his
+way to the expression of his idea the artist avails himself of material
+to give his feeling concrete actuality and visible or audible
+realization. He paints a picture, glorious in color and compelling in
+the concentration of its massing; he carves a statue, noble in form or
+subtly rhythmic; he weaves a pattern of harmonious sounds. He
+values objects not for their own sake but for the energies they
+possess,--their power to rouse his whole being into heightened
+activity. And they have this power by virtue of their material
+qualities, as color and form or sound. A landscape is gay in
+springtime or sad in autumn. The difference in its effect upon us is
+not due to our knowledge that it is spring or autumn and our
+consciousness of the associations appropriate to each season. The
+emotional quality of the scene is largely a matter of its color. Let the
+spring landscape be shrouded in gray mist sifting down out of gray
+skies, and we are sad. Let the autumn fields and woodland sparkle
+and dance in the crisp golden sunlight, and our blood dances with
+them and we want to shout from full lungs. In music the major key
+wakens a different emotion from the minor. The note of a violin is
+virgin in quality; the voice of the 'cello is the voice of experience.
+The distinctive emotional value of each instrument inheres in the
+character of its sound. These qualities of objects art uses as its
+language.
+
+Though all art is one in essence, yet each art employs a medium of
+its own. In order to understand a work in its scope and true
+significance we must recognize that an artist thinks and feels in
+terms of his special medium. His impulse to create comes with his
+vision, actual or imaginative, of color or form, and his thought is
+transmitted to his hand, which shapes the work, without the
+intervention of words. The nature of his vehicle and the conditions
+in which he works determine in large measure the details of the form
+which his idea ultimately assumes. Thus a potter designs his vessel
+first with reference to its use and then with regard to his material, its
+character and possibilities. As he models his plastic clay upon a
+wheel, he naturally makes his bowl or jug round rather than sharply
+angular. A pattern for a carpet, to be woven by a system of little
+squares into the fabric, will have regard for the conditions in which
+it is to be rendered, and it will differ in the character of its lines and
+masses from a pattern for a wall-paper, which may be printed from
+blocks. The designer in stained glass will try less to make a picture
+in the spirit of graphic representation than to produce an harmonious
+color-pattern whose outlines will be guided and controlled by the
+possibilities of the "leading" of the window. The true artist uses the
+conditions and very limitations of his material as his opportunity.
+The restraint imposed by the sonnet form is welcomed by the poet as
+compelling a collectedness of thought and an intensity of expression
+which his idea might not achieve if allowed to flow in freer channels.
+The worker in iron has his triumphs; the goldsmith has his. The
+limitations of each craft open to it effects which are denied to the
+other. There is an art of confectionery and an art of sculpture. The
+designer of frostings who has a right feeling for his art will not
+emulate the sculptor and strive to model in the grand style; the
+sculptor who tries to reproduce imitatively the textures of lace or
+other fabrics and who exuberates in filigrees and fussinesses so far
+departs from his art as to rival the confectioner. In the degree that a
+painter tries to wrench his medium from its right use and function
+and attempts to make his picture tell a story, which can better be told
+in words, to that extent he is unfaithful to his art. Painting, working
+as it does with color and form, should confine itself to the
+expression of emotion and idea that can be rendered visible. On the
+part of the appreciator, likewise, the emotion expressed in one kind
+of medium is not to be translated into any other terms without a
+difference. Every kind of material has its special value for
+expression. The meaning of pictures, accordingly, is limited
+precisely to the expressive power of color and form. The impression
+which a picture makes upon the beholder maybe phrased by him in
+words, which are his own means of expression; but he suggests the
+import of the picture only incompletely. If I describe in words
+Millet's painting of the "Sower" according to my understanding of it,
+I am telling in my own terms what the picture means to me. What it
+meant to Millet, the full and true significance of the situation as the
+painter felt it, is there expressed upon his canvas in terms of visible
+aspect; and correspondingly, Millet's meaning is fully and truly
+received in the measure that we feel in ourselves the emotion roused
+by the sight of his color and form.
+
+The essential content of a work of art, therefore, is modified in its
+effect upon us by the kind of medium in which it is presented. If an
+idea phrased originally in one medium is translated into the terms of
+another, we have _illustration._ Turning the pages of an "illustrated"
+novel, we come upon a plate showing a man and a woman against
+the background of a divan, a chair, and a tea-table. The man, in a
+frock coat, holding a top hat in his left hand, extends his right hand
+to the woman, who has just risen from the table. The legend under
+the picture reads, "Taking his hat, he said good-by." Here the
+illustrator has simply supplied a visible image of what was
+suggested in the text; the drawing has no interest beyond helping the
+reader to that image. It is a statement of the bare fact in other terms.
+In the hands of an artist, however, the translation may take on a
+value of its own, changing the original idea, adding to it, and
+becoming in itself an independent work of art. This value derives
+from the form into which the idea is translated. The frescoes of the
+Sistine Chapel are only sublime illustration; but how little of their
+power attaches to the subject they illustrate, and how much of their
+sublimity lies in the painter's rendering! Conversely, an example of
+the literary interpretation of a picture is Walter Pater's description of
+Leonardo's Mona Lisa.
+
+The presence that thus rose so strangely beside the waters, is
+expressive of what in the ways of a thousand years men had come to
+desire. Hers is the head upon which all "the ends of the world are
+come," and the eyelids are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought out
+from within upon the flesh, the deposit, little cell by cell, of strange
+thoughts and fantastic reveries and exquisite passions. Set it for a
+moment beside one of those white Greek goddesses or beautiful
+women of antiquity, and how would they be troubled by this beauty,
+into which the soul with all its maladies has passed! All the thoughts
+and experience of the world have etched and moulded there, in that
+which they have of power to refine and make expressive the outward
+form, the animalism of Greece, the lust of Rome, the reverie of the
+middle age with its spiritual ambition and imaginative loves, the
+return of the Pagan world, the sins of the Borgias. She is older than
+the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire, she has been dead
+many times, and learned the secrets of the grave; and has been a
+diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her; and
+trafficked for strange webs with Eastern merchants; and, as Leda,
+was the mother of Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of
+Mary; and all this has been to her but as the sound of lyres and flutes,
+and lives only in the delicacy with which it has moulded the
+changing lineaments, and tinged the eyelids and the hands. The
+fancy of a perpetual life, sweeping together ten thousand
+experiences, is an old one; and modern thought has conceived the
+idea of humanity as wrought upon by, and summing up in itself, all
+modes of thought and life. Certainly Lady Lisa might stand as the
+embodiment of the old fancy, the symbol of the modern idea.
+
+It is Leonardo's conception, yet with a difference. Here the critic has
+woven about the subject an exquisite tissue of associations, a whole
+wide background of knowledge and thought and feeling which it lay
+beyond the painter's range to evoke; but the critic is denied the
+vividness, the immediateness and intimate warmth of vital contact,
+which the painter was able to achieve. The Lisa whom Leonardo
+shows us and the Lisa whom Pater interprets for us are the same in
+essence yet different in their power to affect us. The difference
+resulting from the kind of medium employed is well exemplified by
+Rossetti's "Blessed Damozel." The fundamental concept of both
+poem and picture is identical, but picture and poem have each its
+distinctive range and limitations and its own peculiar appeal. If we
+cancel the common element in the two, the difference remaining
+makes it possible for us to realize how much of the effect of a work
+of art inheres in the medium itself. Painting may be an aid to
+literature in that it helps us to more vivid images; the literary
+interpretation of pictures or music gives to the works with which it
+deals an intellectual definiteness. But the functions peculiar to each
+art are not to be confounded nor the distinctions obscured.
+
+Pictures are not a substitute for literature, and their true meaning is
+finally not to be translated into words. Their beauty is a visible
+beauty; the emotions they rouse are such as can be conveyed
+through the sense of sight. In the end they carry their message
+sufficingly as color and mass. Midway, however, our enjoyment
+may be complicated by other elements which have their place in our
+total appreciation. Thus a painting of a landscape may appeal to us
+over and above its inherent beauty because we are already, out of
+actual experience, familiar with the scene it represents, and the sight
+of it wakens in our memory a train of pleasant allied associations. A
+ruined tower, in itself an exquisite composition in color and line and
+mass, may gather about it suggestions of romance, elemental
+passions and wild life, and may epitomize for the beholder the
+whole Middle Age. Associated interest, therefore, may be
+sentimental or intellectual. It may be sensuous also, appealing to
+other senses than those of sight. The sense of touch plays a large
+part in our enjoyment of the world. We like the "feel" of objects, the
+catch of raw silk, the chill smoothness of burnished brass, the thick
+softness of mists, the "amorous wet" of green depths of sea. The
+senses of taste and smell may be excited imaginatively and
+contribute to our pleasure. Winslow Homer's breakers bring back to
+us the salt fragrance of the ocean, and in the presence of these white
+mad surges we feel the stinging spray in our faces and we taste the
+cosmic exhilaration of the sea-wind. But the final meaning of a
+picture resides in the total harmony of color and form, a harmony
+into which we can project our whole personality and which itself
+constitutes the emotional experience.
+
+All language in its material aspect has a sensuous value, as the
+wealth of color of Venetian painting, the sumptuousness of
+Renaissance architecture, the melody of Mr. Swinburne's verse, the
+gem-like brilliance of Stevenson's prose, the all-inclusive
+sensuousness, touched with sensuality, of Wagner's music-dramas.
+Because of the charm of beautiful language there are many
+art-lovers who regard the sensuous qualities of the work itself as
+making up the entire experience. Apart from any consideration of
+intention or expressiveness, the material _thing_ which the artist's
+touch summons into form is held to be "its own excuse for being."
+
+This order of enjoyment, valid as far as it goes, falls short of
+complete appreciation. It does not pass the delight one has in the
+radiance of gems or the glowing tincture of some fabric. The
+element of meaning does not enter in. There is a beauty for the eye
+and a beauty for the mind. The qualities of material may give
+pleasure to the senses; the object embodying these qualities becomes
+beautiful only as it is endowed with a significance wakened in the
+human spirit. A landscape, says Walter Crane, "owes a great part of
+its beauty to the harmonious relation of its leading lines, or to certain
+pleasant contrasts, or a certain impressiveness of form and mass, and
+at the same time we shall perceive that this linear expression is
+inseparable from the sentiment or emotion suggested by that
+particular scene." In the appreciation of art, to stop with the
+sensuous appeal of the medium is to mistake means for an end.
+"Rhyme," says the author of "Intentions," "in the hands of a real
+artist becomes not merely a material element of metrical beauty, but
+a spiritual element of thought and passion also." An artist's color,
+glorious or tender, is only a symbol and manifestation to sense of his
+emotion. At first glance Titian's portrait of the "Man with the Glove"
+is an ineffable color-harmony. But truly seen it is infinitely more. By
+means of color and formal design Titian has embodied here his
+vision of superb young manhood; by the expressive power of his
+material symbols he has rendered visible his sense of dignity, of
+fineness, of strength in reserve. The color is beautiful because his
+idea was beautiful. Through the character of this young man as
+revealed and interpreted by the artist, the beholder is brought into
+contact with a vital personality, whose influence is communicated to
+him; in the appreciation of Titian's message he sees and feels and
+lives.
+
+The value of the medium resided not in the material itself but in its
+power for expression. When language is elaborated at the expense of
+the meaning, we have in so far forth sham art. It should be easy to
+distinguish in art between what is vital and what is mechanical. The
+mechanical is the product of mere execution and calls attention to
+the manner. The vital is born out of inspiration, and the living idea
+transmutes its material into emotion. Too great an effort at
+realization defeats the intended illusion, for we think only of the
+skill exercised to effect the result, and the operation of the intellect
+inhibits feeling. In the greatest art the medium is least perceived, and
+the beholder stands immediately in the presence of the artist's idea.
+The material is necessarily fixed and finite; the idea struggles to free
+itself from its medium and untrammeled to reach the spirit. It is
+mind speaking to mind. However complete the material expression
+may seem, it is only a part of what the artist would say; imagination
+transcends the actual.  In the art which goes deepest into life, the
+medium is necessarily inadequate. The artist fashions his work in a
+sublime despair as he feels how little of the mighty meaning within
+him he is able to convey. In the greatest works rightly seen the
+medium becomes transparent. Within the Sistine Chapel the visitor,
+when once he has yielded to the illusion, is not conscious of plaster
+surface and pigment; indeed, he hardly sees color and design as such
+at all; through them he looks into the immensity of heaven, peopled
+with gods and godlike men. Consummate acting is that which makes
+the spectator forget that it is acting. The part and the player become
+one. The actor, in himself and in the words he utters, is the
+unregarded vehicle of the dramatist's idea. In a play like Ibsen's
+"Ghosts," the stage, the actors, the dialogue merge and fall away,
+and the overwhelming meaning stands revealed in its complete
+intensity. As the play opens, it cuts out a segment from the chaos of
+human life; step by step it excludes all that is unessential, stroke by
+stroke with an inevitableness that is crushing, it converges to the
+great one-thing that the dramatist wanted to say, until at the end the
+spectator, conscious no longer of the medium but only of the idea
+and all-resolving emotion, bows down before its overmastering
+force with the cry, "What a _mind_ is there!"
+
+In the art which most completely achieves expression the medium is
+not perceived as distinct from the emotion of which the medium is
+the embodiment. In order to render expressive the material
+employed in its service, art seeks constantly to identify means and
+end, to make the form one with the content. The wayfarer out of his
+need of shelter built a hut, using the material which chance gave into
+his hand and shaping his design according to his resources; the
+purpose of his work was not the hut itself but shelter. So the artist in
+any form is impelled to creation by his need of expression; the thing
+which he creates is not the purpose and end of his effort, but only
+the means. Each art has its special medium, and each medium has its
+peculiar sensuous charm and its own kind of expressiveness. This
+power of sensuous delight is incidental to the real beauty of the
+work; and that beauty is the message the work is framed to convey
+to the spirit. In the individual work, the inspiring and shaping idea
+seeks so to fuse its material that we feel the idea could not have been
+phrased in any other way as we surrender to its ultimate appeal,--the
+sum of the emotional content which gave it birth and in which it
+reaches its fulfillment.
+
+
+
+V
+
+THE BACKGROUND OF ART
+
+SCENE: The main hall of the Accademia in Venice.
+
+Time: Noon of a July day.
+
+Dramatis personae: A guide; two drab-colored and tired men; a
+group of women, of various ages, equipped with red-covered little
+volumes, and severally expressive of great earnestness, wide-eyed
+rapture, and giggles.
+
+_The guide, in strident, accentless tones:_ Last work of Titian.
+Ninety-nine years old. He died of smallpox.
+
+_A woman:_ Is that it?
+
+_A high voice on the outskirts:_ I'm going to get one for forty
+dollars.
+
+_Another voice:_ Well, I'm not going to pay more than fifty for
+mine.
+
+_A straggler:_ Eliza, look at those people. Oh, you missed it!
+_(Stopping suddenly?)_ My, isn't that lovely!
+
+_Chorus:_ Yes, that's Paris Bordone. Which one is that? He has
+magnificent color.
+
+_The guide:_ The thing you want to look at is the five figures in
+front.
+
+_A voice:_ Oh, that's beautiful. I love that.
+
+_A man:_ Foreshortened; well, I should say so! But I say, you can't
+remember all these pictures.
+
+_The other man:_ Let's get out of this!
+
+_The guide, indicating a picture of the Grand Canal:_ This one has
+been restored.
+
+_A girl's voice:_ Why, that's the house where we are staying!
+
+_The guide:_ The next picture . . .
+
+The squad shuffles out of range.
+
+This little comedy, enacted in fact and here faithfully reported, is not
+without its pathos. These people are "studying art." They really want
+to understand, and if possible, to enjoy. They have visited galleries
+and seen many pictures, and they will visit other galleries and see
+many more pictures before their return home. They have read
+guide-books, noting the stars and double stars; they have dipped into
+histories of art and volumes of criticism. They have been told to
+observe the dramatic force of Giotto, the line of Botticelli, the
+perfect composition of Raphael, the color of Titian; all this they
+have done punctiliously. They know in a vague way that Giotto was
+much earlier than Raphael, that Botticelli was rather pagan than
+Christian, that Titian belonged to the Venetian school. They have
+come to the fountain head of art, the very works themselves as
+gathered in the galleries; they have tried to remember what they
+have read and to do what they have been told; and now they are left
+still perplexed and unsatisfied.
+
+The difficulty is that these earnest seekers after knowledge of art
+have laid hold on partial truths, but they have failed to see these
+partial truths in their right relation to the whole. The period in which
+an artist lived means something. His way of thinking and feeling
+means something. The quality of his color means something. But
+what does his _picture_ mean? These people have not quite found
+the key by which to piece the fragments of the puzzle into the
+complete design. They miss the central fact with regard to art; and as
+a consequence, the ways of approach to the full enjoyment of art,
+instead of bringing them nearer the centre, become for them a
+network of by-paths in which they enmesh themselves, and they are
+left to wander helplessly up and down and about in the blind-alleys
+of the labyrinth. The central fact with regard to art is this, that a
+work of art is the expression of some part of the artist's experience
+of life, his vision of some aspect of the world. For the appreciator,
+the work takes on a meaning as it becomes for him in his turn the
+expression of his own actual or possible experience and thus relates
+itself by the subtle links of feeling to his own life. This is the central
+fact; but there are side issues. Any single work of art is in itself
+necessarily finite. Because of limitations in both the artist and the
+appreciator the work cannot express immediately and completely of
+itself all that the author wished to convey; it can present but a single
+facet of his many-sided radiating personality. What is actually said
+may be reinforced by some understanding on the beholder's part of
+what was intended. In order to win its fullest message, therefore, the
+appreciator must set the work against the large background out of
+which it has proceeded.
+
+A visitor in the _Salon Carré_ of the Louvre notes that there are
+arrayed before him pictures by Jan van Eyck and Memling, Raphael
+and Leonardo, Giorgione and Titian, Rembrandt and Metsu, Rubens
+and Van Dyck, Fouquet and Poussin, Velasquez and Murillo. Each
+one bears the distinctive impress of its creator. How different some
+of them, one from another,--the Virgin of Van Eyck from the
+Virgin of Raphael, Rembrandt's "Pilgrimsat Emmaus" from the
+"Entombment" by Titian. Yet between others there are common
+elements of likeness. Raphael and Titian are distinguished by an
+opulence of form and a luxuriance of color which reveal supreme
+technical accomplishment in a fertile land under light-impregnated
+skies. The rigidity and restraint of Van Eyck and Memling suggest
+the tentative early efforts of the art of a sober northern race. To a
+thoughtful student of these pictures sooner or later the question
+comes, Whence are these likenesses and these differences?
+
+Hitherto I have referred to the creative mind and executive hand as
+generically _the artist._ I have thought of him as a type,
+representative of all the great class of those who feel and express,
+and who by means of their expression communicate their feeling.
+Similarly I have spoken of _the work of art,_ as though it were
+complete in itself and isolated, sprung full-formed and panoplied
+from the brain of its creator, able to win its way and consummate its
+destiny alone. The type is conceived intellectually; in actual life the
+type resolves itself into individuals. So there are individual artists,
+each with his own distinctive gifts and ideals, each with his own
+separate experience of life, with his personal and special vision of
+the world, and his characteristic manner of expression. Similarly, a
+single work of art is not an isolated phenomenon; it is only a part of
+the artist's total performance, and to these other works it must be
+referred. The kind of work an artist sets himself to do is determined
+to some extent by the period into which he was born and the country
+in which he lived. The artist himself, heir to the achievements of his
+predecessors, is a development, and his work is the product of an
+evolution. A work of art, therefore, to be judged aright and truly
+appreciated, must be seen in its relation to its background, from
+which it detaches itself at the moment of consideration,--the
+background of the artist's personality and accomplishment and of the
+national life and ideals of his time.
+
+If the layman's interest in art is more than the casual touch-and-go of
+a picture here, a concert there, and an entertaining book of an
+evening, he is confronted with the important matter of the study of
+art as it manifests itself through the ages and in diverse lands. It is
+not a question of practicing an art himself, for technical skill lies
+outside his province. The study of art in the sense proposed has to
+do with the consideration of an individual work in its relation to all
+the factors that have entered into its production. The work of an
+artist is profoundly influenced by the national ideals and way of life
+of his race and of his age. The art of Catholic Italy is ecclesiastical;
+the art of the Protestant North is domestic and individual. The actual
+form an artist's work assumes is modified by the resources at his
+disposal,--resources both of material and of technical methods.
+Raphael may have no more to say than Giotto had, but he is able to
+express himself in a fuller and more finished way, because in his
+time the language of painting had become richer and more varied
+and the rhetoric of it had been carried to a farther point of
+development. Finally, as all art is in essence the expression of
+personality, a single work is to be understood in its widest intention
+and scope by reference to the total personality of the individual artist
+as manifested in his work collectively, and to be interpreted by the
+appreciator through his knowledge of the artist's experience of life.
+
+In order to wrest its fullest expressiveness from a work of art it is
+necessary as far as possible to regard the work from the artist's own
+point of view. We must try to see with his eyes and to feel with him
+what he was working for. To this end we must reconstruct
+imaginatively on a basis of the facts the conditions in which he lived
+and wrought. The difference between Giotto and Raphael is a
+difference not of individuality only. Each gives expression to the
+ideals and ways of thought of his age. Each is a creative mind, but
+each bases his performance upon what has gone before, and the
+form of their work is conditioned by the resources each had at his
+disposal. To discover the artist's purpose more completely than he
+was able to realize it for himself in the single work,--that is the aim
+and function of the historical study of art. A brief review of the
+achievement of Giotto and of Raphael may serve to illustrate
+concretely the application of the principle and to fix its value to
+appreciation.
+
+In the period of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire art passed
+from Rome to Byzantium. The arts of sculpture and painting were
+employed in the service of the Church, imposing by its magnificence
+and all-powerful in its domination over the lives and minds of men.
+The function of art was to teach; its character was symbolic and
+decorative. Art had no separate and independent existence. It had no
+direct reference to nature; the pictorial representation of individual
+traits was quite outside its scope; a few signs fixed by convention
+sufficed. A fish--derived from the acrostic _ichtbus--_symbolized
+the Saviour; a cross was the visible token of redeeming grace. And
+so through several hundred years. The twelfth century saw the
+beginnings of a change in the direction of spiritual and intellectual
+emancipation. The teachings and example of Francis of Assisi
+brought men to the consciousness of themselves and to a realization
+of the worth and significance of the individual life. The work of
+Giotto is the expression in art of the new spirit.
+
+Of necessity Giotto founded his work upon the accepted forms of
+the Byzantine tradition. But Giotto was a man of genius and a
+creative mind. In the expression of his fresh impulse and vital
+feeling, the assertion of new-found individuality, he tried to
+_realize_ as convincingly and vividly as possible the situation with
+which he was dealing; and with this purpose he looked not back
+upon art but out upon nature. Where the Byzantine convention had
+presented but a sign and remote indication of form by means of flat
+color, Giotto endows his figures with life and movement and
+actuality by giving them a body in three dimensions; his forms exist
+in the round. Until his day, light and shade had not been employed;
+and such perspective as he was able to achieve he had to discover
+for himself. For the first time in Christian painting a figure has
+bodily existence. Giotto gives the first evidence, too, of a sense of
+the beauty of color, and of the value of movement as a means of
+added expressiveness. His power of composition shows an immense
+advance on his predecessors. In dealing with traditional subjects, as
+the Madonna and child, he follows in general the traditional
+arrangement. But in those subjects where his own inventiveness is
+given free play, as in the series of frescoes illustrating the life of St.
+Francis, he reveals an extraordinary faculty of design and a dramatic
+sense which is matched by a directness and clarity of expression.
+
+Not only in the technique of his craft was Giotto an innovator, but
+also in the direction of naturalness and reality of feeling. He was the
+first to introduce portraits into his work. His Madonnas and saints
+are no longer mere types; they are human and individual, vividly felt
+and characterized by immediate and present actuality. Giotto was
+the first realist, but he was a poet too. His insight into life is
+tempered by a deep sincerity and piety; his work is genuinely and
+powerfully felt. As a man Giotto was reverent and earnest, joyous
+and beautifully sane. As a painter, by force of the freshness of his
+impulse and the clarity of his vision, he created a new manner of
+expression. As an artist he reveals a true power of imaginative
+interpretation. The casual spectator of to-day finds him naive and
+quaint. In the eyes of his contemporaries he was anything but that;
+they regarded him as a marvel of reality, surpassing nature itself.
+When judged with reference to the conditions of life in which he
+worked and to the technical resources at his command, Giotto is
+seen to be of a very high order of creative mind.
+
+The year 1300 divides the life of Giotto into two nearly equal parts;
+the year 1500 similarly divides the life of Raphael. In the two
+centuries that intervene, the great age of Italian painting, initiated by
+Giotto, reaches its flower and perfection in Michelangelo, Leonardo,
+and Raphael. The years which followed the passing of these
+greatnesses were the years of decadence and eclipse. If we are to
+understand and justly appreciate the work of each man in its own
+kind, the painting of Giotto must be tried by other standards than
+those we apply to the judgment of Raphael. Giotto was a pioneer;
+Raphael is a consummation. The two centuries between were a
+period of development and change, a development in all that regards
+technique, a change in national ideals and in the artist's attitude
+toward life and toward his art. A quick survey of the period, if so
+hasty a generalization permits correctness of statement, will help us
+in the understanding of the craft and art of Raphael.
+
+Giotto was succeeded by a host of lesser men, regarded as his
+followers, men who sought to apply the principles and methods of
+painting worked out by the master, but who lacked his inspiration
+and his power. Thus it was for nearly a hundred years. The turn of
+the fourteenth century into the fifteenth saw the emergence of new
+forces in the science and the mechanics of painting. The laws of
+perspective and foreshortening were made the object of special
+research and practice by men like Uccello (1397-1475), Piero dei
+Franceschi (1416-1492), and Mantegna (1431-1506). "Oh, what a
+beautiful thing this perspective is!" Uccello exclaimed, as he stood
+at his desk between midnight and dawn while his wife begged him
+to take some rest. In the first thirty years of the fifteenth century,
+Masaccio contributed to the knowledge of anatomy by his painting
+of the nude form; and the study of the nude was continued by
+Pollaiuolo and Luca Signorelli, in the second half of the century.
+Masaccio, also, was the first to place his figures in _air,_ enveloping
+them in atmosphere. Verrocchio, a generation later than Masaccio,
+was one of the first of the Florentines to understand landscape and
+the part played in it by air and light. The realistic spirit, which
+suffices itself with subjects drawn from every-day actual experience,
+finds expression in the first half of the fifteenth century in the work
+of Andrea del Castagno. And so down through that century of spring
+and summer. Each painter in his own way carries some detail of his
+craft to a further point of development and prepares the path for the
+supreme triumphs of Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Raphael.
+
+The growing mastery of the principles and technique of painting
+accompanied a change in the painter's attitude toward his art.
+Originally, painting, applied in subjection to architecture and
+employed in the service of the Church, was decorative in scope; its
+purpose was illustration, its function was to teach. As painters, from
+generation to generation, went deeper into the secrets of their craft,
+they became less interested in the didactic import of their work, and
+they concerned themselves more and more with its purely artistic
+significance. Religious subjects were no longer used merely as
+symbols for the expression of piety and as incitements to devotion;
+they became inherently artistic motives, valued as they furnished the
+artist an opportunity for the exercise of his knowledge and skill and
+for the exhibition of lovely color and significant form. A change in
+the mechanical methods of painting, also, had its influence on a
+change in the conception of the function of art. With a very few
+exceptions, the works of Giotto were executed in fresco as wall
+decorations. The principles of mural painting require that the
+composition shall be subordinated to the architectural conditions of
+the space it is to fill and that the color shall be kept flat. The fresco
+method meets these requirements admirably, but because of its
+flatness it has its limitations. The introduction of an oil vehicle for
+the pigment material, in the fifteenth century, made possible a much
+greater range in gradated color, and reinforcing the increased
+knowledge of light and shade, aided in the evolution of decoration
+into the "easel picture," complete in itself. Released from its
+subjection to architecture, increasing its technical resources, and
+widening its interests in the matter of subject so as to include all life,
+painting becomes an independent and self-sufficing art.
+
+Coincident with the development of painting as a craft, a mighty
+change was working itself out in the national ideals and in men's
+ways of thought and feeling. Already in Giotto's time the spirit of
+individualism had begun to assert itself in reaction from the
+dominance of an all-powerful restrictive ecclesiasticism, but the age
+was still essentially pietistic and according to its lights, religious.
+The fifteenth century witnessed the emancipation from tradition.
+The new humanism, which took its rise with the rediscovery of
+Greek culture, extended the intellectual horizon and intensified the
+enthusiasm for beauty. Men's interest in life was no longer narrowly
+religious, but human; their art became the expression of the new
+spirit. Early Christianity had been ascetic, enjoining negation of life
+and the mortification of the flesh. The men of the Renaissance, with
+something of the feeling of the elder Greeks, glorified the body and
+delighted in the pride of life. Pagan myths and Greek legends take
+their place alongside of Bible episodes and stories of saints and
+martyrs, as subjects of representation; all served equally as motives
+for the expression of the artist's sense of the beauty of this world.
+
+To this new culture and to these two centuries of growth and
+accomplishment in the practice of painting Raphael was heir. With a
+knowledge of the background out of which he emerges, we are
+prepared now to understand and appreciate his individual
+achievement. In approaching the study of his work we may ask,
+What is in general his ideal, his dominant motive, and in what
+manner and by what means has he realized his ideal?
+
+How much was already prepared for him, what does he owe to the
+age and the conditions in which he worked, and what to the common
+store has he added that is peculiarly his own?
+
+Whereas Giotto, the shepherd boy, was a pioneer, almost solitary, by
+sheer force of mind and by his sincerity and intensity of feeling
+breaking new paths to expression, for Raphael, on the contrary, the
+son of a painter and poet, the fellow-worker and well-beloved friend
+of many of the most powerful artistic personalities of his own or any
+age, the way was already prepared along which he moved in
+triumphant progress. The life of Raphael as an artist extends through
+three well-defined periods, the Umbrian, the Florentine, and the
+Roman, each one of which contributed a distinctive influence upon
+his development and witnessed a special and characteristic
+achievement.
+
+To his father, who died when the boy was eleven years old, Raphael
+owed his poetic nature, scholarly tastes, and love of beauty, though
+he probably received from him no training as a painter. His first
+master was Timoteo Viti of Urbino, a pupil of Francia; from him he
+learned drawing and acquired a "certain predilection for round and
+opulent forms which is in itself the negation of the ascetic ideal." At
+the age of seventeen he went from Urbino to Perugia; there he
+entered the workshop of Perugino as an assistant. The ideal of the
+Umbrian school was tenderness and sweetness, the outward and
+visible rapture of pietistic feeling; something of these qualities
+Raphael expressed in his Madonnas throughout his career. Under the
+teaching of Perugino he laid hold on the principles of "space
+composition" which he was afterwards to carry to supreme
+perfection.
+
+From Perugia the young Raphael made his way to Florence, and
+here he underwent many influences. At that moment Florence was
+the capital city of Italian culture. It was here that the new humanism
+had come to finest flower. Scholarship was the fashion; art was the
+chief interest of this beauty-loving people. It was the Florentines
+who had carried the scientific principles of painting to their highest
+point of development, particularly in their application to the
+rendering of the human figure. In Florence were collected the art
+treasures of the splendid century; here Michelangelo and Leonardo
+were at work; here were gathered companies of lesser men. By the
+study of Masaccio Raphael was led out to a fresh contact with nature.
+Fra Bartolomeo revealed to him further possibilities of composition
+and taught him some of the secrets of color. In Florence, too, he
+acknowledged the spell of Michelangelo and Leonardo. But though
+he learned from many teachers, Raphael was never merely an
+imitator. His scholarship and his skill he turned to his own uses; and
+when we have traced the sources of his motives and the influences
+in the moulding of his manner, there emerges out of the fusion a
+creative new force, which is his genius. What remains after our
+analysis is the essential Raphael.
+
+Raphael's residence in Florence is the period of his Madonnas. From
+Florence Raphael, twenty-five years old and now a master in his
+own right, was summoned to Rome by Pope Julius II; and here he
+placed his talents and his mastership at the disposal of the Church.
+He found time to paint Madonnas and a series of powerful and
+lovely portraits; but these years in Rome, which brought his brief
+life to a close, are preeminently the period of the great frescoes,
+which are his supreme achievement. But even in these mature years,
+and though he was himself the founder of a school, he did not cease
+to learn. Michelangelo was already in Rome, and now Raphael came
+more immediately under his influence, although not to submit to it
+but to use it for his own ends. In Rome were revealed to him the
+culture of an older and riper civilization and the glories and
+perfectness of an elder art. Raphael laid antiquity under contribution
+to the consummation of his art and the fulfillment and complete
+realization of his genius.
+
+This analysis of the elements and influences of Raphael's career as
+an artist--inadequate as it necessarily is--may help us to define his
+distinctive accomplishment. A comparison of his work with that of
+his predecessors and contemporaries serves to disengage his
+essential significance. By nature he was generous and tender; the
+bent of his mind was scholarly; and he was impelled by a passion for
+restrained and formal beauty. Chiefly characteristic of his mental
+make-up was his power of assimilation, which allowed him to
+respond to many and diverse influences and in the end to dominate
+and use them. He gathered up in himself the achievements of two
+centuries of experiment and progress, and fusing the various
+elements, he created by force of his genius a new result and stamped
+it with the seal perfection. Giotto, to whom religion was a reality,
+was deeply in earnest about his message, and he phrased it as best he
+could with the means at his command; his end was expression.
+Raphael, under the patronage of wealthy dilettanti and in the service
+of a worldly and splendor-loving Church, delighted in his
+knowledge and his skill; he worshiped art, and his end was beauty.
+The genius of Giotto is a first shoot, vigorous and alive, breaking
+ground hardily, and tentatively pushing into freer air. The genius of
+Raphael is the full-blown flower and final fruit, complete, mature.
+The step beyond is decay.
+
+By reference to Giotto and to Raphael I have tried to illustrate the
+practical application of certain principles of art study. A work of art
+is not absolute; both its content and its form are determined by the
+conditions out of which it proceeds. All judgment, therefore, must
+be comparative, and a work of art must be considered in its relation
+to its background and its conventions. Art is an interpretation of
+some aspect of life as the artist has felt it; and the artist is a child of
+his time. It is not an accident that Raphael portrayed Madonnas,
+serene and glorified, and Millet pictured rude peasants bent with toil.
+Raphael's painting is the culmination of two centuries of eager
+striving after the adequate expression of religious sentiment; in
+Millet's work the realism of his age is transfigured. As showing
+further how national ideals and interests may influence individual
+production, we may note that the characteristic art of the Italian
+Renaissance is painting; and Italian sculpture of the period is
+pictorial rather than plastic in motive and handling. Ghiberti's doors
+of the Florence Baptistery, in the grouping of figures and the three
+and four planes in perspective of the backgrounds, are essentially
+pictures in bronze. Conversely, in the North the characteristic art of
+the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries is carving and sculpture; and
+"the early painters represented in their pictures what they were
+familiar with in wood and stone; so that not only are the figures dry
+and hard, but in the groups they are packed one behind another,
+heads above heads, without really occupying space, in imitation of
+the method adopted in the carved relief." Some knowledge of the
+origin and development of a given form of technique, a knowledge
+to be reached through historical study, enables us to measure the
+degree of expressiveness of a given work. The ideas of a child may
+be very well worth listening to, though his range of words is limited
+and his sentences are crude and halting, A grown man, having
+acquired the trick of language, may talk fluently and say nothing. In
+our endeavor to understand a work of art, a poem by Chaucer or by
+Tennyson, a picture by Greco or by Manet, a prelude by Bach or a
+symphony by Brahms, we may ask, Of that which the artist wanted
+to say, how much could he say with the means at his disposal? With
+a sense of the artist's larger motive, whether religious sentiment, or a
+love of sheer beauty of color and form, or insight into human
+character, we are aided by a study of the history of technique to
+determine how far the artist with the language at his command was
+able to realize his intention.
+
+But not only is art inspired and directed by the time-spirit of its age.
+A single work is the expression for the artist who creates it of his
+ideal. An artist's ideal, what he sets himself to accomplish, is the
+projection of his personality, and that is determined by many
+influences. He is first of all a child of his race and time; inheritance
+and training shape him to these larger conditions. Then his ideal is
+modified by his special individuality. A study of the artist's character
+as revealed in his biography leads to a fuller understanding of the
+intention and scope of his work. The events of his life become
+significant as they are seen to be the causes or the results of his total
+personality, that which he was in mind and temperament. What were
+the circumstances that moulded his character and decided his course?
+What events did he shape to his own purpose by the active force of
+his genius? What was the special angle of vision from which he
+looked upon the world? The answers to these questions are the clue
+to the full drift of his work. As style is the expression of the man, so
+conversely a knowledge of the man is an entrance into the wider and
+subtler implications of his style. We explore the personality of the
+man in order more amply to interpret his art, and we turn to his art
+as the revelation of his personality. In studying an artist we must
+look for his _tendency_ and seek the unifying principle which binds
+his separate works into a whole. An artist has his successive periods
+or "manners." There is the period of apprenticeship, when the young
+man is influenced by his predecessors and his masters. Then he
+comes into his own, and he registers nature and life as he sees it
+freshly for himself. Finally, as he has mastered his art and won some
+of the secrets of nature, and as his own character develops, he tends
+more and more to impose his subjective vision upon the world, and
+he subordinates nature to the expression of his distinctive
+individuality. A single work, therefore, is to be considered in
+relation to its place in the artist's development; it is but a part, and it
+is to be interpreted by reference to the whole.
+
+In the study of biography, however, the man must not be mistaken
+for the artist; his acts are not to be confounded with his message. "A
+man is the spirit he worked in; not what he did, but what he
+became." We must summon forth the spirit of the man from within
+the wrappages of material and accident. In our preoccupation with
+the external details of a man's familiar and daily life it is easy to lose
+sight of his spiritual experience, which only is of significance.
+Whistler, vain, aggressive, quarrelsome, and yet so exquisite and so
+subtle in extreme refinement, is a notable example of a great spirit
+and a little man. Wagner wrote to Liszt: "As I have never felt the
+real bliss of love, I must erect a monument to the most beautiful of
+my dreams, in which from beginning to end that love shall be
+thoroughly satiated." Not the Wagner of fact, but the Wagner of
+dreams. Life lived in the spirit and imagination may be different
+from the life of daily act. So we should transcend the material,
+trying through that to penetrate to the spiritual. It is not a visit to the
+artist's birthplace that signifies, it is not to do reverence before his
+likeness or cherish a bit of his handwriting. All this may have a
+value to the disciple as a matter of loyalty and fine piety. But in the
+end we must go beyond these externals that we may enter
+intelligently and sympathetically into the temper of his mind and
+mood and there find disclosed what he thought and felt and was able
+only in part to express. It is not the man his neighbors knew that is
+important. His work is the essential thing, what that work has to tell
+us about life in terms of emotional experience.
+
+Studies in the history of art and in biography are avenues of
+approach to the understanding of a work of art; they do not in
+themselves constitute appreciation. Historical importance must not
+be mistaken for artistic significance. In reading about pictures we
+may forget to look at them. The historical study of art in its various
+divisions reduces itself to an exercise in analysis, resolving a given
+work into its elements. But art is a synthesis. In order to appreciate a
+work the elements must be gathered together and fused into a whole.
+A statue or a picture is meant not to be read about, but to be looked
+at; and its final message must be received through vision. Our
+knowledge will serve us little if we are not sensitive to the appeal of
+color and form. There is danger that preoccupation with the history
+of art may betray us if we are not careful to keep it in its place. The
+study of art should follow and not lead appreciation. We are apt to
+see what we are looking for. So we ought to come to each work
+freshly without prejudice or bias; it is only afterwards that we should
+bring to bear on it our knowledge about the facts of its production.
+Connoisseurship is a science and may hold within itself no element
+of aesthetic enjoyment. Appreciation is an art, and the quality of it
+depends upon the appreciator himself. The end of historical study is
+not a knowledge of facts for their own sake, but through those facts
+a deeper penetration and fuller true enjoyment. By the aid of such
+knowledge we are enabled to recognize in any work more certainly
+and abundantly the expression of an emotional experience which
+relates itself to our own life.
+
+The final meaning of art to the appreciator lies in just this sense of
+its relation to his own experience. The greatest works are those
+which express reality and life, not limited and temporary conditions,
+but life universal and for all time. Without commentary these carry
+their message, appealing to the wisest and the humblest. Gather into
+a single room a fragment of the Parthenon frieze, Michelangelo's
+"Day and Night," Botticelli's "Spring," the sprites and children of
+Donatello and Delia Robbia, Velasquez's "Pope Innocent,"
+Rembrandt's "Cloth-weavers," Frans Hals' "Musician," Millet's
+"Sower," Whistler's "Carlyle." There is here no thought of period or
+of school. These living, present, eternal verities are all one company.
+
+
+
+VI
+
+THE SERVICE OF CRITICISM
+
+THE greatest art is universal. It transcends the merely local
+conditions in which it is produced. It sweeps beyond the individual
+personality of its creator, and links itself with the common
+experience of all men. The Parthenon, so far as it can be
+reconstructed in imagination, appeals to a man of any race or any
+period, whatever his habit of mind or degree of culture, as a perfect
+utterance. The narrow vault of the Sistine Chapel opens into
+immensity, and every one who looks upon it is lifted out of himself
+into new worlds. Shakespeare's plays were enjoyed by the
+apprentices in the pit and royalty in the boxes, and so all the way
+between. The man Shakespeare, of such and such birth and training,
+and of this or that experience in life, is entirely merged in his
+creations; he becomes the impersonal channel of expression of the
+profoundest, widest interpretation of life the world has known. Such
+art as this comes closest to the earth and extends farthest into
+infinity, "beyond the reaches of our souls."
+
+But there is another order of art, more immediately the product of
+local conditions, the personal expression of a distinctive
+individuality, phrased in a language of less scope and currency, and
+limited as to its content in the range of its appeal. These lesser works
+have their place; they can minister to us in some moment of need
+and at some point in our development. Because of their limitations,
+however, their effectiveness can be furthered by interpretation. A
+man more sensitive than we to the special kind of beauty which they
+embody and better versed in their language, can discover to us a
+significance and a charm in them to which we have not penetrated.
+To help us to the fullest enjoyment of the great things and to a more
+enlightened and juster appreciation of the lesser works is the service
+of criticism.
+
+We do not wholly possess an experience until, having merged
+ourselves in it, we then react upon it and become conscious of its
+significance. A novel, a play, a picture interests us, and we surrender
+to the enjoyment of the moment. Afterwards we think about our
+pleasure, defining the nature of the experience and analyzing the
+means by which it was produced, the subject of the work and the
+artist's method of treating it. It may be that we tell our pleasure to a
+friend, glad also perhaps to hear his opinion of the matter. The
+impulse is natural; the practice is helpful. And herein lies the origin
+of criticism. In so far as an appreciator does not rest in his
+immediate enjoyment of a work of art, but seeks to account for his
+pleasure, to trace the sources of it, to establish the reasons for it, and
+to define its quality, so far he becomes a critic. As every man who
+perceives beauty in nature and takes it up into his own life is
+potentially an artist, so every man is a critic in the measure that he
+reasons about his enjoyment. The critical processes, therefore, are an
+essential part of our total experience of art, and criticism may be an
+aid to appreciation.
+
+The function of criticism has been variously understood through the
+centuries of its practice. Early modern criticism, harking back to the
+method of Aristotle, concerned itself with the form of a work of art.
+From the usage of classic writers it deduced certain "rules" of
+composition; these formulas were applied to the work under
+examination, and that was adjudged good or bad in the degree that it
+conformed or failed to conform to the established rules. It was a
+criticism of law-giving and of judgment. In the eighteenth century
+criticism extended its scope by the admission of a new consideration,
+passing beyond the mere form of the work and reckoning with its
+power to give pleasure. Addison, in his critique of "Paradise Lost,"
+still applies the formal tests of the Aristotelian canons, but he
+discovers further that a work of art exists not only for the sake of its
+form, but also for the expression of beautiful ideas. This power of
+"affecting the imagination" he declares is the "very life and highest
+perfection" of poetry. This is a long step in the right direction. With
+the nineteenth century, criticism conceives its aims and procedure in
+new and larger ways. A work of art is now seen to be an evolution;
+and criticism adapts to its own uses the principles of historical study
+and the methods of scientific investigation. Recognizing that art is
+organic, that an art-form, as religious painting or Gothic architecture
+or the novel, is born, develops, comes to maturity, lapses, and dies,
+that an individual work is the product of "race, environment, and the
+moment," that it is the expression also of the personality of the artist
+himself, criticism no longer regards the single work as an isolated
+phenomenon, but tries to see it in its relation to its total background.
+
+Present-day criticism avails itself of this larger outlook upon art. But
+the ends to be reached are understood differently by different critics.
+With M. Brunetière, to cite now a few representative names,
+criticism is authoritative and dogmatic: he looks at the work
+objectively, refusing to be the dupe of his pleasure, if he has any;
+and approaching the work in the spirit of dispassionate impersonal
+inquiry as an object of historical importance and scientific interest,
+he decrees that it is good or bad. Matthew Arnold considers
+literature a "criticism of life," and he values a work with reference to
+the moral significance of its ideas. Ruskin's criticism is didactic; he
+wishes to educate his public, and by force of his torrential eloquence
+he succeeds in persuading his disciples into acceptance of his
+teaching, though he may not always convince. Impressionistic
+criticism, as with M. Anatole France or M. Jules Lemaître, does not
+even try to see the work "as in itself it really is," but is an account of
+the critic's own subjective reaction on it, a narrative of what he
+thought and felt in this chance corner of experience. With Walter
+Pater criticism becomes _appreciation._ A given work of art
+produces a distinctive impression and communicates a special and
+unique pleasure; this active power constitutes its beauty. So the
+function of the critic as Pater conceives it is "to distinguish, analyze,
+and separate from its adjuncts, the virtue by which a picture, a
+landscape, a fair personality in life or in a book, produces this
+special impression of beauty or pleasure, to indicate what the source
+of that impression is, and under what conditions it is experienced."
+The interpretative critic--represented in the practice of Pater--stands
+between a work of art and the appreciator as mediator and revealer.
+
+Each kind of criticism performs a certain office, and is of use within
+its own chosen sphere. To the layman, for his purposes of
+appreciation, that order of criticism will be most helpful which
+responds most closely and amply to his peculiar needs. A work of
+art may be regarded under several aspects, its quality of technical
+execution, its power of sensuous appeal, its historical importance;
+and to each one of these aspects some kind of criticism applies. The
+layman's reception of art includes all these considerations, but
+subordinates them to the total experience. His concern, therefore, is
+to define the service of criticism to appreciation.
+
+The analysis of a work of art resolves it into these elements. There is
+first of all the emotion which gives birth to the work and which the
+work is designed to express. The emotion, to become definite,
+gathers about an idea, conceived in the terms of its own medium, as
+form, or color and mass, or musical relations; and this artistic idea
+presents itself as the subject or motive of the work. The emotion and
+artistic idea, in order that they may be expressed and become
+communicable, embody themselves in material, as the marble of a
+statue, the pigment of a picture, the audible tones of a musical
+composition. This material form has the power to satisfy the mind
+and delight the senses. Through the channel of the senses and the
+mind the work reaches the feelings; and the aesthetic experience is
+complete.
+
+As art springs out of emotion, so it is to be received as emotion; and
+a work to be appreciated in its true spirit must be enjoyed. But to be
+completely enjoyed it must be understood. We must know what the
+artist was trying to express, and we must be able to read his
+language; then we are prepared to take delight in the form and to
+respond to the emotion.
+
+To help us to understand a work of art in all the components that
+entered into the making of it is the function of historical study. Such
+study enables us to see the work from the artist's own point of view.
+A knowledge of its background, the conditions in which the artist
+wrought and his own attitude toward life, is the clue to his ideal; and
+by an understanding of the language it was possible for him to
+employ, we can measure the degree of expressiveness he was able to
+achieve. This study of the artist's purpose and of his methods is an
+exercise in explanation.
+
+The interpretation of art, for which we look to criticism, deals with
+the picture, the statue, the book, specifically in its relation to the
+appreciator. What is the special nature of the experience which the
+work communicates to us in terms of feeling? In so far as the
+medium itself is a source of pleasure, by what qualities of form has
+the work realized the conditions of beauty proper to it, delighting
+thus the senses and satisfying the mind? These are the questions
+which the critic, interpreting the work through the medium of his
+own temperament, seeks to answer.
+
+Theoretically, the best critic of art would be the artist himself. He
+above all other men should understand the subtle play of emotion
+and thought in which a work of art is conceived; and the artist rather
+than another should trace the intricacies and know the cunning of the
+magician processes by which the immaterial idea builds itself into
+visible actuality. In practice, however, the theory is not borne out by
+the fact. The artist as such is very little conscious of the workings of
+his spirit. He is creative rather than reflective, synthetic and not
+analytic. From his contact with nature and from his experience of
+life, out of which rises his generative emotion, he moves directly to
+the fashioning of expressive forms, without pausing on the way to
+scan too closely the "meaning" of his work. Mr. Bernard Shaw
+remarks that Ibsen, giving the rein to the creative impulse of his
+poetic nature, produced in "Brand" and "Peer Gynt" a "great puzzle
+for his intellect." Wagner, he says, "has expressly described how the
+intellectual activity which he brought to the analysis of his music
+dramas was in abeyance during their creation. Just so do we find
+Ibsen, after composing his two great dramatic poems, entering on a
+struggle to become intellectually conscious of what he had done."
+Moreover, the artist is in the very nature of things committed to one
+way of seeing. His view of life is limited by the trend of his own
+dominant and creative personality; what he gains in intensity and
+penetration of insight he loses in breadth. He is less quick to see
+beauty in another guise than that which his own imagination weaves
+for him; he is less receptive of other ways of envisaging the world.
+
+The ideal critic, on the contrary, is above everything else catholic
+and tolerant. It is his task to discover beauty in whatever form and to
+affirm it. By nature he is more sensitive than the ordinary man, by
+training he has directed the exercise of his powers toward their
+fullest scope, and by experience of art in its diverse manifestations
+he has certified his judgment and deepened his capacity to enjoy.
+The qualifications of an authentic critic are both temperament and
+scholarship. Mere temperament uncorrected by knowledge may
+vibrate exquisitely when swept by the touch of a thing of beauty, but
+its music may be in a quite different key from the original motive.
+Criticism must relate itself to the objective fact; it should interpret
+and not transpose. Mere scholarship without temperament misses art
+at its centre, that art is the expression and communication of
+emotional experience; and the scholar in criticism may wander his
+leaden way down the by-paths of a sterile learning. To mediate
+between the artist and the appreciator, the critic must understand the
+artist and he must feel with the appreciator. He is at once the artist
+translated into simpler terms and the appreciator raised to a higher
+power of perception and response.
+
+The service of criticism to the layman is to furnish him a clue to the
+meaning of the work in hand, and by the critic's own response to its
+beauty to reveal its potency and charm. With technique as such the
+critic is not concerned. Technique is the business of the artist; only
+those who themselves practice an art are qualified to judge in
+matters of practice. The form is significant to the appreciator only so
+far as regards its expressiveness and beauty. It is not the function of
+the critic to tell the artist what his work _should be;_ it is the critic's
+mission to reveal to the appreciator what the work _is_. That
+revelation will be accomplished in terms of the critic's own
+experience of the beauty of the work, an experience imaged forth in
+such phrases that the pleasure the work communicates is conveyed
+to his readers in its true quality and foil intensity. It is not enough to
+dogmatize as Ruskin dogmatizes, to bully the reader into a terrified
+acceptance. It is not enough to determine absolute values as
+Matthew Arnold seeks to do, to fix certain canons of intellectual
+judgment, and by the application of a formula as a touchstone, to
+decide that this work is excellent and that another is less good.
+Really serviceable criticism is that which notes the special and
+distinguishing quality of beauty in any work and helps the reader to
+live out that beauty in his own experience.
+
+These generalizations may be made more immediate and practical
+by examples. In illustration of the didactic manner in criticism I may
+cite a typical paragraph of Ruskin, chosen from his "Mornings in
+Florence."
+
+First, look at the two sepulchral slabs by which you are standing.
+That farther of the two from the west end is one of the most
+beautiful pieces of fourteenth-century sculpture in this world. . . .
+And now, here is a simple but most useful test of your capacity for
+understanding Florentine sculpture or painting. If you can see that
+the lines of that cap are both right, and lovely; that the choice of the
+folds is exquisite in its ornamental relations of line; and that the
+softness and ease of them is complete,--though only sketched with a
+few dark touches,--then you can understand Giotto's drawing, and
+Botticelli's;--Donatello's carving, and Luca's. But if you see nothing
+in _this_ sculpture, you will see nothing in theirs, _of_ theirs. Where
+they choose to imitate flesh, or silk, or to play any vulgar modern
+trick with marble--(and they often do)--whatever, in a word, is
+French, or American, or Cockney, in their work, you can see; but
+what is Florentine, and for ever great--unless you can see also the
+beauty of this old man in his citizen's cap,--you will see never.
+
+The earnest and docile though bewildered layman is intimidated into
+thinking that he sees it, whether he really does or not. But it is a
+question if the contemplation of the "beauty of this old man in his
+citizen's cap," however eager and serious the contemplation may be,
+adds much to his experience; it may be doubted whether as a result
+of his effort toward the understanding of the rightness and loveliness
+of the lines of the cap and the exquisiteness of the choice of folds,
+which the critic has pointed out to him with threatening finger, he
+feels that life is a fuller and finer thing to live.
+
+An example of the intellectual estimate, the valuation by formulas,
+and the assignment of abstract rank, is this paragraph from Matthew
+Arnold's essay on Wordsworth.
+
+Wherever we meet with the successful balance, in Wordsworth, of
+profound truth of subject with profound truth of execution, he is
+unique. His best poems are those which most perfectly exhibit this
+balance. I have a warm admiration for "Laodameia" and for the great
+"Ode;" but if I am to tell the very truth, I find "Laodameia" not
+wholly free from something artificial, and the great "Ode" not
+wholly free from something declamatory. If I had to pick out poems
+of a kind most perfectly to show Wordsworth's unique power, I
+should rather choose poems such as "Michael," "The Fountain,"
+"The Highland Reaper." And poems with the peculiar and unique
+beauty which distinguishes these, Wordsworth produced in
+considerable number; besides very many other poems of which the
+worth, although not so rare as the worth of these, is still exceedingly
+high.
+
+Thus does the judicial critic mete out his estimate by scale and
+measuring-rod. We are told dogmatically what is good and what is
+less good; but of distinctive quality and energizing life-giving
+virtues, not a word. The critic does not succeed in communicating to
+us anything of Wordsworth's special charm and power. We are
+informed, but we are left cold and unresponding.
+
+The didactic critic imposes his standard upon the layman. The
+judicial critic measures and awards. The appreciative critic does not
+attempt to teach or to judge; he makes possible to his reader an
+appreciation of the work of art simply by recreating in his own terms
+the complex of his emotions in its presence. Instead of declaring the
+work to be beautiful or excellent, he makes it beautiful in the very
+telling of what it means to him. As the artist interprets life,
+disclosing its depths and harmonies, so the appreciative critic in his
+turn interprets art, reconstituting the beauty of it in his own terms.
+Through his interpretation, the layman is enabled to enter more fully
+into the true spirit of the work and to share its beauty in his own
+experience.
+
+In contrast to the passage from Arnold is this paragraph from an
+essay on Wordsworth by Walter Pater.
+
+And so he has much for those who value highly the concentrated
+presentment of passion, who appraise men and women by their
+susceptibility to it, and art and poetry as they afford the spectacle of
+it. Breaking from time to time into the pensive spectacle of their
+daily toil, their occupations near to nature, come those great
+elementary feelings, lifting and solemnizing their language and
+giving it a natural music. The great, distinguishing passion came to
+Michael by the sheepfold, to Ruth by the wayside, adding these
+humble children of the furrow to the true aristocracy of passionate
+souls. In this respect, Wordsworth's work resembles most that of
+George Sand, in those of her novels which depict country life. With
+a penetrative pathos, which puts him in the same rank with the
+masters of the sentiment of pity in literature, with Meinhold and
+Victor Hugo, he collects all the traces of vivid excitement which
+were to be found in that pastoral world--the girl who rung her
+father's knell; the unborn infant feeling about its mother's heart; the
+instinctive touches of children; the sorrows of the wild creatures,
+even--their home-sickness, their strange yearnings; the tales of
+passionate regret that hang by a ruined farm-building, a heap of
+stones, a deserted sheepfold; that gay, false, adventurous, outer
+world, which breaks in from time to time to bewilder and deflower
+these quiet homes; not "passionate sorrow" only, for the overthrow
+of the soul's beauty, but the loss of, or carelessness for personal
+beauty even, in those whom men have wronged--their pathetic
+wanness; the sailor "who, in his heart, was half a shepherd on the
+stormy seas;" the wild woman teaching her child to pray for her
+betrayer; incidents like the making of the shepherd's staff, or that of
+the young boy laying the first stone of the sheepfold;--all the
+pathetic episodes of their humble existence, their longing, their
+wonder at fortune, their poor pathetic pleasures, like the pleasures of
+children, won so hardly in the struggle for bare existence; their
+yearning towards each other, in their darkened houses, or at their
+early toil. A sort of biblical depth and solemnity hangs over this
+strange, new, passionate, pastoral world, of which he first raised the
+image, and the reflection of which some of our best modern fiction
+has caught from him.
+
+Here is the clue to Wordsworth's meaning; and the special quality
+and power of his work, gathering amplitude and intensity as it plays
+across the critic's temperament, is reconstituted in other and
+illuminating images which communicate the emotion to us. The
+critic has felt more intimately than we the appeal of this poetry, and
+he kindles in us something of his own enthusiasm. So we return to
+Wordsworth for ourselves, more alert to divine his message, more
+susceptible to his spell, that he may work in us the magic of
+evocation.
+
+Criticism is of value to us as appreciators in so far as it serves to
+recreate in us the experience which the work was designed to
+convey. But criticism is not a short cut to enjoyment. We cannot
+take our pleasure at second hand. We must first come to the work
+freshly and realize our own impression of it; then afterwards we may
+turn to the critic for a further revelation. Criticism should not shape
+our opinion, but should stimulate appreciation, carrying us farther
+than we could go ourselves, but always in the same direction with
+our original impression. There is a kind of literary exercise, calling
+itself criticism, which takes a picture or a book as its point of
+departure and proceeds to create a work of art in its own right,
+attaching itself only in name to the work which it purports to
+criticise. "Who cares," exclaims a clever maker of epigrams,
+"whether Mr. Ruskin's views on Turner are sound or not? What does
+it matter? That mighty and majestic prose of his, so fervid and so
+fiery-coloured in its noble eloquence, so rich in its elaborate
+symphonic music, so sure and certain, at its best, in subtle choice of
+word and epithet, is at least as great a work of art as any of those
+wonderful sunsets that bleach or rot on their corrupted canvases in
+England's Gallery." A very good appreciation of Ruskin, this. But
+the answer is that such writing as is here attributed to Ruskin is
+magnificent: it may be art; but it is not true criticism. A work of art
+is not "impressive" merely, but "expressive" too. Criticism in its
+relation to the work itself has an objective base, and it must be
+steadied and authenticated by constant reference to the original feet.
+Criticism is not the source of our enjoyment but a medium of
+interpretation.
+
+Before we turn to criticism, therefore, we must first, as Pater
+suggests, know our own impression as it really is, discriminate it,
+and realize it distinctly. Only so shall we escape becoming the dupe
+of some more aggressive personality. In our mental life suggestion
+plays an important and perhaps unrecognized part. In a certain frame
+of mind we can be persuaded into believing anything and into liking
+anything. When, under the influence of authority or fashion, we
+think we care for that which has no vital and consciously realized
+relation to our own experience, we are the victims of a kind of
+hypnotism, and there is little hope of our ultimate adjustment over
+against art. It is far better honestly to like an inferior work and know
+why we like it than to pretend to like a good one. In the latter case
+no real progress or development is possible, for we have no
+standards that can be regarded as final; we are swayed by the
+authority or influence which happens at that moment to be most
+powerful. In the former case we are at least started in the right
+direction. Year by year, according to the law of natural growth, we
+come to the end of the inferior work which up to that time has been
+able to minister to us, and we pass on to new and greater works that
+satisfy the demands of our deepening experience. It is sometimes
+asked if we ought not to try to like the best things in art. I should
+answer, the very greatest things we do not have to _try_ to like; the
+accent of greatness is unmistakable, and greatness has a message for
+every one. As regards the lesser works, we ought to be willing to
+grow up. There was a time when I enjoyed "Robinson Crusoe" in
+words of one syllable. If I had _tried_ then to like Mr. George
+Meredith, I should not really have enjoyed him, and I should have
+missed the fun of "Robinson Crusoe." Everything in its time and
+place. The lesser works have their use: they may be a starting-point
+for our entrance into life; and they furnish a basis of comparison by
+which we are enabled to realize the greatness of the truly great. We
+must value everything in its own kind, affirming what it is, and not
+regretting what it is not. But the prerequisite of all appreciation,
+without which our contact with art is a pastime or a pretense, is that
+we be honest with ourselves. In playing solitaire at least we ought
+not to cheat.
+
+So the layman must face the situation squarely and accept the
+responsibility of deciding finally for himself. On the way we may
+look to criticism to guide us to those works which are meant for us.
+In art as in the complex details of living, there is need of selection;
+and criticism helps toward that. In literature alone, to name but a
+single art, there is so much to be left unread which the length of our
+life would not otherwise permit us to escape, that we are grateful to
+the critic who aids us to omit gracefully and with success. But the
+most serviceable criticism is positive and not destructive. The lesser
+works may have a message for us, and it is that message in its
+distinctive quality which the critic should affirm. In the end,
+however, the use we make of criticism should not reduce itself to an
+unquestioning acceptance of authority. In the ceremonial of the
+Roman service, at the moment preceding the elevation of the Host,
+two acolytes enter the chancel, bearing candles, and kneel between
+the congregation and the ministrants at the altar; the tapers,
+suffusing the altar in their golden radiance, throw the dim figures of
+the priests into a greater gloom and mystery. So it happens that art
+often is enshrouded by the off-giving of those who would seem to
+illuminate it; and "dark with excess of light," the obscurity is
+intensified. The layman is told of the virginal poetry of early Italian
+painting; he is bidden to sit at the homely, substantial feast of the
+frank actuality of Dutch art; he listens in puzzled wonder to the
+glorification of Velasquez and Goya; he reads in eloquent, glowing
+language of the splendor of Turner. He is more than half persuaded;
+but he does not quite understand. From this tangle of contending
+interests there seems for the moment to be no way out. It is assumed
+that the layman has no standard of his own; and he yields himself to
+the appeal which comes to him immediately at the instant. The next
+day, perhaps, brings a new interest or another judgment which runs
+counter to the old. Back and forth and back again, without purpose
+and without reason; it is only an endless recurrence of the conflict
+instead of development and progress. Taking all his estimates at
+second hand, so for his opinion even of a concert or a play he is at
+the mercy of a critic who may have dined badly. Some boy, caught
+young at the university and broken to miscellaneous tasks on a big
+newspaper, is sent to "do" a picture-exhibition, a concert, and the
+theatre in the same day. He is expected to "criticise" in an hour the
+work of a lifetime of struggle and effort and knowledge and thought
+and feeling. This is the guide of opinion and the foundation of
+artistic creed. I have stated the reduction to absurdity of the case for
+authority in criticism. If the layman who leans too heavily upon
+criticism comes to realize the hopelessness of his position and thinks
+the situation through to its necessary conclusion, he sees that the
+authority of criticism is not absolute, but varies with the powers and
+range of the individual critic, and that at the last he must find his
+standard within himself.
+
+There are, of course, certain standards of excellence recognized
+universally and certain principles of taste of universal validity; and
+to these standards and these principles must be referred our
+individual estimates for comparison and correction. Given a native
+sensibility to the worth of life and to the appeal of beauty, the justice
+of our estimate will be in proportion to the extent of our knowledge
+of life and of our contact with art. Our individual judgment,
+therefore, must be controlled by experience,--our momentary
+judgments by the sum of our own experience, and our total
+judgment by universal experience. In all sound criticism and right
+appreciation there must be a basis of disciplined taste. We must
+guard ourselves against whims and caprice, even our own. So the
+individual may not cut loose altogether from external standards. But
+these must be brought into relation to his personal needs and applied
+with reference to his own standard. Finally, for his own uses, the
+individual has the right to determine the meaning and value to him
+of any work of art in the measure that it links itself with his own
+actual or possible experience and becomes for him a revelation of
+fuller life. For beauty is the power possessed by objects to quicken
+us with a sense of larger personality; and art, whether the arts of
+form or of representation, is the material bodying forth of beauty as
+the artist has perceived it and the means by which his emotion in its
+presence is communicated. Upon this conception of beauty and this
+interpretation of the scope and function of art rests the justice of the
+personal estimate.
+
+
+
+VII
+
+BEAUTY AND COMMON LIFE
+
+TO become sensitive to the meaning of color and form and sound as
+the artist employs them for expression, to feel a work of art in its
+relation to its background, to find in criticism enlightenment and
+guidance but not a substitute for one's own experience,--these are
+methods of approach to art. But the appreciator has yet to penetrate
+art's inmost secret. At the centre, as the motive of all his efforts to
+understand the language of art and the processes of technique, as the
+goal of historical study and the purpose of his recourse to criticism,
+stands the work itself with its power to attract and charm. Here is
+Millet's painting of the "Sower." In the actual presence of the picture
+the appreciator's experience is complex. Analysis resolves it into
+considerations of the material form of the work, involving its
+sensuous qualities and the processes of execution, considerations
+also of the subject of the picture, which gathers about itself many
+associations out of the beholder's own previous knowledge of life.
+But the clue to the final meaning of the work, its meaning both to
+the artist and to the appreciator, is contained in the answer to the
+question, Why did Millet paint this picture? And just what is it
+designed to express?
+
+Art is born out of emotion. Though the symbols it may employ to
+expression, the forms in which it may manifest itself, are infinitely
+various in range and character, essentially all art is one. A work of
+art is the material bodying forth of the artist's sense of a meaning in
+life which unfolds itself to him as harmony and to which his spirit
+responds accordantly. It may be a pattern he has conceived; or he
+adapts material to a new use in response to a new need: the artist is
+here a craftsman. He is stirred by the tone and incident of a
+landscape or by the force or charm of some personality: and he puts
+brush to canvas. He apprehends the complex rhythms of form: and
+the mobile clay takes shape under his fingers. He feels the
+significance of persons acting and reacting in their contact with one
+another: and he pens a novel or a drama. He is thrilled by the
+emotion attending the influx of a great idea; philosophy is touched
+with feeling: and the thinker becomes a poet. The discords of
+experience resolve themselves within him into harmonies: and he
+gives them out in triumphant harmonies of sound. The particular
+medium the artist chooses in which to express himself is incidental
+to the feeling to be conveyed. The stimulus to emotion which impels
+the artist to create and the essential content of his work is _beauty._
+As beauty, then, is the very stuff and fibre of art, inextricably bound
+up with it, so in our effort to relate art to our experience we may
+seek to know something of the nature of beauty and its place in
+common life.
+
+During a visit in Philadelphia I was conducted by a member of the
+firm through the great Locomotive Works in that city. From the vast
+office, with its atmosphere of busy, concentrated quiet, punctuated
+by the clicking of many typewriters, I was led through doors and
+passages, and at length came upon the shrieking inferno of the shops.
+The uproar and din were maddening. Overhead, huge cranes were
+swinging great bulks of steel from one end of the cavernous shed to
+the other; vague figures were moving obscurely in the murk; the
+floor was piled and littered with heaps of iron-work of unimaginable
+shapes. After a time we made our way into another area where there
+was more quiet but no less confusion. I yelled to my guide, "Such a
+rumpus and row I never saw; it is chaos come again!" And he
+replied, "Why, to me it is all a perfect order. Everything is in its
+place. Every man has his special job and does it. I know the meaning
+and purpose of all those parts that seem to you to be thrown around
+in such a mess. If you could follow the course of making from the
+draughting-rooms to the finishing-shop, if you could see the process
+at once as a whole, you would understand that it is all a complete
+harmony, every part working with every other part to a definite
+end." It was not I but my friend who had the truth of the matter.
+Where for me there was only chaos, for him was order. And the
+difference was that he had the clue which I had not. His sense of the
+meaning of the parts brought the scattering details into a final unity;
+and therein he found harmony and satisfaction.
+
+I went away much impressed by what I had seen. When I had
+collected my wits a little in the comparative calm of the streets, it
+occurred to me that the immense workshops were a symbol of man's
+life in the world. In the instant of experience all seems chaos. At
+close range, in direct contact with the facts and demands of every
+day, we feel how confusing and distracting it all is. Life is beating in
+upon us at every point; all our senses are assailed at once. Each new
+day brings its conflicting interests and obligations. Now, whether we
+are aware of it or not, our constant effort is, out of the great variety
+of experience pressing in upon us, to select such details as make to a
+definite purpose and end. Instinctively we grope toward and attract
+to us that which is special and proper to our individual development.
+Our progress is toward harmony. By the adjustment of new material
+to the shaping principle of our experience, the circle of our
+individual lives widens its circumference. We are able to bring more
+and more details into order, and correspondingly fuller and richer
+our life becomes.
+
+The mental perception of order in the parts gives the whole its
+significance. This quick grasp of the whole is like the click of the
+kaleidoscope which throws the tumbling, distorted bits into a design.
+The conduct of practical life on the mental plane is the process also
+of art on the plane of the emotions. Not only does experience offer
+itself to us as the subject of thought; our contact with the world is
+also the stimulus of feeling. In my account of the visit to the
+Locomotive Works I have set down but a part and not the sum of my
+reaction. After I had come away, I fell to thinking about what I had
+seen, and intellectually I deduced certain abstract principles with
+regard to unity and significance. But at the moment of experience
+itself I simply felt. I was overwhelmed by the sense of unloosened
+power. The very confusion of it all constituted the unity of
+impression. The emotion roused in me by the roar and riotous
+movement and the vast gloom torn by fitful yellow gleams from
+opened furnaces and shapes of glowing metal was the emotion
+appropriate to the experience of chaos. That I can find a single word
+by which to characterize it, is evidence that the moment had its
+harmony for me and consequent meaning. All the infinite universe
+external to us is everywhere and at every instant potentially the
+stimulus to emotion. But unless feeling is discriminated, it passes
+unregarded. When the emotion gathers itself into design, when the
+moment reveals within itself order and significance, then and not till
+then the emotion becomes substance for expression in forms of art.
+
+If I were able to phrase what I saw and what I felt in the Locomotive
+Works, so that by means of presenting what I saw I might
+communicate to another what I felt and so rouse in him the same
+emotion, I should be an artist. Whistler or Monet might picture for
+us the murk and mystery of this pregnant gloom. Wagner might
+sound for us the tumultuous, weird emotions of this Niebelungen
+workshop of the twentieth century. Dante or Milton might phrase
+this inferno and pandemonium of modern industry and leave us
+stirred by the sense of power in the play of gigantic forces. Whether
+the medium be the painter's color, the musician's tones, or the poet's
+words, the purpose of the representation is fulfilled in so far as the
+work expresses the emotion which the artist has felt in the presence
+of this spectacle. He, the artist, more than I or another, has thrilled to
+its mystery, its tumult, its power. It is this effect, received as a unity
+of impression, that he wants to communicate. This power of the
+object over him, and consequently the content of his work, is beauty.
+
+In the experience of us all there are objects and situations which can
+stir us,--the twilight hour, a group of children at play, the spectacle
+of the great human crowd, it may be, or solitude under the stars, the
+works of man as vast cities or cunningly contrived machines, or
+perhaps it is the mighty, shifting panorama which nature unrolls for
+us at every instant of day and night, her endless pageant of color and
+light and shade and form. Out of them at the moment of our contact
+is unfolded a new significance; because of them life becomes for us
+larger, deeper. This power possessed by objects to rouse in us an
+emotion which comes with the realization of inner significance
+expressed in harmony is beauty. A brief analysis of the nature and
+action of beauty may help us in the understanding and appreciation
+of art, though the value to us of any explanation is to quicken us to a
+more vivid sensitiveness to the effect of beauty in the domain of
+actual experience of it.
+
+Because the world external to us, which manifests beauty, is
+received into consciousness by the senses, it is natural to seek our
+explanation in the processes involved in the functioning of our
+organism. Our existence as individual human beings is conditioned
+by our embodiment in matter. Without senses, without nerves and a
+brain, we should not _be._ Our feelings, which determine for us
+finally the value of experience, are the product of the excitement of
+our physical organism responding to stimulation. The rudimentary
+and most general feelings are pleasure and pain. All the complex
+and infinitely varied emotions that go to make up our conscious life
+are modifications of these two elementary reactions. The feeling of
+pleasure results when our organism "functions harmoniously with
+itself;" pain is the consequence of discord. In the words of a recent
+admirable statement of the psychologists' position: "When rhythm
+and melody and forms and colors give me pleasure, it is because the
+imitating impulses and movements that have arisen in me are such
+as suit, help, heighten my physical organization in general and in
+particular. . . . The basis, in short, of any aesthetic
+experience--poetry, music, painting and the rest--is beautiful
+through its harmony with the conditions offered by our senses,
+primarily of sight and hearing, and through the harmony of the
+suggestions and impulses it arouses with the whole organism." Beauty,
+then, according to the psychologists, is the quality inherent in
+things, the possession of which enables them to stimulate our
+organism to harmonious functioning. And the perception of beauty
+is a purely physiological reaction.
+
+This explanation, valid within its limits, seems to me to fall short of
+the whole truth. For it fails to reckon with that faculty and that entity
+within us whose existence we know but cannot explain,--the faculty
+we call mind, which operates as imagination, and the entity we
+recognize as spirit or soul. I mean the faculty which gives us the
+idea of God and the consciousness of self, the faculty which
+apprehends relations and significance in material transcending their
+material embodiment. I mean the entity within us which expresses
+itself in love and aspiration and worship, the entity which is able to
+fuse with the harmony external to it in a larger unity. When I glance
+out upon a winter twilight drenching earth and sky with luminous
+blue, a sudden delight floods in upon me, gathering up all my senses
+in a surging billow of emotion, and my being pulses and vibrates in
+a beat of joy. Something within me goes out to meet the landscape;
+so far as I am at all conscious of the moment, I feel, There, that is
+what I am! This deep harmony of tone and mass is the expression of
+a fuller self toward which I yearn. My being thrills and dilates with
+the sensation of larger life. Then, after the joy has throbbed itself out
+and my reaction takes shape as consciousness, I set myself to
+consider the sources and the processes of my experience. I note that
+my eye has perceived color and form. My intellect, as I summon it
+into action, tells me that I am looking upon a scene in nature
+composed of material elements, as land and trees and water and
+atmosphere. My senses, operating through channels of matter,
+receive, and my brain registers, impressions of material objects. But
+this analysis, though defining the processes, does not quite explain
+_my joy._ I know that beyond all this, transcending my material
+sense-perception and transcending the actual material of the
+landscape, there is something in me and there is something in nature
+which meet and mingle and become one. Above all embodiment in
+matter, there is a plane on which I feel my community with the
+world external to me, recognizing that world to be an extension of
+my own personality, a plane on which I can identify myself with the
+thing outside of me in so far as it is the expression of what I am or
+may become. Between me and the external world there is a common
+term. The effect which nature has upon us is determined, not by the
+object itself alone and not by our individual mind and temperament
+alone, but by the meeting of the two, the community between the
+object and the spirit of man. When we find nature significant and
+expressive, it is because we make nature in some way a part of our
+own experience.
+
+The material of an object is perceived by the senses. We see that it is
+blue or green or brown; we may touch it and note that it is rough or
+smooth, hard or soft, warm or cold. But the expressiveness of the
+object, its value for the emotions, does not stop with its merely
+material qualities, but comes with our grasp of the "relations" which
+it embodies; and these relations, transmitted through material by the
+senses, are apprehended by the mind. There are, of course,
+elementary data of sense-perception, such as color and sound. It may
+be that I prefer red to yellow because my eye is so constituted as to
+function harmoniously with a rate of vibration represented by 450
+billions per second, and discordantly with a rate of vibration
+represented by 526 billions per second. So also with tones of a given
+pitch. But though simple color and simple sound have each the
+power to please the senses, yet in actual experience neither color nor
+sound is perceived abstractly, apart from its embodiment in form.
+Color is felt as the property of some concrete object, as the crimson
+of a rose, the dye of some fabric or garment, the blue of the sky,
+which, though we know it to be the infinite extension of atmosphere
+and ether, we nevertheless conceive as a dome, with curvature and
+the definite boundary of the horizon. Sound in and of itself has pitch
+and _timbre_, qualities of pure sensation; but even with the
+perception of sound the element of form enters in, for we hear it
+with a consciousness of its duration--long or short--or of its relation
+to other sounds, heard or imagined.
+
+Our perceptions, therefore, give us forms. Now form implies
+_relation,_ the reference of one part to the other parts in the
+composition of the whole. And relation carries with it the
+possibilities of harmony or discord, of unity or disorder. Before an
+object can be regarded as beautiful it must give out a unity of
+impression. This unity does not reside in the object itself, but is
+effected by the mind which perceives it. In looking at a
+checkerboard I may see it as an aggregation of white squares set off
+by black, or as black squares relieved by white. I may read it as a
+series of horizontals, or of verticals, or of diagonals, according as I
+_attend_ to it. The design of the checker-board is not an absolute
+and fixed quantity inherent in the object itself, but is capable of a
+various interpretation according to the relative emphasis given to the
+parts by the perceiving mind. So with all objects in nature. The
+twilight landscape which stirred me may have been quite without
+interest or meaning to the man at my side; or, if he responded to it at
+all, his feelings may have been of a different order and quality than
+mine. Where I felt a deep and intimate solemnity in the landscape,
+he might have received the twilight as chill and forbidding.  Beauty,
+then, which consists in harmonious relation, does not lie in nature
+objectively, but is constituted by the perception in man's
+constructive imagination of a harmony and consequent significance
+drawn out of natural forms.  It is, in Emerson's phrase, "the integrity
+of impression made by manifold natural objects." And Emerson says
+further, "The charming landscape which I saw this morning is
+indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns
+this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none
+of them owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon
+which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that
+is, the poet." The mere pleasurable excitement of the senses is hardly
+to be called beauty. An object to be beautiful must express a
+harmony of relations and hence a meaning,--a meaning which goes
+beyond sense-perception and does not stop with the intellect, but
+reaches the spirit. Psychologists tell us that "a curved line is pleasing
+because the eye is so hung as best to move in it." Pleasing, yes; but
+not beautiful. And precisely herein is illustrated the distinction. A
+life wearied with an undulating uniformity of days will find beauty
+less in the curve than in the zigzag, because the sight of the broken
+line brings to the spirit suggestions of change and adventure. A
+supine temper finds shock, excitement, and a meaning in the vertical.
+Yet the significance of forms is not determined necessarily by
+contrasts. A quiet spirit sees its own expression, a harmony of self
+with external form, in the even lines and flat spaces of some Dutch
+etching. Or a vigorous, hardy mind takes fresh stimulus and courage
+from the swirling clouds of Turner or the wind-torn landscapes of
+Constable. An object is beautiful, not because of the physical ease
+with which the eye follows its outlines, but in so far as it has the
+power to communicate to us the feeling of larger life, to express and
+complete for us a harmony within our emotional experience.
+
+Our senses report to us the material world; we see, we hear, we
+touch and taste and smell. But we recognize also that nature has a
+value for the emotions; it can delight and thrill and uplift, taking us
+out of ourselves and carrying us beyond the confines of the little
+circle of our daily use and wont. As I look from my window I see
+against the sky a pear tree, radiant with blossom, an explosion of
+light and sensation. Its green and white, steeped in sunshine and
+quivering out of rain-washed depths of blue, are good to behold. But
+for me, as my spirit goes out to meet it, the tree is spring! In this I do
+not mean to characterize a process of intellectual deduction,--that as
+blossoms come in the spring, so the flowering of the tree is evidence
+that spring is here. I mean that by its color and form, all its outward
+loveliness, the tree communicates to me the spirit of the new birth of
+the year. In myself I feel and live the spring. My joy in the tree,
+therefore, does not end with the sight of its gray trunk and
+interwoven branches and its gleaming play of leaves: there my joy
+only begins, and it comes to its fulfillment as I feel the life of the
+tree to be an expression and extension of the life that is in me. My
+physical organism responds harmoniously in rhythm with the form
+of the tree, and so far the tree is pleasing. But, finally, a form is
+beautiful because it is expressive. "Beauty," said Millet, "does not
+consist merely in the shape or coloring of a face. It lies in the
+general effect of the form, in suitable and appropriate action. . . .
+When I paint a mother, I shall try and make her beautiful simply by
+the look she bends upon her child. Beauty is expression." Beauty
+works its effect through significance, a significance which is not
+always to be phrased in words, but is felt; conveyed by the senses, it
+at last reaches the emotions. Where the spirit of man comes into
+harmony with a harmony external to it, there is beauty.
+
+The elements of beauty are design, wholeness, and significance.
+Significance proceeds out of wholeness or unity of impression; and
+unity is made possible by design. Whatever the flower into which it
+may ultimately expand, beauty has its roots in fitness and utility;
+design in this case is constituted by the adaptation of the means to
+the end. The owner of a saw-mill wanted a support made for a
+shafting. Indicating a general idea of what he desired, he applied to
+one of his workmen, a man of intelligence and skill in his craft, but
+without a conventional education. The man constructed the support,
+a triangular framework contrived to receive the shafting at the apex;
+where there was no stress within the triangle, he cut away the timber,
+thus eliminating all surplusage of material. When the owner saw the
+finished product he said to his workman, "Well, John, that is a really
+beautiful thing you have made there." And the man replied, "I don't
+know anything about the beauty of it, but I know it's strong!" The
+end to be reached was a support which should be strong. The strong
+support was felt to be beautiful, for its lines and masses were
+apprehended as _right._ Had the man, with the "little learning" that
+is dangerous, attempted embellishment or applied ornament, he
+would have spoiled the effect; for ornateness would have been out of
+place. The perfect fitness of means to end, without defect and
+without excess, constituted its beauty; and its beauty was perceived
+aesthetically, as a quality inherent in the form, a quality which apart
+from the practical serviceableness of the contrivance was capable of
+communicating pleasure. So in general, when the inherent needs of
+the work give shape to the structure or contrivance, the resulting
+form is in so far forth beautiful. The early "horseless carriages," in
+which a form intended for one use was grafted upon a different
+purpose, were very ugly. Today the motor-car, evolved out of
+structural needs, a thing complete in and for itself, has in its lines
+and coherence of composition certain elements of beauty. In his
+"Song of Speed," Henley has demonstrated that the motorcar,
+mechanical, modern, useful, may even be material for poetry. That
+the useful is not always perceived as beautiful is due to the fact that
+the design which has shaped the work must be regarded apart from
+the material serviceableness of the object itself. Beauty consists not
+in the actual material, but in the unity of relations which the object
+embodies. We appreciate the art involved in the making of the first
+lock and key only as we look beyond the merely practical usefulness
+of the device and so apprehend the harmony of relations effected
+through its construction. As the lock and key serve to fasten the door,
+they are useful; they are beautiful as they manifest design and we
+feel their harmony. Beauty is removed from practical life, not
+because it is unrelated to life,--just the reverse of that is true,--but
+because the enjoyment of beauty is disinterested. The detachment
+involved in appreciation is a detachment from material. The
+appreciator may seem to be a looker-on at life, in that he does not
+act but simply feels. But his spirit is correspondingly alert. In the
+measure that he is released from servitude to material he gives free
+play to his emotion.
+
+Although beauty is founded upon design, design is not the whole of
+beauty. Not all objects which exhibit equal integrity of design are
+equally beautiful. The beauty of a work of art is determined by the
+degree of emotion which impelled its creation and by the degree in
+which the work itself is able to communicate the emotion
+immediately. The feeling which entered into the making of the first
+lock and key was simply the inventor's desire for such a device, his
+desire being the feeling which accompanied his consciousness of his
+need. At the other extreme is the emotion such as attended
+Michelangelo's vision of his "David" and urged his hand as he set
+his chisel to the unshaped waiting block. And so all the way between.
+Many pictures are executed in a wholly mechanical spirit, as so
+much manufacture; and they exhibit correspondingly little beauty.
+Many useful things, as a candle-stick, a pair of andirons, a chair, are
+wrought in the spirit of art; into them goes something of the maker's
+joy in his work; they become the expression of his emotion: and
+they are so far beautiful. It is asserted that Millet's "Angelus" is a
+greater picture than the painting entitled "War" by Franz Stuck,
+because "the idea of peasants telling their beads is more beautiful
+than the idea of a ruthless destroyer only in so far as it is morally
+higher." The moral value as such has very little to do with it. It is a
+question of emotion. If Stuck were to put on canvas his idea of
+peasants at prayer and if Millet had phrased in pictorial terms his
+feeling about war, there is little doubt that Millet's painting would be
+the more telling and beautiful. The degree of beauty is fixed by the
+depth of the man's insight into life and the corresponding intensity of
+his emotion.
+
+Beauty is not limited to one class of object or experience and
+excluded from another. A chair may be beautiful, although turned to
+common use; a picture is not beautiful necessarily because it is a
+picture. "Nothing out of its place is good, nothing in its place is
+bad," says Whitman, Whistler speaks of art as "seeking and finding
+the beautiful in all conditions and in all times, as did her high priest,
+Rembrandt, when he saw picturesque grandeur and noble dignity in
+the Jews' quarter of Amsterdam, and lamented not that its
+inhabitants were not Greeks." The beautiful must exhibit an integrity
+of relations within itself, and it must be in integral relation with its
+surroundings. The standard of beauty varies with every age, with
+every nation, indeed with every individual. As beauty is not in the
+object itself, but is in the mind which integrates the relations which
+the object manifests, so our appreciation of beauty is determined by
+our individuality. And individuality is the resultant of many forces.
+The self, inexplicable in essence, is the product of inheritance, and is
+modified by environment and training. More than we realize, our
+judgment is qualified by tradition and habit and even fashion.
+Because men have been familiar for so many centuries with the idea
+that sculpture should find its vehicle in white marble, the knowledge
+that Greek marbles originally were painted comes with something of
+a shock; and for the moment they have difficulty in persuading
+themselves that a Parthenon frieze _colored_ could possibly be
+beautiful. Until within comparatively recent years the French have
+regarded Shakespeare as a barbarian. The heroic couplet, which was
+the last word in poetical expression in the age of Queen Anne, we
+consider to-day as little more than a mechanical jingle. Last year's
+fashions in dress, which seemed at the time to have their merits, are
+this year amusingly grotesque. In our judgment of beauty, therefore,
+allowance must be made for standards which merely are imposed
+upon us from without. It is necessary to distinguish between a
+formula and the reality. As far as possible we should seek to come
+into "original relation" with the universe, freshly for ourselves. So
+we must return upon our individual consciousness, and thus
+determine what is vitally significant to us. For the man who would
+appreciate beauty, it is not a question between this or that "school"
+in art, whether the truth lies with the classicists or the romanticists; it
+is not a question of this or that subject or method to the exclusion of
+all others. Beauty may be anywhere or everywhere. It is our task and
+joy to find it, wherever it may be. And we shall find it, if we are able
+to recognize it and we hold ourselves responsive to its multitudinous
+appeal.
+
+The conception of beauty which limits its manifestation to one kind
+of experience is so far false and leads to mischievous acceptances
+and narrowing rejections. We mistake the pretty for the beautiful
+and so fail of the true value of beauty; we are blind to the
+significance which all nature and all life, in the lowest and
+commonest as in the highest and rarest, hold within them. "If
+beauty," says Hamerton, "were the only province of art, neither
+painters nor etchers would find anything to occupy them in the foul
+stream that washes the London wharfs." By beauty here is meant the
+merely agreeable. Pleasing the river may not be, to the ordinary man;
+but for the poet and the painter, those to whom it is given to see with
+the inner eye, the "foul stream" and its wharfs may be lighted with
+mysterious and tender beauty.
+
+     "Earth has not anything to show more fair:
+     Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
+     A sight so touching in its majesty:
+     This city now doth, like a garment, wear
+     The beauty of the morning.
+
+     . . . . .
+
+     Never did sun more beautifully steep
+     In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
+     Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
+     The river glideth at his own sweet will:
+     Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
+     And all that mighty heart is lying still!"
+
+And Whistler, by the witchery of his brush and his needle, has
+transmuted the confusion and sordidness and filth of this
+Thames-side into exquisite emotion. The essence of beauty is harmony, but
+that harmony is not to be reduced to rule and measure. In the very
+chaos of the Locomotive Works we may feel beauty; in the thrill
+which they communicate we receive access of power and we _are,_
+more largely, more universally. The harmony which is beauty is that
+unity or integrity of impression by force of which we are able to feel
+significance and the relation of the object to our own experience. It
+is an error to suppose that beauty must be racked on a procrustean
+bed of formula. Such false conceptions result in sham art. To create
+a work which shall be beautiful it is not necessary to "smooth, inlay,
+and clip, and fit." Beauty is not imposed upon material from without,
+according to a recipe; it is drawn out from within by the integrating
+power of imagination. Art is not artificiality. Art is the expression of
+vital emotion and essential significance. The beauty of architecture,
+for example, consists not in applied ornament but in structural
+fitness and adaptability, and grows out of the inherent needs of the
+work. The cathedral-builders of old time did not set themselves to
+create a "work of art." They wanted a church; and it was a church
+they built. It is we who, perceiving the rightness of their
+achievement, pronounce it to be beautiful. Beauty is not
+manufactured, but grows; it cannot be laid on as ornament. Beauty is
+born out of the contact of the spirit of man with natural forms, that
+contact which gives to objects their significance.
+
+The recognition of the true nature of beauty may change for us the
+face of the world. Some things are universally regarded as beautiful
+because their appeal is universal. There are passions, joys,
+aspirations, common to all the race; and the forms which objectify
+these emotions are beautiful universally. We can all enter into the
+feelings that gather about a group of children dancing round a
+Maypole in the Park; but in the murk and din and demoniacal
+activity of the Locomotive Works the appeal is not so obvious. The
+stupendous workshops become beautiful to me as my being merges
+into harmony with them and dilates with the emotion of intenser and
+fuller life. The Sistine Madonna is generally regarded as beautiful.
+But what is the beauty in the unspeakable witch on the canvas of
+Frans Hals? Harmony of color and of composition is employed by
+Raphael in the rendering of a figure and in the expression of an
+emotion both of which relate themselves to the veneration of
+mankind. Maternity, Christian or pagan, divine or human, evokes its
+universal tribute of feeling. On Raphael's canvas complete harmony
+is made visible; and the beauty of the picture for us is measured by
+its power to stir us. In the painting by Frans Hals the subject
+represented is in itself not pleasing. The technical execution of the
+picture is masterly. But our delight goes beyond any enjoyment of
+the skill here exhibited, goes beyond even the satisfaction of the
+senses in its color and composition. What the picture expresses is
+not merely the visible aspect of this woman, but the painter's own
+sympathy and appreciation. He saw a beauty in ugliness, a beauty to
+which we were blind, for he felt the significance of her life, the
+eternal rightness to herself of what she was. His joy in this inner
+harmony has transfigured the object and made it beautiful. Beauty
+penetrates deeper than grace and comeliness; it is not confined to the
+pretty and agreeable. Indeed, beauty is not always immediately
+pleasant, but is received often with pain. The emotion of pleasure,
+which is regarded as the necessary concomitant of beauty, ensues as
+we are able to merge ourselves in the experience and so come to feel
+its ultimate harmony. What is commonly accepted as ugly, as
+shocking or sordid, becomes beautiful for us so soon as we
+apprehend its inner significance. Judged by the canons of formal
+beauty, the sky-line of New York city, seen from the North River, is
+ugly and distressing. But the responsive spirit, reaching ever
+outward into new forms of feeling, can thrill at sight of those Titanic
+structures out-topping the Palisades themselves, thrusting their
+squareness adventurously into the smoke-grayed air, and telling the
+triumph of man's mind over the forces of nature in this fulfillment of
+the needs of irrepressible activity, this expression of tremendous
+actuality and life. Not that the reaction is so definitely formulated in
+the moment of experience; but this is something of what is felt. The
+discovery of such a harmony is the entrance into fuller living. So it
+is that the boundaries of beauty enlarge with the expansion of the
+individual spirit.
+
+To extend the boundaries of beauty by the revelation of new
+harmonies is the function of art. With the ordinary man, the plane of
+feeling, which is the basis of appreciation, is below the plane of his
+attention as he moves through life from day to day. As a clock may
+be ticking in the room quite unheeded, and then suddenly we hear it
+because our attention is called to it; so only that emotion really
+counts to us as experience which comes to our cognizance. When
+once the ordinary man is made aware of the underlying plane of
+feeling, the whole realm of appreciation is opened to him by his
+recognition of the possibilities of beauty which life may hold.
+Consciously to recognize that forces are operating which lie behind
+the surface aspect of things is to open ourselves to the play of these
+forces. With persons in whom intellect is dominant and the
+controlling power, the primary need is to understand; and for such,
+first to know is to be helped finally to feel. To comprehend that
+there is a soul in every fact and that within material objects reside
+meanings for the spirit, or beauty, is to be made more sensitive to
+their influence. With the artist, however, the case is different. At the
+moment of creation he is little conscious of the purport of the work
+to which he sets his hand. He is not concerned, as we have been,
+with the "why" of beauty; from the concrete directly to the concrete
+is his progress. Life comes to him not as thought but as emotion. He
+is moved by actual immediate contact with the world about him,--by
+the sight of a landscape, by the mood of an hour or place, by the
+power of some personality; it may be, too, a welter of recollected
+sensations and impressions that plays upon his spirit. The resultant
+emotion, not reasoned about but nevertheless directed to a definite
+end, takes shape in external concrete forms which are works of art.
+Just because he is so quick to feel the emotional value of life he is an
+artist; and much of his power as an artist derives from the
+concreteness of his emotion. The artist is the creative mind, creative
+in this sense, that in the outward shows of things he feels their
+inward and true relations, and by new combinations of material
+elements he reëmbodies his feeling in forms whose message is
+addressed to the spirit. The reason why Millet painted the "Sower"
+was that he felt the beauty of this peasant figure interpreted as
+significance and life. And it is this significance and life, in which we
+are made to share, that his picture is designed to express.
+
+Experience comes to us in fragments; the surface of the world
+throws back to us but broken glimpses. In the perspective of a
+lifetime the fragments flow together into order, and we dimly see the
+purpose of our being here; in moments of illumination and deeper
+insight a glimpse may disclose a sudden harmony, and the brief
+segment of nature's circle becomes beautiful. For then is revealed
+the shaping principle. Within the fact, behind the surface, are
+apprehended the relations of which the fact and the surface are the
+expression. The rhythm thus discovered wakens an accordant
+rhythm in the spirit of man. The moment gives out its meaning as
+man and nature merge together in the inclusive harmony. If the
+human spirit were infinite in comprehension, we should receive all
+things as beautiful, for we should apprehend their rightness and their
+harmony. To our finite perception, however, design is not always
+evident, for it is overlaid and confounded with other elements which
+are not at the moment fused. Just here is the office of art. For art
+presents a harmony liberated from all admixture of conflicting
+details and purged of all accidents, thus rendering the single
+meaning salient. To compel disorder into order and so reveal new
+beauty is the achievement of the artist. The world is commonplace
+or fraught with divinest meanings, according as we see it so. To art
+we turn for revelation, knowing that ideals of beauty may be many
+and that beauty may manifest itself in many forms.
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE ARTS OF FORM
+
+THE maker of the first bowl moulds the plastic clay into the shape
+best adapted to its purpose, a vessel to hold water, from which he
+can drink easily; the half-globe rather than the cube affords the
+greatest holding capacity with the least expenditure of material. He
+finds now that the form itself--over and above the practical
+serviceableness of the bowl--gives him pleasure. With a pointed
+stick or bit of flint he traces in the yielding surface a flowing line or
+an ordered series of dots or crosses, allowing free play to his fancy
+and invention. The design does not resemble anything else, nor does
+it relate itself to any object external to the maker; it has no meaning
+apart from the pleasure which it gave him as he conceived and
+traced it, and the pleasure it now gives him to look at it. To another
+man who sees the bowl, its form and its decoration afford likewise a
+double pleasure: there is first the satisfaction of senses and mind in
+the contemplation of harmonious form and rhythmic pattern; and
+second, there is communicated to him a feeling of the maker's
+delight in his handiwork, and sympathetically and imaginatively the
+beholder realizes that delight in his own experience.
+
+I am walking with a friend along a road which climbs a wooded
+hillside. A few steps bring us to the top and the edge of a clearing.
+There, suddenly a sweep of country is rolled out before us. A quick
+intake of the breath, and then the cry, "Ah!" Consciousness surges
+back over me, and turning to my friend, I exclaim, "See the line of
+those hills over there across the tender sky and those clouds
+tumbling above them; see how the hills dip down into the meadows;
+look at the lovely group of willows along the bank of the river, how
+graciously they come in, and then that wash of purple light over
+everything!" My simple cry, "Ah!" was the expression of emotion,
+the unconscious, involuntary expression; it was not art. It did not
+formulate my emotion definitely, and although it was an expression
+of emotion, it had no power to communicate the special quality of it.
+So soon, however, as I composed the elements in the landscape,
+which stimulated my emotion, into a distinct and coherent whole
+and by means of that I tried to convey to my friend something of
+what I was feeling, my expression tended to become art. My
+medium of expression happened to be words. If I had been alone and
+wanted to take home with me a record of my impression of the
+landscape, a pencil-sketch of the little composition might have
+served to indicate the sources of my feeling and to suggest its
+quality. Whether in words or in line and mass, my work would be in
+a rudimentary form a work of representative art. The objective fact
+of the landscape which I point out to my friend engages his interest;
+his pleasure derives from those aspects of it which my emotion
+emphasizes and which constitute its beauty; and something of the
+same emotion that I felt he realizes in his own experience.
+
+The impulse to expression which fulfills itself in a work of art is
+directed in general by one of two motives,--the motive of
+representation and the motive of pure form. These two motives are
+coexistent with human activity itself. The earliest vestiges of
+prehistoric races and the remains of the remotest civilizations are
+witnesses of man's desire to imitate and record, and also of his
+pleasure in harmony of form. Certain caves in France, inhabited by
+man some thousands of years before history begins, have yielded up
+reindeer horns and bones, carved with reliefs and engraved with
+drawings of mammoths, reindeer, and fish. On the walls and roofs of
+these caves are paintings in bright colors of animals, rendered with
+correctness and animation. Flint axes of a still remoter epoch "are
+carved with great dexterity by means of small chips flaked off the
+stone, and show a regularity of outline which testifies to the delight
+of primitive man in symmetry."[*] Burial mounds, of unknown
+antiquity, and the rude stone monuments such as Stonehenge and the
+dolmens of Brittany and Wales, emerging out of prehistoric dawns,
+are evidence of man's striving after architectural unity in design and
+harmony of proportion.
+
+[*] S. Reinach, _The Story of Art throughout the Ages,_ chapter i.
+
+The existence of these two separate motives which impel creation,
+man's desire to imitate and his delight in harmony, gives rise to a
+division of the arts into two general classes, namely, the
+representative arts and the arts of pure form. The representative arts
+comprise painting and sculpture, and literature in its manifestations
+of the drama, fiction, and dramatic and descriptive poetry. These arts
+draw their subjects from nature and human life, from the world
+external to the artist. The arts of form comprise architecture and
+music, and that limitless range of human activities in design and
+pattern-making for embellishment--including also the whole
+category of "useful arts"--which may be subsumed under the
+comprehensive term _decoration._ In these arts the "subject" is
+self-constituted and does not derive its significance from its likeness to
+any object external to it; the form itself is the subject. Lyric poetry
+stands midway between the two classes. It is the expression of
+"inner states" but it externalizes itself in terms of the outer world. It
+has a core of thought, and it employs images from nature which can
+be visualized, and it recalls sounds whose echo can be wakened in
+imaginative memory.
+
+     "Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
+          And Phoebus 'gins arise,
+     His steeds to water at those springs
+          On chaliced flowers that lies;
+     And winking Mary-buds begin
+          To ope their golden eyes;
+     With everything that pretty bin,
+          My lady sweet, arise!
+               Arise, arise!"
+
+The intellectual and sensuous elements which lyric poetry embodies
+are finally submerged under the waves of emotional stimulus which
+flow from the form as form. Such poetry does not depend upon the
+fact of representation for its meaning; the very form itself, as in
+music, is its medium of communicating the emotion. Art, therefore,
+to phrase the same matter in slightly different terms, has a subjective
+and an objective aspect. In the one case, the artist projects his
+feeling into the forms which he himself creates; in the other case, the
+forms external to him, as nature and human life, inspire the emotion,
+and these external forms the artist reproduces, with of course the
+necessary modifications, as the symbol and means of expression of
+his emotion.
+
+The distinction between the representative arts and the arts of form
+is not ultimate, nor does it exclude one class wholly from the other;
+it defines a general tendency and serves to mark certain differences
+in original motive and in the way in which the two kinds of work
+may be received and appreciated. In actual works of art themselves,
+though they differ as to origin and function, the line of division
+cannot be sharply drawn. The dance may be an art of form or a
+representative art according as it embodies the rhythms of pure
+movement or as it numerically figures forth dramatic ideas. Painting,
+as in the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel and the wall paintings of
+Tintoretto and Veronese in the Ducal Palace of Venice, may be
+employed in the service of decoration. Decoration, as in
+architectural sculpture and in patterns for carpets and wall-coverings,
+often draws its motives from nature, such as leaves, flowers, fruits,
+and animals; but when the function of the work is decorative and not
+representative, the naturalistic and graphic character of the subject is
+subordinated to the purposes of abstract and formal design. A
+picture, on the other hand, which is frankly representative in purpose,
+must submit its composition and color-harmony to the requirements
+of unity in design; in a sense it must make a pattern. And a statue, as
+the "Victory of Samothrace," bases its ultimate appeal, not upon the
+fact of representation, but upon complete, rhythmic, beautiful form.
+
+To the appreciator the arts of form carry a twofold significance.
+There is first the pleasure which derives from the contemplation and
+reception of a harmony of pure form, including harmony of color, of
+line, and of flat design as well as form in the round, a pleasure of the
+senses and the mind. Second, works of art in this category, as they
+are the expression for the artist of his emotion, become therefore the
+manifestation to the appreciator and means of communication of that
+emotion.
+
+Man's delight in order, in unity, in harmony, rhythm, and balance, is
+inborn. The possession of these qualities by an object constitutes its
+form. Form, in the sense of unity and totality of relations, is not to
+be confounded with mere regularity. It may assume all degrees of
+divergence from geometric precision, all degrees of variety, ranging
+from the visual perfectness of the Parthenon to the sublime and
+triumphant inconsequence of the sky-line of New York city. It may
+manifest all degrees of complexity from a cup to a cathedral or from
+"Home, Sweet Home" to Tschaikowski's "Pathetic Symphony."
+Whatever the elements and the incidents, our sense of order in the
+parts and of singleness of impression endows the object with its
+form. The form as we apprehend it of an object constitutes its beauty,
+its capability to arouse and to delight.
+
+Because of the essential make-up of man's mind and spirit, powers
+that are innate and determined by forces still beyond the scope of
+analysis, the perception of a harmony of relations, which is beauty,
+is attended with pleasure, a pleasure that is felt and cannot be
+explained. This inborn, inexplicable delight is at once the origin of
+the arts of form and the basis of our appreciation. Each art, as the
+fashioning of objects of use, as decoration, architecture, and music,
+is governed by its own intrinsic, inherent laws and rests its appeal
+upon man's pleasure in form. There is no standard external to the
+laws of the art itself by which to judge the rightness and the beauty
+of the individual work. In the arts of use and in decoration and
+architecture, the beauty of a work, as the beauty of a chair, as in the
+ordering and appointments of a room, as the beauty of a temple, a
+theatre, a dwelling, derives primarily from the fitness of the object to
+its function, and finally from the rhythm of its lines and the harmony
+of its masses and proportions,--its total form. A chair which cannot
+be sat in may be interesting and agreeable to look at, but it is not
+truly beautiful; for then it is not a chair but a curiosity, a bijou, and a
+superfluity; to be beautiful it must be first of all frankly and
+practically a chair. A living-room which cannot be lived in with
+comfort and restfulness and peace of mind is not a living-room, but
+a museum or a concentrated department store; at best it is only an
+inclosed space. A beautiful building declares its function and use,
+satisfies us with the logic and coherence of its parts, and delights us
+with its reticence or its boldness, its simplicity or its inventiveness,
+in fine, its personality, as expressed in its parts and their confluence
+into an ordered, self-contained, and self-sufficing whole. Music,
+using sound for its material, is a pattern-weaving in tones. The
+power of music to satisfy and delight resides in the sensuous value
+of its material and in the character of its pattern as form, the balance
+and contrast of tonal relations, the folding and unfolding of themes,
+their development and progress to the final compelling unity-in-variety
+which constitutes its form and which in its own inherent and
+self-sufficing way is made the expression of the composer's emotion
+and musical idea. Lyric poetry is the fitting of rhythmic, melodious,
+colored words to the emotion within, to the point where the very
+form itself becomes the meaning, and the essence and mystery of the
+song are in the singing. Beauty is harmony materialized; it is
+emotion ordered and made visible, audible, tangible. If in the arts of
+form we seek further a standard of truth, their truth is not found in
+their relation to any external verity, but is determined by their
+correspondence with inner experience.
+
+In the category of the arts of form the single work is to be received
+in its entirety and integrity as form. The whole, however, may be
+resolved into its parts, and the individual details may be interesting
+in themselves. Thus into decorative patterns are introduced elements
+of meaning which attach themselves to the world and experience
+external to the artist. Many ornamental motives, like the zigzag and
+the egg-and-dart, for example, had originally a symbolic value.
+Sometimes they are drawn from primitive structures and fabrics, as
+the checker-board pattern, with its likeness to the plaitings of rush
+mattings, and the volute and spiral ornaments, which recall the
+curves and involutions of wattle and wicker work. Again, decoration
+may employ in its service details that in themselves are genuinely
+representative art. The frieze of the Parthenon shows in relief a
+procession of men and women and horses and chariots and animals.
+The sculptures of Gothic churches represent men and women, and
+the carvings of mouldings, capitals, and traceries are based on
+naturalistic motives, taking their designs from leaves and flowers.
+The essential function of ornament is to emphasize form and not to
+obscure it, though nowadays in machine-made things a kind of
+pseudo-embellishment is laid on to distract attention from the
+badness and meaninglessness of the form; in true decoration the
+representative elements are subordinated to the formal character of
+the whole. The representative interest may be enjoyed separately and
+in detail; but finally the graphic purpose yields to the decorative, and
+the details take their place as parts of the total design. Thus a Gothic
+cathedral conveys its complete and true impression first and last as
+form. Midway we may set ourselves to a reading of the details. The
+figure of this saint on the jamb or the archivolt of the portal is
+expressive of such simple piety and enthusiasm! In this group on the
+tympanum what animation and spirit! This moulding of leaves and
+blossoms is cut with such loving fidelity and exquisite feeling for
+natural truth! But at the last the separate members fulfill their
+appointed office as they reveal the supreme function of the living
+total form.
+
+Music, too, in some of its manifestations, as in song, the opera, and
+programme music, has a representative and illustrative character. In
+Chopin's "Funeral March" we hear the tolling of church bells, and it
+is easy to visualize the slow, straggling file of mourners following
+the bier; the composition here has a definite objective base drawn
+from external fact, and the "idea" is not exclusively musical, but
+admits an infusion of pictorial and literary elements. In listening to
+the love duet of the second act of "Tristan," although the lovers are
+before us in actual presence on the stage, I find myself involuntarily
+closing my eyes, for the music is so personal and so spiritualized, it
+is in and of itself so intensely the realization of the emotion, that the
+objective presentment of it by the actors becomes unnecessary and is
+almost an intrusion. The representative, figurative element in music
+may be an added interest, but its appeal is intellectual; if as we hear
+the "Funeral March," we say to ourselves, This is so and so, and,
+Here they do this or that, we are thinking rather than feeling. Music
+is the immediate expression of emotion communicated immediately;
+and the composition will not perfectly satisfy unless it is _music,_
+compelling all relations of melody, harmony, and rhythm into a
+supreme and triumphant order.
+
+Whereas the representative arts are based upon objective fact,
+drawing their "subjects" from nature and life external to the artist; in
+decoration, in architecture, and in music the artist creates his own
+forms as the projection of his emotion and the means of its
+expression. Richard Wagner, referring to the composition of his
+"Tristan," writes: "Here, in perfect trustfulness, I plunged into the
+inner depth of soul events, and from out this inmost centre of the
+world I fearlessly built up its outer form. . . . Life and death, the
+whole import and existence of the outer world, here hang on nothing
+but the inner movements of the soul. The whole affecting Action
+comes about for the reason only that the inmost soul demands it, and
+steps to light with the very shape foretokened in the inner shrine."
+The form, thus self-constituted, has the power to delight us, and the
+work is at the same time the expression of emotion. The arts of form
+please us with the pleasure that attends the perception of formal
+beauty; but this pleasure docs not exhaust their capability to minister
+to us. What differentiates art from manufacture is the element of
+personal expression. Born out of need, whether the need be physical
+or spiritual, fulfilling the urge to expression, a work of art embodies
+its maker's delight in creating. Correspondingly, beyond our
+immediate enjoyment of the work as form, we feel something of
+what the man felt who was impelled to create it. His handiwork, his
+pattern, his composition, becomes the means of communicating to
+us his emotional experience.
+
+Obviously the significance of any work is determined primarily by
+the intensity and scope of emotion which has prompted it. The
+creation of works of art involves all degrees of intention, from the
+hut in the wilderness rudely thrown together, whose purpose was
+shelter, to a Gothic cathedral, in its multitudinousness eloquent of
+man's worship and aspiration. The man who moulded the first bowl,
+adapting its form as closely as possible to its use and shaping its
+proportions for his own pleasure to satisfy his sense of harmony and
+rhythm, differs from the builders of the Parthenon only in the degree
+of intensity of his inspiring emotion and in the measure of his
+controlling thought. The beauty of accomplished form of cathedral
+and of temple is compelling; and we may forget that they rose out of
+need. Both hut and bowl are immediately useful, and their beauty is
+not so evident,--that little touch of feeling which wakens a response
+in us. But in their adaptation to their function they become
+significant; the satisfaction which accompanies expression is
+communicated to us as we apprehend in the work the creator's
+intention and we realize in ourselves what the creation of it meant to
+him as the fulfillment of his need and the utterance of his emotion.
+
+So the expressive power of an individual work is conditioned
+originally by the amount of feeling that enters into the making of it.
+Every phrase of a Beethoven symphony is saturated with emotion,
+and the work leads us into depths and up to heights of universal
+experience, disclosing to us tortuous ways and infinite vistas of the
+possibilities of human feeling. A simple earthen jug may bear the
+impress of loving fingers, and the crudely turned form may be
+eloquent of the caress of its maker. So we come to value even in the
+humblest objects of use this autographic character, which is the gate
+of entrance into the experience of the men who fashioned them.
+Every maker strives toward perfection, the completest realization of
+his ideal within his power of execution. But the very shortcomings
+of his work are significant as expressive of what he felt and was
+groping after; they are so significant that by a curious perversion,
+machinery, which in our civilized day has supplanted the craftsman,
+tries by mechanical means to reproduce the roughness and supposed
+imperfections of hand work. Music is the consummate art, in which
+the form and the content are one and inextricable; its medium is the
+purest, least alloyed means of expression of instant emotion.
+Architecture, in its harmonies and rhythms, the gathering up of
+details into the balanced and perfect whole, partakes of the nature of
+music. But the arts of use and decoration also have their message for
+the spirit. There is no object fashioned by the hand of man so
+humble that it may not embody a true thought and a sincere delight.
+There is no pattern or design so simple and so crude that it may not
+be the overflow of some human spirit, a mind and heart touched to
+expression.
+
+
+
+IX
+
+REPRESENTATION
+
+BEFORE me is a little bowl of old Satsuma. As I look at it there
+wakens in me a responsive rhythm, and involuntarily my fingers
+move as if to caress its suave and lovely lines. The rich gold and
+mingled mellow browns of its surface pattern intricately woven are a
+gracious harmony and a delight. Gradually, as I continue to look on
+it, a feeling is communicated to me of the maker's own joy in his
+work; and the bowl, its harmonies and rhythms, and all that it
+expresses, become part of me. There it is, complete in itself,
+gathering up and containing within itself the entire experience. My
+thoughts, sensations, feelings do not go beyond the bowl.
+
+Another time I am standing in the hall of the Academy in Florence.
+At the end of the corridor towers a superb form. I see that it is the
+figure of a youth. His left hand holds a sling drawn across his
+shoulder; his right arm hangs by his side, his hand grasping a pebble
+close to his thigh; calm and confident, his head erect, his strength
+held in leash waiting to be loosed, he fronts the oncoming of the foe.
+The statue is the presentation of noble form, and it wakens in me an
+accordant rhythm; I feel in myself something of what youthful
+courage, life, and conscious power mean. But my experience does
+not stop there. The statue is not only presentation but representation.
+It figures forth a youth, David, the Hebrew shepherd-boy, and he
+stands awaiting the Philistine. I have read his story, I have my own
+mental image of him, and about his personality cluster many
+thoughts. To what Michelangelo shows me I add what I already
+know. Recognition, memory, knowledge, facts and ideas, a whole
+store of associations allied with my previous experience, mingle
+with my instant emotion in its presence. The sculptor, unlike the
+potter, has not created his own form; the subject of his work exists
+outside of him in nature. He uses the subject for his own ends, but in
+his treatment of it he is bound by certain responsibilities to external
+truth. His work as it stands is not completely self-contained, but is
+linked with the outer world; and my appreciation of it is affected by
+this reference to extrinsic fact.
+
+An artist is interested in some scene in nature or a personality or
+situation in human life; it moves him. As the object external to him
+is the stimulus of his emotion and is associated with it, so he uses
+the object as the symbol of his experience and means of expression
+of his emotion. Here, then, the feeling, to express which the work is
+created, gathers about a subject, which can be recognized
+intellectually, and the fact of the subject is received as in a measure
+separate from the feeling which flows from it. In a painting of a
+landscape, we recognize as the basis of the total experience the fact
+that it is a landscape, so much water and field and sky; and then we
+yield ourselves to the _beauty_ of the landscape, the emotion with
+which the artist suffuses the material objects and so transfigures
+them. Into representative art, therefore, there enters an element not
+shared by the arts of pure form, the element of _the subject,_
+carrying with it considerations of objective truth and of likeness to
+external fact. Toward the understanding of the total scope of a
+picture or a statue, and by inference and application of the principles,
+toward the understanding of literature as well, it may help us if we
+determine the relation of beauty to truth and the function and value
+of the subject in representative art.
+
+The final significance of a work of art is beauty, received as
+emotional experience. Nature becomes beautiful to us at the point
+where it manifests a harmony to which we feel ourselves attuned. At
+the moment of enjoyment we unconsciously project our personality
+into this harmony outside of us, identifying ourselves with it and
+finding it at that instant the expression of something toward which
+we reach and aspire. When we come consciously to reason about our
+experience, we see that the harmony external to us which we feel as
+the extension of ourselves does not stop with the actual material
+itself of nature, but emanates from it as the expression of nature's
+spirit. The harmony is a harmony of relations, made visible through
+material, and significant to us and beautiful in the measure that we
+respond to it.
+
+It is the beauty of the object, its significance for the spirit, that
+primarily moves the artist to expression. Why one landscape and not
+another impels him to render it upon his canvas is not to be
+explained. This impulse to immediate and concrete utterance is
+inspiration. And inspiration would seem to be a confluence of forces
+outside of the individual consciousness or will, focused at the instant
+into desire, which becomes the urge to creation. "The mind in
+creation," says Shelley, "is as a fading coal, which some invisible
+influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness;
+this power rises from within, like the colour of a flower which fades
+and changes as it is developed, and the conscious portions of our
+natures are unprophetic either of its approach or its departure." The
+artist does not say, "Lo, I will paint a landscape; let me find my
+subject!" The subject presents itself. There it is, by chance almost,--a
+sudden harmony before him, long low meadows stretching away to
+the dark hills, the late sun striking on the water, gold and green
+melting into a suffusing flush of purple light, a harmony of color and
+line and mass which his spirit leaps out to meet and with which it
+fuses in a larger unity. In the moment of contact all consciousness of
+self as a separate individuality is lost. Out of the union of the two
+principles, the spirit of man and the beauty of the object, is born the
+_idea,_ which is to come to expression as a work of art.
+
+But the artist is a mind as well as a temperament. Experience
+is a swing of the pendulum between the momentary ecstasy of
+immediate contact and the subsequent reaction upon the moment,
+which is consciousness of it. In order to make his vision actual, the
+artist rises out of the domain of feeling into that of thought. The
+landscape has compelled him; it is now he who must compel the
+landscape. To the shaping of his work he must bring to bear all his
+conscious power of selection and organization and all his knowledge
+of the capabilities and resources of his means. Art springs out of
+emotion; painting is a science. The artist's command of his subject
+as the symbol of his idea derives from the stern and vigorous
+exercise of mind. The rightness of his composition is determined by
+a logic more flexible, perhaps, but no less exacting than the laws of
+geometry. By the flow of his line and the disposition of his masses,
+the artist must carry the eye of the beholder along the way he wants
+it to travel until it rests upon the point where he wants it to rest.
+There must be no leaks and no false directions; there must be the
+cosmos within the frame and nothing outside of it. The principles of
+perspective have been worked out with a precision that entitles them
+to rank as a science. Color has its laws, which, again, science is able
+to formulate. These processes and formulas and laws are not the
+whole of art, but they have their place. The power to feel, the
+imaginative vision, and creative insight are not to be explained. But
+knowledge too, acquired learning and skill, plays its part, and to
+recognize its function and service is to be helped to a fuller
+understanding of the achievement of the artist.
+
+Gifted with a vibrant, sensitive temperament, endowed with
+discriminating and organizing power of mind, equipped with a
+knowledge of the science and the mechanics of his craft, and trained
+to skill in manual execution, the artist responds to the impulse of his
+inspiration. His subject is before him. But what is his subject? A
+scene in nature furnishes him the objective base of his picture, but
+properly his work is the expression of what he feels. A storm may
+convey to different men entirely different impressions. In its
+presence one man may feel himself overwhelmed with terror. These
+wild, black skies piling in upon him, the hilltops that seem to race
+through the clouds, the swaying, snapping trees, the earth caught up
+in the mad grasp of the tempest, may smite his soul with the
+pitilessness of nature and her inexorable blind power. Another thrills
+with joy in this cosmic struggle, the joy of conflict which he has
+known in his own life, the meeting of equal forces in fair fight,
+where the issue is still doubtful and victory will fall at last upon the
+strong, though it is not the final triumph but the present struggle that
+makes the joy. In rendering the "subject" upon his canvas, by the
+manipulation of composition and line and mass and color, he makes
+the storm ominous and terrible, or glorious, according as he feels.
+The import of his picture is not the natural fact of the storm itself,
+but its significance for the emotions.
+
+A work of representative art is the rendering of a unity of impression
+and harmony of relations which the artist has perceived and to which
+he has thrilled in the world external to him. He presents not the facts
+themselves but their spirit, that something which endows the facts
+with their significance and their power to stir him. As the meaning
+of nature to the beholder is determined by the effect it produces on
+his mind and temperament, so the artist, in the expression of this
+meaning, aims less at a statement of objective accuracy of exterior
+appearance than at producing a certain effect, the effect which is the
+equivalent of the meaning of nature to him. Thus the painter who
+sees beyond the merely intellectual and sensuous appeal of his
+subject and enters into its spirit, tries to render on his canvas, not the
+actual color of nature, but the sensation of color and its value for the
+emotions. With the material splendor of nature,--her inexhaustible
+lavish wealth of color, the glory of life which throbs through
+creation, the mystery of actual movement,--art cannot compete. For
+the hues and tones of nature, infinite in number and subtlety, the
+painter has only the few notes within the poor gamut of his palette.
+How can he quicken his dull paint with the life-beat of palpitating
+flesh, or the sculptor animate the rigid marble with the vibrations of
+vivid motion? But where nature is infinite in her range she is also
+scattering in her effects. By the concentration of divergent forces, art
+gains in intensity and directness of impression what it sacrifices in
+the scope of its material. Michelangelo uses as his subject David, the
+shepherd-boy; but the person, the mere name, does not signify. What
+his work embodies is triumphant youth, made visible and
+communicable. When Millet shows us the peasant, it is not what the
+peasant is feeling that the artist represents, but what Millet felt about
+him. The same landscape will be rendered differently by different
+men. Each selects his details according to the interest of his eye and
+mind and feeling, and he brings them into a dominant harmony
+which stands to him for the meaning of the landscape. None of the
+pictures is an accurate statement of the facts as they are, off there in
+nature; all are true to the integrating inner vision. The superficial
+observer sees only the accidents, and he does not distinguish relative
+importance. The artist, with quicker sensibilities and a trained mind,
+analyzes, discovers the underlying principle, and then makes a
+synthesis which embodies only the essential; he seizes the
+distinctive aspect of the object and makes it salient. There may be,
+of course, purely descriptive representation, which is a faithful
+record of the facts of appearance as the painter sees them, without
+any feeling toward them; here he works as a scientist, not as an artist.
+Merely imitative painting falls short of artistic significance, for it
+embodies no meaning beyond the external fact. It is the
+expressiveness of the object that the true artist cares to represent; it
+is its expressiveness, its value for the emotions, that constitutes its
+beauty.
+
+To achieve beauty the representative artist bases his work upon the
+truth of nature. It is nature that supplies him with his motive,--some
+glimpse, some fragment, which reveals within itself a harmony. It
+may be a form, as a tree, a man, a mountain range, the race of clouds
+across the sky; it may be a color-harmony or "arrangement," in
+which color rather than form is the dominant interest, as with a
+landscape or an interior; it may be the effects of light, as the
+sunshine playing over golden haystacks, or the glint of light on
+metal, or the sheen of lovely fabrics. Out of the complex of interests
+and appeals which an object offers, what is the _truth_ of the object?
+The truth of nature resides not in the accidents of surface but in the
+essential relations, of which the surface is the manifestation. A birch
+tree and an apple tree are growing side by side. Their roots strike
+down into the same soil, their branches are warmed by the same sun,
+wet by the same rains, and swept by the same winds. The birch tree
+is always lithe and gracious and feminine; the apple tree is always
+bent and sternly gnarled like the hand of an old man. The life-force
+which impels the tree to growth is distinctive to each kind. Within
+all natural objects, then, a crystal, a tree, a man, there is a shaping
+principle which determines their essential form. But no two
+individual apple trees are precisely alike; from the essential form of
+the tree there are divergences in the single manifestations. Though
+subject to accident and variation, however, every tree exhibits a
+characteristic, inviolate _tendency,_ and remains true to the inner
+life-principle of its being. The "truth" of the apple tree is this
+distinctive, essential form, by virtue of which it is an apple tree and
+not some other kind, the form which underlies and allows for all
+individual variations. What the painter renders on his canvas is not
+the superficial accidents of some single tree, but by means of that,
+he seeks to image forth in color and form the tendency of all trees.
+The truth of an object presents itself to the imagination as design, for
+this organic, shaping principle of things, expressed in colored
+myriad forms throughout the endless pageantry of nature, is
+apprehended by the spirit of man as a harmony; and in the
+experience of the artist truth identifies itself with beauty.
+
+The distinction between the accidental surface of things and the
+significance that may be drawn out of them is exemplified by the
+difference between accuracy and truth in representation. Accurate
+drawing is the faithful record of the facts of appearance as offered to
+the eye. Truth of drawing is the rendering in visible terms of the
+meaning and spirit of the object, the form which the object takes not
+simply for the eye but for the mind. A pencil sketch by Millet shows
+a man carrying in each hand a pail of water. The arms are drawn
+inaccurately, in that they are made too long. What Millet wanted to
+express, however, was not the physical shape of the arms, but the
+feeling of the burden under which the man was bending; and by
+lengthening the arms he has succeeded in conveying, as mere
+accuracy could not express it, the sensation of weight and muscular
+strain. In Hals' picture of the "Jester" the left hand is sketched in
+with a few swift strokes of the brush. But so, it "keeps its place" in
+relation to the whole; and it is more nearly right than if it had been
+made the centre of attention and had been drawn with the most
+meticulous precision. The hand is not accurate, but it is true.
+Similarly, size is an affair not of physical extent but of proportion. A
+figure six inches high may convey the same value as a figure six feet
+high, if the same proportions are observed. A statue is the
+presentation, not of the human body, but of the human form, and
+more than that, of what the form expresses. When I am talking with
+my friend I am aware of his physical presence detaching itself from
+the background of the room in which we are. But I feel in him
+something more. And that something more goes behind the details
+of his physical aspect. His eyes might be blue instead of brown, his
+nose crooked rather than straight; he might be maimed and
+disfigured by some mishap. These accidents would not change for
+me what is the reality. My friend is not his body, though it is by his
+body that he exists; the reality of my friend is what he essentially is,
+what he is of the spirit. A photograph of a man registers certain facts
+of his appearance at that moment. The eye and the mind of the artist
+discern the truth which underlies the surface; the artist feels his sitter
+not as a face and a figure, a mere body, but as a personality; and the
+portrait expresses a man.
+
+As grasped by our finite minds, there are partial truths and degrees
+of truth. There are, for example, the facts of outer appearance,
+modified in our reception of them by what we know as distinct from
+what we really see. Thus a tree against the background of hill or sky
+seems to have a greater projection and relief than is actually
+presented to the eye, because we _know_ the tree is round. Manet's
+"Girl with a Parrot," which appears to the ordinary man to be too flat,
+is more true to reality than any portrait that "seems to come out of its
+frame." Habitually in our observation of objects about us, we note
+only so much as serves our practical ends; and this is the most
+superficial, least essential aspect. Projection is a partial truth, and to
+it many painters sacrifice other and higher truths. Manet, recovering
+the "innocence of the eye" and faithful to it, has penetrated the
+secrets and won the truth of light. Botticelli saw the world as
+sonorous undulations of exquisite line; and his subtly implicated,
+evanescent patterns of line movement, "incorrect" as they may be
+superficially in drawing, caress the eye as music finds and satisfies
+the soul. When such is his power over us, it is difficult to say that
+Botticelli had not some measure of the truth. The world of the
+Venetians sang full-sounding harmonies of glorious color.
+Velasquez saw everything laved around with a flood of silver quiet
+atmosphere. All in their own way have found and shown to us a
+truth.
+
+To render what he has seen and felt in the essence and meaning of it,
+the artist seeks to disengage the shaping principle of the particular
+aspect of truth, which has impressed him, from all accidents in its
+manifestation. To make this dominant character salient beyond
+irrelevant circumstance, art works by selection. Art is necessarily a
+compromise. It isolates some elements and sacrifices others; but it is
+none the less true on that account. The mere material of the object is
+more or less fixed, but the relations which the object embodies are
+capable of many combinations and adjustments, according to the
+mind and temperament of the individual artist who is moved by it.
+All art is in a certain sense abstraction; all art in a measure idealizes.
+It is abstraction in the sense that it presents the intrinsic and
+distinctive qualities of things, purged of accident.
+
+Art does not compete with nature; it is a statement of the spirit and
+intention of nature in the artist's own terms. The test of the work is
+not apparent and superficial likeness, but truth. Art idealizes in the
+measure that it disengages the truth. In this aspect of it the work is
+ideal as distinct from merely actual. There is a practice in art which
+draws its standard of beauty, its ideal, not from nature but from
+other art, and which seeks to "improve nature" by the combination
+of arbitrarily chosen elements and by the modification of natural
+truth to fit a preconceived formula. The Eclectics of Bologna, in the
+seventeenth century, sought to combine Raphael's perfection of
+drawing and composition, Michelangelo's sublimity and his mastery
+of the figure, and Correggio's sweet sentiment and his supremacy in
+the rendering of light and shade, fondly supposing thus that the sum
+of excellent parts is equivalent to an excellence of the whole. This is
+false idealism. The Greeks carried their research for certain truths of
+the human form to the point of perfection and complete realization.
+The truth of the Greeks was mistaken by the pseudo-classicists and
+misapplied. Thus Delacroix exclaimed ironically, "In order to
+present an ideal head of a negro, our teachers make him resemble as
+far as possible the profile of Antinöus, and then say, 'We have done
+our utmost; if, nevertheless, we fail to make the negro beautiful,
+then we ought not to introduce into our pictures such a freak of
+nature, the squat nose and thick lips, which are so unendurable to the
+eyes.'" True idealism treats everything after its own kind, making it
+more intensely itself than it is in the play of nature; the athlete is
+more heroically an athlete, the negro more vividly a negro. True
+idealism seeks to express the tendency by virtue of which an object
+is what it is. The abstraction which art effects is not an unreality but
+a higher reality. It is not the mere type, that art presents, for the type
+as such does not exist in nature. The individual is not lost but
+affirmed by this reference to the inner principle of its being. A good
+portrait has in it an element of caricature; the difference between
+portraiture and caricature is the difference between emphasis and
+exaggeration. Art is not the falsification of nature, but the fuller
+realization of it. It is the interpretation of nature's truth, the
+translation of it, divined by the artist, into simpler terms to be read
+and understood by those of less original insight. The deeper the
+penetration into the life-force and shaping principle of nature, the
+greater is the measure of truth.
+
+In representative art the truth of nature is the work's objective base.
+What the artist finally expresses is the relation of the object to his
+own experience. A work of art is the statement of the artist's insight
+into nature, moulded and suffused by the emotion attending his
+perception. Of the object, he uses that aspect and that degree of truth
+which serve him for the expression of his feeling toward it. What is
+called "realism" is one order of truth, one way of seeing.
+"Impressionism" is another order of truth. "Idealism" is still another.
+But all three elements blend in varying proportion in any work.
+Even the realist, who "paints what he sees," has his ideal, which is
+the effect he sets himself to produce by his picture, and he paints
+according to his impression. He renders not the object itself but his
+mental image of it; and that image is the result of his way of seeing
+and feeling, his habit of mind, his interest, and his store of memories.
+The idealist must base his work upon some kind of reality, or it is a
+monstrosity; he is obliged to refer to the external world for his
+symbols. The impressionist, who concerns himself with the play of
+light over surfaces in nature, is seeking for truth, and he cares to
+paint at all because that play of light, seemingly so momentary and
+so merely sensuous, has a value for his spirit of which he may or
+may not be wholly conscious; and these shifting effects are the
+realization of his ideal. Unwitting at the moment of contact itself of
+the significance that afterwards is to flow articulately from his work,
+the artist, in the presence of his object, knows only that he is
+impelled to render it. As faithfully as possible he tries to record what
+he sees, conscious simply that what he sees gives him delight. His
+vision wakens his feeling, and then by reaction his feeling
+determines his vision, controlling and directing his selection of the
+details of aspect. When Velasquez, engaged on a portrait of the king,
+saw the maids of honor graciously attending on the little princess, he
+did not set about producing a _picture,_ as an end in itself. In the
+relation of these figures to one another and to the background of the
+deep and high-vaulted chamber in which they were standing, each
+object and plane of distance receiving its just amount of light and
+fusing in the unity of total impression, were revealed to him the
+wonder and the mystery of nature's magic of light. This is what he
+tried to render. His revelation of natural truth, wrung from nature's
+inmost latencies and shown to us triumphantly, becomes a thing of
+beauty.
+
+So the differences among the various "schools" in art are after all
+largely differences of emphasis. The choice of subject or motive, the
+angle from which it is viewed, and the method of handling, all are
+determined by the artist's kind of interest; and that interest results
+from what the man is essentially by inheritance and individual
+character, and what he is moulded into by environment, training, and
+experience. It may happen that the external object imposes itself in
+its integrity upon the artist's mind and temperament, and he tries to
+express it, colored inevitably by his feeling toward it, in all
+faithfulness to the feet as he sees it. Millet said, "I should never paint
+anything that was not the result of an impression received from the
+aspect of nature, whether in landscape or figures." Millet painted
+what he saw, but he painted it as only he saw it. Or again it happens
+that an artist imposes his feeling upon nature. Thus Burne-Jones said,
+"I mean by a picture a beautiful romantic dream of something that
+never was, never will be--in a light better than any that ever shone--in
+a land no one can define or remember, only desire." Whether true
+to nature or true to the creative inner vision, the work of both men
+embodies truth. Sometimes an artist effaces entirely his own
+individuality, as in Greek sculpture and Gothic architecture, and the
+mere name of the creator does not signify. George Frederick Watts
+is reported to have said, "If I were asked to choose whether I would
+like to do something good, as the world judges popular art, and
+receive personally great credit for it, or, as an alternative, to produce
+something which should rank with the very best, taking a place with
+the art of Pheidias or Titian, with the highest poetry and the most
+elevating music, and remain unknown as the perpetrator of the work,
+I should choose the latter." Sidney Lanier wrote, "It is of little
+consequence whether _I_ fail; the _I_ in the matter is small
+business. . . . Let my name perish,--the poetry is good poetry and the
+music is good music, and beauty dieth not, and the heart that needs it
+will find it." Or on the contrary, a work may bear dominantly, even
+aggressively, the impress of the distinctive individuality of its
+creator, as with Carlyle's prose and Browning's poetry. Whistler
+seems at times to delight less in the beauty of his subject than in the
+_exercise_ of his own power of refinement. Where another man's art
+is personal, as with Velasquez or Frans Hals, Whistler's art becomes
+egotistical. He does not say, "Lo, how mysterious is this dusk
+river-side, how tenderly serene this mother, how wistful and mighty is this
+prophet-seer!" He exclaims rather, "Note how subtly I, Whistler,
+have seen. Rejoice with me in my powers of vision and of
+execution." There is no single method of seeing, no one formula of
+expression and handling. The truth both of nature and of art is great
+and infinitely various. For art, like nature, is organic, allowing for
+endless modifications, while remaining true to the inner principle of
+its being.
+
+The judgment of truth is a delicate business. To test the truth of a
+work of art by reference to the truth of nature is to presuppose that
+our power of perception is equal to the artist's power, and that our
+knowledge of the object represented is equal to his knowledge of it.
+The ordinary man's habitual contact with the world is practical, and
+his knowledge of natural fact, based upon the most superficial aspect
+of it and used for practical purposes, tends to falsify his vision. The
+artist's contact with the world, in his capacity as artist, is one of
+feeling; he values life, not for its material rewards and satisfactions,
+but for what it brings to him of emotional experience. The ordinary
+man uses nature for his own workaday ends. The artist loves nature,
+and through his love he understands her. His knowledge of natural
+fact, instead of falsifying his vision, reinforces it. He studies the
+workings of nature's laws as manifested in concrete phenomena
+around him,--the movement of storms, the growth of trees, the
+effects of light,--penetrating their inmost secrets, that he may make
+them more efficient instruments of expression. He uses his
+understanding of anatomy, of earth-structure, of the laws of color, as
+the means to a fuller and juster interpretation. As he receives the
+truth of nature with reverence and joy, so he transmutes truth into
+beauty.
+
+An artist's interest in the truth of nature is not the scientist's
+interest, an intellectual concern with knowledge for the sake of
+knowledge. The artist receives nature's revelation of herself with
+emotion. The deeper he penetrates into her hidden ways, the greater
+becomes her power to stir him. The artist values his "subject,"
+therefore, as the stimulus of emotion and as the symbol by means of
+which he expresses his emotion and communicates it. The value of the
+subject to the appreciator, however, is not immediately clear. It is
+not easy for us to receive the subject purely as the artist shows it
+to us and independently of our own knowledge of it. About it already
+gather innumerable associations, physical, practical, intellectual,
+sentimental, and emotional, all of them or any of them, which result
+from our previous contact with it in actual life. Here is a portrait of
+Carlyle. I cannot help regarding the picture first of all from the point
+of view of its likeness to the original. This is a person with whom I
+am acquainted, an individual, by name Carlyle. And my reaction on
+the picture is determined, not by what the artist has to say about a
+great personality interpreted through the medium of color and form,
+but by what I already know about Carlyle. Or here a painting shows
+me a landscape with which I am familiar. Then instead of trying to
+discover in the picture what the artist has seen in the landscape and
+felt in its presence, letting it speak to me in its own language, I allow
+my thoughts to wander from the canvas, and I enjoy the landscape in
+terms of my own knowledge and remembrance of it. The artist's
+work becomes simply a point of departure, whereas it should be not
+only the beginning but also the end and fulfillment of the complete
+experience. What is, then, we may ask, the relation of the fact of the
+subject to the beauty and final message of the work?
+
+The pleasure which attends the recognition of the subject is a
+legitimate element in our enjoyment of art. But the work should
+yield a delight beyond our original delight in the subject as it exists
+in nature. The significance of a work of representative art depends
+not upon the subject in and of itself, but upon what the artist has to
+say about it. A rose may be made to reveal the cosmos; a mountain
+range or cloud-swept spaces of the upper air may be niggled into
+meanness. The ugly in practical life may be transfigured by the
+artist's touch into supreme beauty. _"Il faut pouvoir faire servir le
+trivial à l'expression du sublime, c'est la vraie force,"_ said one who
+was able to invest a humble figure with august dignity. Millet's
+peasants reveal more of godlike majesty than all the array of
+personages in the pantheon of post-Raphaelite Italy and the classic
+school of France. Upon his subject the artist bases that harmony of
+relations which constitutes the beauty and significance of his work.
+Brought thus into a harmony, the object represented is made more
+vivid, more intensely itself, than it is in nature, with the result that
+we receive from the representation a heightened sense of reality and
+of extended personality. The importance of the subject, therefore, is
+measured by the opportunity it affords the artist, and with him his
+appreciators, to share in the beauty of nature and life. A picture
+should not "standout" from its frame, but should go back into it,
+reaching even into infinity. Our own associations attaching to the
+subject lose themselves as they blend with the artist's revelation of
+the fuller beauty of his object; and finally all becomes merged in the
+emotional experience.
+
+Eliminating the transient and accidental, a work of art presents the
+essential and eternal. Art appeals not to the intellect and the reason,
+but to the imagination and the emotions. The single work, therefore,
+is concrete and immediate. But universal in its scope, it transcends
+the particularities of limited place and individual name. We must
+distinguish between the abstractly typical and the universal. The
+representative artist does not conceive an abstraction and then seek
+to find a symbol for it. That is the method of allegory, where spring,
+for example, is figured as a young woman scattering flowers.
+Allegory is decorative rather than representative in intention. The
+artist receives his inspiration and stimulus from some actual
+concrete bit of nature, a woodland wrapt in tender mists of green, a
+meadow gold and softly white with blossoms, a shimmering gauze
+of sun touched air, moist and vibrating, enfolding it. That is what he
+paints. But he paints it so that it is spring, and instinct with the spirit
+of all springs. Michelangelo does not intellectually conceive youth
+and then carve a statue. Some boy has revealed to him the beauty of
+his young strength, and the sculptor moves to immediate expression.
+He calls his statue David, but the white form radiates the rhythm and
+glory of all youth. And as we realize youth in ourselves, more
+poignantly, more abundantly, the mere name of the boy does not
+matter. The fact that the portrait shows us Carlyle is an incident.
+Carlyle is the "subject" of the picture, but its meaning is the twilight
+of a mighty, indomitable mind, made visible and communicable. His
+work is done; the hour of quiet is given, and he finds rest. Into this
+moment, eternal in its significance, into this mood, universal in its
+appeal, we enter, to realize it in ourselves. The subject of picture or
+statue is but the means; the end is life. Objective fact is transmuted
+into living truth. Art is the manifestation of a higher reality than we
+alone have been able to know. It begins with the particular and then
+transcends it, admitting us to share in the beauty of the world, the
+cosmic harmony of universal experience.
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE PERSONAL ESTIMATE
+
+ART starts from life and in the end comes back to it. Art is born out
+of the stirring of the artist's spirit in response to his need of
+expression, and it reaches its fulfillment in the spirit of the
+appreciator as it answers his need of wider and deeper experience.
+Midway on its course from spirit to spirit it traverses devious paths.
+The emotion out of which art springs and of which it is the
+expression is controlled and directed by the shaping force of mind,
+and it embodies itself in material form. This material form, by virtue
+of its qualities, has the power to delight our senses; the skill which
+went into the fashioning of it, so far as we can recognize the
+processes of execution, gives us pleasure; the harmony which the
+work of art must manifest satisfies the mind and makes it possible
+for us to link the emotion with our own experience.
+
+These paths which a work of art traverses in its course from its
+origin to its fulfillment I have tried to follow in their ramifications,
+and I have tried to trace them to their issue in appreciation. Some
+lovers of art may linger on the way and rest content with the
+distance they have come, without pressing forward to the end. A
+work of art is complex in its appeal; and it is possible to stop with
+one or another of its elements. Thus we may receive the work
+intellectually, recognizing its subject, and turning the artist's
+emotion into our thought and translating it from his medium of color
+and form or sound into our own medium of words. Here is a portrait
+of Carlyle; and Carlyle we _know_ as an author and as a man. This
+landscape is from the Palisades, where we have roamed in leisure
+hours. Before us is a statue of Zeus, whom our classical reading has
+made a reality to us. This symphony gathers about a day in the
+country, suggesting an incident in our own experience of which we
+have pleasant remembrances. Intellectually, also, we enjoy the
+evidence of the artist's skill which the work exhibits. Or we may
+pass beyond the simple exercise of the intellect, and with a
+refinement of perception we may take a sensuous delight in the
+qualities of the material in which the work is embodied. This portrait
+is a subtle harmony of color and exquisite adjustment of line and
+mass. The luminous night which enwraps the Palisades is a solemn
+mighty chord. The white rhythm of this statue caresses the eye that
+follows it. This symphony is an intricate and wonderful
+wave-pattern upon a sea of billowing sound in which the listener immerses
+himself voluptuously. The essential significance of a work of art is
+not to be received apart from its form, but the form is more than
+merely sensuous in its appeal. Finally, therefore, the color and the
+composition of the portrait are but the point of meeting where we
+touch in energizing contact a powerful personality. Our spirit goes
+out into the night of these Palisades and dilates into immensity. This
+statue is Olympian majesty made visible, and in its presence we feel
+that we too are august. The symphony is a resolution of the struggle
+of our own tangled lives, a purification, and the experience of joy.
+
+Art is the expression of experience, whether the experience enacts
+itself within the spirit of the artist or derives from his contact with
+the external world. So by the same token, art is finally to be received
+as experience. The ultimate meaning of a work of art to the
+appreciator is what it wakens in him of emotion. It is the artist's
+business, by the manipulation of his materials and his elements, by
+the choice of motive and the rendering, by the note and pitch of his
+color, the ordering of his line, the disposition of his masses, to
+compel the direction of the emotion; he must not allow the
+solemnity and awe with which his night invests the Palisades to be
+mistaken by the beholder for terror or for mere obscurity. But the
+quality and the intensity of the emotion depend upon the temper of
+the appreciator's sensibilities and the depth and range of his
+experience of life. Art is not fixed and invariable in its effect.
+"Vanity Fair" is a great novel. One man may read it for the sake of
+the story, and in his amusement and interest in following the
+succession of incident, he may for a while forget himself. A possible
+use to put one's reading to; yet for that man the book is not art.
+Another may be entertained by the spectacle of the persons as they
+exhibit themselves in Thackeray's pages, much as he might stop a
+moment on the curbstone and watch a group of children at play in
+the street. Here he is a looker-on, holding himself aloof; and for him,
+again, the book is not art. Still a third may find in "Vanity Fair" a
+record of the customs and manners of English people at the
+beginning of the nineteenth century; and he adds this much to his
+stock of information. Still for him the book is not art. Not one of the
+three has touched in vital contact the essential meaning of "Vanity
+Fair." But the man who sees in the incidents of the book a situation
+possible in his own life, who identifies himself with the personages
+and acts out with them their adventures, who feels that he actually
+knows Rawdon Crawley and Becky Sharp, Jo Sedley, Dobbin, and
+Amelia, and understands their character and personality better here
+than in the actual world about him by force of Thackeray's greater
+insight and power of portraiture, who sees in English manners here
+represented the interpretation of his own surroundings, so that as a
+result of it all, his own experience becomes richer for his having
+lived out the life of the fictitious persons, his own acquaintances
+have revealed themselves more fully, his own life becomes more
+intelligible,--for him at last the book is a work of art. So any work
+may be a mirror which simply reflects the world as we know it; it
+may be a point of departure, from which tangentially we construct
+an experience of our own: it is truly art only in the degree that it is
+revelation.
+
+A work of art, therefore, is to be received by the individual
+appreciator as an added emotional experience. It appeals to him at
+all because in some way it relates itself to his own life; and its value
+to him is determined by the measure in which it carries him out into
+wider ranges of feeling. There are works whose absolute greatness
+he recognizes but yet which do not happen at the moment to find
+him. Constable comes to him as immensely satisfying; Turner,
+though an object of great intellectual interest, leaves him cold. He
+knows Velasquez to be supreme among painters, but he turns away
+to stand before Frans Hals, whose quick, sure strokes call such very
+human beings into actuality and rouse his spirit to the fullest
+response. Why is it that of two works of equal depth of insight into
+life, of equal scope of feeling, of the same excellence of technical
+accomplishment, one has an appeal and a message for him and not
+the other? What is the bridge of transition between the work and the
+spirit of the appreciator by which the subtle connection is
+established?
+
+It comes back to a matter of harmony. Experience presents itself to
+us in fragments; and in so far as the parts are scattering and
+unrelated, it is not easy for us to guess the purpose of our being here.
+But so soon as details, which by virtue of some selecting principle
+are related to one another, gather themselves into a whole, chaos is
+resolved into order, and this whole becomes significant, intelligible,
+and beautiful. Instinctively we are seeking, each in his own way, to
+bring the fragments of experience into order; and that order stands to
+each of us for what we are, for our individual personality, the self.
+We define thus our selecting principle, by which we receive some
+incidents of experience as related to our development and we reject
+others as not related to it. Thus the individual life achieves its
+integrity, its unity and significance. This, too, is the process of art. A
+landscape in nature is capable of a various, interpretation. By
+bringing its details into order and unity, the artist creates its beauty.
+His perception of the harmony which his imagination compels out of
+the landscape is attended with emotion, and the emotion flows
+outward to expression in a form which is itself harmonious. This
+form is a work of art. Art, therefore, is the harmonizing of
+experience. Appreciation is an act of fusion and identification. In
+spirit we _become_ the thing presented by the work of art and we
+merge with it in a larger unity. The individual harmony which a
+work of art manifests becomes significant to us as we can make it an
+harmonious part of our own experience and as it carries us in the
+direction of our development.
+
+But how to determine, each man for himself, what is the direction of
+our development? A life becomes significant to itself so soon as it is
+conscious of its purpose, and it becomes harmonious as it makes all
+the details of experience subserve that purpose. The purpose of the
+individual life, so far as we can guess it, seems to be that the life
+shall be as complete as possible, that it shall fulfill itself and provide
+through its offspring for its continuance. It is true that no life is
+isolated; as every atom throughout the universe is bound to every
+other atom by subtlest filaments of influence, so each human life
+stands related to all other lives. But the man best pays his debt of
+service to others who makes the most of that which is given him to
+work with; and that is his own personality. We must begin at the
+centre and work outwards. My concern is with my own justice. If I
+worry because my friend or another is not just, I not only do not
+make him more just, but I also fail of the highest justice I can
+achieve, which is my own. We must be true to ourselves. We help
+one another not by precept but by _being;_ and what we are
+communicates itself. As physical life propagates and thus continues
+itself, so personality is transmitted in unconscious innumerable ways.
+The step and carriage of the body, the glance of the eye, the work of
+our hands, our silences no less than our speech, all express what we
+are. As everything follows upon what we are, so our responsibility is
+to _be,_ to be ourselves completely, perfectly.
+
+A tender shoot pushes its way out of the soil into light and air, and
+with the years it grows into a tree. The tree bears fruit, which
+contains the seed of new manifestations of itself. The fruit falls to
+the ground and rots, providing thus the aliment for the seed out of
+which other trees are to spring. From seed to seed the life of the tree
+is a cycle, without beginning and without end. At no one point in the
+cycle can we say, Here is the purpose of the tree. Incidentally the
+tree may minister to the needs and comfort and pleasure of man. The
+tree delights him to look upon it; its branches shade him from the
+noonday sun; its trunk and limbs can be hewn down and turned to
+heat and shelter; its fruit is good to eat. The primary purpose of the
+fruit, however, is not to furnish food to man, but to provide the
+envelope for the transmission of its seed and the continuance of its
+own life. Seen in its cosmic bearing and scope, the purpose of the
+tree is to be a tree, as fit, as strong, as beautiful, as complete, as
+tree-like, as it can be. The leaf precedes the flower and may be thought
+on that account to be inferior to it in the scale of development. If a
+leaf pines and withers in regret that it is not a flower, it not only
+does not become a flower, but it fails of being a good leaf.
+Everything in its place and after its own kind. In so far as it is
+perfectly itself, a leaf, a blossom, a tree, a man, does it contribute to
+the well-being of others. Man has subdued all things under his feet
+and turned them to his own uses. By force of mind he is the
+strongest creature, but it is not to be inferred that he is therefore the
+aim and end of all creation. Like everything else, he has his place;
+like everything else he has the right to live his own life, triumphing
+over the weaker and in his turn going down before a mightier when
+the mightier shall come; like everything else he is but a part in the
+universal whole. Only a part; but as we recognize our relation to
+other parts and through them our connection with the whole, our
+sense of the value of the individual life becomes infinitely extended.
+We must get into the rhythm, keeping step with the beat of the
+universal life and finding there our place, our destiny, the meaning
+of our being here, and joy. The goods which men set before
+themselves as an end are but by-products after all. If we pursue
+happiness we overtake it not. If we do what our hands find to do,
+devotedly and with our might, then, some day, if we happen to stop
+and make question of it, we discover that happiness is already there,
+in us, with us, and around us. The aim of a man's life in the world, as
+it would seem, is to be perfectly a man, and his end is to fulfill
+himself; as part of this fulfillment of himself, he provides for the
+continuance of his life in other lives, and transmitting his character
+and influence, he enriches other lives because of what he is. The
+purpose of seeing is that we may see more, and the eye is ever
+striving to increase its power; the health of the eye is growth. The
+purpose of life is more life, individual in the measure that it lies
+within a man's power to develop it, but cosmic in its sources and its
+influence.
+
+As the harmony which a work of art presents finds a place in that
+harmony of experience and outward-reaching desire which
+constitutes our personality, art becomes for us an entrance into more
+life. In the large, art is a means of development. But as any work
+embraces diverse elements and is capable of a various appeal, it may
+be asked in what sense the appreciation of art is related to education
+and culture. Before we can answer the question intelligently, we
+must know what we mean by our terms. By many people education
+is regarded as they regard any material possession, to be classed
+with fashionable clothes, a fine house, a carriage and pair, or
+touring-car, or steam yacht, as the credential and card of entrée to
+what is called good society. Culture is a kind of ornamental furniture,
+maintained to impress visitors. Of course we ourselves do not think
+so, but we know people who do. Nor do we believe--as some
+believe--that education is simply a means of gaining a more
+considerable livelihood. It is pathetic to see young men in college
+struggling in desperate, uncomplaining sacrifice to obtain an
+education, and all the while mistaking the end of their effort. Not all
+the deeds of daring in a university course are enacted on the athletic
+field; the men I am thinking of do not have their pictures published
+in the newspapers,--the unrecorded heroisms of college life are very
+moving to those who know. But the tragedy I have in mind is this--for
+tragedy consists not in sacrifice itself but in needless and futile
+sacrifice--that some of these young men suppose _there_ is a magic
+virtue in education for its own sake, that it is the open-sesame to all
+the wealth and beauty of life. With insufficient ability to start with,
+they are preparing to be unfit professional men, when they might be
+excellent artisans. The knowledge of books is in no sense the whole
+story nor the only means of education. In devotion to some craft or
+in the intelligent conduct of some business they might find the true
+education, which is the conscious discipline of one's powers. The
+man who can do things, whether with his hands or with his brain,
+provided intelligence govern the exercise of hand and brain, and
+who finds happiness in his work because it is the expression of
+himself, is an educated man. The end of education is the building of
+personality, the making of human power, and its fruit is wisdom.
+
+Wisdom, however, does not consist in the most extensive knowledge
+of facts. Oftentimes information overweights a man and snuffs out
+what personal force there might otherwise have been. On the futility
+of mere learning there is abundant testimony. Walt Whitman, as we
+might expect from his passion for the vital and the human, has said:
+"You must not know too much and be too precise and scientific
+about birds and trees and flowers and watercraft. A certain free
+margin, perhaps ignorance, credulity, helps your enjoyment of these
+things and of the sentiment of feather'd, wooded, river or marine
+nature generally. I repeat it--don't want to know too exactly or the
+reasons why." Even Ruskin, whose learning was extensive and
+various, bears witness to the same effect. He notes "the diminution
+which my knowledge of the Alps had made in my impression of
+them, and the way in which investigation of strata and structure
+reduces all mountain sublimity to mere debris and wall-building." In
+the same spirit he planned an essay on the Uses of Ignorance. From
+the midst of his labors in Venice he wrote: "I am sure that people
+who work out subjects thoroughly are disagreeable wretches. One
+only feels as one should when one doesn't know much about the
+matter." In other words, we are not to let our knowledge come
+between us and our power to feel. In thus seeming to assail
+education I am not seeking to subvert or destroy; I want simply to
+adjust the emphasis. The really wise man is he who knows how to
+make life yield him its utmost of true satisfaction and furnish him
+the largest scope for the use of his powers and the expression of
+himself. In this sense a newsboy in the streets may be wiser than a
+university professor, in that one may be the master of his life and the
+other may be the servant of his information. Education should have
+for its end the training of capacities and powers, the discipline and
+control of the intelligence, the quickening of the sympathies, the
+development of the ability to live. No man is superior to his fellows
+because of the fact of his education. His education profits him only
+in so far as it makes him more of a man, more responsive because
+his own emotions have been more deeply stirred, more tolerant
+because his wider range has revealed more that is good, more
+generous to give of his own life and service because he has more
+generously received. It is not what we know nor what we have that
+marks our worth, but what we are. No man, however fortunate and
+well-circumstanced he may be, can afford to thank God that he is
+not as other men are. In so far as his education tends to withdraw
+him from life and from contact with his fellows of whatever station,
+in so far as it fosters in him the consciousness of class, so far it is an
+evil. Education should lead us not to judge lives different from our
+own, but to try to understand and, to appreciate. The educated man,
+above all others, should thank God that there are diversity of gifts
+and so many kinds of good.
+
+Art is a means of culture, but art rightly understood and received.
+Art does not aim to teach. It may teach incidentally, tangentially to
+its circle, but instruction, either intellectual or ethical, is not its
+purpose. It fulfills itself in the spirit of the appreciator as it enables
+him in its presence to become something that otherwise he had not
+been. It is not enough to be told things; we must make trial of them
+and live them out in our own experience before they become true for
+us. As appreciation is not knowledge but feeling, so we must live
+our art. It is well to have near us some work that we want to be
+_like._ We get its fullest message only as we identify ourselves with
+it. If we are willing to be thought ignorant and to live our lives as
+seems good to us, I believe it is better to go the whole way with a
+few things that can minister to us abundantly and so come to the end
+of them, than to touch in superficial contact a great many lesser
+works. The lesser works have their place; and so far as they can
+carry us beyond the point where we are, they can serve us. In a
+hurried touch-and-go, however, there is danger of scattering;
+whereas true appreciation takes time, for it is less an act than a
+whole attitude of mind. This is an age of handbooks and short cuts.
+But there is no substitute for life. If for one reason or another the
+opportunity to realize art in terms of life is not accorded us, it is
+better to accept the situation quite frankly and happily, and not try to
+cheat ourselves with the semblance. But if it is indeed the reality,
+then we maybe content with the minutes of experience, though we
+are denied the hours or the years. "The messages of great poems,"
+says Whitman, "to each man and woman are, Come to us on equal
+terms; only then can you understand us." The power of response
+must be in us, and that power is the fruit of experience. The only
+mystery of art is the mystery of all life itself. In nature the artist
+finds the manifestation of a larger self toward which he aspires, and
+this is what his work expresses. Alone with his spirit, he cries to us
+for that intimate mystic companionship which is appreciation, and
+our response gives back the echo of his cry. He reaches out across
+the distance to touch other and kindred spirits and draw them to
+himself. Says the poet,--
+
+     "Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I,
+     Therefore for thee the following chants."
+
+We appreciate the artist's work as in it we live again and doubly.
+
+Thus art links itself with life. The message of art to the individual
+defines itself according to his individual needs. Life rises with each
+man, to him a new opportunity and a new destiny. We create our
+own world; and life means to us what we are in ourselves. In art we
+are seeking to find ourselves expressed more fully. The works that
+we care for, if we consider it a moment, are the works we
+understand; and we understand them because they phrase for us our
+own experience. Life and the truth of life are relative. Truth is not in
+the object but in our relation to it. What is true for me may or may
+not be true for another. This much is true for me, namely, whatever
+tallies with my experience and reveals to me more of the underlying
+purpose of the universe. We are all, each in his own way, seeking
+the meaning of life; and that meaning is special and personal to the
+individual, each man deciding for himself. By selection here, by
+rejection there, we are trying to work toward harmony. The details
+of life become increasingly complex with the years, but living grows
+simpler because we gradually fix a selecting and unifying principle.
+When we have truly found ourselves, we come to feel that the
+external incidents do not signify; which chance happens, whether
+this or that, is indifferent. It is the spirit in which the life is lived
+that determines its quality and value. The perception of purpose in the
+parts brings them into order and gives them meaning. A man's life is
+an expanding circle, the circumference of which is drawn around an
+order or interplay and adjustment of part with part. Whatever lies
+without the circle does not pertain to the individual--as yet. So soon
+as any experience reveals its meaning to us and we feel that it takes
+its place in our life, then it belongs to us. Whatever serves to bring
+details, before scattering and unrelated, into order, is for that
+moment true. Art has a message for us as it tallies with what we
+already know about life; and, quickening our perceptions, disclosing
+depths of feeling, it carries us into new ranges of experience.
+
+In this attitude toward life lies the justice of the personal estimate.
+The individual is finally his own authority. To find truth we return
+upon our own consciousness, and we seek thus to define our
+"original relation" to the universal order. So as one stands before the
+works of the Italian painters and sculptors, for example, in the
+endeavor rightly to appreciate what they have achieved, one may ask:
+How much of life has this artist to express to me, of life as I know it
+or can know it? Has the painter through these forms, however crude
+or however accomplished, uttered what he genuinely and for himself
+thought and felt? The measure of these pictures for me is the degree
+of reality, of vital feeling, which they transmit. Whether it be spring
+or divine maternity or the beauty of a pagan idea, which Botticelli
+renders, the same power is there, the same sense of gracious life.
+Whether it be Credi's naïve womanhood, or Titian's abounding,
+glorious women and calm and forceful men, or Delia Robbia's
+joyous children and Donatello's sprites, the same great meaning is
+expressed, the same appreciation of the goodness and beauty of all
+life. This beauty is for me, here, to-day. In the experience of a man
+who thinks and feels, there is a time when his imagination turns
+toward the past. At the moment, as the world closes in about him,
+his spirit, dulled by the attrition of daily use and wont, is unable to
+discern the beauty and significance of the present life around him.
+For a time his imagination finds abundant nourishment in the mighty
+past. Many spirits are content there to remain. But life is of the
+present. To live greatly is to live now, inspired by the past, corrected
+and encouraged by it, impelled by "forward-looking thoughts'" and
+providing for the future, but living in to-day. Life is neither
+remembrance nor anticipation, neither regret nor deferment, but
+present realization. Often one feels in a gallery that the people are
+more significant than the pictures. Two lovers furtively holding
+hands and stopping before a canvas to press closer together,
+shoulder to shoulder; a young girl erect and firm, conscious of her
+young womanhood and rejoicing in it, radiating youth and life; an
+old man, whose years are behind him yet whose interest reveals his
+eager welcome of new experience, unconsciously rebuking the jaded
+and indifferent: here is reality. Before it the pictures seem to recede
+and become dimmed. Our appreciation of these things makes the
+significance of it all. Only in so far as art can communicate this
+sensation, this same impression of the beauty and present reality of
+life, has it a meaning for us. The painter must have registered his
+appreciation of immediate reality and must impart that to us until it
+becomes, heightened and intensified, our own. The secret of
+successful living lies in compelling the details of our surroundings
+to our own ends. Michelangelo lived his life; Leonardo lived his;
+neither could be the other. A man must paint the life that he knows,
+the experience into which he enters. So we must live our lives
+immediately and newly. We have penetrated the ultimate mystery of
+art when we realize the inseparable oneness of art with life.
+
+Art is a call to fuller living. Its real service is to increase our
+capacity for experience. The pictures, the music, the books, which
+profit us are those which, when we have done with them, make us
+feel that we have lived by just so much. Often we purchase
+experience with enthusiasm; we become wise at the expense of our
+power to enjoy. What we need in relation to art is not more
+knowledge but greater capability of feeling, not the acquisition of
+more facts but the increased power to interpret facts and to apply
+them to life. In appreciation it is not what we know about a work of
+art, it is not even what we actually see before us, that constitutes its
+significance, but what in its presence we are able to feel. The
+paradox that nature imitates art has in it this much of truth, that art is
+the revelation of the possibilities of life, and we try to make these
+possibilities actual in our own experience. Art is not an escape from
+life and a refuge; it is a challenge and reënforcement. Its action is
+not to make us less conscious but more; in it we are not to lose
+ourselves but to find ourselves more truly and more fully. Its effect
+is to help us to a larger and juster appreciation of the beauty and
+worth of nature and of life.
+
+Art is within the range of every man who holds himself open to its
+appeal. But art is not the final thing. It is a means to an end; its end
+is personality. There are exalted moments in the experience of us all
+which we feel to be finer than any art. Then we do not need to turn
+to painting, music, literature, for our satisfaction. We are living. Art
+is aid and inspiration, but its fulfillment and end is life.
+
+"We live," says Wordsworth, "by admiration, hope, and love."
+Admiration is wonder and worship, a sense of the mystery and the
+beauty of life as we know it now, and thankfulness for it, and joy.
+Hope is the vision of things to be. And love is the supreme enfolding
+unity that makes all one. Art is life at its best, but life is the greatest
+of the arts,--life harmonious, deep in feeling, big in sympathy, the
+life that is appreciation, responsiveness, and love.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Gate of Appreciation, by Carleton Noyes
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GATE OF APPRECIATION ***
+
+***** This file should be named 27183-8.txt or 27183-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/1/8/27183/
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/27183-8.zip b/27183-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..117769f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27183-8.zip
diff --git a/27183-h.zip b/27183-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7789707
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27183-h.zip
diff --git a/27183-h/27183-h.htm b/27183-h/27183-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..362d1de
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27183-h/27183-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,4488 @@
+<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN">
+<html>
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=windows-1252">
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Gate of Appreciation, by Carleton Noyes</title>
+<style type="text/css">
+	body 	{margin-top:100px;
+			 margin-left:10%;
+			 margin-right:10%;
+			 text-align:justify}
+	hr { width: 100%;
+	     height: 5px; }
+	a:link {color:blue;
+			text-decoration:none}
+	link {color:blue;
+			text-decoration:none}
+	a:visited {color:blue;
+			text-decoration:none}
+	a:hover {color:red}
+	pre		{font-size: 75%;}
+	blockquote {margin: 1em 5em 1em 5em;}
+
+</style>
+
+</head>
+
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gate of Appreciation, by Carleton Noyes
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Gate of Appreciation
+       Studies in the Relation of Art to Life
+
+Author: Carleton Noyes
+
+Release Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #27183]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GATE OF APPRECIATION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<p>[Note: for this online edition I have moved the Table of Contents to the beginning of
+the text.&nbsp; Also I have made one spelling change:&nbsp; irrevelant circumstance to
+irrelevant circumstance.]</p>
+
+<center>
+<br>
+<br>
+
+<p>THE GATE OF APPRECIATION</p>
+
+<p>Studies in the Relation of Art to Life</p>
+
+<p>BY</p>
+
+<p>CARLETON NOYES</p>
+
+<p>BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br>
+HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY<br>
+The Riverside Press, Cambridge<br>
+1907</p><br>
+
+<p>COPYRIGHT 1907 BY CARLETON NOYES<br>
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p><br>
+
+<p><i>Published April 1907</i></p><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>TO<br>
+MY FATHER<br>
+AND THE MEMORY OF<br>
+MY MOTHER</p><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>"Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves,<br>
+As souls only understand souls."</p><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>CONTENTS</p><br>
+
+<table>
+<tr>
+<td align="right"></td>
+
+<td><a href="#0">Preface</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">i</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">I.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#1">The Impulse to Expression</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">i</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">II.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#2">The Attitude of Response</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">23</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">III.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#3">Technique and the Layman</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">44</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">IV.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#4">The Value of the Medium</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">87</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">V.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#5">The Background of Art</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">105</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">VI.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#6">The Service of Criticism</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">137</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">VII.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#7">Beauty and Common Life</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">165</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">VIII.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#8">The Arts of Form</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">201</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">IX.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#9">Representation</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">221</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">X.</td>
+
+<td><a href="#10">The Personal Estimate</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">254</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+</center><br>
+<a name="0"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>PREFACE</p>
+
+<p>IN the daily life of the ordinary man, a life crowded with diverse interests and
+increasingly complex demands, some few moments of a busy week or month or year are
+accorded to an interest in art. Whatever may be his vocation, the man feels instinctively
+that in his total scheme of life books, pictures, music have somewhere a place. In his
+own business or profession he is an expert, a man of special training; and intelligently
+he does not aspire to a complete understanding of a subject which lies beyond his
+province. In the same spirit in which he is a master of his own craft, he is content to
+leave expert knowledge of art to the expert, to the artist and to the connoisseur. For
+his part as a layman he remains frankly and happily on the outside. But he feels none the
+less that art has an interest and a meaning even for him. Though he does not practice any
+art himself, he knows that he enjoys fine things, a beautiful room, noble buildings,
+books and plays, statues, pictures, music; and he believes that in his own fashion he is
+able to appreciate art, I venture to think that he is right.</p>
+
+<p>There is a case for the outsider in reference to art. And I have tried here to state
+it. This book is an attempt to suggest the possible meaning of art to the ordinary man,
+to indicate methods of approach to art, and to trace the way of appreciation. It is
+essentially a personal record, an account of my own adventures with the problem. The book
+does not pretend to finality; the results are true for me as far as I have gone. They may
+or may not be true for another. If they become true for another man, he is the one for
+whom the book was written. I do not apologize because the shelter here put together, in
+which I have found a certain comfort, is not a palace. Rude as the structure may be, any
+man is welcomed to it who may find solace there in an hour of need.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; C. N.<br>
+CAMBRIDGE, <i>November second, 1906.</i></p><a name="1"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>I</p>
+
+<p>THE IMPULSE TO EXPRESSION</p>
+
+<p>TOWARD evening a traveler through a wild country finds himself still in the open, with
+no hope of reaching a village that night. The wind is growing chill; clouds are gathering
+in the west, threatening rain. There rises in him a feeling of the need of shelter; and
+he looks about him to see what material is ready to his hand. Scattered stones will serve
+for supports and low walls; there are fallen branches for the roof; twigs and leaves can
+be woven into a thatch. Already the general design has shaped itself in his mind. He sets
+to work, modifying the details of his plan to suit the resources of his material. At
+last, after hours of hard thought and eager toil, spurred on by his sense of his great
+need, the hut is ready; and fee takes refuge in it as the storm breaks.</p>
+
+<p>The entire significance of the man's work is <i>shelter.</i> The beginning of it lay
+in his need of shelter. The impulse to action rose out of his consciousness of his need.
+His imagination conceived the plan whereby the need might be met, and the plan gave shape
+to his material. The actual result of his labor was a hut, but the hut itself was not the
+end for which he strove. The hut was but the means. The all-inclusive import of his
+work&mdash;the stimulus which impelled him to act, the purpose for which he toiled, and
+the end which he accomplished&mdash;is shelter.</p>
+
+<p>A man of special sensitiveness to the appeal of color and form finds himself also in
+the open. He is weary with the way, which shows but broken glimpses of the road. His
+spirit, heavy with the "burden of the mystery," is torn by conflict and confusion. As he
+looks across the stony places to the gnarled and weather-tortured trees beyond, and up to
+the clouds piling black above him, there is revealed to him a sudden harmony among the
+discords; an inner principle, apprehended by his imagination, compels the fragments of
+the seeming chaos into a regnant order. These natural forms become for him the expression
+external to himself of the struggle of his own spirit and its final resolution. The
+desire rises in him to express by his own act the order he has newly perceived, the
+harmony of his spirit with the spirit of nature. As life comes to him dominantly in terms
+of color and form, it is with color and form that he works to expression so as to satisfy
+his need. The design is already projected in his imagination, and to realize concretely
+his ideal he draws upon the material of nature about him. The picture which he paints is
+not the purpose of his effort. The picture is but the means. His end is to express the
+great new harmony in which his spirit finds shelter.</p>
+
+<p>Both men, the traveler and the painter, are wayfarers. Both are seeking shelter from
+stress and storm, and both construct their means. In one case the product is more
+obviously and immediately practical, and the informing purpose tends to become obscured
+in the actual serviceableness of the result. The hut answers a need that is primarily
+physical; the need in the other case is spiritual. But it is a matter of degree. In
+essence and import the achievement of the two men is the same. The originating impulse, a
+sense of need; the processes involved, the combination of material elements to a definite
+end; the result attained, shelter which answers the need,&mdash;they are identical. Both
+men are artists. Both hut and picture are works of art.</p>
+
+<p>So art is not remote from common life after all. In its highest manifestations art is
+life at its best; painting, sculpture, poetry, music are the distillment and refinement
+of experience. Architecture and the subsidiary arts of decoration adorn necessity and add
+delight to use. But whatever the flower and final fruit, art strikes its roots deep down
+into human need, and draws its impulse and its sustenance from the very sources of life
+itself. In the wide range from the hut in the wilderness to a Gothic cathedral, from the
+rude scratches recorded on the cave walls of prehistoric man to the sublimities of the
+Sistine Chapel, there is no break in the continuity of effort and aspiration. Potentially
+every man is an artist. Between the artist, so-called, and the ordinary man there is no
+gulf fixed which cannot be passed. Such are the terms of our mechanical civilization
+to-day that art has become specialized and the practice of it is limited to a few; in
+consequence artists have become a kind of class. But essentially the possibilities of art
+lie within the scope of any man, given the right conditions. So too the separation of the
+"useful arts" from the "fine arts" is unjust to art and perversive of right appreciation.
+Whatever the form in which it may manifest itself, from the lowest to the highest, the
+art spirit is one, and it may quicken in any man who sets mind and heart to the work of
+his hand. That man is an artist who fashions a new thing that he may express himself in
+response to his need.</p>
+
+<p>Art is creation. It is the combination of already existing material elements into new
+forms which become thus the realization of a preconceived idea. Both hut and picture rose
+in the imagination of their makers before they took shape as things. The material of each
+was given already in nature; but the form, as the maker fashioned it, was new. Commonly
+we think of art as the expression and communication of emotion. A picture, a statue, a
+symphony we recognize as the symbol of what the artist has felt in some passage of his
+experience and the means by which he conveys his feeling to us. Art <i>is</i> the
+expression of emotion, but all art springs out of need. The sense of need which impels
+expression through the medium of creation is itself an emotion. The hut which the
+traveler built for himself in the wilderness&mdash;shaping it according to the design
+which his imagination suggested, having reference to his need and to the character of his
+materials&mdash;was a work of creation; the need which prompted it presented itself to
+him as emotion. The picture which the other wayfarer painted of the storm-swept
+landscape, a harmony which his imagination compelled out of discords, was a work of
+creation; the emotion which inspired the work was attended by need, the need of
+expression. The material and practical utility of the hut obscures the emotional
+character of its origin; the emotional import of the picture outweighs consideration of
+its utility to the painter as the means by which his need of expression is satisfied. The
+satisfaction of physical needs which results in the creation of utilities and the
+satisfaction of spiritual needs which results in the forms of expression we commonly call
+works of art differ one from the other in their effect on the total man only in degree.
+All works of use whose conception and making have required an act of creation are art;
+all art&mdash;even in its supreme manifestations&mdash;embraces elements of use. The
+measure in which a work is art is established by the intensity and scope of its maker's
+emotion and by his power to body forth his feeling in harmonious forms which in turn
+recreate the emotion in the spirit of those whom his work reaches.</p>
+
+<p>In its essence and widest compass art is the making of a new thing in response to a
+sense of need. The very need itself creates, working through man as its agent. This truth
+is illustrated vividly by the miracles of modern invention. The hand of man unaided was
+not able to cope with his expanding opportunities; the giant steam and the magician
+electricity came at his call to work their wonders. The plow and scythe of the New
+England colonist on his little farm were metamorphosed into the colossal steam-driven
+shapes, in which machinery seems transmuted into intelligence, as he moved to the
+conquest of the acres of the West which summoned him to dominion. First the need was
+felt; the contrivance was created in response. A man of business sees before him in
+imagination the end to be reached, and applying his ideal to practical conditions, he
+makes every detail converge to the result desired. All rebellious circumstances, all
+forces that pull the other way, he bends to his compelling will, and by the shaping power
+of his genius he accomplishes his aim. His business is his medium of self-expression; his
+success is the realization of his ideal. A painter does no more than this, though he
+works with a different material. The landscape which is realized ultimately upon his
+canvas is the landscape seen in his imagination. He draws his colors and forms from
+nature around; but he selects his details, adapting them to his end. All accidents and
+incidents are purged away. Out of the apparent confusion of life rises the evident order
+of art. And in the completed work the artist's <i>idea</i> stands forth salient and
+victorious.</p>
+
+<p>That consciousness of need which compels creation is the origin of art. The owner of a
+dwelling who first felt the need of securing his door so that he alone might possess the
+secret and trick of access devised a lock and key, rude enough, as we can fancy. As the
+maker of the first lock and key he was an artist. All those who followed where he had
+led, repeating his device without modification, were but artisans. In the measure that
+any man changed the design, however, adapting it more closely to his peculiar needs and
+so making it anew, to that extent he was an artist also. The man who does a thing for the
+first time it is done is an artist; a man who does a thing better is an artist. The
+painter who copies his object imitatively, finding nothing, creating nothing, is an
+artisan, however skillful he may be. He is an artist in the degree in which he brings to
+his subject something of his own, and fashioning it, however crudely, to express the idea
+he has conceived of the object, so creates.</p>
+
+<p>The difference between work which is art and work which is not art is just this
+element of the originating impulse and creative act. The difference, though often
+seemingly slight and not always immediately perceived, is all-important. It distinguishes
+the artist from the artisan; a free spirit from a slave; a thinking, feeling man from a
+soulless machine. It makes the difference between life rich and significant, and mere
+existence; between the mastery of fate and the passive acceptance of things as they
+are.</p>
+
+<p>If a mind and heart are behind it to control and guide it to expression, even the
+machine may be an instrument in the making of a work of art. It is not the work itself,
+but the motive which prompted the making of it, that determines its character as art. Art
+is not the way a thing is done, but the reason why it is done. A chair, though turned on
+a lathe, may be a work of art, if the maker has truly expressed himself in his work. A
+picture, though "hand-painted," may be wholly mechanical in spirit. To set about "making
+a picture" is to begin at the wrong end. The impulse to art flows from within outwards.
+Art is bound up with life itself; like nature, it is organic and must grow. The form
+cannot be laid on from the outside; it is born and must develop in response to vital
+need. In so far as our acts are consciously the expression of ourselves they are prompted
+by the art spirit.</p>
+
+<p>All our acts are reducible to one of two kinds: either they are acts of creation,
+effecting a new result, or they are acts of repetition. Acts of repetition tend rapidly
+to become habits; and they may be performed without attention or positive volition. Thus,
+as I am dressing in the morning I may be planning the work for the day; while my mind is
+given over to thought, I lose the sense of my material surroundings, my muscles work
+automatically, the motor-currents flowing through the well-worn grooves, and by force of
+habit the acts execute themselves. Obviously, acts of repetition, or habits, make up the
+larger part of our daily lives.</p>
+
+<p>Acts of creation, on the other hand, are performed by an effort of the will in
+response to the consciousness of a need. To meet the new need we are obliged to make new
+combinations. I assume that the traveler constructed his hut for the first time, shaping
+it to the special new conditions; that the harmony which the painter discerned in the
+tumult around him he experienced for the first time, and the picture which he paints,
+shaped with reference to his need and fulfilling it, is a new thing. In the work produced
+by this act of creation, the feeling which has prompted it finds expression. In the
+making of the hut, in the painting of the picture, the impelling need is satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>Although acts of repetition constitute the bulk of life, creation is of its very
+essence and determines its quality. The significance and joy of life are less in being
+than in <i>becoming.</i> Growth is expression, and in turn expression is made possible by
+growth. In our conscious experience the sense of becoming is one of our supreme
+satisfactions. Growth is the purpose and the recompense of our being here, the end for
+which we strive and the reward of all the effort and the struggle. In the exercise of
+brain or hand, to feel the work take form, develop, and become something,&mdash;that is
+happiness. And the joy is in the creating rather than in the thing created; the completed
+work is behind us, and we move forward to new creation. A painter's best picture is the
+blank canvas before him; an author's greatest book is the one he is just setting himself
+to write. The desire for change for the sake of change which we all feel at times, a
+vague restlessness of mind and body, is only the impulse to growth which has not found
+its direction. Outside of us we love to see the manifestation of growth. We tend and
+cherish the little plant in the window; we watch with delight the unfolding of each new
+leaf and the upward reach into blossom. The spring, bursting triumphant from the silent,
+winter-stricken earth, is nature's parable of expression, her symbol perennially renewed
+of the joy of growth.</p>
+
+<p>The impulse to expression is cosmic and eternal. But even in the homeliness and
+familiarity of our life from day to day the need of expression is there, whether we are
+entirely aware of it or not; and we are seeking the realization and fulfillment of
+ourselves through the utterance of what we are. A few find their expression in forms
+which with distinct limitation of the term we call works of art. Most men find it in
+their daily occupations, their profession or their business. The president of one of the
+great Western railroads remarked once in conversation that he would rather build a
+thousand miles of railroad than live in the most sumptuous palace on Fifth Avenue.
+Railroad building was his medium of expression; it was his art. Some express themselves
+in shaping their material environment, in the decoration and ordering of their houses. A
+young woman said, "My ambition is to keep my house well." Again, for her, housekeeping is
+her art. Some find the realization of themselves in the friends they draw around them.
+Love is but the utterance of what we essentially are; and the response to it in the loved
+one makes the utterance articulate and complete. Expression rises out of our deepest
+need, and the need impels expression.</p>
+
+<p>The assertion that art is thus involved with need seems for the moment to run counter
+to the usual conception, which regards art as a product of leisure, a luxury, and the
+result not of labor but of play. Art in its higher forms becomes more and more purely the
+expression of emotion, the un-trammeled record of the artist's spiritual experience. It
+is only when physical necessities have been met or ignored that the spirit of man has
+free range. But the maker who adds decoration to his bowl after he has moulded it is just
+as truly fulfilling a need&mdash;the need of self-expression&mdash;as he fulfilled a need
+when he fashioned the bowl in the first instance in order that he might slake his thirst.
+Art is not superadded to life,&mdash;something different in kind. All through its ascent
+from its rudimentary forms to its highest, from hut to cathedral, art is coordinate with
+the development of life, continuous and without breach or sudden end; it is the
+expression step by step of ever fuller and ever deeper experience.</p>
+
+<p>Creation, therefore, follows upon the consciousness of need, whether the need be
+physical, as with the traveler, or spiritual, as with the painter; from physical to
+spiritual we pass by a series of gradations. At their extremes they are easy to
+distinguish, one from the other; but along the way there is no break in the continuity.
+The current formula for art, that art is the utterance of man's joy in his work, is not
+quite accurate. In the act of creation the maker finds the expression of himself. The man
+who decorates a bowl in response to his own creative impulse is expressing himself. The
+painter who thrills to the wonder and significance of nature is impelled to expression;
+and his delight is not fully realized and complete until he has uttered it. Such art is
+love expressed, and the artist's work is his "hymn of the praise of things." But the joy
+for both the potter and the painter, the joy which is so bound up with art as to partake
+of its very essence, is the joy which attends self-expression and the satisfaction of the
+need.</p>
+
+<p>A work of art is a work of creation brought into being as the expression of emotion.
+The traveler creates not the wood and stone but shelter, by means of the hut; the painter
+creates not the landscape but the beauty of it; the musician creates not the musical
+tones, but by means of a harmony of tones he creates an emotional experience. The impulse
+to art rises out of the earliest springs of consciousness and vibrates through all life.
+Art does not disdain to manifest itself in the little acts of expression of simple daily
+living; with all its splendid past and vital present it is ever seeking new and greater
+forms whose end is not yet. I spoke of the work of the traveler through the wilderness as
+art; the term was applied also to railroad-building and to housekeeping. The truth to be
+illustrated by these examples is that the primary impulse to artistic expression does not
+differ in essence from the impulse to creation of any kind. The nature of the thing
+created, as art, depends upon the emotional value of the result, the degree in which it
+expresses immediately the emotion of its creator, and the power it possesses to rouse the
+emotion in others. To show that all art is creation and that all creation tends toward
+art is not to obscure useful distinctions, but rather to restore art to its rightful
+place in the life of man.</p>
+
+<p>In the big sense, then, art is bounded only by life itself. It is not a cult; it is
+not an activity practiced by the few and a mystery to be understood only by those who are
+initiated into its secrets. One difficulty in the way of the popular understanding of art
+is due to the fact that the term art is currently limited to its highest manifestations;
+we withhold the title of artist from a good carpenter or cabinet-maker who takes a pride
+in his work and expresses his creative desire by shaping his work to his own idea, and we
+bestow the name upon any juggler in paint: with the result that many people who are not
+painters or musicians feel themselves on that account excluded from all appreciation. If
+we go behind the various manifestations of art to discover just what art is in itself and
+to determine wherein it is able to link itself with common experience, we find that art
+is the response to a need. And that need may waken in any man. Every man may be an artist
+in his degree; and every man in his degree can appreciate art. A work of art is the
+expression of its maker's experience, the expression in such terms that the experience
+can be communicated to another. The processes of execution involved in fashioning a work,
+its technique, may be as incomprehensible and perplexed and difficult as its executants
+choose to make them. Technique is not the same as art. The only mystery of art is the
+mystery of all life itself. Accept life with its fundamental mysteries, with its wonders
+and glories, and we have the clue to art. But we miss the central fact of the whole
+matter if we do not perceive that art is only a means. It is by expression that we grow
+and so fulfill ourselves. The work itself which art calls into being is not the end. It
+fails of its purpose, remaining void and vain, if it does not perform its function. The
+hut which does not furnish shelter is labor lost. The significance of the painter's
+effort does not stop with the canvas and pigment which he manipulates into form and
+meaning. The artist sees beyond the actual material thing which he is fashioning; his
+purpose in creation is expression. By means of his picture he expresses himself and so
+finds the satisfaction of his deepest need. The beginning and the end of art is life.</p>
+
+<p>But the artist's work of expression is not ultimately complete until the message is
+received, and expression becomes communication as his utterance calls out a response in
+the spirit of a fellow-man. Art exists not only for the artist's sake but for the
+appreciator too. As art has its origin in emotion and is the expression of it, so for the
+appreciator the individual work has a meaning and is art in so far as it becomes for him
+the expression of what he has himself felt but could not phrase; and it is art too in the
+measure in which it is the revelation of larger possibilities of feeling and creates in
+him a new emotional experience. The impulse to expression is common to all; the
+difference is one of degree. And the message of art is for all, according as they are
+attuned to the response. Art is creation. For the artist it is creation by expression;
+for the appreciator it is creation by evocation. These two principles complete the cycle;
+abstractly and very briefly they are the whole story of art.</p>
+
+<p>To be responsive to the needs of life and its emotional appeal is the first condition
+of artistic creation. By new combinations of material elements to bring emotion to
+expression in concrete harmonious forms, themselves charged with emotion and
+communicating it, is to fashion a work of art. To feel in material, whether in the forms
+of nature or in works of art, a meaning for the spirit is the condition of
+appreciation.</p><a name="2"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>II</p>
+
+<p>THE ATTITUDE OF RESPONSE</p>
+
+<p>IT is a gray afternoon in late November. The day is gone; evening is not yet come.
+Though too dark to read or write longer, it is not dark enough for drawn shades and the
+lamp. As I sit in the gathering dusk, my will hovering between work done and work to do,
+I surrender to the mood of the moment. The day is accomplished, but it is not yet a
+remembrance, for it is still too near for me to define the details that made up its
+hours. Consciousness, not sharp enough for thought, floats away into diffused and obscure
+emotion. The sense is upon me and around me that I am vaguely, unreasoningly, yet
+pleasantly, unhappy. Out of the dimness a trick of memory recalls to me the
+lines,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Tears! tears! tears!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In the night, in solitude, tears,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the
+sand,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tears, not a star shining, all dark and desolate,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O who is that ghost? that form in the dark, with tears?<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch'd there on the
+sand?<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Streaming tears, sobbing tears, throes, choked with wild
+cries;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O storm, embodied, rising, careering with swift steps along the
+beach!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O wild and dismal night storm, with wind&mdash;O belching and
+desperate!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O shade so sedate and decorous by day, with calm countenance and
+regulated pace,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But away at night as you fly, none looking&mdash;O then the
+unloosened ocean<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of tears! tears! tears!"</p>
+
+<p>Now I know. My mood was the mood of tears. The poet, too, has felt what I was feeling.
+And as a poet he has been able to bring his emotion to expression. By the magic of phrase
+and the mystery of image he has, out of the moving of his spirit, fashioned a concrete
+reality. By means of his expression, because of it, his emotion becomes realized, and so
+reaches its fulfillment. And for me, what before was vague has been made definite. The
+poet's lines have wakened in me a response; I have felt what he has phrased; and now they
+become my expression too. As my mood takes form, I become conscious of its meaning. I can
+distill its significance for the spirit, and in the emotion made definite and realizable
+as consciousness I feel and know that I am living. Doubly, completely, the poem is a work
+of art. And my response to it, the absorption of it into my own experience, is
+appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>I appreciate the poem as I make the experience which the poet has here phrased my own,
+and at the instant of reading I live out in myself what he has lived and here expressed.
+I read the words, and intellectually I take in their signification, but the poem is not
+realized in me until it wakens in me the feeling which the words are framed to convey.
+The images which an artist employs have the power to rouse emotion in us, so that they
+come to stand for the emotion itself. We care for nature and it is beautiful to us as its
+forms become objectively the intimate expression for us of what we feel.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "O to realize space!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The plenteousness of all, that there are no bounds,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To emerge and be of the sky, of the sun and moon and flying
+clouds, as one with them."</p>
+
+<p>In his contact with the external world the artist identifies himself with his object.
+If he is painting a tree he in a measure becomes the tree; he values it at all because it
+expresses for him concretely what he feels in its presence. The object and his spirit
+fuse; and through the fusion they together grow into a new and larger unity. What his
+work expresses is not the object for its own sake but this larger unity of his identity
+with it. To appreciate the artist's work, therefore, we must in our turn merge ourselves
+in his emotion, and becoming one with it, so extend our personality into larger life.</p>
+
+<p>To make the artist's emotion our own, to identify ourselves with the object which he
+presents to us, we must pass beyond the material form in which the work is embodied,
+letting the spirit and meaning of it speak to our spirit. In itself an individual picture
+or statue or symphony is an objective, material thing, received into consciousness along
+the channel of the senses; but its origin and its end alike are in emotion. The material
+form, whether in nature or in works of art, is only the means by which the emotion is
+communicated. A landscape in nature is composed of meadow and hills, blue sky and
+tumbling clouds; these are the facts of the landscape. But they are not fixed and inert.
+The imagination of the beholder combines these elements into a harmony of color and mass;
+his spirit flows into consonance with the harmony his imagination has compelled out of
+nature, becoming one with it. To regard the world not as facts and things, but as
+everywhere the stimulus of feeling, feeling which becomes our own experience, is the
+condition of appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>To the awakening mind of a child, life is full of wonder, and each unfolding day
+reveals new marvels of excitement and surprise. As yet untrammeled by any sense of the
+limitations of material, his quick imagination peoples his world with creatures of his
+fancy, which to him are more real than the things he is able actually to see and touch.
+For him the external world is fluid and plastic, to be moulded into forms at will in
+obedience to his creative desire. In the tiny bundle of rags which mother-love clasps
+tight to her heart, a little girl sees only the loveliest of babies; and a small boy with
+his stick of lath and newspaper cap and plume is a mightier than Napoleon. The cruder the
+toy, the greater is the pleasure in the game; for the imagination delights in the
+exercise of itself. A wax doll, sent from Paris, with flaxen hair and eyes that open and
+shut, is laid away, when the mere novelty of it is exhausted, in theatric chest, and the
+little girl is fondling again her first baby of rag and string. A real steel sword and
+tin helmet are soon cast aside, and the boy is back again among the toys of his own
+making. That impulse to creation which all men feel, the impulse which makes the artist,
+is especially active in a child; his games are his art. With a child material is not an
+end but a means. Things are for him but the skeleton of life, to be clothed upon by the
+flesh and blood reality of his own fashioning. His feeling is in excess of his knowledge.
+He has a faculty of perception other than the intellectual. It is imagination.</p>
+
+<p>The child is the first artist. Out of the material around him he creates a world of
+his own. The prototypes of the forms which he devises exist in life, but it is the thing
+which he himself makes that interests him, not its original in nature. His play is his
+expression. He creates; and he is able to merge himself in the thing created. In his play
+he loses all consciousness of self. He and the toy become one, caught up in the larger
+unity of the game. According as he identifies himself with the thing outside of him, the
+child is the first appreciator.</p>
+
+<p>Then comes a change.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Heaven lies about us in our infancy!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Shades of the prison-house begin to close<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Upon the growing Boy,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He sees it in his joy;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The Youth, who daily farther from the east<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And by the vision splendid<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Is on his way attended;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; At length the Man perceives it die away,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And fade into the light of common day."</p>
+
+<p>Imagination surrenders to the intellect; emotion gives place to knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually the material world shuts in about us until it becomes for us a hard, inert
+thing, and no longer a living, changing presence, instinct with infinite possibilities of
+experience and feeling. Now custom lies upon us</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "with a weight,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!"</p>
+
+<p>It happens, unfortunately for our enjoyment of life, that we get used to things.
+Little by little we come to accept them, to take them for granted, and they cease to mean
+anything to us. Habit, which is our most helpful ally in lending our daily life its
+practical efficiency, is the foe of emotion and appreciation. Habit allows us to perform
+without conscious effort the innumerable little acts of each day's necessity which we
+could not possibly accomplish if every single act required a fresh exercise of will. But
+just because its action is unconscious and unregarded, habit blunts the edge of our
+sensibilities. "Thus let but a Rising of the Sun," says Carlyle, "let but a creation of
+the World happen <i>twice,</i> and it ceases to be marvelous, to be noteworthy, or
+noticeable."</p>
+
+<p>"Except ye become as little children!" Unless the world is new-created every day,
+unless we can thrill to the beauty of nature with its fair surfaces and harmonies of
+vibrant sounds, or quicken to the throb of human life with its occupations and its play
+of energies, its burdens and its joys, unless we find an answer to our needs, and
+gladness, in sunlight or storms, in the sunset and evening and solitude under the stars,
+in fields and hills or in thronging city streets, in conflict and struggle or in the face
+of a friend, unless each new day is a gift and new opportunity, then we cannot interpret
+the meaning of life nor read the riddle of art. For we cannot truly appreciate art except
+as we learn to appreciate life. Until then art has no message for us; it is a sealed
+book, and we shall not open the book nor loose the seals thereof. The meaning of life is
+for the spirit, and art is its minister. To share in the communion we must become as
+children. As a child uses the common things of life to his own ends, transfiguring them
+by force of his creative desire, and fashioning thus a wonderful world of his own by the
+exercise of his shaping imagination, a world of limitless incident and high adventure, so
+we must penetrate the visible and tangible actuality around us, the envelope of seemingly
+inert matter cast in forms of rigid definition, and we must open ourselves to the
+influence of nature. That influence&mdash;nature's power to inspire, quicken, and
+dilate&mdash;flowing through the channel of the senses, plays upon our spirit. The
+indwelling significance of things is apprehended by the imagination, and is won for us in
+the measure that we feel.</p>
+
+<p>As we respond to the emotional appeal of the great universe external to ourselves we
+come to realize that the material world which we see and touch is not final. In the
+experience of us all there are moments of exaltation and quickened response, moments of
+illumination when&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "with an eye made quiet by the
+power<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; We see into the life of things."</p>
+
+<p>The "life of things" is their significance for the spirit. By spirit I mean the sum of
+our conscious being, that complete entity within us which we recognize as the self. The
+material world, external, visible, tangible, may be regarded as the actual world. The
+real world is the world of spiritual forces and relations, apprehended by the imagination
+and received with feeling. Life, in the sense of our conscious experience of the world,
+is the moving of the spirit in emotion.</p>
+
+<p>The measure of life for the individual, therefore, is the degree of intensity with
+which he feels. Experience is not meted out by weeks and months; it is to be sounded by
+the depth and poignancy of instant emotion. Variety and multitude of incident may crowd
+through insentient years and leave no record of their progress along the waste places of
+their march. Or a day may be a lifetime. In such moments of intensest experience time and
+space fall away and are not. The outermost bounds of things recede; they vanish
+altogether: and we are made free of the universe. At such moments we are truly living;
+then we really <i>are.</i></p>
+
+<p>As the meaning of art is not the material thing which it calls into form, but what the
+work expresses of life, so in order to appreciate art it is necessary to appreciate life,
+which is the inspiration of art and its fulfillment. To appreciate life is to send out
+our being into experience and to <i>feel,&mdash;</i>to realize in terms of emotion our
+identity with the great universe outside of us, this world of color and form and sound
+and movement, this web of illimitable activities and energies, shot through with currents
+of endlessly varied and modulated feeling. "My son," says the father in Hindu lore,
+pointing to an animal, a tree, a rock, "my son, thou art that!" The universe is one. Of
+it we are each an essential part, distinct as individuals, yet fusing with it in our
+sense of our vital kinship with all other parts and with the whole. I am sauntering
+through the Public Garden on a fragrant hushed evening in June; touched by the lingering
+afterglow, the twilight has not yet deepened into night. Grouped about a bench, children
+are moving softly in the last flicker of play, while the mother nods above them. On the
+next bench a wanderer is stretched at full length, his face hidden in his crooked-up arm.
+I note a couple seated, silent, with shoulder touching shoulder. I meet a young man and
+woman walking hand in hand; they do not see me as I pass. Beyond, other figures are
+soundless shadows, gathering out of the enveloping dusk. It is all so intimate and
+friendly. The air, the flowers, the bit of water through the trees reflecting the lights
+of the little bridge, are a caress. And it is all for me! I am a child at his tired play,
+I am the sleeping tramp, I am the young fellow with his girl. It is not the sentiment of
+the thing, received intellectually, that makes it mine. My being goes out into these
+other lives and becomes one with them. I feel them in myself. It is not thought that
+constitutes appreciation; it is emotion.</p>
+
+<p>Another glimpse, caught this time through a car window. Now it is a winter twilight.
+The flurry of snow has passed. The earth is penetrated with blue light, suffused by it,
+merged in it, ever blue. Vague forms, still and shadowy, of hills and trees, soppy with
+light, are blue within the blue. The brief expanse of bay is deeply luminous and within
+the pervasive tempering light resolves itself into the cool and solemn reaches of the sky
+which bends down and touches it. Once more my spirit meets and mingles with the spirit of
+the landscape. By the harmony of nature's forms and twilight tones I am brought into a
+larger harmony within myself and with the world around.</p>
+
+<p>All experience offers to us at any moment just such possibilities of living. The
+infinite and ever-changing expressiveness of nature at every instant of day and night is
+ours to read if we will but look upon it with the inner vision. The works of men in
+cities and cultivated fields, if we will see beyond the actual material, may quicken our
+emotions until we enact in ourselves their story of struggle, of hopes and ambitions
+partly realized, of defeat or final triumph. The faces seen in a passing crowd bear each
+the record of life lived, of lives like ours of joys or disappointments, lives of great
+aims or no aims at all, of unwritten heroisms, of hidden tragedies bravely borne, lives
+sordid and mean or generous and bright. The panorama of the world unrolls itself <i>for
+us.</i> It is ours to experience and live out in our own being according as we are able
+to feel. Just as the impulse to expression is common to all men, and all are artists
+potentially, differing in the depth of their insight into life and in the degree of
+emotion they have to express, so appreciation lies within the scope of all, and the
+measure of it to us as individuals is determined by our individual capability of
+response.</p>
+
+<p>Life means to each one of us what we are able to receive of it in "wise passiveness,"
+and then are able by the constructive force of our individuality to shape into coherence
+and completeness. As the landscape which an artist paints is the landscape visioned in
+imagination, though composed of forms given in nature, so life furnishes us the elements
+of experience, and out of these elements we construct a meaning, each for himself. To one
+man an object or incident is commonplace and blank; to another it may be charged with
+significance and big with possibilities of fuller living. "In every object." says
+Carlyle, "there is inexhaustible meaning; the eye sees in it what it brings means of
+seeing." To <i>see</i> is not merely to receive an image upon the retina. The stimulation
+of the visual organ becomes sight properly only as the record is conveyed to the
+consciousness. When I am reading a description of a sunset, there is an image upon my
+retina of a white page and black marks of different forms grouped in various
+combinations. But what I see is the sunset. Momentarily to rest the eye upon a landscape
+is not really to see it, for our mind may be quite otherwhere. We see the landscape only
+as it becomes part of our conscious experience. The beauty of it is in us. A novelist
+conceives certain characters and assembles them in action and reaction, but it is we who
+in effect create the story as we read. We take up a novel, perhaps, which we read five
+years ago; we find in it now new significances and appeals. The book is the same; it is
+we who have changed. We bring to it the added power of feeling of those five years of
+living. Art works not by information but by evocation. Appreciation is not reception but
+response. The artist must compel us to feel what he has felt,&mdash;not something else.
+But the scope of his message, with its overtones and subtler implications, is limited by
+the rate of vibration to which we are attuned.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon
+it,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines
+of the arches and cornices?)<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the
+instruments."</p>
+
+<p>And again Whitman says, "A great poem is no finish to a man or woman, but rather a
+beginning." The final significance of both life and art is not won by the exercise of the
+intellect, but unfolds itself to us in the measure that we feel.</p>
+
+<p>To illustrate the nature of appreciation and the power from which appreciation
+derives, the power to project ourselves into the world external to us, I spoke of the joy
+of living peculiar to the child and to the childlike in heart. But that is not quite the
+whole of the story. A child by force of his imagination and capacity of feeling is able
+to pass beyond the limits of material, and he lives in a world of exhaustless play and
+happiness; for him objects are but means and not an end. To transcend thus the bounds of
+matter imposed by the senses and to live by the power of emotion is the first condition
+of appreciation. The second condition of appreciation is to feel and know it, to become
+conscious of ourselves in our relation to the object. To <i>live</i> is the purpose of
+life; to be aware that we are living is its fulfillment and the reward of
+appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>Experience has a double value. There is the instant of experience itself, and then the
+reaction on it. A child is unconscious in his play; he is able to forget himself in it
+completely. At that moment he is most happy. The instant of supreme joy is the instant of
+ecstasy, when we lose all consciousness of ourselves as separate and distinct
+individualities. We are one with the whole. But experience does not yield us its fullest
+and permanent significance until, having abandoned ourselves to the moment, we then react
+upon it and become aware of what the moment means. A group of children are at play.
+Without thought of themselves they are projected into their sport; with their whole being
+merged in it, they are intensely living. A passer on the street stands and watches them.
+For the moment, in spirit he becomes a child with them. In himself he feels the
+absorption and vivid reality to them of what they are doing. But he feels also what they
+do not feel, and that is, what it means to be a child. Where they are unconscious he is
+conscious; and therefore he is able, as they are not, to distill the significance of
+their play. This recognition makes possible the extension of his own life; for the man
+adds to himself the child. The reproach is sometimes brought against Walt Whitman that
+the very people he writes about do not read him. The explanation is simple and
+illustrates the difference between the unconscious and the conscious reception of life.
+The "average man" who is the hero of Whitman's chants is not aware of himself as such. He
+goes about his business, content to do his work; and that makes up his experience. It is
+not the average man himself, but the poet standing outside and looking on with
+imaginative sympathy, who feels what it means to be an average man. It is the poet who
+must "teach the average man the glory of his daily walk and trade." It is not enough to
+be happy as children are happy,&mdash;unconsciously. We must be happy and know it
+too.</p>
+
+<p>The attitude of appreciation is the attitude of response,&mdash;the projection of
+ourselves into new and fuller ranges of feeling, with the resultant extension of our
+personality and a larger grasp on life. We do not need to go far afield for experience;
+it is here and now. To-day is the only day, and every day is the best day. "The readiness
+is all." But mere contact with the surface of life is not enough. Living does not consist
+in barely meeting the necessities of our material existence; to live is to feel vibrantly
+throughout our being the inner significance of things, their appeal and welcome to the
+spirit. This fair world of color and form and texture is but a show world, after
+all,&mdash;this world which looms so near that we can see it, touch it, which comes to us
+out of the abysms of time and recedes into infinitudes of space whither the imagination
+cannot follow it. The true and vital meaning of it resides within and discovers itself to
+us finally as emotion. Some of this meaning art reveals to us, and in that measure it
+helps us to find ourselves. But art is only the means. The starting-point of the
+appreciation of art, and its goal, is the appreciation of life. The reward of living is
+the added ability to live. And life yields its fullest opportunities, its deepest
+tragedies, its highest joys, all its infinite scope of feeling, to those who enter by the
+gate of appreciation.</p><a name="3"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>III</p>
+
+<p>TECHNIQUE AND THE LAYMAN</p>
+
+<p>A PEASANT is striding across a field in the twilight shadow of a hill. Beyond, where
+the fold of the hill dips down into the field, another peasant is driving a team of oxen
+at a plow. The distant figures are aglow with golden mellow light, the last light of day,
+which deepens the gloom of the shadowing hillside. The sower's cap is pulled tight about
+his head, hiding under its shade the unseeing eyes. The mouth is brutal and grim. The
+heavy jaw flows down into the thick, resistive neck. The right arm swings powerfully out,
+scattering the grain. The left is pressed to his body; the big, stubborn hand clutches
+close the pouch of seed. Action heroic, elemental; the dumb bearing of the universal
+burden. In the flex of the shoulder, the crook of the outstretched arm, the conquering
+onward stride, is expressed all the force of that word of the Lord to the first toiler,
+"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread."</p>
+
+<p>Three men are standing before Millet's canvas.</p>
+
+<p>One recognizes the subject of the picture. With the pleasure of recognition he notes
+what the artist has here represented, and he is interested in the situation. This is a
+peasant, and he is sowing his grain. So the onlooker stands and watches the peasant in
+his movement, and he <i>thinks</i> about the sower, recalling any sower he may have read
+of or seen or known, his own sower rather than the one that Millet has seen and would
+show to him. This man's pleasure in the picture has its place.</p>
+
+<p>The second of the three men is attracted by the qualities of execution which the work
+displays, and he is delighted by what he calls the "actual beauty" of the painting. With
+eyes close to the canvas he notes the way Millet has handled his materials, his drawing,
+his color, his surfaces and edges, all the knack of the brush-work, recognizing in his
+examination of the workmanship of the picture that though Millet was a very great artist,
+he was not a great painter, that the reach of his ideas was not equaled by his technical
+skill. Then as the beholder stands back from the canvas to take in the ensemble, his eye
+is pleased by the color-harmony, it rests lovingly upon the balance of the composition,
+and follows with satisfaction the rhythmic flow of line. His enjoyment is both
+intellectual and sensuous. And that too has its place.</p>
+
+<p>The third spectator, with no thought of the facts around which the picture is built,
+not observing the technical execution as such, unconscious at the moment also of its
+merely sensuous charm, feels within himself, "<i>I</i> am that peasant!" In his own
+spirit is enacted the agelong world-drama of toil. He sees beyond the bare subject of the
+picture; the medium with all its power of sensuous appeal and satisfaction becomes
+transparent. The beholder enters into the very being of the laborer; and as he identifies
+himself with this other life outside of him, becoming one with it in spirit and feeling,
+he adds just so much to his own experience. In his reception of the meaning of Millet's
+painting of the "Sower" he lives more deeply and abundantly.</p>
+
+<p>It is the last of these three men who stands in the attitude of full and true
+appreciation. The first of the three uses the picture simply as a point of departure; his
+thought travels away from the canvas, and he builds up the entire experience out of his
+own knowledge and store of associations. The second man comes a little nearer to
+appreciation, but even he falls short of full realization, for he stops at the actual
+material work itself. His interest in the technical execution and his pleasure in the
+sensuous qualities of the medium do not carry him through the canvas and into the emotion
+which it was the artist's purpose to convey. Only he truly appreciates the painting of
+the "Sower" who feels something of what Millet felt, partaking of the artist's experience
+as expressed by means of the picture, and making it vitally his own.</p>
+
+<p>But before the appreciator can have brought himself to the point of perception where
+he is able to respond directly to the significance of art and to make the artist's
+emotion a part of his own emotional experience, he must needs have traveled a long and
+rather devious way. Appreciation is not limited to the exercise of the intellect, as in
+the recognition of the subject of a work of art and in the interest which the technically
+minded spectator takes in the artist's skill. It does not end with the gratification of
+the senses, as with the delight in harmonious color and rhythmic line and ordered mass.
+Yet the intellect and the senses, though they are finally but the channel through which
+the artist's meaning flows to reach and rouse the feelings, nevertheless play their part
+in appreciation. Between the spirit of the artist and the spirit of the appreciator
+stands the individual work of art as the means of expression and communication. In the
+work itself emotion is embodied in material form. The material which art employs for
+expression constitutes its language. Certain principles govern the composition of the
+work, certain processes are involved in the making of it, and the result possesses
+certain qualities and powers. The processes which enter into the actual fashioning of the
+work are both intellectual and physical, requiring the exercise of the artist's mind in
+the planning of the work and in the directing of his hand; so far as the appreciator
+concerns himself with them, they address themselves to his intellect. The finished work
+in its material aspect possesses qualities which are perceived by the senses and which
+have a power of sensuous delight. Upon these processes and these qualities depends in
+part the total character of a work of art, and they must be reckoned with in
+appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>In his approach to any work of art, therefore, the layman is confronted first of all
+with the problem of the language which the work employs. Architecture uses as its
+language the structural capabilities of its material, as wood or stone, bringing all
+together into coherent and serviceable form. Poetry is phrased in words. Painting employs
+as its medium color and line and mass. At the outset, in the case of any art, we have
+some knowledge of the signification of its terms. Here is a painting of a sower. Out of
+previous experience of the world we easily recognize the subject of the picture. But
+whence comes the majesty of this rude peasant, the dignity august of this rough and
+toil-burdened laborer, his power to move us? In addition to the common signification of
+its terms, then, language seems to have a further expressiveness, a new meaning imparted
+to it by the way in which the artist uses it. In a poem we know the meaning of the words,
+but the <i>poetry</i> of it, which we feel rather than know, is the creation of the poet,
+wrought out of the familiar words by his cunning manipulation of them.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "The grey sea and the long black land;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And the yellow half-moon large and low;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And the startled little waves that leap<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In fiery ringlets from their sleep,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As I gain the cove with pushing prow,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Three fields to cross till a farm appears;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And blue spurt of a lighted match,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Than the two hearts beating each to each!"</p>
+
+<p>A drama in twelve lines. These are words of common daily usage, every one,&mdash;for
+the most part aggressively so. But the romance which they effuse, the glamour which
+envelops the commonplace incident as with an aura, is due to the poet's strategic
+selection of his terms, the one right word out of many words that offered, and his subtle
+combination of his terms into melody and rhythm. The wonder of the poet's craft is like
+the musician's,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a
+star."</p>
+
+<p>A building rises before us; we recognize it as a building, and again easily we infer
+the purpose which it serves, that it is a temple or a dwelling. And then the beauty of
+it, a power to affect us beyond the mere feet that it is a building, lays hold upon us,
+an influence emanating from it which we do not altogether explain to ourselves. Simply in
+its presence we feel that we are pleased. The fact, the material which the artist uses,
+exists out there in nature. But the beauty of the building, the majesty and power of the
+picture, the charm of the poem,&mdash;this is the <i>art</i> of the artist; and he wins
+his effects by the way in which he handles his materials, by his <i>technique.</i> Some
+knowledge of technique, therefore,&mdash;not the artist's knowledge of it, but the
+ability to read the language of art as the artist intends it to be read,&mdash;is
+necessary to appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>The hut which the traveler through a wild country put together to provide himself
+shelter against storm and the night was in essence a work of art. The purpose of his
+effort was not the hut itself but shelter, to accomplish which he used the hut as his
+means. The emotion of which the work was the expression, in this case the traveler's
+consciousness of his need, embodied itself in a concrete form and made use of material.
+The hut which he conceived in response to his need became for him the subject or motive
+of his work. For the actual expression of his design he took advantage of the qualities
+of his material, its capabilities to combine thus and so; these inherent qualities were
+his medium. The material wood and stone which he employed were the vehicle of his design.
+The way in which he handled his vehicle toward the construction of the hut, availing
+himself of the qualities and capabilities of his material, might be called his
+technique.</p>
+
+<p>The sight of some landscape wakens in the beholder a vivid and definite emotion; he is
+moved by it to some form of expression. If he is a painter he will express his emotion by
+means of a picture, which involves in the making of it certain elements and certain
+processes. The picture will present selected facts in the landscape; the landscape, then,
+as constructed according to the design the painter has conceived of it, becomes the
+motive or subject of his picture. The particular aspects of the landscape which the
+picture records are its color and its form. These qualities of color and form are the
+painter's medium. An etching of the scene would use not color but line to express the
+artist's emotion in its presence; so line is the medium of etching. But "qualities" of
+objects are an abstraction unless they are embodied in material. In order, therefore, to
+give his medium actual embodiment the painter uses pigment, as oil-color or water-color
+or tempera, laid upon a surface, as canvas, wood, paper, plaster; this material pigment
+is his vehicle. The etcher employs inked scratches upon his plate of zinc or copper,
+bitten by acid or scratched directly by the needle; these marks of ink are the vehicle of
+etching. To the way in which the artist uses his medium for practical expression and to
+his methods in the actual handling of his vehicle is applied the term technique. The
+general conception of his picture, its total design, the choice of motive, the selection
+of details, the main scheme of composition,&mdash;these belong to the great strategy of
+his art. The application of these principles in practice and their material working out
+upon his canvas are an affair of tactics and fall within the province of technique.</p>
+
+<p>The ultimate significance of a work of art is its content of emotion, the essential
+controlling idea, which inspires the work and gives it concrete form. In its actual
+embodiment, the expressive power of the work resides in the medium. The medium of any
+art, then, as color and mass in painting, line in drawing and etching, form in sculpture,
+sound in music, is its means of expression and constitutes its language. Now the
+signification of language derives from convention. Line, for example, which may be so
+sensitive and so expressive, is only an abstraction and does not exist in nature. What
+the draughtsman renders as line is objectively in fact the boundary of forms. A head,
+with all its subtleties of color and light and shade, may be represented by a pencil or
+charcoal drawing, black upon a white surface. It is not the head which is black and
+white, but the drawing. Our acceptance of the drawing as an adequate representation of
+the head rests upon convention. Writing is an elementary kind of drawing; the letters of
+the alphabet were originally pictures or symbols. So to-day written or printed letters
+are arbitrary symbols of sounds, and grouped together in arbitrary combinations they form
+words, which are symbols of ideas. The word <i>sum</i> stood to the old Romans for the
+idea "I am;" to English-speaking people the word signifies a "total" and also a problem
+in arithmetic. A painting of a landscape does not attempt to imitate the scene; it uses
+colors and forms as symbols which serve for expression. The meaning attaching to these
+symbols derives from common acceptance and usage, Japanese painting, rendering the
+abstract spirit of movement of a wave, for example, rather than the concrete details of
+its surface appearance, differs fundamentally from the painting of the western world; it
+is none the less pregnant with meaning for those who know the convention. To understand
+language, therefore, we must understand the convention and accept its terms. The value of
+language as a means of expression and communication depends upon the knowledge, common to
+the user and to the person addressed, of the signification of its terms. Its
+effectiveness is determined by the way in which it is employed, involving the choice of
+terms, as the true line for the false or meaningless one, the right value or note of
+color out of many that would almost do, the exact and specific word rather than the vague
+and feeble; involving also the combination of terms into articulate forms. These ways and
+methods in the use of language are the concern of technique. Technique, therefore, plays
+an important part in the creation and the ultimate fortunes of the artist's work.</p>
+
+<p>Just here arises a problem for the layman in his approach to art. The man who says, "I
+don't know anything about art, but I know what I like," is a familiar figure in our
+midst; of such, for the most part, the "public" of art is constituted. What he really
+means is, "I don't know anything about technique, but art interests me. I read books, I
+go to concerts and the theatre, I look at pictures; and in a way they have something for
+me." If we make this distinction between art and technique, the matter becomes
+simplified. The layman does not himself paint pictures or write books or compose music;
+his contact with art is with the purpose of appreciation. Life holds some meaning for
+him, as he is engaged in living, and there his chief interest lies. So art too has a
+message addressed to him, for art starts with life and in the end comes back to it. If
+art is not the expression of vital feeling, in its turn communicating the feeling to the
+appreciator so that he makes it a real part of his experience of life, then the thing
+called art is only an exercise in dexterity for the maker and a pastime for the receiver;
+it is not art. But art is not quite the same as life at first hand; it is rather the
+distillment of it. In order to render the significance of life as he has perceived and
+felt it, the artist selects and modifies his facts; and his work depends for its
+expressiveness upon the material form in which the emotion is embodied. The handling of
+material to the end of making it expressive is an affair of technique. The layman may ask
+himself, then, To what extent is a knowledge of technique necessary for appreciation? And
+how may he win that knowledge?</p>
+
+<p>On his road to appreciation the layman is beset with difficulties. Most of the talk
+about art which he hears is either the translation of picture or sonata into terms of
+literary sentiment or it is a discussion of the way the thing is done. He knows at least
+that painting is not the same as literature and that music has its own province; he
+recognizes that the meaning of pictures is not literary but pictorial, the meaning of
+music is musical. But the emphasis laid upon the manner of execution confuses and
+disturbs him. At the outset he frankly admits that he has no knowledge of technical
+processes as such. Yet each art must be read in its own language, and each has its
+special technical problems. He realizes that to master the technique of any single art is
+a career. And yet there are many arts, all of which may have some message for him in
+their own kind. If he must be able to paint in order to enjoy pictures rightly, if he
+cannot listen intelligently at a concert without being able himself to compose or at
+least to perform, his case for the appreciation of art seems hopeless.</p>
+
+<p>If the layman turns to his artist friends for enlightenment and a little sympathy, it
+is possible he may encounter a rebuff. Artists sometimes speak contemptuously of the
+public. "A painter," they say, "paints for painters, not for the people; outsiders know
+nothing about painting." True, outsiders know nothing about painting, but perhaps they
+know a little about life. If art is more than intellectual subtlety and manual skill, if
+art is the expression of something the artist has felt and lived, then the outsider has
+after all some standard for his estimate of art and a basis for his enjoyment. He is able
+to determine the value of the work to himself according as it expresses what he already
+knows about life or reveals to him fuller possibilities of experience which he can make
+his own. He does not pretend to judge painting; but he feels that he has some right to
+appreciate art. In reducing all art to a matter of technique artists themselves are not
+quite consistent. My friends Jones, a painter, and Smith, a composer, do not withhold
+their opinion of this or that novel and poem and play, and they discourse easily on the
+performances of Mr. James and Mr. Swinburne and Mr. Shaw; but I have no right to talk
+about the meaning to me of Jones's picture or Smith's sonata, for my business is with
+words, and therefore I cannot have any concern with painting or with music. To be sure,
+literature uses as its vehicle the means of communication of daily life, namely, words.
+But the <i>art</i> in literature, the interpretation of life which it gives us, as
+distinct from mere entertainment, is no more generally appreciated than the art in
+painting. A man's technical accomplishment may be best understood and valued by his
+fellow-workmen in the same craft; and often the estimate set by artists on their own work
+is referred to the qualities of its technical execution. As a classic instance, Raphael
+sent some of his drawings to Albert D<font face="Times New Roman">&uuml;</font>rer to
+"show him his hand." So a painter paints for the painters. But the artist gives back a
+new fullness and meaning to life and addresses all who live. That man is fortunate who
+does not allow his progress toward appreciation to be impeded by this confusion of
+technique with art.</p>
+
+<p>The emphasis which workers in any art place upon their powers of execution is for
+themselves a false valuation of technique, and it tends to obscure the layman's vision of
+essentials. Technique is not, as it would seem, the whole of art, but only a necessary
+part. A work of art in its creation involves two elements,&mdash;the idea and the
+execution. The idea is the emotional content of the work; the execution is the practical
+expressing of the idea by means of the medium and the vehicle. The idea of Millet's
+"Sower" is the emotion attending his conception of the laborer rendered in visual terms;
+the execution of the picture is exhibited in the composition, the color, the drawing, and
+the actual brush-work. So, too, the artist himself is constituted by two qualifications,
+which must exist together: first, the power of the subject over the artist; and second,
+the artist's power over his subject. The first of these without the second results simply
+in emotion which does not come to expression as art. The second without the first
+produces sham art; the semblance of art may be fashioned by technical skill, but the life
+which inspires art is wanting. The artist, then, may be regarded in a dual aspect. He is
+first a temperament and a mind, capable of feeling intensely and able to integrate his
+emotions into unified coherent form; in this aspect he is essentially the <i>artist</i>.
+Secondly, for the expression of his idea he brings to bear on the execution of his work
+his command of the medium, his intellectual adroitness and his manual skill; in this
+aspect he is the <i>technician</i>. Every artist has a special kind of means with which
+he works, requiring knowledge and dexterity; but it may be assumed that in addition to
+his ability to express himself he has something to say. We may test a man's merit as a
+painter by his ability to paint. As an artist his greatness is to be judged with
+reference to the greatness of his ideas; and in his capacity as artist his technical
+skill derives its value from the measure in which it is adequate to their expression. In
+the case of an accomplished pianist or violinist we take his proficiency of technique for
+granted, and we ask, What, with all this power of expression at his command, has he to
+say? In his rendering of the composer's work what has he of his own to contribute by way
+of interpretation? Conceding at once to Mr. Sargent his supreme competence as a painter,
+his consummate mastery of all his means, we ask, What has he seen in this man or this
+woman before him worthy of the exercise of such skill? In terms of the personality he is
+interpreting, what has he to tell us of the beauty and scope of life and to communicate
+to us of larger emotional experience? The worth of technique is determined, not by its
+excellence as such, but by its efficiency for expression.</p>
+
+<p>It is difficult for an outsider to understand why painters, writers, sculptors, and
+the rest, who are called artists in distinction from the ordinary workman, should make so
+much of their skill. Any man who works freely and with joy takes pride in his
+performance. And instinctively we have a great respect for a good workman. Skill is not
+confined to those who are engaged in what is conventionally regarded as art. Indeed, the
+distinction implied in favor of "art" is unjust to the wide range of activities of
+familiar daily life into which the true art spirit may enter. A bootblack who polishes
+his shoes as well as he can, not merely because he is to be paid for it, though too he
+has a right to his pay, but because that is his work, his means of expression, even he
+works in the spirit of an artist. Extraordinary skill is often developed by those who are
+quite outside the pale of art. In a circus or music-hall entertainment we may see a man
+throw himself from a trapeze swinging high in air, and after executing a double
+somersault varied by complex lateral gyrations, catch the extended arms of his partner,
+who is hanging by his knees on another flying bar. Or a man leaning backwards over a
+chair shoots at a distance of fifty paces a lump of sugar from between the foreheads of
+two devoted assistants. Such skill presupposes intelligence. Of the years of training and
+practice, of the sacrifice and the power of will, that have gone to the accomplishment of
+this result, the looker-on can form but little conception. These men are not considered
+artists. Yet a painter who uses his picture to exhibit a skill no more wonderful than
+theirs would be grieved to be accounted an acrobat or a juggler. Only such skill as is
+employed in the service of expression is to be reckoned with as an element in art; and in
+art it is of value not for its own sake but as it serves its purpose. The true artist
+subordinates his technique to expression, justly making it a means and not the end. He
+cares for the significance of his idea more than for his sleight of hand; he effaces his
+skill for his art.</p>
+
+<p>A recognition of the skill exhibited in the fashioning of a work of art, however, if
+seen in its right relation to the total scope of the work, is a legitimate source of
+pleasure. Knowledge of any subject brings its satisfactions. To understand with
+discerning insight the workings of any process, whether it be the operation of natural
+laws, as in astronomy or chemistry, whether it be the construction of a locomotive, the
+playing of a game of foot-ball, or the painting of a picture, to see the "wheels go
+round" and know the how and the wherefore,&mdash;undeniably this is a source of pleasure.
+In the understanding of technical processes, too, there is a further occasion of
+enjoyment, differing somewhat from the satisfaction which follows in the train of
+knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "There is a pleasure in poetic pains<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Which only poets know,"</p>
+
+<p>says the poet Cowper. There is a pleasure in the sense of difficulties overcome known
+only to those who have tried to overcome them. But such enjoyment&mdash;the pleasure
+which comes with enlightened recognition and the pleasure of mastery and
+triumph&mdash;derives from an intellectual exercise and is not to be confounded with the
+full appreciation of art. Art, finally, is not the "how" but the "what" in terms of its
+emotional significance. Our pleasure in the result, in the design itself, is not the same
+as our pleasure in the skill that produced the work. The design, with the message that it
+carries, not the making of it, is the end of art.</p>
+
+<p>Too great preoccupation with technique conflicts with full appreciation. To fix the
+attention upon the manner of expression is to lose the meaning. A style which attracts
+notice to itself is in so far forth bad style, because it defeats its own end, which is
+expression; but beyond this, our interest in technical execution is purely intellectual,
+whereas art reaches the emotions. At the theatre a critic sits unmoved; dispassionately
+he looks upon the personages of the drama, as they advance, retreat, and countermarch,
+little by little yielding up their secret, disclosing all the subtle interplay of human
+motives. From the heights of his knowledge the critic surveys the spectacle; with an
+insight born of his learning, he penetrates the mysteries of the playwright's craft. He
+knows what thought and skill have gone into this result; he knows the weary hours of
+toil, the difficulties of invention and selection, the heroic rejections, the intricacies
+of construction, the final triumph. He sees it all from the point of view of the
+master-workman, and sympathetically he applauds his success; his recognition of what has
+been accomplished is his pleasure. But all the while he has remained on the outside. Not
+for a moment has he become a party to the play. He brings to it nothing of his own
+feeling and power of response. There has been no union of his spirit with the artist's
+spirit,&mdash;that union in which a work of art achieves its consummation. The man at his
+side, with no knowledge or thought of how the effect has been won, surrenders himself to
+the illusion. These people on the stage are more intensely and vividly real to him than
+in life itself; the artist has distilled the significance of the situation and
+communicates it to him as emotion. The man's reaction is not limited to the exercise of
+his intellect,&mdash;he gives himself. In the experience which the dramatist conveys to
+him beautifully, shaping discords into harmony and disclosing their meaning for the
+spirit, he lives.</p>
+
+<p>A true artist employs his medium as an instrument of expression; and he values his own
+technical skill in the handling of it according to the measure that he is enabled thereby
+to express himself more effectively. On the layman's part so much knowledge of technique
+is necessary as makes it possible for him to understand the artist's language and the
+added expressiveness wrought out of language by the artist's cunning use of it. And such
+knowledge is not beyond his reach.</p>
+
+<p>In order to understand the meaning of any language we must first understand the
+signification of its terms, and then we must know something of the ways in which they may
+be combined into articulate forms of expression. The terms of speech are words; in order
+to speak coherently and articulately we must group words into sentences according to the
+laws of the tongue to which they belong. Similarly, every art has its terms, or "parts of
+speech," and its grammar, or the ways in which the terms are combined. The terms of
+painting are color and form, the terms of music are tones. Colors and forms are brought
+together into harmony and balance that by their juxtaposition they may be made expressive
+and beautiful. Tones are woven into a pattern according to principles of harmony, melody,
+and rhythm, and they become music. When technique is turned to such uses, not for the
+vainglory of a virtuoso, but for the service of the artist in his earnest work of
+expression, then it identifies itself with art.</p>
+
+<p>A knowledge of the signification of the terms of art the layman may win for himself by
+a recognition of the expressive power of all material and by sensitiveness to it. The
+beholder will not respond to the appeal of a painting of a landscape unless he has
+himself felt something of the charm or glory of landscape in nature; he will not quicken
+and expand to the dignity or force caught in rigid marble triumphantly made fluent in
+statue or relief until he has realized for himself the significance of form and movement
+which exhales from every natural object. Gesture is a universal language. The mighty
+burden of meaning in Millet's picture of the "Sower" is carried by the gesture of the
+laborer as he swings across the background of field and hill, whose forms also are
+expressive; here, too, the elemental dignity of form and movement is reinforced by the
+solemnity of the color. Gesture is but one of nature's characters wherewith she inscribes
+upon the vivid, shifting surface of the world her message to the spirit of man. A clue to
+the understanding of the terms of art, therefore, is found in the layman's own
+appreciation of the emotional value of all objects of sense and their multitudinous power
+of utterance,&mdash;the sensitive decision of line, the might or delicacy of form, the
+splendor and subtlety of color, the magic of sound, the satisfying virtue of harmony in
+whatever embodiment, all the beauty of nature, all the significance of human life. And
+this appreciation is to be won largely by the very experience of it. The more we feel,
+the greater becomes our power for deeper feeling. Every emotion to which we thrill is the
+entrance into larger capacity of emotion. We may allow for growth and trust to the
+inevitable working of its laws. In the appreciation of both life and art the individual
+may be his own teacher by experience.</p>
+
+<p>The qualities of objects with their inherent emotional values constitute the raw
+material of art, to be woven by the artist into a fabric of expressive form and texture.
+Equipped with a knowledge of the terms of any art, the layman has yet to understand
+something of the ways in which the terms may be combined. Every artist has his idiom or
+characteristic style. Rembrandt on the flat surface of his canvas secures the illusion of
+form in the round by a system of light and shade; modeling is indicated by painting the
+parts in greater relief in light and the parts in less relief in shadow. Manet renders
+the relief of form by a system of "values," or planes of more and less light. The local
+color of objects is affected by the amount of light they receive and the distance an
+object or part of an object is from the eye of the spectator. Manet paints with degrees
+of light, and he wins his effects, not by contrasts of color, but by subtle modulations
+within a given hue. Landscape painters before the middle of the nineteenth century,
+working with color in masses, secured a total harmony by bringing all their colors, mixed
+upon the palette, into the same key. The "Luminarists," like Claude Monet, work with
+little spots or points of color laid separately upon the canvas; the fusion of these
+separate points into the dominant tone is made by the eye of the beholder. The
+characteristic effect of a work of art is determined by the way in which the means are
+employed. Some knowledge, therefore, of the artist's aims as indicated in his method of
+working is necessary to a full understanding of what he wants to say.</p>
+
+<p>In his effort to understand for his own purposes of appreciation what the artist has
+accomplished by his technique, the layman may first of all distinguish between processes
+and results. A landscape in nature is beautiful to the beholder because he perceives in
+it some harmony of color and form which through the eye appeals to the emotions. His
+vision does not transmit every fact in the landscape; instinctively his eye in its sweep
+over meadow and trees and hill selects those details that compose. By this act of
+<i>integration</i> he is for himself in so far forth an artist. If he were a painter he
+would know what elements in the landscape to put upon his canvas. But he has no skill in
+the actual practice of drawing and of handling the brush, no knowledge of mixing colors
+and matching tones; he understands nothing of perspective and "values" and the relations
+of light and shade. He knows only what he sees, that the landscape as he sees it is
+beautiful; and equally he recognizes as beautiful the presentment of it upon canvas. He
+is ignorant of the technical problems with which the painter in practice has had to
+contend in order to reach this result; it is the result only that is of concern to him in
+so far as it is or is not what he desires. The painter's color is significant to him, not
+because he knows how to mix the color for himself, but because that color in nature has
+spoken to him unutterable things and he has responded to it. The layman cannot make a
+sunset and he cannot paint a picture; but he can enjoy both. So he cares, then, rather
+for what the painter has done than for how he has done it, because the processes do not
+enter into his own experience. The picture has a meaning for him in the measure that it
+expresses what he perceives and feels, and that is the beauty of the landscape.</p>
+
+<p>Any knowledge of technical processes which the layman may happen to possess may be a
+source of intellectual pleasure. But for appreciation, only so much understanding of
+technique is necessary as enables him to receive the message of a given work in the
+degree of expressiveness which the artist by his use of his medium has attained. A clue
+to this understanding may come to him by intuition, by virtue of his own native insight
+and intelligence. He may gain it by reading or by instruction. He may go out and win it
+by intrepid questioning of those who know; and it is to be hoped that such will be very
+patient with him, for after all even a layman has the right to live. Once started on the
+path, then, in the mysteries of art as in the whole complex infinite business of living,
+he becomes his own tutor by observation and experience; and he may develop into a fuller
+knowledge in obedience to the law of growth. Each partial clue to understanding brings
+him a step farther on his road; each new glimmer of insight beckons him to ultimate
+illumination. Though baffled at the outset, yet patient under disappointment, undauntedly
+he pushes on in spite of obstacles, until he wins his way at last to true
+appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>If the layman seeks a standard by which to test the value of any technical method, he
+finds it in the success of the work itself. Every method is to be judged in and for
+itself on its own merits, and not as better or worse than some other method. Individually
+we may prefer Velasquez to Frans Hals; Whistler may minister to our personal satisfaction
+in larger measure than Mr. Sargent; we may enjoy Mr. James better than Stevenson; Richard
+Strauss may stir us more deeply than Brahms. We do not affirm thereby that impressionism
+is inherently better than realism, or that subtlety is more to be desired than strength;
+the psychological novel is not necessarily greater than romance; because of our
+preference "programme music" is not therefore more significant than "absolute music." The
+greatness of an artist is established by the greatness of his ideas, adequately
+expressed. And the value of any technical method is determined by its own effectiveness
+for expression.</p>
+
+<p>There is, then, no invariable standard external to the work itself by which to judge
+technique. For no art is final. A single work is the manifestation of beauty as the
+individual artist has conceived or felt it. The perception of what is beautiful varies
+from age to age and with each person. So, too, standards of beauty in art change with
+each generation; commonly they are deduced from the practice of preceding artists.
+Classicism formulates rules from works that have come to be recognized as beautiful, and
+it requires of the artist conformity to these rules. By this standard, which it regards
+as absolute, it tries a new work, and it pretends to adjudge the work good or bad
+according as it meets the requirements. Then a Titan emerges who defies the canons,
+wrecks the old order, and in his own way, to the despair or scorn of his contemporaries,
+creates a work which the generation that follows comes to see is beautiful. "Every
+author," says Wordsworth, "as far as he is great and at the same time <i>original,</i>
+has had the task of creating the taste by which he is to be enjoyed." Wordsworth in his
+own generation was ridiculed; Millet, when he ceased painting nudes for art-dealers'
+windows and ventured to express himself, faced starvation. Every artist is in some
+measure an innovator; for his own age he is a romanticist. But the romanticist of one age
+becomes a classic for the next; and his performance in its turn gives laws to his
+successors. Richard Strauss, deriving in some sense from Wagner, makes the older man seem
+a classic and conservative. Then a new mind again is raised up, a new temperament, with
+new needs; and these shape their own adequate new expression. "The cleanest expression,"
+says Whitman, "is that which finds no sphere worthy of itself and makes one." As all life
+is growth, as there are no bounds to the possibilities of human experience, so the
+workings of the art-impulse cannot be compressed within the terms of a hard and narrow
+definition, and any abstract formula for beauty is in the very nature of things
+foredoomed to failure. No limit can be set to the forms in which beauty may be made
+manifest.</p>
+
+<p>"The true poets are not followers of beauty, but the august masters of beauty." And
+Whitman's own verse is a notable example of a new technique forged in response to a new
+need of expression. Dealing as he did with the big basic impulses of common experience
+accessible to all men, Whitman needed a largeness and freedom of expression which he did
+not find in the accepted and current poetic forms. To match the limitlessly diversified
+character of the people, occupations, and aspirations of "these States," as yet
+undeveloped but vital and inclosing the seed of unguessed-at possibilities, to tally the
+fluid, indeterminate, outward-reaching spirit of democracy and a new world, the poet
+required a medium of corresponding scope and flexibility, all-inclusive and capable of
+endless modulation and variety. Finding none ready to his hand, he created it. Not that
+Whitman did not draw for his resources on the great treasury of world-literature; and he
+profited by the efforts and achievement of predecessors. But the form in his hands and as
+he uses it is new. Whatever we may think of the success of his total accomplishment,
+there are very many passages to which we cannot deny the name of poetry. Nor did Whitman
+work without conscious skill and deliberate regard for technical processes. His
+note-books and papers reveal the extreme calculation and pains with which he wrote,
+beginning with the collection of synonyms applying to his idea and mood, and so building
+them up gradually, with many erasures, corrections, and substitutions, into the finished
+poem. Much of the vigor of his style is due to his escape from conventional literary
+phrase-making and his return to the racy idiom of common life. His verse, apparently
+inchoate and so different from classical poetic forms, is shaped with a cunning
+incredible skill. And more than that, it is art, in that it is not a bare statement of
+fact, but communicates to us the poet's emotion, so that we realize the emotion in
+ourselves. When his purpose is considered, it is seen that no other technique was
+possible. His achievement proves that a new need creates its own means of expression.</p>
+
+<p>What is true of Whitman in respect to his technique is true in greater or less degree
+of every artist, working in any form. It is true of Pheidias, of Giotto and Michelangelo
+and Rembrandt, of Dante and Shakespeare, of Beethoven and Wagner, of Monet, of Rodin, in
+fine, from the beginnings of art to the day that now is. All have created out of existing
+forms of expression their own idiom and way of working. Every artist owes something to
+his predecessors, but language is re-created in the hands of each master and becomes a
+new instrument. There can be then no single formula for technical method nor any fixed
+and final standard of judgment.</p>
+
+<p>An artist himself is justified from his own point of view in his concern with
+technique, for upon his technique depends his effectiveness of expression. His practice
+serves to keep alive the language and to develop its resources. Art in its concrete
+manifestations is an evolution. From Velasquez through Goya to Manet and Whistler is a
+line of inheritance. But a true artist recognizes that technique is only a means. As an
+artist he is seeking to body forth in external form the vision within, and he tries to
+make his medium "faithful to the coloring of his own spirit." Every artist works out his
+characteristic manner; but the progress must be from within outwards. Toward the shaping
+of his own style he is helped by the practice of others, but he is helped and not
+hindered only in so far as the manner of others can be made genuinely the expression of
+his own feeling. Direct borrowing of a trick of execution and servile imitation of a
+style have no place in true art. A painter who would learn of Velasquez should study the
+master's technique, not that in the end he may paint like Velasquez, but that he may
+discover just what it was that the master, by means of his individual style, was
+endeavoring to express, and so bring to bear on his own environment here in America
+to-day the same ability to see and the same power of sympathetic and imaginative
+penetration that Velasquez brought to his environment at the court of seventeenth-century
+Spain. The way to paint like Velasquez is to be Velasquez. No man is a genius by
+imitation. Every man may seek to be a master in his own right. Technique does not lead;
+it follows. Style is the man.</p>
+
+<p>From within outwards. Art is the expression of sincere and vital feeling; the material
+thing, picture, statue, poem, which the artist conjures into being is only a means. The
+moment art is worshiped for its own sake, that moment decadence begins. "No one," says
+Leonardo, "will ever be a great painter who takes as his guide the paintings of other
+men." In general the history of art exhibits this course. In the beginning arises a man
+of deep and genuine feeling, the language at whose command, however, has not been
+developed to the point where it is able to carry the full burden of his meaning. Such a
+man is Giotto; and we have the "burning messages of prophecy delivered by the stammering
+lips of infants." In the generations which supervene, artists with less fervor of spirit
+but with growing skill of hand, increased with each inheritance, turn their efforts to
+the development of their means. The names of this period of experiment and research are
+Masaccio, Uccello, Pollaiuolo, Verrocchio. At length, when the fullness of time is come,
+emerges the master-mind, of original insight and creative power. Heir to the technical
+achievements of his predecessors, he is able to give his transcendent idea its supremely
+adequate expression. Content is perfectly matched by form. On this summit stand
+Michelangelo, Raphael, Leonardo. Then follow the Carracci, Domenichino, Guercino, Guido
+Reni, Carlo Dolci, men who mistake the master's manner for his meaning. The idea, the
+vital principle, has spent itself. The form only is left, and that is elaborated into the
+exuberance of decay. Painters find their impulse no longer in nature and life but in
+paint. Technique is made an end in itself. And art is dead, to be reborn in another shape
+and guise.</p>
+
+<p>The relation of technique to appreciation in the experience of the layman begins now
+to define itself. Technique serves the artist for efficient expression; an understanding
+of it is of value to the layman in so far as the knowledge helps him to read the artist's
+language and thus to receive his message. Both for artist and for layman technique is
+only a means. Out of his own intelligent and patient experience the layman can win his
+way to an understanding of methods; and his standard of judgment, good enough for his own
+purposes, is the degree of expressiveness which the work of art, by virtue of its
+qualities of execution, is able to achieve. Skill may be enjoyed intellectually for its
+own sake as skill; in itself it is not art. Technique is most successful when it is least
+perceived. <i>Ars celare artem:</i> art reveals life and conceals technique. We must
+understand something of technique and then forget it in appreciation. When we thrill to
+the splendor and glory of a sunset we are not thinking of the laws of refraction.
+Appreciation is not knowledge, but emotion.</p><a name="4"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>IV</p>
+
+<p>THE VALUE OF THE MEDIUM</p>
+
+<p>AS I swing through the wide country in the freshness and fullness of a blossoming,
+sun-steeped morning in May, breathing the breath of the fields and the taller by inches
+for the sweep of the hills and the reaches of sky above my head, every nerve in my body
+is alive with sensation and delight. My joy is in the fragrance of earth, the
+ingratiating warmth of the fresh morning, the spacious, inclosing air. My pleasure in
+this direct contact with the landscape is a physical reaction, to be enjoyed only by the
+actual experience of it; it cannot be reproduced by any other means; it can be recalled
+by memory but faintly and as the echo of sensation. There is, however, something else in
+the landscape which can be reproduced; and this recall may seem more glorious than the
+original in nature. There are elements in the scene which a painter can render for me
+more intensely and vividly than I perceived them for myself. These elements embody the
+value that the landscape has for my emotions. The scene appeals to something within me
+which lies beyond my actual physical contact with it and the mere sense of touch. The
+harmony that the eye perceives in these open fields, the gracious line of trees along the
+stream's edge, the tossing hills beyond, and the arch of the blue sky above impregnating
+the earth with light, is communicated to my spirit, and I feel that this reach of radiant
+country is an extension of my own personality. A painter, by the manipulation of his
+color and line and mass, concentrates and intensifies the harmony of it and so heightens
+its emotional value. The meaning of the scene for the spirit is conveyed in terms of
+color and mass.</p>
+
+<p>Color and mass are the painter's medium, his language. The final import of art is the
+<i>idea,</i> the emotional content of the work. On his way to the expression of his idea
+the artist avails himself of material to give his feeling concrete actuality and visible
+or audible realization. He paints a picture, glorious in color and compelling in the
+concentration of its massing; he carves a statue, noble in form or subtly rhythmic; he
+weaves a pattern of harmonious sounds. He values objects not for their own sake but for
+the energies they possess,&mdash;their power to rouse his whole being into heightened
+activity. And they have this power by virtue of their material qualities, as color and
+form or sound. A landscape is gay in springtime or sad in autumn. The difference in its
+effect upon us is not due to our knowledge that it is spring or autumn and our
+consciousness of the associations appropriate to each season. The emotional quality of
+the scene is largely a matter of its color. Let the spring landscape be shrouded in gray
+mist sifting down out of gray skies, and we are sad. Let the autumn fields and woodland
+sparkle and dance in the crisp golden sunlight, and our blood dances with them and we
+want to shout from full lungs. In music the major key wakens a different emotion from the
+minor. The note of a violin is virgin in quality; the voice of the 'cello is the voice of
+experience. The distinctive emotional value of each instrument inheres in the character
+of its sound. These qualities of objects art uses as its language.</p>
+
+<p>Though all art is one in essence, yet each art employs a medium of its own. In order
+to understand a work in its scope and true significance we must recognize that an artist
+thinks and feels in terms of his special medium. His impulse to create comes with his
+vision, actual or imaginative, of color or form, and his thought is transmitted to his
+hand, which shapes the work, without the intervention of words. The nature of his vehicle
+and the conditions in which he works determine in large measure the details of the form
+which his idea ultimately assumes. Thus a potter designs his vessel first with reference
+to its use and then with regard to his material, its character and possibilities. As he
+models his plastic clay upon a wheel, he naturally makes his bowl or jug round rather
+than sharply angular. A pattern for a carpet, to be woven by a system of little squares
+into the fabric, will have regard for the conditions in which it is to be rendered, and
+it will differ in the character of its lines and masses from a pattern for a wall-paper,
+which may be printed from blocks. The designer in stained glass will try less to make a
+picture in the spirit of graphic representation than to produce an harmonious
+color-pattern whose outlines will be guided and controlled by the possibilities of the
+"leading" of the window. The true artist uses the conditions and very limitations of his
+material as his opportunity. The restraint imposed by the sonnet form is welcomed by the
+poet as compelling a collectedness of thought and an intensity of expression which his
+idea might not achieve if allowed to flow in freer channels. The worker in iron has his
+triumphs; the goldsmith has his. The limitations of each craft open to it effects which
+are denied to the other. There is an art of confectionery and an art of sculpture. The
+designer of frostings who has a right feeling for his art will not emulate the sculptor
+and strive to model in the grand style; the sculptor who tries to reproduce imitatively
+the textures of lace or other fabrics and who exuberates in filigrees and fussinesses so
+far departs from his art as to rival the confectioner. In the degree that a painter tries
+to wrench his medium from its right use and function and attempts to make his picture
+tell a story, which can better be told in words, to that extent he is unfaithful to his
+art. Painting, working as it does with color and form, should confine itself to the
+expression of emotion and idea that can be rendered visible. On the part of the
+appreciator, likewise, the emotion expressed in one kind of medium is not to be
+translated into any other terms without a difference. Every kind of material has its
+special value for expression. The meaning of pictures, accordingly, is limited precisely
+to the expressive power of color and form. The impression which a picture makes upon the
+beholder maybe phrased by him in words, which are his own means of expression; but he
+suggests the import of the picture only incompletely. If I describe in words Millet's
+painting of the "Sower" according to my understanding of it, I am telling in my own terms
+what the picture means to me. What it meant to Millet, the full and true significance of
+the situation as the painter felt it, is there expressed upon his canvas in terms of
+visible aspect; and correspondingly, Millet's meaning is fully and truly received in the
+measure that we feel in ourselves the emotion roused by the sight of his color and
+form.</p>
+
+<p>The essential content of a work of art, therefore, is modified in its effect upon us
+by the kind of medium in which it is presented. If an idea phrased originally in one
+medium is translated into the terms of another, we have <i>illustration.</i> Turning the
+pages of an "illustrated" novel, we come upon a plate showing a man and a woman against
+the background of a divan, a chair, and a tea-table. The man, in a frock coat, holding a
+top hat in his left hand, extends his right hand to the woman, who has just risen from
+the table. The legend under the picture reads, "Taking his hat, he said good-by." Here
+the illustrator has simply supplied a visible image of what was suggested in the text;
+the drawing has no interest beyond helping the reader to that image. It is a statement of
+the bare fact in other terms. In the hands of an artist, however, the translation may
+take on a value of its own, changing the original idea, adding to it, and becoming in
+itself an independent work of art. This value derives from the form into which the idea
+is translated. The frescoes of the Sistine Chapel are only sublime illustration; but how
+little of their power attaches to the subject they illustrate, and how much of their
+sublimity lies in the painter's rendering! Conversely, an example of the literary
+interpretation of a picture is Walter Pater's description of Leonardo's Mona Lisa.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+The presence that thus rose so strangely beside the waters, is expressive of what in the
+ways of a thousand years men had come to desire. Hers is the head upon which all "the
+ends of the world are come," and the eyelids are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought
+out from within upon the flesh, the deposit, little cell by cell, of strange thoughts and
+fantastic reveries and exquisite passions. Set it for a moment beside one of those white
+Greek goddesses or beautiful women of antiquity, and how would they be troubled by this
+beauty, into which the soul with all its maladies has passed! All the thoughts and
+experience of the world have etched and moulded there, in that which they have of power
+to refine and make expressive the outward form, the animalism of Greece, the lust of
+Rome, the reverie of the middle age with its spiritual ambition and imaginative loves,
+the return of the Pagan world, the sins of the Borgias. She is older than the rocks among
+which she sits; like the vampire, she has been dead many times, and learned the secrets
+of the grave; and has been a diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her;
+and trafficked for strange webs with Eastern merchants; and, as Leda, was the mother of
+Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of Mary; and all this has been to her but
+as the sound of lyres and flutes, and lives only in the delicacy with which it has
+moulded the changing lineaments, and tinged the eyelids and the hands. The fancy of a
+perpetual life, sweeping together ten thousand experiences, is an old one; and modern
+thought has conceived the idea of humanity as wrought upon by, and summing up in itself,
+all modes of thought and life. Certainly Lady Lisa might stand as the embodiment of the
+old fancy, the symbol of the modern idea.
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>It is Leonardo's conception, yet with a difference. Here the critic has woven about
+the subject an exquisite tissue of associations, a whole wide background of knowledge and
+thought and feeling which it lay beyond the painter's range to evoke; but the critic is
+denied the vividness, the immediateness and intimate warmth of vital contact, which the
+painter was able to achieve. The Lisa whom Leonardo shows us and the Lisa whom Pater
+interprets for us are the same in essence yet different in their power to affect us. The
+difference resulting from the kind of medium employed is well exemplified by Rossetti's
+"Blessed Damozel." The fundamental concept of both poem and picture is identical, but
+picture and poem have each its distinctive range and limitations and its own peculiar
+appeal. If we cancel the common element in the two, the difference remaining makes it
+possible for us to realize how much of the effect of a work of art inheres in the medium
+itself. Painting may be an aid to literature in that it helps us to more vivid images;
+the literary interpretation of pictures or music gives to the works with which it deals
+an intellectual definiteness. But the functions peculiar to each art are not to be
+confounded nor the distinctions obscured.</p>
+
+<p>Pictures are not a substitute for literature, and their true meaning is finally not to
+be translated into words. Their beauty is a visible beauty; the emotions they rouse are
+such as can be conveyed through the sense of sight. In the end they carry their message
+sufficingly as color and mass. Midway, however, our enjoyment may be complicated by other
+elements which have their place in our total appreciation. Thus a painting of a landscape
+may appeal to us over and above its inherent beauty because we are already, out of actual
+experience, familiar with the scene it represents, and the sight of it wakens in our
+memory a train of pleasant allied associations. A ruined tower, in itself an exquisite
+composition in color and line and mass, may gather about it suggestions of romance,
+elemental passions and wild life, and may epitomize for the beholder the whole Middle
+Age. Associated interest, therefore, may be sentimental or intellectual. It may be
+sensuous also, appealing to other senses than those of sight. The sense of touch plays a
+large part in our enjoyment of the world. We like the "feel" of objects, the catch of raw
+silk, the chill smoothness of burnished brass, the thick softness of mists, the "amorous
+wet" of green depths of sea. The senses of taste and smell may be excited imaginatively
+and contribute to our pleasure. Winslow Homer's breakers bring back to us the salt
+fragrance of the ocean, and in the presence of these white mad surges we feel the
+stinging spray in our faces and we taste the cosmic exhilaration of the sea-wind. But the
+final meaning of a picture resides in the total harmony of color and form, a harmony into
+which we can project our whole personality and which itself constitutes the emotional
+experience.</p>
+
+<p>All language in its material aspect has a sensuous value, as the wealth of color of
+Venetian painting, the sumptuousness of Renaissance architecture, the melody of Mr.
+Swinburne's verse, the gem-like brilliance of Stevenson's prose, the all-inclusive
+sensuousness, touched with sensuality, of Wagner's music-dramas. Because of the charm of
+beautiful language there are many art-lovers who regard the sensuous qualities of the
+work itself as making up the entire experience. Apart from any consideration of intention
+or expressiveness, the material <i>thing</i> which the artist's touch summons into form
+is held to be "its own excuse for being."</p>
+
+<p>This order of enjoyment, valid as far as it goes, falls short of complete
+appreciation. It does not pass the delight one has in the radiance of gems or
+the glowing tincture of some fabric. The element of meaning does not enter in.
+There is a beauty for the eye and a beauty for the mind. The qualities of
+material may give pleasure to the senses; the object embodying these qualities
+becomes beautiful only as it is endowed with a significance wakened in the human
+spirit. A landscape, says Walter Crane, &quot;owes a great part of its beauty to the
+harmonious relation of its leading lines, or to certain pleasant contrasts, or a
+certain impressiveness of form and mass, and at the same time we shall perceive
+that this linear expression is inseparable from the sentiment or emotion
+suggested by that particular scene.&quot; In the appreciation of art, to stop with
+the sensuous appeal of the medium is to mistake means for an end. &quot;Rhyme,&quot; says
+the author of &quot;Intentions,&quot; &quot;in the hands of a real artist becomes not merely a
+material element of metrical beauty, but a spiritual element of thought and
+passion also.&quot; An artist's color, glorious or tender, is only a symbol and
+manifestation to sense of his emotion. At first glance Titian's portrait of the
+&quot;Man with the Glove&quot; is an ineffable color-harmony. But truly seen it is
+infinitely more. By means of color and formal design Titian has embodied here
+his vision of superb young manhood; by the expressive power of his material
+symbols he has rendered visible his sense of dignity, of fineness, of strength
+in reserve. The color is beautiful because his idea was beautiful. Through the
+character of this young man as revealed and interpreted by the artist, the
+beholder is brought into contact with a vital personality, whose influence is
+communicated to him; in the appreciation of Titian's message he sees and feels
+and lives.</p>
+
+<p>The value of the medium resided not in the material itself but in its power for
+expression. When language is elaborated at the expense of the meaning, we have in so far
+forth sham art. It should be easy to distinguish in art between what is vital and what is
+mechanical. The mechanical is the product of mere execution and calls attention to the
+manner. The vital is born out of inspiration, and the living idea transmutes its material
+into emotion. Too great an effort at realization defeats the intended illusion, for we
+think only of the skill exercised to effect the result, and the operation of the
+intellect inhibits feeling. In the greatest art the medium is least perceived, and the
+beholder stands immediately in the presence of the artist's idea. The material is
+necessarily fixed and finite; the idea struggles to free itself from its medium and
+untrammeled to reach the spirit. It is mind speaking to mind. However complete the
+material expression may seem, it is only a part of what the artist would say; imagination
+transcends the actual.&nbsp; In the art which goes deepest into life, the medium is
+necessarily inadequate. The artist fashions his work in a sublime despair as he feels how
+little of the mighty meaning within him he is able to convey. In the greatest works
+rightly seen the medium becomes transparent. Within the Sistine Chapel the visitor, when
+once he has yielded to the illusion, is not conscious of plaster surface and pigment;
+indeed, he hardly sees color and design as such at all; through them he looks into the
+immensity of heaven, peopled with gods and godlike men. Consummate acting is that which
+makes the spectator forget that it is acting. The part and the player become one. The
+actor, in himself and in the words he utters, is the unregarded vehicle of the
+dramatist's idea. In a play like Ibsen's "Ghosts," the stage, the actors, the dialogue
+merge and fall away, and the overwhelming meaning stands revealed in its complete
+intensity. As the play opens, it cuts out a segment from the chaos of human life; step by
+step it excludes all that is unessential, stroke by stroke with an inevitableness that is
+crushing, it converges to the great one-thing that the dramatist wanted to say, until at
+the end the spectator, conscious no longer of the medium but only of the idea and
+all-resolving emotion, bows down before its overmastering force with the cry, "What a
+<i>mind</i> is there!"</p>
+
+<p>In the art which most completely achieves expression the medium is not perceived as
+distinct from the emotion of which the medium is the embodiment. In order to render
+expressive the material employed in its service, art seeks constantly to identify means
+and end, to make the form one with the content. The wayfarer out of his need of shelter
+built a hut, using the material which chance gave into his hand and shaping his design
+according to his resources; the purpose of his work was not the hut itself but shelter.
+So the artist in any form is impelled to creation by his need of expression; the thing
+which he creates is not the purpose and end of his effort, but only the means. Each art
+has its special medium, and each medium has its peculiar sensuous charm and its own kind
+of expressiveness. This power of sensuous delight is incidental to the real beauty of the
+work; and that beauty is the message the work is framed to convey to the spirit. In the
+individual work, the inspiring and shaping idea seeks so to fuse its material that we
+feel the idea could not have been phrased in any other way as we surrender to its
+ultimate appeal,&mdash;the sum of the emotional content which gave it birth and in which
+it reaches its fulfillment.</p><a name="5"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>V</p>
+
+<p>THE BACKGROUND OF ART</p>
+
+<p>SCENE: The main hall of the Accademia in Venice.</p>
+
+<p>Time: Noon of a July day.</p>
+
+<p>Dramatis personae: A guide; two drab-colored and tired men; a group of women, of
+various ages, equipped with red-covered little volumes, and severally expressive of great
+earnestness, wide-eyed rapture, and giggles.</p>
+
+<p><i>The guide, in strident, accentless tones:</i> Last work of Titian.
+Ninety-nine years old. He died of smallpox.</p>
+
+<p><i>A woman:</i> Is that it?</p>
+
+<p><i>A high voice on the outskirts:</i> I'm going to get one for forty dollars.</p>
+
+<p><i>Another voice:</i> Well, I'm not going to pay more than fifty for mine.</p>
+
+<p><i>A straggler:</i> Eliza, look at those people. Oh, you missed it! <i>(Stopping
+suddenly?)</i> My, isn't that lovely!</p>
+
+<p><i>Chorus:</i> Yes, that's Paris Bordone. Which one is that? He has magnificent
+color.</p>
+
+<p><i>The guide:</i> The thing you want to look at is the five figures in front.</p>
+
+<p><i>A voice:</i> Oh, that's beautiful. I love that.</p>
+
+<p><i>A man:</i> Foreshortened; well, I should say so! But I say, you can't remember all
+these pictures.</p>
+
+<p><i>The other man:</i> Let's get out of this!</p>
+
+<p><i>The guide, indicating a picture of the Grand Canal:</i> This one has been
+restored.</p>
+
+<p><i>A girl's voice:</i> Why, that's the house where we are staying!</p>
+
+<p><i>The guide:</i> The next picture . . .</p>
+
+<p>The squad shuffles out of range.</p>
+
+<p>This little comedy, enacted in fact and here faithfully reported, is not without its
+pathos. These people are "studying art." They really want to understand, and if possible,
+to enjoy. They have visited galleries and seen many pictures, and they will visit other
+galleries and see many more pictures before their return home. They have read
+guide-books, noting the stars and double stars; they have dipped into histories of art
+and volumes of criticism. They have been told to observe the dramatic force of Giotto,
+the line of Botticelli, the perfect composition of Raphael, the color of Titian; all this
+they have done punctiliously. They know in a vague way that Giotto was much earlier than
+Raphael, that Botticelli was rather pagan than Christian, that Titian belonged to the
+Venetian school. They have come to the fountain head of art, the very works themselves as
+gathered in the galleries; they have tried to remember what they have read and to do what
+they have been told; and now they are left still perplexed and unsatisfied.</p>
+
+<p>The difficulty is that these earnest seekers after knowledge of art have laid hold on
+partial truths, but they have failed to see these partial truths in their right relation
+to the whole. The period in which an artist lived means something. His way of thinking
+and feeling means something. The quality of his color means something. But what does his
+<i>picture</i> mean? These people have not quite found the key by which to piece the
+fragments of the puzzle into the complete design. They miss the central fact with regard
+to art; and as a consequence, the ways of approach to the full enjoyment of art, instead
+of bringing them nearer the centre, become for them a network of by-paths in which they
+enmesh themselves, and they are left to wander helplessly up and down and about in the
+blind-alleys of the labyrinth. The central fact with regard to art is this, that a work
+of art is the expression of some part of the artist's experience of life, his vision of
+some aspect of the world. For the appreciator, the work takes on a meaning as it becomes
+for him in his turn the expression of his own actual or possible experience and thus
+relates itself by the subtle links of feeling to his own life. This is the central fact;
+but there are side issues. Any single work of art is in itself necessarily finite.
+Because of limitations in both the artist and the appreciator the work cannot express
+immediately and completely of itself all that the author wished to convey; it can present
+but a single facet of his many-sided radiating personality. What is actually said may be
+reinforced by some understanding on the beholder's part of what was intended. In order to
+win its fullest message, therefore, the appreciator must set the work against the large
+background out of which it has proceeded.</p>
+
+<p>A visitor in the <i>Salon Carr<font face="Times New Roman">&eacute;</font></i> of the
+Louvre notes that there are arrayed before him pictures by Jan van Eyck and Memling,
+Raphael and Leonardo, Giorgione and Titian, Rembrandt and Metsu, Rubens and Van Dyck,
+Fouquet and Poussin, Velasquez and Murillo. Each one bears the distinctive impress of its
+creator. How different some of them, one from another,&mdash;the Virgin of Van Eyck from
+the Virgin of Raphael, Rembrandt's "Pilgrimsat Emmaus" from the "Entombment" by Titian.
+Yet between others there are common elements of likeness. Raphael and Titian are
+distinguished by an opulence of form and a luxuriance of color which reveal supreme
+technical accomplishment in a fertile land under light-impregnated skies. The rigidity
+and restraint of Van Eyck and Memling suggest the tentative early efforts of the art of a
+sober northern race. To a thoughtful student of these pictures sooner or later the
+question comes, Whence are these likenesses and these differences?</p>
+
+<p>Hitherto I have referred to the creative mind and executive hand as generically <i>the
+artist.</i> I have thought of him as a type, representative of all the great class of
+those who feel and express, and who by means of their expression communicate their
+feeling. Similarly I have spoken of <i>the work of art,</i> as though it were complete in
+itself and isolated, sprung full-formed and panoplied from the brain of its creator, able
+to win its way and consummate its destiny alone. The type is conceived intellectually; in
+actual life the type resolves itself into individuals. So there are individual artists,
+each with his own distinctive gifts and ideals, each with his own separate experience of
+life, with his personal and special vision of the world, and his characteristic manner of
+expression. Similarly, a single work of art is not an isolated phenomenon; it is only a
+part of the artist's total performance, and to these other works it must be referred. The
+kind of work an artist sets himself to do is determined to some extent by the period into
+which he was born and the country in which he lived. The artist himself, heir to the
+achievements of his predecessors, is a development, and his work is the product of an
+evolution. A work of art, therefore, to be judged aright and truly appreciated, must be
+seen in its relation to its background, from which it detaches itself at the moment of
+consideration,&mdash;the background of the artist's personality and accomplishment and of
+the national life and ideals of his time.</p>
+
+<p>If the layman's interest in art is more than the casual touch-and-go of a picture
+here, a concert there, and an entertaining book of an evening, he is confronted with the
+important matter of the study of art as it manifests itself through the ages and in
+diverse lands. It is not a question of practicing an art himself, for technical skill
+lies outside his province. The study of art in the sense proposed has to do with the
+consideration of an individual work in its relation to all the factors that have entered
+into its production. The work of an artist is profoundly influenced by the national
+ideals and way of life of his race and of his age. The art of Catholic Italy is
+ecclesiastical; the art of the Protestant North is domestic and individual. The actual
+form an artist's work assumes is modified by the resources at his
+disposal,&mdash;resources both of material and of technical methods. Raphael may have no
+more to say than Giotto had, but he is able to express himself in a fuller and more
+finished way, because in his time the language of painting had become richer and more
+varied and the rhetoric of it had been carried to a farther point of development.
+Finally, as all art is in essence the expression of personality, a single work is to be
+understood in its widest intention and scope by reference to the total personality of the
+individual artist as manifested in his work collectively, and to be interpreted by the
+appreciator through his knowledge of the artist's experience of life.</p>
+
+<p>In order to wrest its fullest expressiveness from a work of art it is necessary as far
+as possible to regard the work from the artist's own point of view. We must try to see
+with his eyes and to feel with him what he was working for. To this end we must
+reconstruct imaginatively on a basis of the facts the conditions in which he lived and
+wrought. The difference between Giotto and Raphael is a difference not of individuality
+only. Each gives expression to the ideals and ways of thought of his age. Each is a
+creative mind, but each bases his performance upon what has gone before, and the form of
+their work is conditioned by the resources each had at his disposal. To discover the
+artist's purpose more completely than he was able to realize it for himself in the single
+work,&mdash;that is the aim and function of the historical study of art. A brief review
+of the achievement of Giotto and of Raphael may serve to illustrate concretely the
+application of the principle and to fix its value to appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>In the period of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire art passed from Rome to
+Byzantium. The arts of sculpture and painting were employed in the service of the Church,
+imposing by its magnificence and all-powerful in its domination over the lives and minds
+of men. The function of art was to teach; its character was symbolic and decorative. Art
+had no separate and independent existence. It had no direct reference to nature; the
+pictorial representation of individual traits was quite outside its scope; a few signs
+fixed by convention sufficed. A fish&mdash;derived from the acrostic
+<i>ichtbus&mdash;</i>symbolized the Saviour; a cross was the visible token of redeeming
+grace. And so through several hundred years. The twelfth century saw the beginnings of a
+change in the direction of spiritual and intellectual emancipation. The teachings and
+example of Francis of Assisi brought men to the consciousness of themselves and to a
+realization of the worth and significance of the individual life. The work of Giotto is
+the expression in art of the new spirit.</p>
+
+<p>Of necessity Giotto founded his work upon the accepted forms of the Byzantine
+tradition. But Giotto was a man of genius and a creative mind. In the expression of his
+fresh impulse and vital feeling, the assertion of new-found individuality, he tried to
+<i>realize</i> as convincingly and vividly as possible the situation with which he was
+dealing; and with this purpose he looked not back upon art but out upon nature. Where the
+Byzantine convention had presented but a sign and remote indication of form by means of
+flat color, Giotto endows his figures with life and movement and actuality by giving them
+a body in three dimensions; his forms exist in the round. Until his day, light and shade
+had not been employed; and such perspective as he was able to achieve he had to discover
+for himself. For the first time in Christian painting a figure has bodily existence.
+Giotto gives the first evidence, too, of a sense of the beauty of color, and of the value
+of movement as a means of added expressiveness. His power of composition shows an immense
+advance on his predecessors. In dealing with traditional subjects, as the Madonna and
+child, he follows in general the traditional arrangement. But in those subjects where his
+own inventiveness is given free play, as in the series of frescoes illustrating the life
+of St. Francis, he reveals an extraordinary faculty of design and a dramatic sense which
+is matched by a directness and clarity of expression.</p>
+
+<p>Not only in the technique of his craft was Giotto an innovator, but also in the
+direction of naturalness and reality of feeling. He was the first to introduce portraits
+into his work. His Madonnas and saints are no longer mere types; they are human and
+individual, vividly felt and characterized by immediate and present actuality. Giotto was
+the first realist, but he was a poet too. His insight into life is tempered by a deep
+sincerity and piety; his work is genuinely and powerfully felt. As a man Giotto was
+reverent and earnest, joyous and beautifully sane. As a painter, by force of the
+freshness of his impulse and the clarity of his vision, he created a new manner of
+expression. As an artist he reveals a true power of imaginative interpretation. The
+casual spectator of to-day finds him naive and quaint. In the eyes of his contemporaries
+he was anything but that; they regarded him as a marvel of reality, surpassing nature
+itself. When judged with reference to the conditions of life in which he worked and to
+the technical resources at his command, Giotto is seen to be of a very high order of
+creative mind.</p>
+
+<p>The year 1300 divides the life of Giotto into two nearly equal parts; the year 1500
+similarly divides the life of Raphael. In the two centuries that intervene, the great age
+of Italian painting, initiated by Giotto, reaches its flower and perfection in
+Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Raphael. The years which followed the passing of these
+greatnesses were the years of decadence and eclipse. If we are to understand and justly
+appreciate the work of each man in its own kind, the painting of Giotto must be tried by
+other standards than those we apply to the judgment of Raphael. Giotto was a pioneer;
+Raphael is a consummation. The two centuries between were a period of development and
+change, a development in all that regards technique, a change in national ideals and in
+the artist's attitude toward life and toward his art. A quick survey of the period, if so
+hasty a generalization permits correctness of statement, will help us in the
+understanding of the craft and art of Raphael.</p>
+
+<p>Giotto was succeeded by a host of lesser men, regarded as his followers, men who
+sought to apply the principles and methods of painting worked out by the master, but who
+lacked his inspiration and his power. Thus it was for nearly a hundred years. The turn of
+the fourteenth century into the fifteenth saw the emergence of new forces in the science
+and the mechanics of painting. The laws of perspective and foreshortening were made the
+object of special research and practice by men like Uccello (1397-1475), Piero dei
+Franceschi (1416-1492), and Mantegna (1431-1506). "Oh, what a beautiful thing this
+perspective is!" Uccello exclaimed, as he stood at his desk between midnight and dawn
+while his wife begged him to take some rest. In the first thirty years of the fifteenth
+century, Masaccio contributed to the knowledge of anatomy by his painting of the nude
+form; and the study of the nude was continued by Pollaiuolo and Luca Signorelli, in the
+second half of the century. Masaccio, also, was the first to place his figures in
+<i>air,</i> enveloping them in atmosphere. Verrocchio, a generation later than Masaccio,
+was one of the first of the Florentines to understand landscape and the part played in it
+by air and light. The realistic spirit, which suffices itself with subjects drawn from
+every-day actual experience, finds expression in the first half of the fifteenth century
+in the work of Andrea del Castagno. And so down through that century of spring and
+summer. Each painter in his own way carries some detail of his craft to a further point
+of development and prepares the path for the supreme triumphs of Michelangelo, Leonardo,
+and Raphael.</p>
+
+<p>The growing mastery of the principles and technique of painting accompanied a change
+in the painter's attitude toward his art. Originally, painting, applied in subjection to
+architecture and employed in the service of the Church, was decorative in scope; its
+purpose was illustration, its function was to teach. As painters, from generation to
+generation, went deeper into the secrets of their craft, they became less interested in
+the didactic import of their work, and they concerned themselves more and more with its
+purely artistic significance. Religious subjects were no longer used merely as symbols
+for the expression of piety and as incitements to devotion; they became inherently
+artistic motives, valued as they furnished the artist an opportunity for the exercise of
+his knowledge and skill and for the exhibition of lovely color and significant form. A
+change in the mechanical methods of painting, also, had its influence on a change in the
+conception of the function of art. With a very few exceptions, the works of Giotto were
+executed in fresco as wall decorations. The principles of mural painting require that the
+composition shall be subordinated to the architectural conditions of the space it is to
+fill and that the color shall be kept flat. The fresco method meets these requirements
+admirably, but because of its flatness it has its limitations. The introduction of an oil
+vehicle for the pigment material, in the fifteenth century, made possible a much greater
+range in gradated color, and reinforcing the increased knowledge of light and shade,
+aided in the evolution of decoration into the "easel picture," complete in itself.
+Released from its subjection to architecture, increasing its technical resources, and
+widening its interests in the matter of subject so as to include all life, painting
+becomes an independent and self-sufficing art.</p>
+
+<p>Coincident with the development of painting as a craft, a mighty change was working
+itself out in the national ideals and in men's ways of thought and feeling. Already in
+Giotto's time the spirit of individualism had begun to assert itself in reaction from the
+dominance of an all-powerful restrictive ecclesiasticism, but the age was still
+essentially pietistic and according to its lights, religious. The fifteenth century
+witnessed the emancipation from tradition. The new humanism, which took its rise with the
+rediscovery of Greek culture, extended the intellectual horizon and intensified the
+enthusiasm for beauty. Men's interest in life was no longer narrowly religious, but
+human; their art became the expression of the new spirit. Early Christianity had been
+ascetic, enjoining negation of life and the mortification of the flesh. The men of the
+Renaissance, with something of the feeling of the elder Greeks, glorified the body and
+delighted in the pride of life. Pagan myths and Greek legends take their place alongside
+of Bible episodes and stories of saints and martyrs, as subjects of representation; all
+served equally as motives for the expression of the artist's sense of the beauty of this
+world.</p>
+
+<p>To this new culture and to these two centuries of growth and accomplishment in the
+practice of painting Raphael was heir. With a knowledge of the background out of which he
+emerges, we are prepared now to understand and appreciate his individual achievement. In
+approaching the study of his work we may ask, What is in general his ideal, his dominant
+motive, and in what manner and by what means has he realized his ideal?</p>
+
+<p>How much was already prepared for him, what does he owe to the age and the conditions
+in which he worked, and what to the common store has he added that is peculiarly his
+own?</p>
+
+<p>Whereas Giotto, the shepherd boy, was a pioneer, almost solitary, by sheer force of
+mind and by his sincerity and intensity of feeling breaking new paths to expression, for
+Raphael, on the contrary, the son of a painter and poet, the fellow-worker and
+well-beloved friend of many of the most powerful artistic personalities of his own or any
+age, the way was already prepared along which he moved in triumphant progress. The life
+of Raphael as an artist extends through three well-defined periods, the Umbrian, the
+Florentine, and the Roman, each one of which contributed a distinctive influence upon his
+development and witnessed a special and characteristic achievement.</p>
+
+<p>To his father, who died when the boy was eleven years old, Raphael owed his poetic
+nature, scholarly tastes, and love of beauty, though he probably received from him no
+training as a painter. His first master was Timoteo Viti of Urbino, a pupil of Francia;
+from him he learned drawing and acquired a "certain predilection for round and opulent
+forms which is in itself the negation of the ascetic ideal." At the age of seventeen he
+went from Urbino to Perugia; there he entered the workshop of Perugino as an assistant.
+The ideal of the Umbrian school was tenderness and sweetness, the outward and visible
+rapture of pietistic feeling; something of these qualities Raphael expressed in his
+Madonnas throughout his career. Under the teaching of Perugino he laid hold on the
+principles of "space composition" which he was afterwards to carry to supreme
+perfection.</p>
+
+<p>From Perugia the young Raphael made his way to Florence, and here he underwent many
+influences. At that moment Florence was the capital city of Italian culture. It was here
+that the new humanism had come to finest flower. Scholarship was the fashion; art was the
+chief interest of this beauty-loving people. It was the Florentines who had carried the
+scientific principles of painting to their highest point of development, particularly in
+their application to the rendering of the human figure. In Florence were collected the
+art treasures of the splendid century; here Michelangelo and Leonardo were at work; here
+were gathered companies of lesser men. By the study of Masaccio Raphael was led out to a
+fresh contact with nature. Fra Bartolomeo revealed to him further possibilities of
+composition and taught him some of the secrets of color. In Florence, too, he
+acknowledged the spell of Michelangelo and Leonardo. But though he learned from many
+teachers, Raphael was never merely an imitator. His scholarship and his skill he turned
+to his own uses; and when we have traced the sources of his motives and the influences in
+the moulding of his manner, there emerges out of the fusion a creative new force, which
+is his genius. What remains after our analysis is the essential Raphael.</p>
+
+<p>Raphael's residence in Florence is the period of his Madonnas. From Florence Raphael,
+twenty-five years old and now a master in his own right, was summoned to Rome by Pope
+Julius II; and here he placed his talents and his mastership at the disposal of the
+Church. He found time to paint Madonnas and a series of powerful and lovely portraits;
+but these years in Rome, which brought his brief life to a close, are preeminently the
+period of the great frescoes, which are his supreme achievement. But even in these mature
+years, and though he was himself the founder of a school, he did not cease to learn.
+Michelangelo was already in Rome, and now Raphael came more immediately under his
+influence, although not to submit to it but to use it for his own ends. In Rome were
+revealed to him the culture of an older and riper civilization and the glories and
+perfectness of an elder art. Raphael laid antiquity under contribution to the
+consummation of his art and the fulfillment and complete realization of his genius.</p>
+
+<p>This analysis of the elements and influences of Raphael's career as an
+artist&mdash;inadequate as it necessarily is&mdash;may help us to define his distinctive
+accomplishment. A comparison of his work with that of his predecessors and contemporaries
+serves to disengage his essential significance. By nature he was generous and tender; the
+bent of his mind was scholarly; and he was impelled by a passion for restrained and
+formal beauty. Chiefly characteristic of his mental make-up was his power of
+assimilation, which allowed him to respond to many and diverse influences and in the end
+to dominate and use them. He gathered up in himself the achievements of two centuries of
+experiment and progress, and fusing the various elements, he created by force of his
+genius a new result and stamped it with the seal perfection. Giotto, to whom religion was
+a reality, was deeply in earnest about his message, and he phrased it as best he could
+with the means at his command; his end was expression. Raphael, under the patronage of
+wealthy dilettanti and in the service of a worldly and splendor-loving Church, delighted
+in his knowledge and his skill; he worshiped art, and his end was beauty. The genius of
+Giotto is a first shoot, vigorous and alive, breaking ground hardily, and tentatively
+pushing into freer air. The genius of Raphael is the full-blown flower and final fruit,
+complete, mature. The step beyond is decay.</p>
+
+<p>By reference to Giotto and to Raphael I have tried to illustrate the practical
+application of certain principles of art study. A work of art is not absolute; both its
+content and its form are determined by the conditions out of which it proceeds. All
+judgment, therefore, must be comparative, and a work of art must be considered in its
+relation to its background and its conventions. Art is an interpretation of some aspect
+of life as the artist has felt it; and the artist is a child of his time. It is not an
+accident that Raphael portrayed Madonnas, serene and glorified, and Millet pictured rude
+peasants bent with toil. Raphael's painting is the culmination of two centuries of eager
+striving after the adequate expression of religious sentiment; in Millet's work the
+realism of his age is transfigured. As showing further how national ideals and interests
+may influence individual production, we may note that the characteristic art of the
+Italian Renaissance is painting; and Italian sculpture of the period is pictorial rather
+than plastic in motive and handling. Ghiberti's doors of the Florence Baptistery, in the
+grouping of figures and the three and four planes in perspective of the backgrounds, are
+essentially pictures in bronze. Conversely, in the North the characteristic art of the
+thirteenth and fourteenth centuries is carving and sculpture; and "the early painters
+represented in their pictures what they were familiar with in wood and stone; so that not
+only are the figures dry and hard, but in the groups they are packed one behind another,
+heads above heads, without really occupying space, in imitation of the method adopted in
+the carved relief." Some knowledge of the origin and development of a given form of
+technique, a knowledge to be reached through historical study, enables us to measure the
+degree of expressiveness of a given work. The ideas of a child may be very well worth
+listening to, though his range of words is limited and his sentences are crude and
+halting, A grown man, having acquired the trick of language, may talk fluently and say
+nothing. In our endeavor to understand a work of art, a poem by Chaucer or by Tennyson, a
+picture by Greco or by Manet, a prelude by Bach or a symphony by Brahms, we may ask, Of
+that which the artist wanted to say, how much could he say with the means at his
+disposal? With a sense of the artist's larger motive, whether religious sentiment, or a
+love of sheer beauty of color and form, or insight into human character, we are aided by
+a study of the history of technique to determine how far the artist with the language at
+his command was able to realize his intention.</p>
+
+<p>But not only is art inspired and directed by the time-spirit of its age. A single work
+is the expression for the artist who creates it of his ideal. An artist's ideal, what he
+sets himself to accomplish, is the projection of his personality, and that is determined
+by many influences. He is first of all a child of his race and time; inheritance and
+training shape him to these larger conditions. Then his ideal is modified by his special
+individuality. A study of the artist's character as revealed in his biography leads to a
+fuller understanding of the intention and scope of his work. The events of his life
+become significant as they are seen to be the causes or the results of his total
+personality, that which he was in mind and temperament. What were the circumstances that
+moulded his character and decided his course? What events did he shape to his own purpose
+by the active force of his genius? What was the special angle of vision from which he
+looked upon the world? The answers to these questions are the clue to the full drift of
+his work. As style is the expression of the man, so conversely a knowledge of the man is
+an entrance into the wider and subtler implications of his style. We explore the
+personality of the man in order more amply to interpret his art, and we turn to his art
+as the revelation of his personality. In studying an artist we must look for his
+<i>tendency</i> and seek the unifying principle which binds his separate works into a
+whole. An artist has his successive periods or "manners." There is the period of
+apprenticeship, when the young man is influenced by his predecessors and his masters.
+Then he comes into his own, and he registers nature and life as he sees it freshly for
+himself. Finally, as he has mastered his art and won some of the secrets of nature, and
+as his own character develops, he tends more and more to impose his subjective vision
+upon the world, and he subordinates nature to the expression of his distinctive
+individuality. A single work, therefore, is to be considered in relation to its place in
+the artist's development; it is but a part, and it is to be interpreted by reference to
+the whole.</p>
+
+<p>In the study of biography, however, the man must not be mistaken for the artist; his
+acts are not to be confounded with his message. "A man is the spirit he worked in; not
+what he did, but what he became." We must summon forth the spirit of the man from within
+the wrappages of material and accident. In our preoccupation with the external details of
+a man's familiar and daily life it is easy to lose sight of his spiritual experience,
+which only is of significance. Whistler, vain, aggressive, quarrelsome, and yet so
+exquisite and so subtle in extreme refinement, is a notable example of a great spirit and
+a little man. Wagner wrote to Liszt: "As I have never felt the real bliss of love, I must
+erect a monument to the most beautiful of my dreams, in which from beginning to end that
+love shall be thoroughly satiated." Not the Wagner of fact, but the Wagner of dreams.
+Life lived in the spirit and imagination may be different from the life of daily act. So
+we should transcend the material, trying through that to penetrate to the spiritual. It
+is not a visit to the artist's birthplace that signifies, it is not to do reverence
+before his likeness or cherish a bit of his handwriting. All this may have a value to the
+disciple as a matter of loyalty and fine piety. But in the end we must go beyond these
+externals that we may enter intelligently and sympathetically into the temper of his mind
+and mood and there find disclosed what he thought and felt and was able only in part to
+express. It is not the man his neighbors knew that is important. His work is the
+essential thing, what that work has to tell us about life in terms of emotional
+experience.</p>
+
+<p>Studies in the history of art and in biography are avenues of approach to the
+understanding of a work of art; they do not in themselves constitute appreciation.
+Historical importance must not be mistaken for artistic significance. In reading about
+pictures we may forget to look at them. The historical study of art in its various
+divisions reduces itself to an exercise in analysis, resolving a given work into its
+elements. But art is a synthesis. In order to appreciate a work the elements must be
+gathered together and fused into a whole. A statue or a picture is meant not to be read
+about, but to be looked at; and its final message must be received through vision. Our
+knowledge will serve us little if we are not sensitive to the appeal of color and form.
+There is danger that preoccupation with the history of art may betray us if we are not
+careful to keep it in its place. The study of art should follow and not lead
+appreciation. We are apt to see what we are looking for. So we ought to come to each work
+freshly without prejudice or bias; it is only afterwards that we should bring to bear on
+it our knowledge about the facts of its production. Connoisseurship is a science and may
+hold within itself no element of aesthetic enjoyment. Appreciation is an art, and the
+quality of it depends upon the appreciator himself. The end of historical study is not a
+knowledge of facts for their own sake, but through those facts a deeper penetration and
+fuller true enjoyment. By the aid of such knowledge we are enabled to recognize in any
+work more certainly and abundantly the expression of an emotional experience which
+relates itself to our own life.</p>
+
+<p>The final meaning of art to the appreciator lies in just this sense of its relation to
+his own experience. The greatest works are those which express reality and life, not
+limited and temporary conditions, but life universal and for all time. Without commentary
+these carry their message, appealing to the wisest and the humblest. Gather into a single
+room a fragment of the Parthenon frieze, Michelangelo's "Day and Night," Botticelli's
+"Spring," the sprites and children of Donatello and Delia Robbia, Velasquez's "Pope
+Innocent," Rembrandt's "Cloth-weavers," Frans Hals' "Musician," Millet's "Sower,"
+Whistler's "Carlyle." There is here no thought of period or of school. These living,
+present, eternal verities are all one company.</p><a name="6"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>VI</p>
+
+<p>THE SERVICE OF CRITICISM</p>
+
+<p>THE greatest art is universal. It transcends the merely local conditions in which it
+is produced. It sweeps beyond the individual personality of its creator, and links itself
+with the common experience of all men. The Parthenon, so far as it can be reconstructed
+in imagination, appeals to a man of any race or any period, whatever his habit of mind or
+degree of culture, as a perfect utterance. The narrow vault of the Sistine Chapel opens
+into immensity, and every one who looks upon it is lifted out of himself into new worlds.
+Shakespeare's plays were enjoyed by the apprentices in the pit and royalty in the boxes,
+and so all the way between. The man Shakespeare, of such and such birth and training, and
+of this or that experience in life, is entirely merged in his creations; he becomes the
+impersonal channel of expression of the profoundest, widest interpretation of life the
+world has known. Such art as this comes closest to the earth and extends farthest into
+infinity, "beyond the reaches of our souls."</p>
+
+<p>But there is another order of art, more immediately the product of local conditions,
+the personal expression of a distinctive individuality, phrased in a language of less
+scope and currency, and limited as to its content in the range of its appeal. These
+lesser works have their place; they can minister to us in some moment of need and at some
+point in our development. Because of their limitations, however, their effectiveness can
+be furthered by interpretation. A man more sensitive than we to the special kind of
+beauty which they embody and better versed in their language, can discover to us a
+significance and a charm in them to which we have not penetrated. To help us to the
+fullest enjoyment of the great things and to a more enlightened and juster appreciation
+of the lesser works is the service of criticism.</p>
+
+<p>We do not wholly possess an experience until, having merged ourselves in it, we then
+react upon it and become conscious of its significance. A novel, a play, a picture
+interests us, and we surrender to the enjoyment of the moment. Afterwards we think about
+our pleasure, defining the nature of the experience and analyzing the means by which it
+was produced, the subject of the work and the artist's method of treating it. It may be
+that we tell our pleasure to a friend, glad also perhaps to hear his opinion of the
+matter. The impulse is natural; the practice is helpful. And herein lies the origin of
+criticism. In so far as an appreciator does not rest in his immediate enjoyment of a work
+of art, but seeks to account for his pleasure, to trace the sources of it, to establish
+the reasons for it, and to define its quality, so far he becomes a critic. As every man
+who perceives beauty in nature and takes it up into his own life is potentially an
+artist, so every man is a critic in the measure that he reasons about his enjoyment. The
+critical processes, therefore, are an essential part of our total experience of art, and
+criticism may be an aid to appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>The function of criticism has been variously understood through the centuries of its
+practice. Early modern criticism, harking back to the method of Aristotle, concerned
+itself with the form of a work of art. From the usage of classic writers it deduced
+certain "rules" of composition; these formulas were applied to the work under
+examination, and that was adjudged good or bad in the degree that it conformed or failed
+to conform to the established rules. It was a criticism of law-giving and of judgment. In
+the eighteenth century criticism extended its scope by the admission of a new
+consideration, passing beyond the mere form of the work and reckoning with its power to
+give pleasure. Addison, in his critique of "Paradise Lost," still applies the formal
+tests of the Aristotelian canons, but he discovers further that a work of art exists not
+only for the sake of its form, but also for the expression of beautiful ideas. This power
+of "affecting the imagination" he declares is the "very life and highest perfection" of
+poetry. This is a long step in the right direction. With the nineteenth century,
+criticism conceives its aims and procedure in new and larger ways. A work of art is now
+seen to be an evolution; and criticism adapts to its own uses the principles of
+historical study and the methods of scientific investigation. Recognizing that art is
+organic, that an art-form, as religious painting or Gothic architecture or the novel, is
+born, develops, comes to maturity, lapses, and dies, that an individual work is the
+product of "race, environment, and the moment," that it is the expression also of the
+personality of the artist himself, criticism no longer regards the single work as an
+isolated phenomenon, but tries to see it in its relation to its total background.</p>
+
+<p>Present-day criticism avails itself of this larger outlook upon art. But the ends to
+be reached are understood differently by different critics. With M. Bruneti<font face=
+"Times New Roman">&egrave;</font>re, to cite now a few representative names, criticism is
+authoritative and dogmatic: he looks at the work objectively, refusing to be the dupe of
+his pleasure, if he has any; and approaching the work in the spirit of dispassionate
+impersonal inquiry as an object of historical importance and scientific interest, he
+decrees that it is good or bad. Matthew Arnold considers literature a "criticism of
+life," and he values a work with reference to the moral significance of its ideas.
+Ruskin's criticism is didactic; he wishes to educate his public, and by force of his
+torrential eloquence he succeeds in persuading his disciples into acceptance of his
+teaching, though he may not always convince. Impressionistic criticism, as with M.
+Anatole France or M. Jules Lema<font face="Times New Roman">&icirc;</font>tre, does not
+even try to see the work "as in itself it really is," but is an account of the critic's
+own subjective reaction on it, a narrative of what he thought and felt in this chance
+corner of experience. With Walter Pater criticism becomes <i>appreciation.</i> A given
+work of art produces a distinctive impression and communicates a special and unique
+pleasure; this active power constitutes its beauty. So the function of the critic as
+Pater conceives it is "to distinguish, analyze, and separate from its adjuncts, the
+virtue by which a picture, a landscape, a fair personality in life or in a book, produces
+this special impression of beauty or pleasure, to indicate what the source of that
+impression is, and under what conditions it is experienced." The interpretative
+critic&mdash;represented in the practice of Pater&mdash;stands between a work of art and
+the appreciator as mediator and revealer.</p>
+
+<p>Each kind of criticism performs a certain office, and is of use within its own chosen
+sphere. To the layman, for his purposes of appreciation, that order of criticism will be
+most helpful which responds most closely and amply to his peculiar needs. A work of art
+may be regarded under several aspects, its quality of technical execution, its power of
+sensuous appeal, its historical importance; and to each one of these aspects some kind of
+criticism applies. The layman's reception of art includes all these considerations, but
+subordinates them to the total experience. His concern, therefore, is to define the
+service of criticism to appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>The analysis of a work of art resolves it into these elements. There is first of all
+the emotion which gives birth to the work and which the work is designed to express. The
+emotion, to become definite, gathers about an idea, conceived in the terms of its own
+medium, as form, or color and mass, or musical relations; and this artistic idea presents
+itself as the subject or motive of the work. The emotion and artistic idea, in order that
+they may be expressed and become communicable, embody themselves in material, as the
+marble of a statue, the pigment of a picture, the audible tones of a musical composition.
+This material form has the power to satisfy the mind and delight the senses. Through the
+channel of the senses and the mind the work reaches the feelings; and the aesthetic
+experience is complete.</p>
+
+<p>As art springs out of emotion, so it is to be received as emotion; and a work to be
+appreciated in its true spirit must be enjoyed. But to be completely enjoyed it must be
+understood. We must know what the artist was trying to express, and we must be able to
+read his language; then we are prepared to take delight in the form and to respond to the
+emotion.</p>
+
+<p>To help us to understand a work of art in all the components that entered into the
+making of it is the function of historical study. Such study enables us to see the work
+from the artist's own point of view. A knowledge of its background, the conditions in
+which the artist wrought and his own attitude toward life, is the clue to his ideal; and
+by an understanding of the language it was possible for him to employ, we can measure the
+degree of expressiveness he was able to achieve. This study of the artist's purpose and
+of his methods is an exercise in explanation.</p>
+
+<p>The interpretation of art, for which we look to criticism, deals with the picture, the
+statue, the book, specifically in its relation to the appreciator. What is the special
+nature of the experience which the work communicates to us in terms of feeling? In so far
+as the medium itself is a source of pleasure, by what qualities of form has the work
+realized the conditions of beauty proper to it, delighting thus the senses and satisfying
+the mind? These are the questions which the critic, interpreting the work through the
+medium of his own temperament, seeks to answer.</p>
+
+<p>Theoretically, the best critic of art would be the artist himself. He above all other
+men should understand the subtle play of emotion and thought in which a work of art is
+conceived; and the artist rather than another should trace the intricacies and know the
+cunning of the magician processes by which the immaterial idea builds itself into visible
+actuality. In practice, however, the theory is not borne out by the fact. The artist as
+such is very little conscious of the workings of his spirit. He is creative rather than
+reflective, synthetic and not analytic. From his contact with nature and from his
+experience of life, out of which rises his generative emotion, he moves directly to the
+fashioning of expressive forms, without pausing on the way to scan too closely the
+"meaning" of his work. Mr. Bernard Shaw remarks that Ibsen, giving the rein to the
+creative impulse of his poetic nature, produced in "Brand" and "Peer Gynt" a "great
+puzzle for his intellect." Wagner, he says, "has expressly described how the intellectual
+activity which he brought to the analysis of his music dramas was in abeyance during
+their creation. Just so do we find Ibsen, after composing his two great dramatic poems,
+entering on a struggle to become intellectually conscious of what he had done." Moreover,
+the artist is in the very nature of things committed to one way of seeing. His view of
+life is limited by the trend of his own dominant and creative personality; what he gains
+in intensity and penetration of insight he loses in breadth. He is less quick to see
+beauty in another guise than that which his own imagination weaves for him; he is less
+receptive of other ways of envisaging the world.</p>
+
+<p>The ideal critic, on the contrary, is above everything else catholic and tolerant. It
+is his task to discover beauty in whatever form and to affirm it. By nature he is more
+sensitive than the ordinary man, by training he has directed the exercise of his powers
+toward their fullest scope, and by experience of art in its diverse manifestations he has
+certified his judgment and deepened his capacity to enjoy. The qualifications of an
+authentic critic are both temperament and scholarship. Mere temperament uncorrected by
+knowledge may vibrate exquisitely when swept by the touch of a thing of beauty, but its
+music may be in a quite different key from the original motive. Criticism must relate
+itself to the objective fact; it should interpret and not transpose. Mere scholarship
+without temperament misses art at its centre, that art is the expression and
+communication of emotional experience; and the scholar in criticism may wander his leaden
+way down the by-paths of a sterile learning. To mediate between the artist and the
+appreciator, the critic must understand the artist and he must feel with the appreciator.
+He is at once the artist translated into simpler terms and the appreciator raised to a
+higher power of perception and response.</p>
+
+<p>The service of criticism to the layman is to furnish him a clue to the meaning of the
+work in hand, and by the critic's own response to its beauty to reveal its potency and
+charm. With technique as such the critic is not concerned. Technique is the business of
+the artist; only those who themselves practice an art are qualified to judge in matters
+of practice. The form is significant to the appreciator only so far as regards its
+expressiveness and beauty. It is not the function of the critic to tell the artist what
+his work <i>should be;</i> it is the critic's mission to reveal to the appreciator what
+the work <i>is</i>. That revelation will be accomplished in terms of the critic's own
+experience of the beauty of the work, an experience imaged forth in such phrases that the
+pleasure the work communicates is conveyed to his readers in its true quality and foil
+intensity. It is not enough to dogmatize as Ruskin dogmatizes, to bully the reader into a
+terrified acceptance. It is not enough to determine absolute values as Matthew Arnold
+seeks to do, to fix certain canons of intellectual judgment, and by the application of a
+formula as a touchstone, to decide that this work is excellent and that another is less
+good. Really serviceable criticism is that which notes the special and distinguishing
+quality of beauty in any work and helps the reader to live out that beauty in his own
+experience.</p>
+
+<p>These generalizations may be made more immediate and practical by examples. In
+illustration of the didactic manner in criticism I may cite a typical paragraph of
+Ruskin, chosen from his "Mornings in Florence."</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+First, look at the two sepulchral slabs by which you are standing. That farther of the
+two from the west end is one of the most beautiful pieces of fourteenth-century sculpture
+in this world. . . . And now, here is a simple but most useful test of your capacity for
+understanding Florentine sculpture or painting. If you can see that the lines of that cap
+are both right, and lovely; that the choice of the folds is exquisite in its ornamental
+relations of line; and that the softness and ease of them is complete,&mdash;though only
+sketched with a few dark touches,&mdash;then you can understand Giotto's drawing, and
+Botticelli's;&mdash;Donatello's carving, and Luca's. But if you see nothing in
+<i>this</i> sculpture, you will see nothing in theirs, <i>of</i> theirs. Where they
+choose to imitate flesh, or silk, or to play any vulgar modern trick with
+marble&mdash;(and they often do)&mdash;whatever, in a word, is French, or American, or
+Cockney, in their work, you can see; but what is Florentine, and for ever
+great&mdash;unless you can see also the beauty of this old man in his citizen's
+cap,&mdash;you will see never.
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>The earnest and docile though bewildered layman is intimidated into thinking that he
+sees it, whether he really does or not. But it is a question if the contemplation of the
+"beauty of this old man in his citizen's cap," however eager and serious the
+contemplation may be, adds much to his experience; it may be doubted whether as a result
+of his effort toward the understanding of the rightness and loveliness of the lines of
+the cap and the exquisiteness of the choice of folds, which the critic has pointed out to
+him with threatening finger, he feels that life is a fuller and finer thing to live.</p>
+
+<p>An example of the intellectual estimate, the valuation by formulas, and the assignment
+of abstract rank, is this paragraph from Matthew Arnold's essay on Wordsworth.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+Wherever we meet with the successful balance, in Wordsworth, of profound truth of subject
+with profound truth of execution, he is unique. His best poems are those which most
+perfectly exhibit this balance. I have a warm admiration for "Laodameia" and for the
+great "Ode;" but if I am to tell the very truth, I find "Laodameia" not wholly free from
+something artificial, and the great "Ode" not wholly free from something declamatory. If
+I had to pick out poems of a kind most perfectly to show Wordsworth's unique power, I
+should rather choose poems such as "Michael," "The Fountain," "The Highland Reaper." And
+poems with the peculiar and unique beauty which distinguishes these, Wordsworth produced
+in considerable number; besides very many other poems of which the worth, although not so
+rare as the worth of these, is still exceedingly high.
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>Thus does the judicial critic mete out his estimate by scale and measuring-rod. We are
+told dogmatically what is good and what is less good; but of distinctive quality and
+energizing life-giving virtues, not a word. The critic does not succeed in communicating
+to us anything of Wordsworth's special charm and power. We are informed, but we are left
+cold and unresponding.</p>
+
+<p>The didactic critic imposes his standard upon the layman. The judicial critic measures
+and awards. The appreciative critic does not attempt to teach or to judge; he makes
+possible to his reader an appreciation of the work of art simply by recreating in his own
+terms the complex of his emotions in its presence. Instead of declaring the work to be
+beautiful or excellent, he makes it beautiful in the very telling of what it means to
+him. As the artist interprets life, disclosing its depths and harmonies, so the
+appreciative critic in his turn interprets art, reconstituting the beauty of it in his
+own terms. Through his interpretation, the layman is enabled to enter more fully into the
+true spirit of the work and to share its beauty in his own experience.</p>
+
+<p>In contrast to the passage from Arnold is this paragraph from an essay on Wordsworth
+by Walter Pater.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+And so he has much for those who value highly the concentrated presentment of passion,
+who appraise men and women by their susceptibility to it, and art and poetry as they
+afford the spectacle of it. Breaking from time to time into the pensive spectacle of
+their daily toil, their occupations near to nature, come those great elementary feelings,
+lifting and solemnizing their language and giving it a natural music. The great,
+distinguishing passion came to Michael by the sheepfold, to Ruth by the wayside, adding
+these humble children of the furrow to the true aristocracy of passionate souls. In this
+respect, Wordsworth's work resembles most that of George Sand, in those of her novels
+which depict country life. With a penetrative pathos, which puts him in the same rank
+with the masters of the sentiment of pity in literature, with Meinhold and Victor Hugo,
+he collects all the traces of vivid excitement which were to be found in that pastoral
+world&mdash;the girl who rung her father's knell; the unborn infant feeling about its
+mother's heart; the instinctive touches of children; the sorrows of the wild creatures,
+even&mdash;their home-sickness, their strange yearnings; the tales of passionate regret
+that hang by a ruined farm-building, a heap of stones, a deserted sheepfold; that gay,
+false, adventurous, outer world, which breaks in from time to time to bewilder and
+deflower these quiet homes; not "passionate sorrow" only, for the overthrow of the soul's
+beauty, but the loss of, or carelessness for personal beauty even, in those whom men have
+wronged&mdash;their pathetic wanness; the sailor "who, in his heart, was half a shepherd
+on the stormy seas;" the wild woman teaching her child to pray for her betrayer;
+incidents like the making of the shepherd's staff, or that of the young boy laying the
+first stone of the sheepfold;&mdash;all the pathetic episodes of their humble existence,
+their longing, their wonder at fortune, their poor pathetic pleasures, like the pleasures
+of children, won so hardly in the struggle for bare existence; their yearning towards
+each other, in their darkened houses, or at their early toil. A sort of biblical depth
+and solemnity hangs over this strange, new, passionate, pastoral world, of which he first
+raised the image, and the reflection of which some of our best modern fiction has caught
+from him.
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>Here is the clue to Wordsworth's meaning; and the special quality and power of his
+work, gathering amplitude and intensity as it plays across the critic's temperament, is
+reconstituted in other and illuminating images which communicate the emotion to us. The
+critic has felt more intimately than we the appeal of this poetry, and he kindles in us
+something of his own enthusiasm. So we return to Wordsworth for ourselves, more alert to
+divine his message, more susceptible to his spell, that he may work in us the magic of
+evocation.</p>
+
+<p>Criticism is of value to us as appreciators in so far as it serves to recreate in us
+the experience which the work was designed to convey. But criticism is not a short cut to
+enjoyment. We cannot take our pleasure at second hand. We must first come to the work
+freshly and realize our own impression of it; then afterwards we may turn to the critic
+for a further revelation. Criticism should not shape our opinion, but should stimulate
+appreciation, carrying us farther than we could go ourselves, but always in the same
+direction with our original impression. There is a kind of literary exercise, calling
+itself criticism, which takes a picture or a book as its point of departure and proceeds
+to create a work of art in its own right, attaching itself only in name to the work which
+it purports to criticise. "Who cares," exclaims a clever maker of epigrams, "whether Mr.
+Ruskin's views on Turner are sound or not? What does it matter? That mighty and majestic
+prose of his, so fervid and so fiery-coloured in its noble eloquence, so rich in its
+elaborate symphonic music, so sure and certain, at its best, in subtle choice of word and
+epithet, is at least as great a work of art as any of those wonderful sunsets that bleach
+or rot on their corrupted canvases in England's Gallery." A very good appreciation of
+Ruskin, this. But the answer is that such writing as is here attributed to Ruskin is
+magnificent: it may be art; but it is not true criticism. A work of art is not
+"impressive" merely, but "expressive" too. Criticism in its relation to the work itself
+has an objective base, and it must be steadied and authenticated by constant reference to
+the original feet. Criticism is not the source of our enjoyment but a medium of
+interpretation.</p>
+
+<p>Before we turn to criticism, therefore, we must first, as Pater suggests, know our own
+impression as it really is, discriminate it, and realize it distinctly. Only so shall we
+escape becoming the dupe of some more aggressive personality. In our mental life
+suggestion plays an important and perhaps unrecognized part. In a certain frame of mind
+we can be persuaded into believing anything and into liking anything. When, under the
+influence of authority or fashion, we think we care for that which has no vital and
+consciously realized relation to our own experience, we are the victims of a kind of
+hypnotism, and there is little hope of our ultimate adjustment over against art. It is
+far better honestly to like an inferior work and know why we like it than to pretend to
+like a good one. In the latter case no real progress or development is possible, for we
+have no standards that can be regarded as final; we are swayed by the authority or
+influence which happens at that moment to be most powerful. In the former case we are at
+least started in the right direction. Year by year, according to the law of natural
+growth, we come to the end of the inferior work which up to that time has been able to
+minister to us, and we pass on to new and greater works that satisfy the demands of our
+deepening experience. It is sometimes asked if we ought not to try to like the best
+things in art. I should answer, the very greatest things we do not have to <i>try</i> to
+like; the accent of greatness is unmistakable, and greatness has a message for every one.
+As regards the lesser works, we ought to be willing to grow up. There was a time when I
+enjoyed "Robinson Crusoe" in words of one syllable. If I had <i>tried</i> then to like
+Mr. George Meredith, I should not really have enjoyed him, and I should have missed the
+fun of "Robinson Crusoe." Everything in its time and place. The lesser works have their
+use: they may be a starting-point for our entrance into life; and they furnish a basis of
+comparison by which we are enabled to realize the greatness of the truly great. We must
+value everything in its own kind, affirming what it is, and not regretting what it is
+not. But the prerequisite of all appreciation, without which our contact with art is a
+pastime or a pretense, is that we be honest with ourselves. In playing solitaire at least
+we ought not to cheat.</p>
+
+<p>So the layman must face the situation squarely and accept the responsibility of
+deciding finally for himself. On the way we may look to criticism to guide us to those
+works which are meant for us. In art as in the complex details of living, there is need
+of selection; and criticism helps toward that. In literature alone, to name but a single
+art, there is so much to be left unread which the length of our life would not otherwise
+permit us to escape, that we are grateful to the critic who aids us to omit gracefully
+and with success. But the most serviceable criticism is positive and not destructive. The
+lesser works may have a message for us, and it is that message in its distinctive quality
+which the critic should affirm. In the end, however, the use we make of criticism should
+not reduce itself to an unquestioning acceptance of authority. In the ceremonial of the
+Roman service, at the moment preceding the elevation of the Host, two acolytes enter the
+chancel, bearing candles, and kneel between the congregation and the ministrants at the
+altar; the tapers, suffusing the altar in their golden radiance, throw the dim figures of
+the priests into a greater gloom and mystery. So it happens that art often is enshrouded
+by the off-giving of those who would seem to illuminate it; and "dark with excess of
+light," the obscurity is intensified. The layman is told of the virginal poetry of early
+Italian painting; he is bidden to sit at the homely, substantial feast of the frank
+actuality of Dutch art; he listens in puzzled wonder to the glorification of Velasquez
+and Goya; he reads in eloquent, glowing language of the splendor of Turner. He is more
+than half persuaded; but he does not quite understand. From this tangle of contending
+interests there seems for the moment to be no way out. It is assumed that the layman has
+no standard of his own; and he yields himself to the appeal which comes to him
+immediately at the instant. The next day, perhaps, brings a new interest or another
+judgment which runs counter to the old. Back and forth and back again, without purpose
+and without reason; it is only an endless recurrence of the conflict instead of
+development and progress. Taking all his estimates at second hand, so for his opinion
+even of a concert or a play he is at the mercy of a critic who may have dined badly. Some
+boy, caught young at the university and broken to miscellaneous tasks on a big newspaper,
+is sent to "do" a picture-exhibition, a concert, and the theatre in the same day. He is
+expected to "criticise" in an hour the work of a lifetime of struggle and effort and
+knowledge and thought and feeling. This is the guide of opinion and the foundation of
+artistic creed. I have stated the reduction to absurdity of the case for authority in
+criticism. If the layman who leans too heavily upon criticism comes to realize the
+hopelessness of his position and thinks the situation through to its necessary
+conclusion, he sees that the authority of criticism is not absolute, but varies with the
+powers and range of the individual critic, and that at the last he must find his standard
+within himself.</p>
+
+<p>There are, of course, certain standards of excellence recognized universally and
+certain principles of taste of universal validity; and to these standards and these
+principles must be referred our individual estimates for comparison and correction. Given
+a native sensibility to the worth of life and to the appeal of beauty, the justice of our
+estimate will be in proportion to the extent of our knowledge of life and of our contact
+with art. Our individual judgment, therefore, must be controlled by experience,&mdash;our
+momentary judgments by the sum of our own experience, and our total judgment by universal
+experience. In all sound criticism and right appreciation there must be a basis of
+disciplined taste. We must guard ourselves against whims and caprice, even our own. So
+the individual may not cut loose altogether from external standards. But these must be
+brought into relation to his personal needs and applied with reference to his own
+standard. Finally, for his own uses, the individual has the right to determine the
+meaning and value to him of any work of art in the measure that it links itself with his
+own actual or possible experience and becomes for him a revelation of fuller life. For
+beauty is the power possessed by objects to quicken us with a sense of larger
+personality; and art, whether the arts of form or of representation, is the material
+bodying forth of beauty as the artist has perceived it and the means by which his emotion
+in its presence is communicated. Upon this conception of beauty and this interpretation
+of the scope and function of art rests the justice of the personal estimate.</p><a name=
+"7"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>VII</p>
+
+<p>BEAUTY AND COMMON LIFE</p>
+
+<p>TO become sensitive to the meaning of color and form and sound as the artist employs
+them for expression, to feel a work of art in its relation to its background, to find in
+criticism enlightenment and guidance but not a substitute for one's own
+experience,&mdash;these are methods of approach to art. But the appreciator has yet to
+penetrate art's inmost secret. At the centre, as the motive of all his efforts to
+understand the language of art and the processes of technique, as the goal of historical
+study and the purpose of his recourse to criticism, stands the work itself with its power
+to attract and charm. Here is Millet's painting of the "Sower." In the actual presence of
+the picture the appreciator's experience is complex. Analysis resolves it into
+considerations of the material form of the work, involving its sensuous qualities and the
+processes of execution, considerations also of the subject of the picture, which gathers
+about itself many associations out of the beholder's own previous knowledge of life. But
+the clue to the final meaning of the work, its meaning both to the artist and to the
+appreciator, is contained in the answer to the question, Why did Millet paint this
+picture? And just what is it designed to express?</p>
+
+<p>Art is born out of emotion. Though the symbols it may employ to expression, the forms
+in which it may manifest itself, are infinitely various in range and character,
+essentially all art is one. A work of art is the material bodying forth of the artist's
+sense of a meaning in life which unfolds itself to him as harmony and to which his spirit
+responds accordantly. It may be a pattern he has conceived; or he adapts material to a
+new use in response to a new need: the artist is here a craftsman. He is stirred by the
+tone and incident of a landscape or by the force or charm of some personality: and he
+puts brush to canvas. He apprehends the complex rhythms of form: and the mobile clay
+takes shape under his fingers. He feels the significance of persons acting and reacting
+in their contact with one another: and he pens a novel or a drama. He is thrilled by the
+emotion attending the influx of a great idea; philosophy is touched with feeling: and the
+thinker becomes a poet. The discords of experience resolve themselves within him into
+harmonies: and he gives them out in triumphant harmonies of sound. The particular medium
+the artist chooses in which to express himself is incidental to the feeling to be
+conveyed. The stimulus to emotion which impels the artist to create and the essential
+content of his work is <i>beauty.</i> As beauty, then, is the very stuff and fibre of
+art, inextricably bound up with it, so in our effort to relate art to our experience we
+may seek to know something of the nature of beauty and its place in common life.</p>
+
+<p>During a visit in Philadelphia I was conducted by a member of the firm through the
+great Locomotive Works in that city. From the vast office, with its atmosphere of busy,
+concentrated quiet, punctuated by the clicking of many typewriters, I was led through
+doors and passages, and at length came upon the shrieking inferno of the shops. The
+uproar and din were maddening. Overhead, huge cranes were swinging great bulks of steel
+from one end of the cavernous shed to the other; vague figures were moving obscurely in
+the murk; the floor was piled and littered with heaps of iron-work of unimaginable
+shapes. After a time we made our way into another area where there was more quiet but no
+less confusion. I yelled to my guide, "Such a rumpus and row I never saw; it is chaos
+come again!" And he replied, "Why, to me it is all a perfect order. Everything is in its
+place. Every man has his special job and does it. I know the meaning and purpose of all
+those parts that seem to you to be thrown around in such a mess. If you could follow the
+course of making from the draughting-rooms to the finishing-shop, if you could see the
+process at once as a whole, you would understand that it is all a complete harmony, every
+part working with every other part to a definite end." It was not I but my friend who had
+the truth of the matter. Where for me there was only chaos, for him was order. And the
+difference was that he had the clue which I had not. His sense of the meaning of the
+parts brought the scattering details into a final unity; and therein he found harmony and
+satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>I went away much impressed by what I had seen. When I had collected my wits a little
+in the comparative calm of the streets, it occurred to me that the immense workshops were
+a symbol of man's life in the world. In the instant of experience all seems chaos. At
+close range, in direct contact with the facts and demands of every day, we feel how
+confusing and distracting it all is. Life is beating in upon us at every point; all our
+senses are assailed at once. Each new day brings its conflicting interests and
+obligations. Now, whether we are aware of it or not, our constant effort is, out of the
+great variety of experience pressing in upon us, to select such details as make to a
+definite purpose and end. Instinctively we grope toward and attract to us that which is
+special and proper to our individual development. Our progress is toward harmony. By the
+adjustment of new material to the shaping principle of our experience, the circle of our
+individual lives widens its circumference. We are able to bring more and more details
+into order, and correspondingly fuller and richer our life becomes.</p>
+
+<p>The mental perception of order in the parts gives the whole its significance. This
+quick grasp of the whole is like the click of the kaleidoscope which throws the tumbling,
+distorted bits into a design. The conduct of practical life on the mental plane is the
+process also of art on the plane of the emotions. Not only does experience offer itself
+to us as the subject of thought; our contact with the world is also the stimulus of
+feeling. In my account of the visit to the Locomotive Works I have set down but a part
+and not the sum of my reaction. After I had come away, I fell to thinking about what I
+had seen, and intellectually I deduced certain abstract principles with regard to unity
+and significance. But at the moment of experience itself I simply felt. I was overwhelmed
+by the sense of unloosened power. The very confusion of it all constituted the unity of
+impression. The emotion roused in me by the roar and riotous movement and the vast gloom
+torn by fitful yellow gleams from opened furnaces and shapes of glowing metal was the
+emotion appropriate to the experience of chaos. That I can find a single word by which to
+characterize it, is evidence that the moment had its harmony for me and consequent
+meaning. All the infinite universe external to us is everywhere and at every instant
+potentially the stimulus to emotion. But unless feeling is discriminated, it passes
+unregarded. When the emotion gathers itself into design, when the moment reveals within
+itself order and significance, then and not till then the emotion becomes substance for
+expression in forms of art.</p>
+
+<p>If I were able to phrase what I saw and what I felt in the Locomotive Works, so that
+by means of presenting what I saw I might communicate to another what I felt and so rouse
+in him the same emotion, I should be an artist. Whistler or Monet might picture for us
+the murk and mystery of this pregnant gloom. Wagner might sound for us the tumultuous,
+weird emotions of this Niebelungen workshop of the twentieth century. Dante or Milton
+might phrase this inferno and pandemonium of modern industry and leave us stirred by the
+sense of power in the play of gigantic forces. Whether the medium be the painter's color,
+the musician's tones, or the poet's words, the purpose of the representation is fulfilled
+in so far as the work expresses the emotion which the artist has felt in the presence of
+this spectacle. He, the artist, more than I or another, has thrilled to its mystery, its
+tumult, its power. It is this effect, received as a unity of impression, that he wants to
+communicate. This power of the object over him, and consequently the content of his work,
+is beauty.</p>
+
+<p>In the experience of us all there are objects and situations which can stir
+us,&mdash;the twilight hour, a group of children at play, the spectacle of the great
+human crowd, it may be, or solitude under the stars, the works of man as vast cities or
+cunningly contrived machines, or perhaps it is the mighty, shifting panorama which nature
+unrolls for us at every instant of day and night, her endless pageant of color and light
+and shade and form. Out of them at the moment of our contact is unfolded a new
+significance; because of them life becomes for us larger, deeper. This power possessed by
+objects to rouse in us an emotion which comes with the realization of inner significance
+expressed in harmony is beauty. A brief analysis of the nature and action of beauty may
+help us in the understanding and appreciation of art, though the value to us of any
+explanation is to quicken us to a more vivid sensitiveness to the effect of beauty in the
+domain of actual experience of it.</p>
+
+<p>Because the world external to us, which manifests beauty, is received into
+consciousness by the senses, it is natural to seek our explanation in the processes
+involved in the functioning of our organism. Our existence as individual human beings is
+conditioned by our embodiment in matter. Without senses, without nerves and a brain, we
+should not <i>be.</i> Our feelings, which determine for us finally the value of
+experience, are the product of the excitement of our physical organism responding to
+stimulation. The rudimentary and most general feelings are pleasure and pain. All the
+complex and infinitely varied emotions that go to make up our conscious life are
+modifications of these two elementary reactions. The feeling of pleasure results when our
+organism "functions harmoniously with itself;" pain is the consequence of discord. In the
+words of a recent admirable statement of the psychologists' position: "When rhythm and
+melody and forms and colors give me pleasure, it is because the imitating impulses and
+movements that have arisen in me are such as suit, help, heighten my physical
+organization in general and in particular. . . . The basis, in short, of any aesthetic
+experience&mdash;poetry, music, painting and the rest&mdash;is beautiful through its
+harmony with the conditions offered by our senses, primarily of sight and hearing, and
+through the harmony of the suggestions and impulses it arouses with the whole organism."
+Beauty, then, according to the psychologists, is the quality inherent in things, the
+possession of which enables them to stimulate our organism to harmonious functioning. And
+the perception of beauty is a purely physiological reaction.</p>
+
+<p>This explanation, valid within its limits, seems to me to fall short of the whole
+truth. For it fails to reckon with that faculty and that entity within us whose existence
+we know but cannot explain,&mdash;the faculty we call mind, which operates as
+imagination, and the entity we recognize as spirit or soul. I mean the faculty which
+gives us the idea of God and the consciousness of self, the faculty which apprehends
+relations and significance in material transcending their material embodiment. I mean the
+entity within us which expresses itself in love and aspiration and worship, the entity
+which is able to fuse with the harmony external to it in a larger unity. When I glance
+out upon a winter twilight drenching earth and sky with luminous blue, a sudden delight
+floods in upon me, gathering up all my senses in a surging billow of emotion, and my
+being pulses and vibrates in a beat of joy. Something within me goes out to meet the
+landscape; so far as I am at all conscious of the moment, I feel, There, that is what I
+am! This deep harmony of tone and mass is the expression of a fuller self toward which I
+yearn. My being thrills and dilates with the sensation of larger life. Then, after the
+joy has throbbed itself out and my reaction takes shape as consciousness, I set myself to
+consider the sources and the processes of my experience. I note that my eye has perceived
+color and form. My intellect, as I summon it into action, tells me that I am looking upon
+a scene in nature composed of material elements, as land and trees and water and
+atmosphere. My senses, operating through channels of matter, receive, and my brain
+registers, impressions of material objects. But this analysis, though defining the
+processes, does not quite explain <i>my joy.</i> I know that beyond all this,
+transcending my material sense-perception and transcending the actual material of the
+landscape, there is something in me and there is something in nature which meet and
+mingle and become one. Above all embodiment in matter, there is a plane on which I feel
+my community with the world external to me, recognizing that world to be an extension of
+my own personality, a plane on which I can identify myself with the thing outside of me
+in so far as it is the expression of what I am or may become. Between me and the external
+world there is a common term. The effect which nature has upon us is determined, not by
+the object itself alone and not by our individual mind and temperament alone, but by the
+meeting of the two, the community between the object and the spirit of man. When we find
+nature significant and expressive, it is because we make nature in some way a part of our
+own experience.</p>
+
+<p>The material of an object is perceived by the senses. We see that it is blue or green
+or brown; we may touch it and note that it is rough or smooth, hard or soft, warm or
+cold. But the expressiveness of the object, its value for the emotions, does not stop
+with its merely material qualities, but comes with our grasp of the "relations" which it
+embodies; and these relations, transmitted through material by the senses, are
+apprehended by the mind. There are, of course, elementary data of sense-perception, such
+as color and sound. It may be that I prefer red to yellow because my eye is so
+constituted as to function harmoniously with a rate of vibration represented by 450
+billions per second, and discordantly with a rate of vibration represented by 526
+billions per second. So also with tones of a given pitch. But though simple color and
+simple sound have each the power to please the senses, yet in actual experience neither
+color nor sound is perceived abstractly, apart from its embodiment in form. Color is felt
+as the property of some concrete object, as the crimson of a rose, the dye of some fabric
+or garment, the blue of the sky, which, though we know it to be the infinite extension of
+atmosphere and ether, we nevertheless conceive as a dome, with curvature and the definite
+boundary of the horizon. Sound in and of itself has pitch and <i>timbre</i>, qualities of
+pure sensation; but even with the perception of sound the element of form enters in, for
+we hear it with a consciousness of its duration&mdash;long or short&mdash;or of its
+relation to other sounds, heard or imagined.</p>
+
+<p>Our perceptions, therefore, give us forms. Now form implies <i>relation,</i> the
+reference of one part to the other parts in the composition of the whole. And relation
+carries with it the possibilities of harmony or discord, of unity or disorder. Before an
+object can be regarded as beautiful it must give out a unity of impression. This unity
+does not reside in the object itself, but is effected by the mind which perceives it. In
+looking at a checkerboard I may see it as an aggregation of white squares set off by
+black, or as black squares relieved by white. I may read it as a series of horizontals,
+or of verticals, or of diagonals, according as I <i>attend</i> to it. The design of the
+checker-board is not an absolute and fixed quantity inherent in the object itself, but is
+capable of a various interpretation according to the relative emphasis given to the parts
+by the perceiving mind. So with all objects in nature. The twilight landscape which
+stirred me may have been quite without interest or meaning to the man at my side; or, if
+he responded to it at all, his feelings may have been of a different order and quality
+than mine. Where I felt a deep and intimate solemnity in the landscape, he might have
+received the twilight as chill and forbidding.&nbsp; Beauty, then, which consists in
+harmonious relation, does not lie in nature objectively, but is constituted by the
+perception in man's constructive imagination of a harmony and consequent significance
+drawn out of natural forms.&nbsp; It is, in Emerson's phrase, "the integrity of
+impression made by manifold natural objects." And Emerson says further, "The charming
+landscape which I saw this morning is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms.
+Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them
+owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye
+can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet." The mere pleasurable excitement of the
+senses is hardly to be called beauty. An object to be beautiful must express a harmony of
+relations and hence a meaning,&mdash;a meaning which goes beyond sense-perception and
+does not stop with the intellect, but reaches the spirit. Psychologists tell us that "a
+curved line is pleasing because the eye is so hung as best to move in it." Pleasing, yes;
+but not beautiful. And precisely herein is illustrated the distinction. A life wearied
+with an undulating uniformity of days will find beauty less in the curve than in the
+zigzag, because the sight of the broken line brings to the spirit suggestions of change
+and adventure. A supine temper finds shock, excitement, and a meaning in the vertical.
+Yet the significance of forms is not determined necessarily by contrasts. A quiet spirit
+sees its own expression, a harmony of self with external form, in the even lines and flat
+spaces of some Dutch etching. Or a vigorous, hardy mind takes fresh stimulus and courage
+from the swirling clouds of Turner or the wind-torn landscapes of Constable. An object is
+beautiful, not because of the physical ease with which the eye follows its outlines, but
+in so far as it has the power to communicate to us the feeling of larger life, to express
+and complete for us a harmony within our emotional experience.</p>
+
+<p>Our senses report to us the material world; we see, we hear, we touch and taste and
+smell. But we recognize also that nature has a value for the emotions; it can delight and
+thrill and uplift, taking us out of ourselves and carrying us beyond the confines of the
+little circle of our daily use and wont. As I look from my window I see against the sky a
+pear tree, radiant with blossom, an explosion of light and sensation. Its green and
+white, steeped in sunshine and quivering out of rain-washed depths of blue, are good to
+behold. But for me, as my spirit goes out to meet it, the tree is spring! In this I do
+not mean to characterize a process of intellectual deduction,&mdash;that as blossoms come
+in the spring, so the flowering of the tree is evidence that spring is here. I mean that
+by its color and form, all its outward loveliness, the tree communicates to me the spirit
+of the new birth of the year. In myself I feel and live the spring. My joy in the tree,
+therefore, does not end with the sight of its gray trunk and interwoven branches and its
+gleaming play of leaves: there my joy only begins, and it comes to its fulfillment as I
+feel the life of the tree to be an expression and extension of the life that is in me. My
+physical organism responds harmoniously in rhythm with the form of the tree, and so far
+the tree is pleasing. But, finally, a form is beautiful because it is expressive.
+"Beauty," said Millet, "does not consist merely in the shape or coloring of a face. It
+lies in the general effect of the form, in suitable and appropriate action. . . . When I
+paint a mother, I shall try and make her beautiful simply by the look she bends upon her
+child. Beauty is expression." Beauty works its effect through significance, a
+significance which is not always to be phrased in words, but is felt; conveyed by the
+senses, it at last reaches the emotions. Where the spirit of man comes into harmony with
+a harmony external to it, there is beauty.</p>
+
+<p>The elements of beauty are design, wholeness, and significance. Significance proceeds
+out of wholeness or unity of impression; and unity is made possible by design. Whatever
+the flower into which it may ultimately expand, beauty has its roots in fitness and
+utility; design in this case is constituted by the adaptation of the means to the end.
+The owner of a saw-mill wanted a support made for a shafting. Indicating a general idea
+of what he desired, he applied to one of his workmen, a man of intelligence and skill in
+his craft, but without a conventional education. The man constructed the support, a
+triangular framework contrived to receive the shafting at the apex; where there was no
+stress within the triangle, he cut away the timber, thus eliminating all surplusage of
+material. When the owner saw the finished product he said to his workman, "Well, John,
+that is a really beautiful thing you have made there." And the man replied, "I don't know
+anything about the beauty of it, but I know it's strong!" The end to be reached was a
+support which should be strong. The strong support was felt to be beautiful, for its
+lines and masses were apprehended as <i>right.</i> Had the man, with the "little
+learning" that is dangerous, attempted embellishment or applied ornament, he would have
+spoiled the effect; for ornateness would have been out of place. The perfect fitness of
+means to end, without defect and without excess, constituted its beauty; and its beauty
+was perceived aesthetically, as a quality inherent in the form, a quality which apart
+from the practical serviceableness of the contrivance was capable of communicating
+pleasure. So in general, when the inherent needs of the work give shape to the structure
+or contrivance, the resulting form is in so far forth beautiful. The early "horseless
+carriages," in which a form intended for one use was grafted upon a different purpose,
+were very ugly. Today the motor-car, evolved out of structural needs, a thing complete in
+and for itself, has in its lines and coherence of composition certain elements of beauty.
+In his "Song of Speed," Henley has demonstrated that the motorcar, mechanical, modern,
+useful, may even be material for poetry. That the useful is not always perceived as
+beautiful is due to the fact that the design which has shaped the work must be regarded
+apart from the material serviceableness of the object itself. Beauty consists not in the
+actual material, but in the unity of relations which the object embodies. We appreciate
+the art involved in the making of the first lock and key only as we look beyond the
+merely practical usefulness of the device and so apprehend the harmony of relations
+effected through its construction. As the lock and key serve to fasten the door, they are
+useful; they are beautiful as they manifest design and we feel their harmony. Beauty is
+removed from practical life, not because it is unrelated to life,&mdash;just the reverse
+of that is true,&mdash;but because the enjoyment of beauty is disinterested. The
+detachment involved in appreciation is a detachment from material. The appreciator may
+seem to be a looker-on at life, in that he does not act but simply feels. But his spirit
+is correspondingly alert. In the measure that he is released from servitude to material
+he gives free play to his emotion.</p>
+
+<p>Although beauty is founded upon design, design is not the whole of beauty. Not all
+objects which exhibit equal integrity of design are equally beautiful. The beauty of a
+work of art is determined by the degree of emotion which impelled its creation and by the
+degree in which the work itself is able to communicate the emotion immediately. The
+feeling which entered into the making of the first lock and key was simply the inventor's
+desire for such a device, his desire being the feeling which accompanied his
+consciousness of his need. At the other extreme is the emotion such as attended
+Michelangelo's vision of his "David" and urged his hand as he set his chisel to the
+unshaped waiting block. And so all the way between. Many pictures are executed in a
+wholly mechanical spirit, as so much manufacture; and they exhibit correspondingly little
+beauty. Many useful things, as a candle-stick, a pair of andirons, a chair, are wrought
+in the spirit of art; into them goes something of the maker's joy in his work; they
+become the expression of his emotion: and they are so far beautiful. It is asserted that
+Millet's "Angelus" is a greater picture than the painting entitled "War" by Franz Stuck,
+because "the idea of peasants telling their beads is more beautiful than the idea of a
+ruthless destroyer only in so far as it is morally higher." The moral value as such has
+very little to do with it. It is a question of emotion. If Stuck were to put on canvas
+his idea of peasants at prayer and if Millet had phrased in pictorial terms his feeling
+about war, there is little doubt that Millet's painting would be the more telling and
+beautiful. The degree of beauty is fixed by the depth of the man's insight into life and
+the corresponding intensity of his emotion.</p>
+
+<p>Beauty is not limited to one class of object or experience and excluded from another.
+A chair may be beautiful, although turned to common use; a picture is not beautiful
+necessarily because it is a picture. "Nothing out of its place is good, nothing in its
+place is bad," says Whitman, Whistler speaks of art as "seeking and finding the beautiful
+in all conditions and in all times, as did her high priest, Rembrandt, when he saw
+picturesque grandeur and noble dignity in the Jews' quarter of Amsterdam, and lamented
+not that its inhabitants were not Greeks." The beautiful must exhibit an integrity of
+relations within itself, and it must be in integral relation with its surroundings. The
+standard of beauty varies with every age, with every nation, indeed with every
+individual. As beauty is not in the object itself, but is in the mind which integrates
+the relations which the object manifests, so our appreciation of beauty is determined by
+our individuality. And individuality is the resultant of many forces. The self,
+inexplicable in essence, is the product of inheritance, and is modified by environment
+and training. More than we realize, our judgment is qualified by tradition and habit and
+even fashion. Because men have been familiar for so many centuries with the idea that
+sculpture should find its vehicle in white marble, the knowledge that Greek marbles
+originally were painted comes with something of a shock; and for the moment they have
+difficulty in persuading themselves that a Parthenon frieze <i>colored</i> could possibly
+be beautiful. Until within comparatively recent years the French have regarded
+Shakespeare as a barbarian. The heroic couplet, which was the last word in poetical
+expression in the age of Queen Anne, we consider to-day as little more than a mechanical
+jingle. Last year's fashions in dress, which seemed at the time to have their merits, are
+this year amusingly grotesque. In our judgment of beauty, therefore, allowance must be
+made for standards which merely are imposed upon us from without. It is necessary to
+distinguish between a formula and the reality. As far as possible we should seek to come
+into "original relation" with the universe, freshly for ourselves. So we must return upon
+our individual consciousness, and thus determine what is vitally significant to us. For
+the man who would appreciate beauty, it is not a question between this or that "school"
+in art, whether the truth lies with the classicists or the romanticists; it is not a
+question of this or that subject or method to the exclusion of all others. Beauty may be
+anywhere or everywhere. It is our task and joy to find it, wherever it may be. And we
+shall find it, if we are able to recognize it and we hold ourselves responsive to its
+multitudinous appeal.</p>
+
+<p>The conception of beauty which limits its manifestation to one kind of experience is
+so far false and leads to mischievous acceptances and narrowing rejections. We mistake
+the pretty for the beautiful and so fail of the true value of beauty; we are blind to the
+significance which all nature and all life, in the lowest and commonest as in the highest
+and rarest, hold within them. "If beauty," says Hamerton, "were the only province of art,
+neither painters nor etchers would find anything to occupy them in the foul stream that
+washes the London wharfs." By beauty here is meant the merely agreeable. Pleasing the
+river may not be, to the ordinary man; but for the poet and the painter, those to whom it
+is given to see with the inner eye, the "foul stream" and its wharfs may be lighted with
+mysterious and tender beauty.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Earth has not anything to show more fair:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dull would he be of soul who could pass by<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A sight so touching in its majesty:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; This city now doth, like a garment, wear<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The beauty of the morning.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; . . . . .</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Never did sun more beautifully steep<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The river glideth at his own sweet will:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And all that mighty heart is lying still!"</p>
+
+<p>And Whistler, by the witchery of his brush and his needle, has transmuted the
+confusion and sordidness and filth of this Thames-side into exquisite emotion. The
+essence of beauty is harmony, but that harmony is not to be reduced to rule and measure.
+In the very chaos of the Locomotive Works we may feel beauty; in the thrill which they
+communicate we receive access of power and we <i>are,</i> more largely, more universally.
+The harmony which is beauty is that unity or integrity of impression by force of which we
+are able to feel significance and the relation of the object to our own experience. It is
+an error to suppose that beauty must be racked on a procrustean bed of formula. Such
+false conceptions result in sham art. To create a work which shall be beautiful it is not
+necessary to "smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit." Beauty is not imposed upon material from
+without, according to a recipe; it is drawn out from within by the integrating power of
+imagination. Art is not artificiality. Art is the expression of vital emotion and
+essential significance. The beauty of architecture, for example, consists not in applied
+ornament but in structural fitness and adaptability, and grows out of the inherent needs
+of the work. The cathedral-builders of old time did not set themselves to create a "work
+of art." They wanted a church; and it was a church they built. It is we who, perceiving
+the rightness of their achievement, pronounce it to be beautiful. Beauty is not
+manufactured, but grows; it cannot be laid on as ornament. Beauty is born out of the
+contact of the spirit of man with natural forms, that contact which gives to objects
+their significance.</p>
+
+<p>The recognition of the true nature of beauty may change for us the face of the world.
+Some things are universally regarded as beautiful because their appeal is universal.
+There are passions, joys, aspirations, common to all the race; and the forms which
+objectify these emotions are beautiful universally. We can all enter into the feelings
+that gather about a group of children dancing round a Maypole in the Park; but in the
+murk and din and demoniacal activity of the Locomotive Works the appeal is not so
+obvious. The stupendous workshops become beautiful to me as my being merges into harmony
+with them and dilates with the emotion of intenser and fuller life. The Sistine Madonna
+is generally regarded as beautiful. But what is the beauty in the unspeakable witch on
+the canvas of Frans Hals? Harmony of color and of composition is employed by Raphael in
+the rendering of a figure and in the expression of an emotion both of which relate
+themselves to the veneration of mankind. Maternity, Christian or pagan, divine or human,
+evokes its universal tribute of feeling. On Raphael's canvas complete harmony is made
+visible; and the beauty of the picture for us is measured by its power to stir us. In the
+painting by Frans Hals the subject represented is in itself not pleasing. The technical
+execution of the picture is masterly. But our delight goes beyond any enjoyment of the
+skill here exhibited, goes beyond even the satisfaction of the senses in its color and
+composition. What the picture expresses is not merely the visible aspect of this woman,
+but the painter's own sympathy and appreciation. He saw a beauty in ugliness, a beauty to
+which we were blind, for he felt the significance of her life, the eternal rightness to
+herself of what she was. His joy in this inner harmony has transfigured the object and
+made it beautiful. Beauty penetrates deeper than grace and comeliness; it is not confined
+to the pretty and agreeable. Indeed, beauty is not always immediately pleasant, but is
+received often with pain. The emotion of pleasure, which is regarded as the necessary
+concomitant of beauty, ensues as we are able to merge ourselves in the experience and so
+come to feel its ultimate harmony. What is commonly accepted as ugly, as shocking or
+sordid, becomes beautiful for us so soon as we apprehend its inner significance. Judged
+by the canons of formal beauty, the sky-line of New York city, seen from the North River,
+is ugly and distressing. But the responsive spirit, reaching ever outward into new forms
+of feeling, can thrill at sight of those Titanic structures out-topping the Palisades
+themselves, thrusting their squareness adventurously into the smoke-grayed air, and
+telling the triumph of man's mind over the forces of nature in this fulfillment of the
+needs of irrepressible activity, this expression of tremendous actuality and life. Not
+that the reaction is so definitely formulated in the moment of experience; but this is
+something of what is felt. The discovery of such a harmony is the entrance into fuller
+living. So it is that the boundaries of beauty enlarge with the expansion of the
+individual spirit.</p>
+
+<p>To extend the boundaries of beauty by the revelation of new harmonies is the function
+of art. With the ordinary man, the plane of feeling, which is the basis of appreciation,
+is below the plane of his attention as he moves through life from day to day. As a clock
+may be ticking in the room quite unheeded, and then suddenly we hear it because our
+attention is called to it; so only that emotion really counts to us as experience which
+comes to our cognizance. When once the ordinary man is made aware of the underlying plane
+of feeling, the whole realm of appreciation is opened to him by his recognition of the
+possibilities of beauty which life may hold. Consciously to recognize that forces are
+operating which lie behind the surface aspect of things is to open ourselves to the play
+of these forces. With persons in whom intellect is dominant and the controlling power,
+the primary need is to understand; and for such, first to know is to be helped finally to
+feel. To comprehend that there is a soul in every fact and that within material objects
+reside meanings for the spirit, or beauty, is to be made more sensitive to their
+influence. With the artist, however, the case is different. At the moment of creation he
+is little conscious of the purport of the work to which he sets his hand. He is not
+concerned, as we have been, with the "why" of beauty; from the concrete directly to the
+concrete is his progress. Life comes to him not as thought but as emotion. He is moved by
+actual immediate contact with the world about him,&mdash;by the sight of a landscape, by
+the mood of an hour or place, by the power of some personality; it may be, too, a welter
+of recollected sensations and impressions that plays upon his spirit. The resultant
+emotion, not reasoned about but nevertheless directed to a definite end, takes shape in
+external concrete forms which are works of art. Just because he is so quick to feel the
+emotional value of life he is an artist; and much of his power as an artist derives from
+the concreteness of his emotion. The artist is the creative mind, creative in this sense,
+that in the outward shows of things he feels their inward and true relations, and by new
+combinations of material elements he re<font face="Times New Roman">&euml;</font>mbodies
+his feeling in forms whose message is addressed to the spirit. The reason why Millet
+painted the "Sower" was that he felt the beauty of this peasant figure interpreted as
+significance and life. And it is this significance and life, in which we are made to
+share, that his picture is designed to express.</p>
+
+<p>Experience comes to us in fragments; the surface of the world throws back to us but
+broken glimpses. In the perspective of a lifetime the fragments flow together into order,
+and we dimly see the purpose of our being here; in moments of illumination and deeper
+insight a glimpse may disclose a sudden harmony, and the brief segment of nature's circle
+becomes beautiful. For then is revealed the shaping principle. Within the fact, behind
+the surface, are apprehended the relations of which the fact and the surface are the
+expression. The rhythm thus discovered wakens an accordant rhythm in the spirit of man.
+The moment gives out its meaning as man and nature merge together in the inclusive
+harmony. If the human spirit were infinite in comprehension, we should receive all things
+as beautiful, for we should apprehend their rightness and their harmony. To our finite
+perception, however, design is not always evident, for it is overlaid and confounded with
+other elements which are not at the moment fused. Just here is the office of art. For art
+presents a harmony liberated from all admixture of conflicting details and purged of all
+accidents, thus rendering the single meaning salient. To compel disorder into order and
+so reveal new beauty is the achievement of the artist. The world is commonplace or
+fraught with divinest meanings, according as we see it so. To art we turn for revelation,
+knowing that ideals of beauty may be many and that beauty may manifest itself in many
+forms.</p><a name="8"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>VIII</p>
+
+<p>THE ARTS OF FORM</p>
+
+<p>THE maker of the first bowl moulds the plastic clay into the shape best adapted to its
+purpose, a vessel to hold water, from which he can drink easily; the half-globe rather
+than the cube affords the greatest holding capacity with the least expenditure of
+material. He finds now that the form itself&mdash;over and above the practical
+serviceableness of the bowl&mdash;gives him pleasure. With a pointed stick or bit of
+flint he traces in the yielding surface a flowing line or an ordered series of dots or
+crosses, allowing free play to his fancy and invention. The design does not resemble
+anything else, nor does it relate itself to any object external to the maker; it has no
+meaning apart from the pleasure which it gave him as he conceived and traced it, and the
+pleasure it now gives him to look at it. To another man who sees the bowl, its form and
+its decoration afford likewise a double pleasure: there is first the satisfaction of
+senses and mind in the contemplation of harmonious form and rhythmic pattern; and second,
+there is communicated to him a feeling of the maker's delight in his handiwork, and
+sympathetically and imaginatively the beholder realizes that delight in his own
+experience.</p>
+
+<p>I am walking with a friend along a road which climbs a wooded hillside. A few steps
+bring us to the top and the edge of a clearing. There, suddenly a sweep of country is
+rolled out before us. A quick intake of the breath, and then the cry, "Ah!" Consciousness
+surges back over me, and turning to my friend, I exclaim, "See the line of those hills
+over there across the tender sky and those clouds tumbling above them; see how the hills
+dip down into the meadows; look at the lovely group of willows along the bank of the
+river, how graciously they come in, and then that wash of purple light over everything!"
+My simple cry, "Ah!" was the expression of emotion, the unconscious, involuntary
+expression; it was not art. It did not formulate my emotion definitely, and although it
+was an expression of emotion, it had no power to communicate the special quality of it.
+So soon, however, as I composed the elements in the landscape, which stimulated my
+emotion, into a distinct and coherent whole and by means of that I tried to convey to my
+friend something of what I was feeling, my expression tended to become art. My medium of
+expression happened to be words. If I had been alone and wanted to take home with me a
+record of my impression of the landscape, a pencil-sketch of the little composition might
+have served to indicate the sources of my feeling and to suggest its quality. Whether in
+words or in line and mass, my work would be in a rudimentary form a work of
+representative art. The objective fact of the landscape which I point out to my friend
+engages his interest; his pleasure derives from those aspects of it which my emotion
+emphasizes and which constitute its beauty; and something of the same emotion that I felt
+he realizes in his own experience.</p>
+
+<p>The impulse to expression which fulfills itself in a work of art is directed in
+general by one of two motives,&mdash;the motive of representation and the motive of pure
+form. These two motives are coexistent with human activity itself. The earliest vestiges
+of prehistoric races and the remains of the remotest civilizations are witnesses of man's
+desire to imitate and record, and also of his pleasure in harmony of form. Certain caves
+in France, inhabited by man some thousands of years before history begins, have yielded
+up reindeer horns and bones, carved with reliefs and engraved with drawings of mammoths,
+reindeer, and fish. On the walls and roofs of these caves are paintings in bright colors
+of animals, rendered with correctness and animation. Flint axes of a still remoter epoch
+"are carved with great dexterity by means of small chips flaked off the stone, and show a
+regularity of outline which testifies to the delight of primitive man in symmetry."[*]
+Burial mounds, of unknown antiquity, and the rude stone monuments such as Stonehenge and
+the dolmens of Brittany and Wales, emerging out of prehistoric dawns, are evidence of
+man's striving after architectural unity in design and harmony of proportion.</p>
+
+<p>[*] S. Reinach, <i>The Story of Art throughout the Ages,</i> chapter i.</p>
+
+<p>The existence of these two separate motives which impel creation, man's desire to
+imitate and his delight in harmony, gives rise to a division of the arts into two general
+classes, namely, the representative arts and the arts of pure form. The representative
+arts comprise painting and sculpture, and literature in its manifestations of the drama,
+fiction, and dramatic and descriptive poetry. These arts draw their subjects from nature
+and human life, from the world external to the artist. The arts of form comprise
+architecture and music, and that limitless range of human activities in design and
+pattern-making for embellishment&mdash;including also the whole category of "useful
+arts"&mdash;which may be subsumed under the comprehensive term <i>decoration.</i> In
+these arts the "subject" is self-constituted and does not derive its significance from
+its likeness to any object external to it; the form itself is the subject. Lyric poetry
+stands midway between the two classes. It is the expression of "inner states" but it
+externalizes itself in terms of the outer world. It has a core of thought, and it employs
+images from nature which can be visualized, and it recalls sounds whose echo can be
+wakened in imaginative memory.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And Phoebus 'gins arise,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His steeds to water at those springs<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; On chaliced flowers that
+lies;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And winking Mary-buds begin<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To ope their golden eyes;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With everything that pretty bin,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; My lady sweet, arise!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+Arise, arise!"</p>
+
+<p>The intellectual and sensuous elements which lyric poetry embodies are finally
+submerged under the waves of emotional stimulus which flow from the form as form. Such
+poetry does not depend upon the fact of representation for its meaning; the very form
+itself, as in music, is its medium of communicating the emotion. Art, therefore, to
+phrase the same matter in slightly different terms, has a subjective and an objective
+aspect. In the one case, the artist projects his feeling into the forms which he himself
+creates; in the other case, the forms external to him, as nature and human life, inspire
+the emotion, and these external forms the artist reproduces, with of course the necessary
+modifications, as the symbol and means of expression of his emotion.</p>
+
+<p>The distinction between the representative arts and the arts of form is not ultimate,
+nor does it exclude one class wholly from the other; it defines a general tendency and
+serves to mark certain differences in original motive and in the way in which the two
+kinds of work may be received and appreciated. In actual works of art themselves, though
+they differ as to origin and function, the line of division cannot be sharply drawn. The
+dance may be an art of form or a representative art according as it embodies the rhythms
+of pure movement or as it numerically figures forth dramatic ideas. Painting, as in the
+frescoes of the Sistine Chapel and the wall paintings of Tintoretto and Veronese in the
+Ducal Palace of Venice, may be employed in the service of decoration. Decoration, as in
+architectural sculpture and in patterns for carpets and wall-coverings, often draws its
+motives from nature, such as leaves, flowers, fruits, and animals; but when the function
+of the work is decorative and not representative, the naturalistic and graphic character
+of the subject is subordinated to the purposes of abstract and formal design. A picture,
+on the other hand, which is frankly representative in purpose, must submit its
+composition and color-harmony to the requirements of unity in design; in a sense it must
+make a pattern. And a statue, as the "Victory of Samothrace," bases its ultimate appeal,
+not upon the fact of representation, but upon complete, rhythmic, beautiful form.</p>
+
+<p>To the appreciator the arts of form carry a twofold significance. There is first the
+pleasure which derives from the contemplation and reception of a harmony of pure form,
+including harmony of color, of line, and of flat design as well as form in the round, a
+pleasure of the senses and the mind. Second, works of art in this category, as they are
+the expression for the artist of his emotion, become therefore the manifestation to the
+appreciator and means of communication of that emotion.</p>
+
+<p>Man's delight in order, in unity, in harmony, rhythm, and balance, is inborn. The
+possession of these qualities by an object constitutes its form. Form, in the sense of
+unity and totality of relations, is not to be confounded with mere regularity. It may
+assume all degrees of divergence from geometric precision, all degrees of variety,
+ranging from the visual perfectness of the Parthenon to the sublime and triumphant
+inconsequence of the sky-line of New York city. It may manifest all degrees of complexity
+from a cup to a cathedral or from "Home, Sweet Home" to Tschaikowski's "Pathetic
+Symphony." Whatever the elements and the incidents, our sense of order in the parts and
+of singleness of impression endows the object with its form. The form as we apprehend it
+of an object constitutes its beauty, its capability to arouse and to delight.</p>
+
+<p>Because of the essential make-up of man's mind and spirit, powers that are innate and
+determined by forces still beyond the scope of analysis, the perception of a harmony of
+relations, which is beauty, is attended with pleasure, a pleasure that is felt and cannot
+be explained. This inborn, inexplicable delight is at once the origin of the arts of form
+and the basis of our appreciation. Each art, as the fashioning of objects of use, as
+decoration, architecture, and music, is governed by its own intrinsic, inherent laws and
+rests its appeal upon man's pleasure in form. There is no standard external to the laws
+of the art itself by which to judge the rightness and the beauty of the individual work.
+In the arts of use and in decoration and architecture, the beauty of a work, as the
+beauty of a chair, as in the ordering and appointments of a room, as the beauty of a
+temple, a theatre, a dwelling, derives primarily from the fitness of the object to its
+function, and finally from the rhythm of its lines and the harmony of its masses and
+proportions,&mdash;its total form. A chair which cannot be sat in may be interesting and
+agreeable to look at, but it is not truly beautiful; for then it is not a chair but a
+curiosity, a bijou, and a superfluity; to be beautiful it must be first of all frankly
+and practically a chair. A living-room which cannot be lived in with comfort and
+restfulness and peace of mind is not a living-room, but a museum or a concentrated
+department store; at best it is only an inclosed space. A beautiful building declares its
+function and use, satisfies us with the logic and coherence of its parts, and delights us
+with its reticence or its boldness, its simplicity or its inventiveness, in fine, its
+personality, as expressed in its parts and their confluence into an ordered,
+self-contained, and self-sufficing whole. Music, using sound for its material, is a
+pattern-weaving in tones. The power of music to satisfy and delight resides in the
+sensuous value of its material and in the character of its pattern as form, the balance
+and contrast of tonal relations, the folding and unfolding of themes, their development
+and progress to the final compelling unity-in-variety which constitutes its form and
+which in its own inherent and self-sufficing way is made the expression of the composer's
+emotion and musical idea. Lyric poetry is the fitting of rhythmic, melodious, colored
+words to the emotion within, to the point where the very form itself becomes the meaning,
+and the essence and mystery of the song are in the singing. Beauty is harmony
+materialized; it is emotion ordered and made visible, audible, tangible. If in the arts
+of form we seek further a standard of truth, their truth is not found in their relation
+to any external verity, but is determined by their correspondence with inner
+experience.</p>
+
+<p>In the category of the arts of form the single work is to be received in its entirety
+and integrity as form. The whole, however, may be resolved into its parts, and the
+individual details may be interesting in themselves. Thus into decorative patterns are
+introduced elements of meaning which attach themselves to the world and experience
+external to the artist. Many ornamental motives, like the zigzag and the egg-and-dart,
+for example, had originally a symbolic value. Sometimes they are drawn from primitive
+structures and fabrics, as the checker-board pattern, with its likeness to the plaitings
+of rush mattings, and the volute and spiral ornaments, which recall the curves and
+involutions of wattle and wicker work. Again, decoration may employ in its service
+details that in themselves are genuinely representative art. The frieze of the Parthenon
+shows in relief a procession of men and women and horses and chariots and animals. The
+sculptures of Gothic churches represent men and women, and the carvings of mouldings,
+capitals, and traceries are based on naturalistic motives, taking their designs from
+leaves and flowers. The essential function of ornament is to emphasize form and not to
+obscure it, though nowadays in machine-made things a kind of pseudo-embellishment is laid
+on to distract attention from the badness and meaninglessness of the form; in true
+decoration the representative elements are subordinated to the formal character of the
+whole. The representative interest may be enjoyed separately and in detail; but finally
+the graphic purpose yields to the decorative, and the details take their place as parts
+of the total design. Thus a Gothic cathedral conveys its complete and true impression
+first and last as form. Midway we may set ourselves to a reading of the details. The
+figure of this saint on the jamb or the archivolt of the portal is expressive of such
+simple piety and enthusiasm! In this group on the tympanum what animation and spirit!
+This moulding of leaves and blossoms is cut with such loving fidelity and exquisite
+feeling for natural truth! But at the last the separate members fulfill their appointed
+office as they reveal the supreme function of the living total form.</p>
+
+<p>Music, too, in some of its manifestations, as in song, the opera, and programme music,
+has a representative and illustrative character. In Chopin's "Funeral March" we hear the
+tolling of church bells, and it is easy to visualize the slow, straggling file of
+mourners following the bier; the composition here has a definite objective base drawn
+from external fact, and the "idea" is not exclusively musical, but admits an infusion of
+pictorial and literary elements. In listening to the love duet of the second act of
+"Tristan," although the lovers are before us in actual presence on the stage, I find
+myself involuntarily closing my eyes, for the music is so personal and so spiritualized,
+it is in and of itself so intensely the realization of the emotion, that the objective
+presentment of it by the actors becomes unnecessary and is almost an intrusion. The
+representative, figurative element in music may be an added interest, but its appeal is
+intellectual; if as we hear the "Funeral March," we say to ourselves, This is so and so,
+and, Here they do this or that, we are thinking rather than feeling. Music is the
+immediate expression of emotion communicated immediately; and the composition will not
+perfectly satisfy unless it is <i>music,</i> compelling all relations of melody, harmony,
+and rhythm into a supreme and triumphant order.</p>
+
+<p>Whereas the representative arts are based upon objective fact, drawing their
+"subjects" from nature and life external to the artist; in decoration, in architecture,
+and in music the artist creates his own forms as the projection of his emotion and the
+means of its expression. Richard Wagner, referring to the composition of his "Tristan,"
+writes: "Here, in perfect trustfulness, I plunged into the inner depth of soul events,
+and from out this inmost centre of the world I fearlessly built up its outer form. . . .
+Life and death, the whole import and existence of the outer world, here hang on nothing
+but the inner movements of the soul. The whole affecting Action comes about for the
+reason only that the inmost soul demands it, and steps to light with the very shape
+foretokened in the inner shrine." The form, thus self-constituted, has the power to
+delight us, and the work is at the same time the expression of emotion. The arts of form
+please us with the pleasure that attends the perception of formal beauty; but this
+pleasure docs not exhaust their capability to minister to us. What differentiates art
+from manufacture is the element of personal expression. Born out of need, whether the
+need be physical or spiritual, fulfilling the urge to expression, a work of art embodies
+its maker's delight in creating. Correspondingly, beyond our immediate enjoyment of the
+work as form, we feel something of what the man felt who was impelled to create it. His
+handiwork, his pattern, his composition, becomes the means of communicating to us his
+emotional experience.</p>
+
+<p>Obviously the significance of any work is determined primarily by the intensity and
+scope of emotion which has prompted it. The creation of works of art involves all degrees
+of intention, from the hut in the wilderness rudely thrown together, whose purpose was
+shelter, to a Gothic cathedral, in its multitudinousness eloquent of man's worship and
+aspiration. The man who moulded the first bowl, adapting its form as closely as possible
+to its use and shaping its proportions for his own pleasure to satisfy his sense of
+harmony and rhythm, differs from the builders of the Parthenon only in the degree of
+intensity of his inspiring emotion and in the measure of his controlling thought. The
+beauty of accomplished form of cathedral and of temple is compelling; and we may forget
+that they rose out of need. Both hut and bowl are immediately useful, and their beauty is
+not so evident,&mdash;that little touch of feeling which wakens a response in us. But in
+their adaptation to their function they become significant; the satisfaction which
+accompanies expression is communicated to us as we apprehend in the work the creator's
+intention and we realize in ourselves what the creation of it meant to him as the
+fulfillment of his need and the utterance of his emotion.</p>
+
+<p>So the expressive power of an individual work is conditioned originally by the amount
+of feeling that enters into the making of it. Every phrase of a Beethoven symphony is
+saturated with emotion, and the work leads us into depths and up to heights of universal
+experience, disclosing to us tortuous ways and infinite vistas of the possibilities of
+human feeling. A simple earthen jug may bear the impress of loving fingers, and the
+crudely turned form may be eloquent of the caress of its maker. So we come to value even
+in the humblest objects of use this autographic character, which is the gate of entrance
+into the experience of the men who fashioned them. Every maker strives toward perfection,
+the completest realization of his ideal within his power of execution. But the very
+shortcomings of his work are significant as expressive of what he felt and was groping
+after; they are so significant that by a curious perversion, machinery, which in our
+civilized day has supplanted the craftsman, tries by mechanical means to reproduce the
+roughness and supposed imperfections of hand work. Music is the consummate art, in which
+the form and the content are one and inextricable; its medium is the purest, least
+alloyed means of expression of instant emotion. Architecture, in its harmonies and
+rhythms, the gathering up of details into the balanced and perfect whole, partakes of the
+nature of music. But the arts of use and decoration also have their message for the
+spirit. There is no object fashioned by the hand of man so humble that it may not embody
+a true thought and a sincere delight. There is no pattern or design so simple and so
+crude that it may not be the overflow of some human spirit, a mind and heart touched to
+expression.</p><a name="9"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>IX</p>
+
+<p>REPRESENTATION</p>
+
+<p>BEFORE me is a little bowl of old Satsuma. As I look at it there wakens in me a
+responsive rhythm, and involuntarily my fingers move as if to caress its suave and lovely
+lines. The rich gold and mingled mellow browns of its surface pattern intricately woven
+are a gracious harmony and a delight. Gradually, as I continue to look on it, a feeling
+is communicated to me of the maker's own joy in his work; and the bowl, its harmonies and
+rhythms, and all that it expresses, become part of me. There it is, complete in itself,
+gathering up and containing within itself the entire experience. My thoughts, sensations,
+feelings do not go beyond the bowl.</p>
+
+<p>Another time I am standing in the hall of the Academy in Florence. At the end of the
+corridor towers a superb form. I see that it is the figure of a youth. His left hand
+holds a sling drawn across his shoulder; his right arm hangs by his side, his hand
+grasping a pebble close to his thigh; calm and confident, his head erect, his strength
+held in leash waiting to be loosed, he fronts the oncoming of the foe. The statue is the
+presentation of noble form, and it wakens in me an accordant rhythm; I feel in myself
+something of what youthful courage, life, and conscious power mean. But my experience
+does not stop there. The statue is not only presentation but representation. It figures
+forth a youth, David, the Hebrew shepherd-boy, and he stands awaiting the Philistine. I
+have read his story, I have my own mental image of him, and about his personality cluster
+many thoughts. To what Michelangelo shows me I add what I already know. Recognition,
+memory, knowledge, facts and ideas, a whole store of associations allied with my previous
+experience, mingle with my instant emotion in its presence. The sculptor, unlike the
+potter, has not created his own form; the subject of his work exists outside of him in
+nature. He uses the subject for his own ends, but in his treatment of it he is bound by
+certain responsibilities to external truth. His work as it stands is not completely
+self-contained, but is linked with the outer world; and my appreciation of it is affected
+by this reference to extrinsic fact.</p>
+
+<p>An artist is interested in some scene in nature or a personality or situation in human
+life; it moves him. As the object external to him is the stimulus of his emotion and is
+associated with it, so he uses the object as the symbol of his experience and means of
+expression of his emotion. Here, then, the feeling, to express which the work is created,
+gathers about a subject, which can be recognized intellectually, and the fact of the
+subject is received as in a measure separate from the feeling which flows from it. In a
+painting of a landscape, we recognize as the basis of the total experience the fact that
+it is a landscape, so much water and field and sky; and then we yield ourselves to the
+<i>beauty</i> of the landscape, the emotion with which the artist suffuses the material
+objects and so transfigures them. Into representative art, therefore, there enters an
+element not shared by the arts of pure form, the element of <i>the subject,</i> carrying
+with it considerations of objective truth and of likeness to external fact. Toward the
+understanding of the total scope of a picture or a statue, and by inference and
+application of the principles, toward the understanding of literature as well, it may
+help us if we determine the relation of beauty to truth and the function and value of the
+subject in representative art.</p>
+
+<p>The final significance of a work of art is beauty, received as emotional experience.
+Nature becomes beautiful to us at the point where it manifests a harmony to which we feel
+ourselves attuned. At the moment of enjoyment we unconsciously project our personality
+into this harmony outside of us, identifying ourselves with it and finding it at that
+instant the expression of something toward which we reach and aspire. When we come
+consciously to reason about our experience, we see that the harmony external to us which
+we feel as the extension of ourselves does not stop with the actual material itself of
+nature, but emanates from it as the expression of nature's spirit. The harmony is a
+harmony of relations, made visible through material, and significant to us and beautiful
+in the measure that we respond to it.</p>
+
+<p>It is the beauty of the object, its significance for the spirit, that primarily moves
+the artist to expression. Why one landscape and not another impels him to render it upon
+his canvas is not to be explained. This impulse to immediate and concrete utterance is
+inspiration. And inspiration would seem to be a confluence of forces outside of the
+individual consciousness or will, focused at the instant into desire, which becomes the
+urge to creation. "The mind in creation," says Shelley, "is as a fading coal, which some
+invisible influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness; this
+power rises from within, like the colour of a flower which fades and changes as it is
+developed, and the conscious portions of our natures are unprophetic either of its
+approach or its departure." The artist does not say, "Lo, I will paint a landscape; let
+me find my subject!" The subject presents itself. There it is, by chance almost,&mdash;a
+sudden harmony before him, long low meadows stretching away to the dark hills, the late
+sun striking on the water, gold and green melting into a suffusing flush of purple light,
+a harmony of color and line and mass which his spirit leaps out to meet and with which it
+fuses in a larger unity. In the moment of contact all consciousness of self as a separate
+individuality is lost. Out of the union of the two principles, the spirit of man and the
+beauty of the object, is born the <i>idea,</i> which is to come to expression as a work
+of art.</p>
+
+<p>But the artist is a mind as well as a temperament. Experience is a swing of the
+pendulum between the momentary ecstasy of immediate contact and the subsequent reaction
+upon the moment, which is consciousness of it. In order to make his vision actual, the
+artist rises out of the domain of feeling into that of thought. The landscape has
+compelled him; it is now he who must compel the landscape. To the shaping of his work he
+must bring to bear all his conscious power of selection and organization and all his
+knowledge of the capabilities and resources of his means. Art springs out of emotion;
+painting is a science. The artist's command of his subject as the symbol of his idea
+derives from the stern and vigorous exercise of mind. The rightness of his composition is
+determined by a logic more flexible, perhaps, but no less exacting than the laws of
+geometry. By the flow of his line and the disposition of his masses, the artist must
+carry the eye of the beholder along the way he wants it to travel until it rests upon the
+point where he wants it to rest. There must be no leaks and no false directions; there
+must be the cosmos within the frame and nothing outside of it. The principles of
+perspective have been worked out with a precision that entitles them to rank as a
+science. Color has its laws, which, again, science is able to formulate. These processes
+and formulas and laws are not the whole of art, but they have their place. The power to
+feel, the imaginative vision, and creative insight are not to be explained. But knowledge
+too, acquired learning and skill, plays its part, and to recognize its function and
+service is to be helped to a fuller understanding of the achievement of the artist.</p>
+
+<p>Gifted with a vibrant, sensitive temperament, endowed with discriminating and
+organizing power of mind, equipped with a knowledge of the science and the mechanics of
+his craft, and trained to skill in manual execution, the artist responds to the impulse
+of his inspiration. His subject is before him. But what is his subject? A scene in nature
+furnishes him the objective base of his picture, but properly his work is the expression
+of what he feels. A storm may convey to different men entirely different impressions. In
+its presence one man may feel himself overwhelmed with terror. These wild, black skies
+piling in upon him, the hilltops that seem to race through the clouds, the swaying,
+snapping trees, the earth caught up in the mad grasp of the tempest, may smite his soul
+with the pitilessness of nature and her inexorable blind power. Another thrills with joy
+in this cosmic struggle, the joy of conflict which he has known in his own life, the
+meeting of equal forces in fair fight, where the issue is still doubtful and victory will
+fall at last upon the strong, though it is not the final triumph but the present struggle
+that makes the joy. In rendering the "subject" upon his canvas, by the manipulation of
+composition and line and mass and color, he makes the storm ominous and terrible, or
+glorious, according as he feels. The import of his picture is not the natural fact of the
+storm itself, but its significance for the emotions.</p>
+
+<p>A work of representative art is the rendering of a unity of impression and harmony of
+relations which the artist has perceived and to which he has thrilled in the world
+external to him. He presents not the facts themselves but their spirit, that something
+which endows the facts with their significance and their power to stir him. As the
+meaning of nature to the beholder is determined by the effect it produces on his mind and
+temperament, so the artist, in the expression of this meaning, aims less at a statement
+of objective accuracy of exterior appearance than at producing a certain effect, the
+effect which is the equivalent of the meaning of nature to him. Thus the painter who sees
+beyond the merely intellectual and sensuous appeal of his subject and enters into its
+spirit, tries to render on his canvas, not the actual color of nature, but the sensation
+of color and its value for the emotions. With the material splendor of nature,&mdash;her
+inexhaustible lavish wealth of color, the glory of life which throbs through creation,
+the mystery of actual movement,&mdash;art cannot compete. For the hues and tones of
+nature, infinite in number and subtlety, the painter has only the few notes within the
+poor gamut of his palette. How can he quicken his dull paint with the life-beat of
+palpitating flesh, or the sculptor animate the rigid marble with the vibrations of vivid
+motion? But where nature is infinite in her range she is also scattering in her effects.
+By the concentration of divergent forces, art gains in intensity and directness of
+impression what it sacrifices in the scope of its material. Michelangelo uses as his
+subject David, the shepherd-boy; but the person, the mere name, does not signify. What
+his work embodies is triumphant youth, made visible and communicable. When Millet shows
+us the peasant, it is not what the peasant is feeling that the artist represents, but
+what Millet felt about him. The same landscape will be rendered differently by different
+men. Each selects his details according to the interest of his eye and mind and feeling,
+and he brings them into a dominant harmony which stands to him for the meaning of the
+landscape. None of the pictures is an accurate statement of the facts as they are, off
+there in nature; all are true to the integrating inner vision. The superficial observer
+sees only the accidents, and he does not distinguish relative importance. The artist,
+with quicker sensibilities and a trained mind, analyzes, discovers the underlying
+principle, and then makes a synthesis which embodies only the essential; he seizes the
+distinctive aspect of the object and makes it salient. There may be, of course, purely
+descriptive representation, which is a faithful record of the facts of appearance as the
+painter sees them, without any feeling toward them; here he works as a scientist, not as
+an artist. Merely imitative painting falls short of artistic significance, for it
+embodies no meaning beyond the external fact. It is the expressiveness of the object that
+the true artist cares to represent; it is its expressiveness, its value for the emotions,
+that constitutes its beauty.</p>
+
+<p>To achieve beauty the representative artist bases his work upon the truth of nature.
+It is nature that supplies him with his motive,&mdash;some glimpse, some fragment, which
+reveals within itself a harmony. It may be a form, as a tree, a man, a mountain range,
+the race of clouds across the sky; it may be a color-harmony or "arrangement," in which
+color rather than form is the dominant interest, as with a landscape or an interior; it
+may be the effects of light, as the sunshine playing over golden haystacks, or the glint
+of light on metal, or the sheen of lovely fabrics. Out of the complex of interests and
+appeals which an object offers, what is the <i>truth</i> of the object? The truth of
+nature resides not in the accidents of surface but in the essential relations, of which
+the surface is the manifestation. A birch tree and an apple tree are growing side by
+side. Their roots strike down into the same soil, their branches are warmed by the same
+sun, wet by the same rains, and swept by the same winds. The birch tree is always lithe
+and gracious and feminine; the apple tree is always bent and sternly gnarled like the
+hand of an old man. The life-force which impels the tree to growth is distinctive to each
+kind. Within all natural objects, then, a crystal, a tree, a man, there is a shaping
+principle which determines their essential form. But no two individual apple trees are
+precisely alike; from the essential form of the tree there are divergences in the single
+manifestations. Though subject to accident and variation, however, every tree exhibits a
+characteristic, inviolate <i>tendency,</i> and remains true to the inner life-principle
+of its being. The "truth" of the apple tree is this distinctive, essential form, by
+virtue of which it is an apple tree and not some other kind, the form which underlies and
+allows for all individual variations. What the painter renders on his canvas is not the
+superficial accidents of some single tree, but by means of that, he seeks to image forth
+in color and form the tendency of all trees. The truth of an object presents itself to
+the imagination as design, for this organic, shaping principle of things, expressed in
+colored myriad forms throughout the endless pageantry of nature, is apprehended by the
+spirit of man as a harmony; and in the experience of the artist truth identifies itself
+with beauty.</p>
+
+<p>The distinction between the accidental surface of things and the significance that may
+be drawn out of them is exemplified by the difference between accuracy and truth in
+representation. Accurate drawing is the faithful record of the facts of appearance as
+offered to the eye. Truth of drawing is the rendering in visible terms of the meaning and
+spirit of the object, the form which the object takes not simply for the eye but for the
+mind. A pencil sketch by Millet shows a man carrying in each hand a pail of water. The
+arms are drawn inaccurately, in that they are made too long. What Millet wanted to
+express, however, was not the physical shape of the arms, but the feeling of the burden
+under which the man was bending; and by lengthening the arms he has succeeded in
+conveying, as mere accuracy could not express it, the sensation of weight and muscular
+strain. In Hals' picture of the "Jester" the left hand is sketched in with a few swift
+strokes of the brush. But so, it "keeps its place" in relation to the whole; and it is
+more nearly right than if it had been made the centre of attention and had been drawn
+with the most meticulous precision. The hand is not accurate, but it is true. Similarly,
+size is an affair not of physical extent but of proportion. A figure six inches high may
+convey the same value as a figure six feet high, if the same proportions are observed. A
+statue is the presentation, not of the human body, but of the human form, and more than
+that, of what the form expresses. When I am talking with my friend I am aware of his
+physical presence detaching itself from the background of the room in which we are. But I
+feel in him something more. And that something more goes behind the details of his
+physical aspect. His eyes might be blue instead of brown, his nose crooked rather than
+straight; he might be maimed and disfigured by some mishap. These accidents would not
+change for me what is the reality. My friend is not his body, though it is by his body
+that he exists; the reality of my friend is what he essentially is, what he is of the
+spirit. A photograph of a man registers certain facts of his appearance at that moment.
+The eye and the mind of the artist discern the truth which underlies the surface; the
+artist feels his sitter not as a face and a figure, a mere body, but as a personality;
+and the portrait expresses a man.</p>
+
+<p>As grasped by our finite minds, there are partial truths and degrees of truth. There
+are, for example, the facts of outer appearance, modified in our reception of them by
+what we know as distinct from what we really see. Thus a tree against the background of
+hill or sky seems to have a greater projection and relief than is actually presented to
+the eye, because we <i>know</i> the tree is round. Manet's "Girl with a Parrot," which
+appears to the ordinary man to be too flat, is more true to reality than any portrait
+that "seems to come out of its frame." Habitually in our observation of objects about us,
+we note only so much as serves our practical ends; and this is the most superficial,
+least essential aspect. Projection is a partial truth, and to it many painters sacrifice
+other and higher truths. Manet, recovering the "innocence of the eye" and faithful to it,
+has penetrated the secrets and won the truth of light. Botticelli saw the world as
+sonorous undulations of exquisite line; and his subtly implicated, evanescent patterns of
+line movement, "incorrect" as they may be superficially in drawing, caress the eye as
+music finds and satisfies the soul. When such is his power over us, it is difficult to
+say that Botticelli had not some measure of the truth. The world of the Venetians sang
+full-sounding harmonies of glorious color. Velasquez saw everything laved around with a
+flood of silver quiet atmosphere. All in their own way have found and shown to us a
+truth.</p>
+
+<p>To render what he has seen and felt in the essence and meaning of it, the artist seeks
+to disengage the shaping principle of the particular aspect of truth, which has impressed
+him, from all accidents in its manifestation. To make this dominant character salient
+beyond irrelevant circumstance, art works by selection. Art is necessarily a compromise.
+It isolates some elements and sacrifices others; but it is none the less true on that
+account. The mere material of the object is more or less fixed, but the relations which
+the object embodies are capable of many combinations and adjustments, according to the
+mind and temperament of the individual artist who is moved by it. All art is in a certain
+sense abstraction; all art in a measure idealizes. It is abstraction in the sense that it
+presents the intrinsic and distinctive qualities of things, purged of accident.</p>
+
+<p>Art does not compete with nature; it is a statement of the spirit and intention of
+nature in the artist's own terms. The test of the work is not apparent and superficial
+likeness, but truth. Art idealizes in the measure that it disengages the truth. In this
+aspect of it the work is ideal as distinct from merely actual. There is a practice in art
+which draws its standard of beauty, its ideal, not from nature but from other art, and
+which seeks to "improve nature" by the combination of arbitrarily chosen elements and by
+the modification of natural truth to fit a preconceived formula. The Eclectics of
+Bologna, in the seventeenth century, sought to combine Raphael's perfection of drawing
+and composition, Michelangelo's sublimity and his mastery of the figure, and Correggio's
+sweet sentiment and his supremacy in the rendering of light and shade, fondly supposing
+thus that the sum of excellent parts is equivalent to an excellence of the whole. This is
+false idealism. The Greeks carried their research for certain truths of the human form to
+the point of perfection and complete realization. The truth of the Greeks was mistaken by
+the pseudo-classicists and misapplied. Thus Delacroix exclaimed ironically, "In order to
+present an ideal head of a negro, our teachers make him resemble as far as possible the
+profile of Antin<font face="Times New Roman">&ouml;</font>us, and then say, 'We have done
+our utmost; if, nevertheless, we fail to make the negro beautiful, then we ought not to
+introduce into our pictures such a freak of nature, the squat nose and thick lips, which
+are so unendurable to the eyes.'" True idealism treats everything after its own kind,
+making it more intensely itself than it is in the play of nature; the athlete is more
+heroically an athlete, the negro more vividly a negro. True idealism seeks to express the
+tendency by virtue of which an object is what it is. The abstraction which art effects is
+not an unreality but a higher reality. It is not the mere type, that art presents, for
+the type as such does not exist in nature. The individual is not lost but affirmed by
+this reference to the inner principle of its being. A good portrait has in it an element
+of caricature; the difference between portraiture and caricature is the difference
+between emphasis and exaggeration. Art is not the falsification of nature, but the fuller
+realization of it. It is the interpretation of nature's truth, the translation of it,
+divined by the artist, into simpler terms to be read and understood by those of less
+original insight. The deeper the penetration into the life-force and shaping principle of
+nature, the greater is the measure of truth.</p>
+
+<p>In representative art the truth of nature is the work's objective base. What the
+artist finally expresses is the relation of the object to his own experience. A work of
+art is the statement of the artist's insight into nature, moulded and suffused by the
+emotion attending his perception. Of the object, he uses that aspect and that degree of
+truth which serve him for the expression of his feeling toward it. What is called
+"realism" is one order of truth, one way of seeing. "Impressionism" is another order of
+truth. "Idealism" is still another. But all three elements blend in varying proportion in
+any work. Even the realist, who "paints what he sees," has his ideal, which is the effect
+he sets himself to produce by his picture, and he paints according to his impression. He
+renders not the object itself but his mental image of it; and that image is the result of
+his way of seeing and feeling, his habit of mind, his interest, and his store of
+memories. The idealist must base his work upon some kind of reality, or it is a
+monstrosity; he is obliged to refer to the external world for his symbols. The
+impressionist, who concerns himself with the play of light over surfaces in nature, is
+seeking for truth, and he cares to paint at all because that play of light, seemingly so
+momentary and so merely sensuous, has a value for his spirit of which he may or may not
+be wholly conscious; and these shifting effects are the realization of his ideal.
+Unwitting at the moment of contact itself of the significance that afterwards is to flow
+articulately from his work, the artist, in the presence of his object, knows only that he
+is impelled to render it. As faithfully as possible he tries to record what he sees,
+conscious simply that what he sees gives him delight. His vision wakens his feeling, and
+then by reaction his feeling determines his vision, controlling and directing his
+selection of the details of aspect. When Velasquez, engaged on a portrait of the king,
+saw the maids of honor graciously attending on the little princess, he did not set about
+producing a <i>picture,</i> as an end in itself. In the relation of these figures to one
+another and to the background of the deep and high-vaulted chamber in which they were
+standing, each object and plane of distance receiving its just amount of light and fusing
+in the unity of total impression, were revealed to him the wonder and the mystery of
+nature's magic of light. This is what he tried to render. His revelation of natural
+truth, wrung from nature's inmost latencies and shown to us triumphantly, becomes a thing
+of beauty.</p>
+
+<p>So the differences among the various "schools" in art are after all largely
+differences of emphasis. The choice of subject or motive, the angle from which it is
+viewed, and the method of handling, all are determined by the artist's kind of interest;
+and that interest results from what the man is essentially by inheritance and individual
+character, and what he is moulded into by environment, training, and experience. It may
+happen that the external object imposes itself in its integrity upon the artist's mind
+and temperament, and he tries to express it, colored inevitably by his feeling toward it,
+in all faithfulness to the feet as he sees it. Millet said, "I should never paint
+anything that was not the result of an impression received from the aspect of nature,
+whether in landscape or figures." Millet painted what he saw, but he painted it as only
+he saw it. Or again it happens that an artist imposes his feeling upon nature. Thus
+Burne-Jones said, "I mean by a picture a beautiful romantic dream of something that never
+was, never will be&mdash;in a light better than any that ever shone&mdash;in a land no
+one can define or remember, only desire." Whether true to nature or true to the creative
+inner vision, the work of both men embodies truth. Sometimes an artist effaces entirely
+his own individuality, as in Greek sculpture and Gothic architecture, and the mere name
+of the creator does not signify. George Frederick Watts is reported to have said, "If I
+were asked to choose whether I would like to do something good, as the world judges
+popular art, and receive personally great credit for it, or, as an alternative, to
+produce something which should rank with the very best, taking a place with the art of
+Pheidias or Titian, with the highest poetry and the most elevating music, and remain
+unknown as the perpetrator of the work, I should choose the latter." Sidney Lanier wrote,
+"It is of little consequence whether <i>I</i> fail; the <i>I</i> in the matter is small
+business. . . . Let my name perish,&mdash;the poetry is good poetry and the music is good
+music, and beauty dieth not, and the heart that needs it will find it." Or on the
+contrary, a work may bear dominantly, even aggressively, the impress of the distinctive
+individuality of its creator, as with Carlyle's prose and Browning's poetry. Whistler
+seems at times to delight less in the beauty of his subject than in the <i>exercise</i>
+of his own power of refinement. Where another man's art is personal, as with Velasquez or
+Frans Hals, Whistler's art becomes egotistical. He does not say, "Lo, how mysterious is
+this dusk river-side, how tenderly serene this mother, how wistful and mighty is this
+prophet-seer!" He exclaims rather, "Note how subtly I, Whistler, have seen. Rejoice with
+me in my powers of vision and of execution." There is no single method of seeing, no one
+formula of expression and handling. The truth both of nature and of art is great and
+infinitely various. For art, like nature, is organic, allowing for endless modifications,
+while remaining true to the inner principle of its being.</p>
+
+<p>The judgment of truth is a delicate business. To test the truth of a work of art by
+reference to the truth of nature is to presuppose that our power of perception is equal
+to the artist's power, and that our knowledge of the object represented is equal to his
+knowledge of it. The ordinary man's habitual contact with the world is practical, and his
+knowledge of natural fact, based upon the most superficial aspect of it and used for
+practical purposes, tends to falsify his vision. The artist's contact with the world, in
+his capacity as artist, is one of feeling; he values life, not for its material rewards
+and satisfactions, but for what it brings to him of emotional experience. The ordinary
+man uses nature for his own workaday ends. The artist loves nature, and through his love
+he understands her. His knowledge of natural fact, instead of falsifying his vision,
+reinforces it. He studies the workings of nature's laws as manifested in concrete
+phenomena around him,&mdash;the movement of storms, the growth of trees, the effects of
+light,&mdash;penetrating their inmost secrets, that he may make them more efficient
+instruments of expression. He uses his understanding of anatomy, of earth-structure, of
+the laws of color, as the means to a fuller and juster interpretation. As he receives the
+truth of nature with reverence and joy, so he transmutes truth into beauty.</p>
+
+<p>An artist's interest in the truth of nature is not the scientist's interest, an
+intellectual concern with knowledge for the sake of knowledge. The artist receives
+nature's revelation of herself with emotion. The deeper he penetrates into her hidden
+ways, the greater becomes her power to stir him. The artist values his "subject,"
+therefore, as the stimulus of emotion and as the symbol by means of which he expresses
+his emotion and communicates it. The value of the subject to the appreciator, however, is
+not immediately clear. It is not easy for us to receive the subject purely as the artist
+shows it to us and independently of our own knowledge of it. About it already gather
+innumerable associations, physical, practical, intellectual, sentimental, and emotional,
+all of them or any of them, which result from our previous contact with it in actual
+life. Here is a portrait of Carlyle. I cannot help regarding the picture first of all
+from the point of view of its likeness to the original. This is a person with whom I am
+acquainted, an individual, by name Carlyle. And my reaction on the picture is determined,
+not by what the artist has to say about a great personality interpreted through the
+medium of color and form, but by what I already know about Carlyle. Or here a painting
+shows me a landscape with which I am familiar. Then instead of trying to discover in the
+picture what the artist has seen in the landscape and felt in its presence, letting it
+speak to me in its own language, I allow my thoughts to wander from the canvas, and I
+enjoy the landscape in terms of my own knowledge and remembrance of it. The artist's work
+becomes simply a point of departure, whereas it should be not only the beginning but also
+the end and fulfillment of the complete experience. What is, then, we may ask, the
+relation of the fact of the subject to the beauty and final message of the work?</p>
+
+<p>The pleasure which attends the recognition of the subject is a legitimate element in
+our enjoyment of art. But the work should yield a delight beyond our original delight in
+the subject as it exists in nature. The significance of a work of representative art
+depends not upon the subject in and of itself, but upon what the artist has to say about
+it. A rose may be made to reveal the cosmos; a mountain range or cloud-swept spaces of
+the upper air may be niggled into meanness. The ugly in practical life may be
+transfigured by the artist's touch into supreme beauty. <i>"Il faut pouvoir faire servir
+le trivial <font face="Times New Roman">&agrave; l'</font>expression du sublime, c'est
+l<font face="Times New Roman">a</font> vraie force,"</i> said one who was able to invest
+a humble figure with august dignity. Millet's peasants reveal more of godlike majesty
+than all the array of personages in the pantheon of post-Raphaelite Italy and the classic
+school of France. Upon his subject the artist bases that harmony of relations which
+constitutes the beauty and significance of his work. Brought thus into a harmony, the
+object represented is made more vivid, more intensely itself, than it is in nature, with
+the result that we receive from the representation a heightened sense of reality and of
+extended personality. The importance of the subject, therefore, is measured by the
+opportunity it affords the artist, and with him his appreciators, to share in the beauty
+of nature and life. A picture should not "standout" from its frame, but should go back
+into it, reaching even into infinity. Our own associations attaching to the subject lose
+themselves as they blend with the artist's revelation of the fuller beauty of his object;
+and finally all becomes merged in the emotional experience.</p>
+
+<p>Eliminating the transient and accidental, a work of art presents the essential and
+eternal. Art appeals not to the intellect and the reason, but to the imagination and the
+emotions. The single work, therefore, is concrete and immediate. But universal in its
+scope, it transcends the particularities of limited place and individual name. We must
+distinguish between the abstractly typical and the universal. The representative artist
+does not conceive an abstraction and then seek to find a symbol for it. That is the
+method of allegory, where spring, for example, is figured as a young woman scattering
+flowers. Allegory is decorative rather than representative in intention. The artist
+receives his inspiration and stimulus from some actual concrete bit of nature, a woodland
+wrapt in tender mists of green, a meadow gold and softly white with blossoms, a
+shimmering gauze of sun touched air, moist and vibrating, enfolding it. That is what he
+paints. But he paints it so that it is spring, and instinct with the spirit of all
+springs. Michelangelo does not intellectually conceive youth and then carve a statue.
+Some boy has revealed to him the beauty of his young strength, and the sculptor moves to
+immediate expression. He calls his statue David, but the white form radiates the rhythm
+and glory of all youth. And as we realize youth in ourselves, more poignantly, more
+abundantly, the mere name of the boy does not matter. The fact that the portrait shows us
+Carlyle is an incident. Carlyle is the "subject" of the picture, but its meaning is the
+twilight of a mighty, indomitable mind, made visible and communicable. His work is done;
+the hour of quiet is given, and he finds rest. Into this moment, eternal in its
+significance, into this mood, universal in its appeal, we enter, to realize it in
+ourselves. The subject of picture or statue is but the means; the end is life. Objective
+fact is transmuted into living truth. Art is the manifestation of a higher reality than
+we alone have been able to know. It begins with the particular and then transcends it,
+admitting us to share in the beauty of the world, the cosmic harmony of universal
+experience.</p><a name="10"></a><br>
+<br>
+
+<p>X</p>
+
+<p>THE PERSONAL ESTIMATE</p>
+
+<p>ART starts from life and in the end comes back to it. Art is born out of the stirring
+of the artist's spirit in response to his need of expression, and it reaches its
+fulfillment in the spirit of the appreciator as it answers his need of wider and deeper
+experience. Midway on its course from spirit to spirit it traverses devious paths. The
+emotion out of which art springs and of which it is the expression is controlled and
+directed by the shaping force of mind, and it embodies itself in material form. This
+material form, by virtue of its qualities, has the power to delight our senses; the skill
+which went into the fashioning of it, so far as we can recognize the processes of
+execution, gives us pleasure; the harmony which the work of art must manifest satisfies
+the mind and makes it possible for us to link the emotion with our own experience.</p>
+
+<p>These paths which a work of art traverses in its course from its origin to its
+fulfillment I have tried to follow in their ramifications, and I have tried to trace them
+to their issue in appreciation. Some lovers of art may linger on the way and rest content
+with the distance they have come, without pressing forward to the end. A work of art is
+complex in its appeal; and it is possible to stop with one or another of its elements.
+Thus we may receive the work intellectually, recognizing its subject, and turning the
+artist's emotion into our thought and translating it from his medium of color and form or
+sound into our own medium of words. Here is a portrait of Carlyle; and Carlyle we
+<i>know</i> as an author and as a man. This landscape is from the Palisades, where we
+have roamed in leisure hours. Before us is a statue of Zeus, whom our classical reading
+has made a reality to us. This symphony gathers about a day in the country, suggesting an
+incident in our own experience of which we have pleasant remembrances. Intellectually,
+also, we enjoy the evidence of the artist's skill which the work exhibits. Or we may pass
+beyond the simple exercise of the intellect, and with a refinement of perception we may
+take a sensuous delight in the qualities of the material in which the work is embodied.
+This portrait is a subtle harmony of color and exquisite adjustment of line and mass. The
+luminous night which enwraps the Palisades is a solemn mighty chord. The white rhythm of
+this statue caresses the eye that follows it. This symphony is an intricate and wonderful
+wave-pattern upon a sea of billowing sound in which the listener immerses himself
+voluptuously. The essential significance of a work of art is not to be received apart
+from its form, but the form is more than merely sensuous in its appeal. Finally,
+therefore, the color and the composition of the portrait are but the point of meeting
+where we touch in energizing contact a powerful personality. Our spirit goes out into the
+night of these Palisades and dilates into immensity. This statue is Olympian majesty made
+visible, and in its presence we feel that we too are august. The symphony is a resolution
+of the struggle of our own tangled lives, a purification, and the experience of joy.</p>
+
+<p>Art is the expression of experience, whether the experience enacts itself within the
+spirit of the artist or derives from his contact with the external world. So by the same
+token, art is finally to be received as experience. The ultimate meaning of a work of art
+to the appreciator is what it wakens in him of emotion. It is the artist's business, by
+the manipulation of his materials and his elements, by the choice of motive and the
+rendering, by the note and pitch of his color, the ordering of his line, the disposition
+of his masses, to compel the direction of the emotion; he must not allow the solemnity
+and awe with which his night invests the Palisades to be mistaken by the beholder for
+terror or for mere obscurity. But the quality and the intensity of the emotion depend
+upon the temper of the appreciator's sensibilities and the depth and range of his
+experience of life. Art is not fixed and invariable in its effect. "Vanity Fair" is a
+great novel. One man may read it for the sake of the story, and in his amusement and
+interest in following the succession of incident, he may for a while forget himself. A
+possible use to put one's reading to; yet for that man the book is not art. Another may
+be entertained by the spectacle of the persons as they exhibit themselves in Thackeray's
+pages, much as he might stop a moment on the curbstone and watch a group of children at
+play in the street. Here he is a looker-on, holding himself aloof; and for him, again,
+the book is not art. Still a third may find in "Vanity Fair" a record of the customs and
+manners of English people at the beginning of the nineteenth century; and he adds this
+much to his stock of information. Still for him the book is not art. Not one of the three
+has touched in vital contact the essential meaning of "Vanity Fair." But the man who sees
+in the incidents of the book a situation possible in his own life, who identifies himself
+with the personages and acts out with them their adventures, who feels that he actually
+knows Rawdon Crawley and Becky Sharp, Jo Sedley, Dobbin, and Amelia, and understands
+their character and personality better here than in the actual world about him by force
+of Thackeray's greater insight and power of portraiture, who sees in English manners here
+represented the interpretation of his own surroundings, so that as a result of it all,
+his own experience becomes richer for his having lived out the life of the fictitious
+persons, his own acquaintances have revealed themselves more fully, his own life becomes
+more intelligible,&mdash;for him at last the book is a work of art. So any work may be a
+mirror which simply reflects the world as we know it; it may be a point of departure,
+from which tangentially we construct an experience of our own: it is truly art only in
+the degree that it is revelation.</p>
+
+<p>A work of art, therefore, is to be received by the individual appreciator as an added
+emotional experience. It appeals to him at all because in some way it relates itself to
+his own life; and its value to him is determined by the measure in which it carries him
+out into wider ranges of feeling. There are works whose absolute greatness he recognizes
+but yet which do not happen at the moment to find him. Constable comes to him as
+immensely satisfying; Turner, though an object of great intellectual interest, leaves him
+cold. He knows Velasquez to be supreme among painters, but he turns away to stand before
+Frans Hals, whose quick, sure strokes call such very human beings into actuality and
+rouse his spirit to the fullest response. Why is it that of two works of equal depth of
+insight into life, of equal scope of feeling, of the same excellence of technical
+accomplishment, one has an appeal and a message for him and not the other? What is the
+bridge of transition between the work and the spirit of the appreciator by which the
+subtle connection is established?</p>
+
+<p>It comes back to a matter of harmony. Experience presents itself to us in fragments;
+and in so far as the parts are scattering and unrelated, it is not easy for us to guess
+the purpose of our being here. But so soon as details, which by virtue of some selecting
+principle are related to one another, gather themselves into a whole, chaos is resolved
+into order, and this whole becomes significant, intelligible, and beautiful.
+Instinctively we are seeking, each in his own way, to bring the fragments of experience
+into order; and that order stands to each of us for what we are, for our individual
+personality, the self. We define thus our selecting principle, by which we receive some
+incidents of experience as related to our development and we reject others as not related
+to it. Thus the individual life achieves its integrity, its unity and significance. This,
+too, is the process of art. A landscape in nature is capable of a various,
+interpretation. By bringing its details into order and unity, the artist creates its
+beauty. His perception of the harmony which his imagination compels out of the landscape
+is attended with emotion, and the emotion flows outward to expression in a form which is
+itself harmonious. This form is a work of art. Art, therefore, is the harmonizing of
+experience. Appreciation is an act of fusion and identification. In spirit we
+<i>become</i> the thing presented by the work of art and we merge with it in a larger
+unity. The individual harmony which a work of art manifests becomes significant to us as
+we can make it an harmonious part of our own experience and as it carries us in the
+direction of our development.</p>
+
+<p>But how to determine, each man for himself, what is the direction of our development?
+A life becomes significant to itself so soon as it is conscious of its purpose, and it
+becomes harmonious as it makes all the details of experience subserve that purpose. The
+purpose of the individual life, so far as we can guess it, seems to be that the life
+shall be as complete as possible, that it shall fulfill itself and provide through its
+offspring for its continuance. It is true that no life is isolated; as every atom
+throughout the universe is bound to every other atom by subtlest filaments of influence,
+so each human life stands related to all other lives. But the man best pays his debt of
+service to others who makes the most of that which is given him to work with; and that is
+his own personality. We must begin at the centre and work outwards. My concern is with my
+own justice. If I worry because my friend or another is not just, I not only do not make
+him more just, but I also fail of the highest justice I can achieve, which is my own. We
+must be true to ourselves. We help one another not by precept but by <i>being;</i> and
+what we are communicates itself. As physical life propagates and thus continues itself,
+so personality is transmitted in unconscious innumerable ways. The step and carriage of
+the body, the glance of the eye, the work of our hands, our silences no less than our
+speech, all express what we are. As everything follows upon what we are, so our
+responsibility is to <i>be,</i> to be ourselves completely, perfectly.</p>
+
+<p>A tender shoot pushes its way out of the soil into light and air, and with the years
+it grows into a tree. The tree bears fruit, which contains the seed of new manifestations
+of itself. The fruit falls to the ground and rots, providing thus the aliment for the
+seed out of which other trees are to spring. From seed to seed the life of the tree is a
+cycle, without beginning and without end. At no one point in the cycle can we say, Here
+is the purpose of the tree. Incidentally the tree may minister to the needs and comfort
+and pleasure of man. The tree delights him to look upon it; its branches shade him from
+the noonday sun; its trunk and limbs can be hewn down and turned to heat and shelter; its
+fruit is good to eat. The primary purpose of the fruit, however, is not to furnish food
+to man, but to provide the envelope for the transmission of its seed and the continuance
+of its own life. Seen in its cosmic bearing and scope, the purpose of the tree is to be a
+tree, as fit, as strong, as beautiful, as complete, as tree-like, as it can be. The leaf
+precedes the flower and may be thought on that account to be inferior to it in the scale
+of development. If a leaf pines and withers in regret that it is not a flower, it not
+only does not become a flower, but it fails of being a good leaf. Everything in its place
+and after its own kind. In so far as it is perfectly itself, a leaf, a blossom, a tree, a
+man, does it contribute to the well-being of others. Man has subdued all things under his
+feet and turned them to his own uses. By force of mind he is the strongest creature, but
+it is not to be inferred that he is therefore the aim and end of all creation. Like
+everything else, he has his place; like everything else he has the right to live his own
+life, triumphing over the weaker and in his turn going down before a mightier when the
+mightier shall come; like everything else he is but a part in the universal whole. Only a
+part; but as we recognize our relation to other parts and through them our connection
+with the whole, our sense of the value of the individual life becomes infinitely
+extended. We must get into the rhythm, keeping step with the beat of the universal life
+and finding there our place, our destiny, the meaning of our being here, and joy. The
+goods which men set before themselves as an end are but by-products after all. If we
+pursue happiness we overtake it not. If we do what our hands find to do, devotedly and
+with our might, then, some day, if we happen to stop and make question of it, we discover
+that happiness is already there, in us, with us, and around us. The aim of a man's life
+in the world, as it would seem, is to be perfectly a man, and his end is to fulfill
+himself; as part of this fulfillment of himself, he provides for the continuance of his
+life in other lives, and transmitting his character and influence, he enriches other
+lives because of what he is. The purpose of seeing is that we may see more, and the eye
+is ever striving to increase its power; the health of the eye is growth. The purpose of
+life is more life, individual in the measure that it lies within a man's power to develop
+it, but cosmic in its sources and its influence.</p>
+
+<p>As the harmony which a work of art presents finds a place in that harmony of
+experience and outward-reaching desire which constitutes our personality, art becomes for
+us an entrance into more life. In the large, art is a means of development. But as any
+work embraces diverse elements and is capable of a various appeal, it may be asked in
+what sense the appreciation of art is related to education and culture. Before we can
+answer the question intelligently, we must know what we mean by our terms. By many people
+education is regarded as they regard any material possession, to be classed with
+fashionable clothes, a fine house, a carriage and pair, or touring-car, or steam yacht,
+as the credential and card of entr<font face="Times New Roman">&eacute;</font>e to what
+is called good society. Culture is a kind of ornamental furniture, maintained to impress
+visitors. Of course we ourselves do not think so, but we know people who do. Nor do we
+believe&mdash;as some believe&mdash;that education is simply a means of gaining a more
+considerable livelihood. It is pathetic to see young men in college struggling in
+desperate, uncomplaining sacrifice to obtain an education, and all the while mistaking
+the end of their effort. Not all the deeds of daring in a university course are enacted
+on the athletic field; the men I am thinking of do not have their pictures published in
+the newspapers,&mdash;the unrecorded heroisms of college life are very moving to those
+who know. But the tragedy I have in mind is this&mdash;for tragedy consists not in
+sacrifice itself but in needless and futile sacrifice&mdash;that some of these young men
+suppose <i>there</i> is a magic virtue in education for its own sake, that it is the
+open-sesame to all the wealth and beauty of life. With insufficient ability to start
+with, they are preparing to be unfit professional men, when they might be excellent
+artisans. The knowledge of books is in no sense the whole story nor the only means of
+education. In devotion to some craft or in the intelligent conduct of some business they
+might find the true education, which is the conscious discipline of one's powers. The man
+who can do things, whether with his hands or with his brain, provided intelligence govern
+the exercise of hand and brain, and who finds happiness in his work because it is the
+expression of himself, is an educated man. The end of education is the building of
+personality, the making of human power, and its fruit is wisdom.</p>
+
+<p>Wisdom, however, does not consist in the most extensive knowledge of facts. Oftentimes
+information overweights a man and snuffs out what personal force there might otherwise
+have been. On the futility of mere learning there is abundant testimony. Walt Whitman, as
+we might expect from his passion for the vital and the human, has said: "You must not
+know too much and be too precise and scientific about birds and trees and flowers and
+watercraft. A certain free margin, perhaps ignorance, credulity, helps your enjoyment of
+these things and of the sentiment of feather'd, wooded, river or marine nature generally.
+I repeat it&mdash;don't want to know too exactly or the reasons why." Even Ruskin, whose
+learning was extensive and various, bears witness to the same effect. He notes "the
+diminution which my knowledge of the Alps had made in my impression of them, and the way
+in which investigation of strata and structure reduces all mountain sublimity to mere
+debris and wall-building." In the same spirit he planned an essay on the Uses of
+Ignorance. From the midst of his labors in Venice he wrote: "I am sure that people who
+work out subjects thoroughly are disagreeable wretches. One only feels as one should when
+one doesn't know much about the matter." In other words, we are not to let our knowledge
+come between us and our power to feel. In thus seeming to assail education I am not
+seeking to subvert or destroy; I want simply to adjust the emphasis. The really wise man
+is he who knows how to make life yield him its utmost of true satisfaction and furnish
+him the largest scope for the use of his powers and the expression of himself. In this
+sense a newsboy in the streets may be wiser than a university professor, in that one may
+be the master of his life and the other may be the servant of his information. Education
+should have for its end the training of capacities and powers, the discipline and control
+of the intelligence, the quickening of the sympathies, the development of the ability to
+live. No man is superior to his fellows because of the fact of his education. His
+education profits him only in so far as it makes him more of a man, more responsive
+because his own emotions have been more deeply stirred, more tolerant because his wider
+range has revealed more that is good, more generous to give of his own life and service
+because he has more generously received. It is not what we know nor what we have that
+marks our worth, but what we are. No man, however fortunate and well-circumstanced he may
+be, can afford to thank God that he is not as other men are. In so far as his education
+tends to withdraw him from life and from contact with his fellows of whatever station, in
+so far as it fosters in him the consciousness of class, so far it is an evil. Education
+should lead us not to judge lives different from our own, but to try to understand and,
+to appreciate. The educated man, above all others, should thank God that there are
+diversity of gifts and so many kinds of good.</p>
+
+<p>Art is a means of culture, but art rightly understood and received. Art does not aim
+to teach. It may teach incidentally, tangentially to its circle, but instruction, either
+intellectual or ethical, is not its purpose. It fulfills itself in the spirit of the
+appreciator as it enables him in its presence to become something that otherwise he had
+not been. It is not enough to be told things; we must make trial of them and live them
+out in our own experience before they become true for us. As appreciation is not
+knowledge but feeling, so we must live our art. It is well to have near us some work that
+we want to be <i>like.</i> We get its fullest message only as we identify ourselves with
+it. If we are willing to be thought ignorant and to live our lives as seems good to us, I
+believe it is better to go the whole way with a few things that can minister to us
+abundantly and so come to the end of them, than to touch in superficial contact a great
+many lesser works. The lesser works have their place; and so far as they can carry us
+beyond the point where we are, they can serve us. In a hurried touch-and-go, however,
+there is danger of scattering; whereas true appreciation takes time, for it is less an
+act than a whole attitude of mind. This is an age of handbooks and short cuts. But there
+is no substitute for life. If for one reason or another the opportunity to realize art in
+terms of life is not accorded us, it is better to accept the situation quite frankly and
+happily, and not try to cheat ourselves with the semblance. But if it is indeed the
+reality, then we maybe content with the minutes of experience, though we are denied the
+hours or the years. "The messages of great poems," says Whitman, "to each man and woman
+are, Come to us on equal terms; only then can you understand us." The power of response
+must be in us, and that power is the fruit of experience. The only mystery of art is the
+mystery of all life itself. In nature the artist finds the manifestation of a larger self
+toward which he aspires, and this is what his work expresses. Alone with his spirit, he
+cries to us for that intimate mystic companionship which is appreciation, and our
+response gives back the echo of his cry. He reaches out across the distance to touch
+other and kindred spirits and draw them to himself. Says the poet,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as
+I,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Therefore for thee the following chants."</p>
+
+<p>We appreciate the artist's work as in it we live again and doubly.</p>
+
+<p>Thus art links itself with life. The message of art to the individual defines itself
+according to his individual needs. Life rises with each man, to him a new opportunity and
+a new destiny. We create our own world; and life means to us what we are in ourselves. In
+art we are seeking to find ourselves expressed more fully. The works that we care for, if
+we consider it a moment, are the works we understand; and we understand them because they
+phrase for us our own experience. Life and the truth of life are relative. Truth is not
+in the object but in our relation to it. What is true for me may or may not be true for
+another. This much is true for me, namely, whatever tallies with my experience and
+reveals to me more of the underlying purpose of the universe. We are all, each in his own
+way, seeking the meaning of life; and that meaning is special and personal to the
+individual, each man deciding for himself. By selection here, by rejection there, we are
+trying to work toward harmony. The details of life become increasingly complex with the
+years, but living grows simpler because we gradually fix a selecting and unifying
+principle. When we have truly found ourselves, we come to feel that the external
+incidents do not signify; which chance happens, whether this or that, is indifferent. It
+is the spirit in which the life is lived that determines its quality and value. The
+perception of purpose in the parts brings them into order and gives them meaning. A man's
+life is an expanding circle, the circumference of which is drawn around an order or
+interplay and adjustment of part with part. Whatever lies without the circle does not
+pertain to the individual&mdash;as yet. So soon as any experience reveals its meaning to
+us and we feel that it takes its place in our life, then it belongs to us. Whatever
+serves to bring details, before scattering and unrelated, into order, is for that moment
+true. Art has a message for us as it tallies with what we already know about life; and,
+quickening our perceptions, disclosing depths of feeling, it carries us into new ranges
+of experience.</p>
+
+<p>In this attitude toward life lies the justice of the personal estimate. The individual
+is finally his own authority. To find truth we return upon our own consciousness, and we
+seek thus to define our "original relation" to the universal order. So as one stands
+before the works of the Italian painters and sculptors, for example, in the endeavor
+rightly to appreciate what they have achieved, one may ask: How much of life has this
+artist to express to me, of life as I know it or can know it? Has the painter through
+these forms, however crude or however accomplished, uttered what he genuinely and for
+himself thought and felt? The measure of these pictures for me is the degree of reality,
+of vital feeling, which they transmit. Whether it be spring or divine maternity or the
+beauty of a pagan idea, which Botticelli renders, the same power is there, the same sense
+of gracious life. Whether it be Credi's na<font face="Times New Roman">&iuml;</font>ve
+womanhood, or Titian's abounding, glorious women and calm and forceful men, or Delia
+Robbia's joyous children and Donatello's sprites, the same great meaning is expressed,
+the same appreciation of the goodness and beauty of all life. This beauty is for me,
+here, to-day. In the experience of a man who thinks and feels, there is a time when his
+imagination turns toward the past. At the moment, as the world closes in about him, his
+spirit, dulled by the attrition of daily use and wont, is unable to discern the beauty
+and significance of the present life around him. For a time his imagination finds
+abundant nourishment in the mighty past. Many spirits are content there to remain. But
+life is of the present. To live greatly is to live now, inspired by the past, corrected
+and encouraged by it, impelled by "forward-looking thoughts'" and providing for the
+future, but living in to-day. Life is neither remembrance nor anticipation, neither
+regret nor deferment, but present realization. Often one feels in a gallery that the
+people are more significant than the pictures. Two lovers furtively holding hands and
+stopping before a canvas to press closer together, shoulder to shoulder; a young girl
+erect and firm, conscious of her young womanhood and rejoicing in it, radiating youth and
+life; an old man, whose years are behind him yet whose interest reveals his eager welcome
+of new experience, unconsciously rebuking the jaded and indifferent: here is reality.
+Before it the pictures seem to recede and become dimmed. Our appreciation of these things
+makes the significance of it all. Only in so far as art can communicate this sensation,
+this same impression of the beauty and present reality of life, has it a meaning for us.
+The painter must have registered his appreciation of immediate reality and must impart
+that to us until it becomes, heightened and intensified, our own. The secret of
+successful living lies in compelling the details of our surroundings to our own ends.
+Michelangelo lived his life; Leonardo lived his; neither could be the other. A man must
+paint the life that he knows, the experience into which he enters. So we must live our
+lives immediately and newly. We have penetrated the ultimate mystery of art when we
+realize the inseparable oneness of art with life.</p>
+
+<p>Art is a call to fuller living. Its real service is to increase our capacity for
+experience. The pictures, the music, the books, which profit us are those which, when we
+have done with them, make us feel that we have lived by just so much. Often we purchase
+experience with enthusiasm; we become wise at the expense of our power to enjoy. What we
+need in relation to art is not more knowledge but greater capability of feeling, not the
+acquisition of more facts but the increased power to interpret facts and to apply them to
+life. In appreciation it is not what we know about a work of art, it is not even what we
+actually see before us, that constitutes its significance, but what in its presence we
+are able to feel. The paradox that nature imitates art has in it this much of truth, that
+art is the revelation of the possibilities of life, and we try to make these
+possibilities actual in our own experience. Art is not an escape from life and a refuge;
+it is a challenge and re<font face="Times New Roman">&euml;</font>nforcement. Its action
+is not to make us less conscious but more; in it we are not to lose ourselves but to find
+ourselves more truly and more fully. Its effect is to help us to a larger and juster
+appreciation of the beauty and worth of nature and of life.</p>
+
+<p>Art is within the range of every man who holds himself open to its appeal. But art is
+not the final thing. It is a means to an end; its end is personality. There are exalted
+moments in the experience of us all which we feel to be finer than any art. Then we do
+not need to turn to painting, music, literature, for our satisfaction. We are living. Art
+is aid and inspiration, but its fulfillment and end is life.</p>
+
+<p>"We live," says Wordsworth, "by admiration, hope, and love." Admiration is wonder and
+worship, a sense of the mystery and the beauty of life as we know it now, and
+thankfulness for it, and joy. Hope is the vision of things to be. And love is the supreme
+enfolding unity that makes all one. Art is life at its best, but life is the greatest of
+the arts,&mdash;life harmonious, deep in feeling, big in sympathy, the life that is
+appreciation, responsiveness, and love.</p><br>
+<br>
+<br>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Gate of Appreciation, by Carleton Noyes
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GATE OF APPRECIATION ***
+
+***** This file should be named 27183-h.htm or 27183-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/1/8/27183/
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
+
diff --git a/27183.txt b/27183.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c02d0c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27183.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5309 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gate of Appreciation, by Carleton Noyes
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Gate of Appreciation
+       Studies in the Relation of Art to Life
+
+Author: Carleton Noyes
+
+Release Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #27183]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GATE OF APPRECIATION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Note: for this online edition I have moved the Table of Contents to
+the beginning of the text.  Also I have made one spelling change:
+irrevelant circumstance to irrelevant circumstance.]
+
+
+
+THE GATE OF APPRECIATION
+Studies in the Relation of Art to Life
+
+BY
+
+CARLETON NOYES
+
+BOSTON AND NEW YORK
+HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
+The Riverside Press, Cambridge
+1907
+
+
+COPYRIGHT 1907 BY CARLETON NOYES
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+
+_Published April 1907_
+
+
+TO
+MY FATHER
+AND THE MEMORY OF
+MY MOTHER
+
+
+"Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves,
+As souls only understand souls."
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+Preface                               i
+I.      The Impulse to Expression     i
+II.     The Attitude of Response     23
+III.    Technique and the Layman     44
+IV.     The Value of the Medium      87
+V.      The Background of Art       105
+VI.     The Service of Criticism    137
+VII.    Beauty and Common Life      165
+VIII.   The Arts of Form            201
+IX.     Representation              221
+X.      The Personal Estimate       254
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+IN the daily life of the ordinary man, a life crowded with diverse
+interests and increasingly complex demands, some few moments of
+a busy week or month or year are accorded to an interest in art.
+Whatever may be his vocation, the man feels instinctively that in his
+total scheme of life books, pictures, music have somewhere a place.
+In his own business or profession he is an expert, a man of special
+training; and intelligently he does not aspire to a complete
+understanding of a subject which lies beyond his province. In the
+same spirit in which he is a master of his own craft, he is content to
+leave expert knowledge of art to the expert, to the artist and to the
+connoisseur. For his part as a layman he remains frankly and happily
+on the outside. But he feels none the less that art has an interest and
+a meaning even for him. Though he does not practice any art himself,
+he knows that he enjoys fine things, a beautiful room, noble
+buildings, books and plays, statues, pictures, music; and he believes
+that in his own fashion he is able to appreciate art, I venture to think
+that he is right.
+
+There is a case for the outsider in reference to art. And I have tried
+here to state it. This book is an attempt to suggest the possible
+meaning of art to the ordinary man, to indicate methods of approach
+to art, and to trace the way of appreciation. It is essentially a
+personal record, an account of my own adventures with the problem.
+The book does not pretend to finality; the results are true for me as
+far as I have gone. They may or may not be true for another. If they
+become true for another man, he is the one for whom the book was
+written. I do not apologize because the shelter here put together, in
+which I have found a certain comfort, is not a palace. Rude as the
+structure may be, any man is welcomed to it who may find solace
+there in an hour of need.
+
+     C. N.
+CAMBRIDGE, _November second, 1906._
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE IMPULSE TO EXPRESSION
+
+TOWARD evening a traveler through a wild country finds himself
+still in the open, with no hope of reaching a village that night. The
+wind is growing chill; clouds are gathering in the west, threatening
+rain. There rises in him a feeling of the need of shelter; and he looks
+about him to see what material is ready to his hand. Scattered stones
+will serve for supports and low walls; there are fallen branches for
+the roof; twigs and leaves can be woven into a thatch. Already the
+general design has shaped itself in his mind. He sets to work,
+modifying the details of his plan to suit the resources of his material.
+At last, after hours of hard thought and eager toil, spurred on by his
+sense of his great need, the hut is ready; and fee takes refuge in it as
+the storm breaks.
+
+The entire significance of the man's work is _shelter._ The
+beginning of it lay in his need of shelter. The impulse to action rose
+out of his consciousness of his need. His imagination conceived the
+plan whereby the need might be met, and the plan gave shape to his
+material. The actual result of his labor was a hut, but the hut itself
+was not the end for which he strove. The hut was but the means. The
+all-inclusive import of his work--the stimulus which impelled him to
+act, the purpose for which he toiled, and the end which he
+accomplished--is shelter.
+
+A man of special sensitiveness to the appeal of color and form finds
+himself also in the open. He is weary with the way, which shows but
+broken glimpses of the road. His spirit, heavy with the "burden of
+the mystery," is torn by conflict and confusion. As he looks across
+the stony places to the gnarled and weather-tortured trees beyond,
+and up to the clouds piling black above him, there is revealed to him
+a sudden harmony among the discords; an inner principle,
+apprehended by his imagination, compels the fragments of the
+seeming chaos into a regnant order. These natural forms become for
+him the expression external to himself of the struggle of his own
+spirit and its final resolution. The desire rises in him to express by
+his own act the order he has newly perceived, the harmony of his
+spirit with the spirit of nature. As life comes to him dominantly in
+terms of color and form, it is with color and form that he works to
+expression so as to satisfy his need. The design is already projected
+in his imagination, and to realize concretely his ideal he draws upon
+the material of nature about him. The picture which he paints is not
+the purpose of his effort. The picture is but the means. His end is to
+express the great new harmony in which his spirit finds shelter.
+
+Both men, the traveler and the painter, are wayfarers. Both are
+seeking shelter from stress and storm, and both construct their
+means. In one case the product is more obviously and immediately
+practical, and the informing purpose tends to become obscured in
+the actual serviceableness of the result. The hut answers a need that
+is primarily physical; the need in the other case is spiritual. But it is
+a matter of degree. In essence and import the achievement of the two
+men is the same. The originating impulse, a sense of need; the
+processes involved, the combination of material elements to a
+definite end; the result attained, shelter which answers the need,--they
+are identical. Both men are artists. Both hut and picture are
+works of art.
+
+So art is not remote from common life after all. In its highest
+manifestations art is life at its best; painting, sculpture, poetry, music
+are the distillment and refinement of experience. Architecture and
+the subsidiary arts of decoration adorn necessity and add delight to
+use. But whatever the flower and final fruit, art strikes its roots deep
+down into human need, and draws its impulse and its sustenance
+from the very sources of life itself. In the wide range from the hut in
+the wilderness to a Gothic cathedral, from the rude scratches
+recorded on the cave walls of prehistoric man to the sublimities of
+the Sistine Chapel, there is no break in the continuity of effort and
+aspiration. Potentially every man is an artist. Between the artist,
+so-called, and the ordinary man there is no gulf fixed which cannot be
+passed. Such are the terms of our mechanical civilization to-day that
+art has become specialized and the practice of it is limited to a few;
+in consequence artists have become a kind of class. But essentially
+the possibilities of art lie within the scope of any man, given the
+right conditions. So too the separation of the "useful arts" from the
+"fine arts" is unjust to art and perversive of right appreciation.
+Whatever the form in which it may manifest itself, from the lowest
+to the highest, the art spirit is one, and it may quicken in any man
+who sets mind and heart to the work of his hand. That man is an
+artist who fashions a new thing that he may express himself in
+response to his need.
+
+Art is creation. It is the combination of already existing material
+elements into new forms which become thus the realization of a
+preconceived idea. Both hut and picture rose in the imagination of
+their makers before they took shape as things. The material of each
+was given already in nature; but the form, as the maker fashioned it,
+was new. Commonly we think of art as the expression and
+communication of emotion. A picture, a statue, a symphony we
+recognize as the symbol of what the artist has felt in some passage
+of his experience and the means by which he conveys his feeling to
+us. Art _is_ the expression of emotion, but all art springs out of need.
+The sense of need which impels expression through the medium of
+creation is itself an emotion. The hut which the traveler built for
+himself in the wilderness--shaping it according to the design which
+his imagination suggested, having reference to his need and to the
+character of his materials--was a work of creation; the need which
+prompted it presented itself to him as emotion. The picture which
+the other wayfarer painted of the storm-swept landscape, a harmony
+which his imagination compelled out of discords, was a work of
+creation; the emotion which inspired the work was attended by need,
+the need of expression. The material and practical utility of the hut
+obscures the emotional character of its origin; the emotional import
+of the picture outweighs consideration of its utility to the painter as
+the means by which his need of expression is satisfied. The
+satisfaction of physical needs which results in the creation of
+utilities and the satisfaction of spiritual needs which results in the
+forms of expression we commonly call works of art differ one from
+the other in their effect on the total man only in degree. All works of
+use whose conception and making have required an act of creation
+are art; all art--even in its supreme manifestations--embraces
+elements of use. The measure in which a work is art is established
+by the intensity and scope of its maker's emotion and by his power
+to body forth his feeling in harmonious forms which in turn recreate
+the emotion in the spirit of those whom his work reaches.
+
+In its essence and widest compass art is the making of a new thing in
+response to a sense of need. The very need itself creates, working
+through man as its agent. This truth is illustrated vividly by the
+miracles of modern invention. The hand of man unaided was not
+able to cope with his expanding opportunities; the giant steam and
+the magician electricity came at his call to work their wonders. The
+plow and scythe of the New England colonist on his little farm were
+metamorphosed into the colossal steam-driven shapes, in which
+machinery seems transmuted into intelligence, as he moved to the
+conquest of the acres of the West which summoned him to dominion.
+First the need was felt; the contrivance was created in response. A
+man of business sees before him in imagination the end to be
+reached, and applying his ideal to practical conditions, he makes
+every detail converge to the result desired. All rebellious
+circumstances, all forces that pull the other way, he bends to his
+compelling will, and by the shaping power of his genius he
+accomplishes his aim. His business is his medium of self-expression;
+his success is the realization of his ideal. A painter does no more
+than this, though he works with a different material. The landscape
+which is realized ultimately upon his canvas is the landscape seen in
+his imagination. He draws his colors and forms from nature around;
+but he selects his details, adapting them to his end. All accidents and
+incidents are purged away. Out of the apparent confusion of life
+rises the evident order of art. And in the completed work the artist's
+_idea_ stands forth salient and victorious.
+
+That consciousness of need which compels creation is the origin of
+art. The owner of a dwelling who first felt the need of securing his
+door so that he alone might possess the secret and trick of access
+devised a lock and key, rude enough, as we can fancy. As the maker
+of the first lock and key he was an artist. All those who followed
+where he had led, repeating his device without modification, were
+but artisans. In the measure that any man changed the design,
+however, adapting it more closely to his peculiar needs and so
+making it anew, to that extent he was an artist also. The man who
+does a thing for the first time it is done is an artist; a man who does a
+thing better is an artist. The painter who copies his object imitatively,
+finding nothing, creating nothing, is an artisan, however skillful he
+may be. He is an artist in the degree in which he brings to his subject
+something of his own, and fashioning it, however crudely, to express
+the idea he has conceived of the object, so creates.
+
+The difference between work which is art and work which is not art
+is just this element of the originating impulse and creative act. The
+difference, though often seemingly slight and not always
+immediately perceived, is all-important. It distinguishes the artist
+from the artisan; a free spirit from a slave; a thinking, feeling man
+from a soulless machine. It makes the difference between life rich
+and significant, and mere existence; between the mastery of fate and
+the passive acceptance of things as they are.
+
+If a mind and heart are behind it to control and guide it to expression,
+even the machine may be an instrument in the making of a work of
+art. It is not the work itself, but the motive which prompted the
+making of it, that determines its character as art. Art is not the way a
+thing is done, but the reason why it is done. A chair, though turned
+on a lathe, may be a work of art, if the maker has truly expressed
+himself in his work. A picture, though "hand-painted," may be
+wholly mechanical in spirit. To set about "making a picture" is to
+begin at the wrong end. The impulse to art flows from within
+outwards. Art is bound up with life itself; like nature, it is organic
+and must grow. The form cannot be laid on from the outside; it is
+born and must develop in response to vital need. In so far as our acts
+are consciously the expression of ourselves they are prompted by the
+art spirit.
+
+All our acts are reducible to one of two kinds: either they are acts of
+creation, effecting a new result, or they are acts of repetition. Acts of
+repetition tend rapidly to become habits; and they may be performed
+without attention or positive volition. Thus, as I am dressing in the
+morning I may be planning the work for the day; while my mind is
+given over to thought, I lose the sense of my material surroundings,
+my muscles work automatically, the motor-currents flowing through
+the well-worn grooves, and by force of habit the acts execute
+themselves. Obviously, acts of repetition, or habits, make up the
+larger part of our daily lives.
+
+Acts of creation, on the other hand, are performed by an effort of the
+will in response to the consciousness of a need. To meet the new
+need we are obliged to make new combinations. I assume that the
+traveler constructed his hut for the first time, shaping it to the special
+new conditions; that the harmony which the painter discerned in the
+tumult around him he experienced for the first time, and the picture
+which he paints, shaped with reference to his need and fulfilling it,
+is a new thing. In the work produced by this act of creation, the
+feeling which has prompted it finds expression. In the making of the
+hut, in the painting of the picture, the impelling need is satisfied.
+
+Although acts of repetition constitute the bulk of life, creation is of
+its very essence and determines its quality. The significance and joy
+of life are less in being than in _becoming._ Growth is expression,
+and in turn expression is made possible by growth. In our
+conscious experience the sense of becoming is one of our supreme
+satisfactions. Growth is the purpose and the recompense of our
+being here, the end for which we strive and the reward of all the
+effort and the struggle. In the exercise of brain or hand, to feel the
+work take form, develop, and become something,--that is happiness.
+And the joy is in the creating rather than in the thing created; the
+completed work is behind us, and we move forward to new creation.
+A painter's best picture is the blank canvas before him; an author's
+greatest book is the one he is just setting himself to write. The desire
+for change for the sake of change which we all feel at times, a vague
+restlessness of mind and body, is only the impulse to growth which
+has not found its direction. Outside of us we love to see the
+manifestation of growth. We tend and cherish the little plant in the
+window; we watch with delight the unfolding of each new leaf and
+the upward reach into blossom. The spring, bursting triumphant
+from the silent, winter-stricken earth, is nature's parable of
+expression, her symbol perennially renewed of the joy of growth.
+
+The impulse to expression is cosmic and eternal. But even in the
+homeliness and familiarity of our life from day to day the need of
+expression is there, whether we are entirely aware of it or not; and
+we are seeking the realization and fulfillment of ourselves through
+the utterance of what we are. A few find their expression in forms
+which with distinct limitation of the term we call works of art. Most
+men find it in their daily occupations, their profession or their
+business. The president of one of the great Western railroads
+remarked once in conversation that he would rather build a thousand
+miles of railroad than live in the most sumptuous palace on Fifth
+Avenue. Railroad building was his medium of expression; it was his
+art. Some express themselves in shaping their material environment,
+in the decoration and ordering of their houses. A young woman said,
+"My ambition is to keep my house well." Again, for her,
+housekeeping is her art. Some find the realization of themselves in
+the friends they draw around them. Love is but the utterance of what
+we essentially are; and the response to it in the loved one makes the
+utterance articulate and complete. Expression rises out of our
+deepest need, and the need impels expression.
+
+The assertion that art is thus involved with need seems for the
+moment to run counter to the usual conception, which regards art as
+a product of leisure, a luxury, and the result not of labor but of play.
+Art in its higher forms becomes more and more purely the
+expression of emotion, the un-trammeled record of the artist's
+spiritual experience. It is only when physical necessities have been
+met or ignored that the spirit of man has free range. But the maker
+who adds decoration to his bowl after he has moulded it is just as
+truly fulfilling a need--the need of self-expression--as he fulfilled a
+need when he fashioned the bowl in the first instance in order that he
+might slake his thirst. Art is not superadded to life,--something
+different in kind. All through its ascent from its rudimentary forms
+to its highest, from hut to cathedral, art is coordinate with the
+development of life, continuous and without breach or sudden end; it
+is the expression step by step of ever fuller and ever deeper
+experience.
+
+Creation, therefore, follows upon the consciousness of need,
+whether the need be physical, as with the traveler, or spiritual, as
+with the painter; from physical to spiritual we pass by a series of
+gradations. At their extremes they are easy to distinguish, one from
+the other; but along the way there is no break in the continuity. The
+current formula for art, that art is the utterance of man's joy in his
+work, is not quite accurate. In the act of creation the maker finds the
+expression of himself. The man who decorates a bowl in response to
+his own creative impulse is expressing himself. The painter who
+thrills to the wonder and significance of nature is impelled to
+expression; and his delight is not fully realized and complete until he
+has uttered it. Such art is love expressed, and the artist's work is his
+"hymn of the praise of things." But the joy for both the potter and
+the painter, the joy which is so bound up with art as to partake of its
+very essence, is the joy which attends self-expression and the
+satisfaction of the need.
+
+A work of art is a work of creation brought into being as the
+expression of emotion. The traveler creates not the wood and stone
+but shelter, by means of the hut; the painter creates not the landscape
+but the beauty of it; the musician creates not the musical tones, but
+by means of a harmony of tones he creates an emotional experience.
+The impulse to art rises out of the earliest springs of consciousness
+and vibrates through all life. Art does not disdain to manifest itself
+in the little acts of expression of simple daily living; with all its
+splendid past and vital present it is ever seeking new and greater
+forms whose end is not yet. I spoke of the work of the traveler
+through the wilderness as art; the term was applied also to
+railroad-building and to housekeeping. The truth to be illustrated by these
+examples is that the primary impulse to artistic expression does not
+differ in essence from the impulse to creation of any kind. The
+nature of the thing created, as art, depends upon the emotional value
+of the result, the degree in which it expresses immediately the
+emotion of its creator, and the power it possesses to rouse the
+emotion in others. To show that all art is creation and that all
+creation tends toward art is not to obscure useful distinctions, but
+rather to restore art to its rightful place in the life of man.
+
+In the big sense, then, art is bounded only by life itself. It is not a
+cult; it is not an activity practiced by the few and a mystery to be
+understood only by those who are initiated into its secrets. One
+difficulty in the way of the popular understanding of art is due to the
+fact that the term art is currently limited to its highest manifestations;
+we withhold the title of artist from a good carpenter or
+cabinet-maker who takes a pride in his work and expresses his creative
+desire by shaping his work to his own idea, and we bestow the name
+upon any juggler in paint: with the result that many people who are
+not painters or musicians feel themselves on that account excluded
+from all appreciation. If we go behind the various manifestations of
+art to discover just what art is in itself and to determine wherein it is
+able to link itself with common experience, we find that art is the
+response to a need. And that need may waken in any man. Every
+man may be an artist in his degree; and every man in his degree can
+appreciate art. A work of art is the expression of its maker's
+experience, the expression in such terms that the experience can be
+communicated to another. The processes of execution involved in
+fashioning a work, its technique, may be as incomprehensible and
+perplexed and difficult as its executants choose to make them.
+Technique is not the same as art. The only mystery of art is the
+mystery of all life itself. Accept life with its fundamental mysteries,
+with its wonders and glories, and we have the clue to art. But we
+miss the central fact of the whole matter if we do not perceive that
+art is only a means. It is by expression that we grow and so fulfill
+ourselves. The work itself which art calls into being is not the end. It
+fails of its purpose, remaining void and vain, if it does not perform
+its function. The hut which does not furnish shelter is labor lost. The
+significance of the painter's effort does not stop with the canvas and
+pigment which he manipulates into form and meaning. The artist
+sees beyond the actual material thing which he is fashioning; his
+purpose in creation is expression. By means of his picture he
+expresses himself and so finds the satisfaction of his deepest need.
+The beginning and the end of art is life.
+
+But the artist's work of expression is not ultimately complete until
+the message is received, and expression becomes communication as
+his utterance calls out a response in the spirit of a fellow-man. Art
+exists not only for the artist's sake but for the appreciator too. As art
+has its origin in emotion and is the expression of it, so for the
+appreciator the individual work has a meaning and is art in so far as
+it becomes for him the expression of what he has himself felt but
+could not phrase; and it is art too in the measure in which it is the
+revelation of larger possibilities of feeling and creates in him a new
+emotional experience. The impulse to expression is common to all;
+the difference is one of degree. And the message of art is for all,
+according as they are attuned to the response. Art is creation. For the
+artist it is creation by expression; for the appreciator it is creation by
+evocation. These two principles complete the cycle; abstractly and
+very briefly they are the whole story of art.
+
+To be responsive to the needs of life and its emotional appeal is the
+first condition of artistic creation. By new combinations of material
+elements to bring emotion to expression in concrete harmonious
+forms, themselves charged with emotion and communicating it, is to
+fashion a work of art. To feel in material, whether in the forms of
+nature or in works of art, a meaning for the spirit is the condition of
+appreciation.
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE ATTITUDE OF RESPONSE
+
+IT is a gray afternoon in late November. The day is gone; evening is
+not yet come. Though too dark to read or write longer, it is not dark
+enough for drawn shades and the lamp. As I sit in the gathering dusk,
+my will hovering between work done and work to do, I surrender to
+the mood of the moment. The day is accomplished, but it is not yet a
+remembrance, for it is still too near for me to define the details that
+made up its hours. Consciousness, not sharp enough for thought,
+floats away into diffused and obscure emotion. The sense is upon
+me and around me that I am vaguely, unreasoningly, yet pleasantly,
+unhappy. Out of the dimness a trick of memory recalls to me the
+lines,--
+
+     "Tears! tears! tears!
+     In the night, in solitude, tears,
+     On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the sand,
+     Tears, not a star shining, all dark and desolate,
+     Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head;
+     O who is that ghost? that form in the dark, with tears?
+     What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch'd there on the sand?
+     Streaming tears, sobbing tears, throes, choked with wild cries;
+     O storm, embodied, rising, careering with swift steps along the
+          beach!
+     O wild and dismal night storm, with wind--O belching and
+          desperate!
+     O shade so sedate and decorous by day, with calm countenance
+          and regulated pace,
+     But away at night as you fly, none looking--O then the
+          unloosened ocean
+     Of tears! tears! tears!"
+
+Now I know. My mood was the mood of tears. The poet, too, has
+felt what I was feeling. And as a poet he has been able to bring his
+emotion to expression. By the magic of phrase and the mystery of
+image he has, out of the moving of his spirit, fashioned a concrete
+reality. By means of his expression, because of it, his emotion
+becomes realized, and so reaches its fulfillment. And for me, what
+before was vague has been made definite. The poet's lines have
+wakened in me a response; I have felt what he has phrased; and now
+they become my expression too. As my mood takes form, I become
+conscious of its meaning. I can distill its significance for the spirit,
+and in the emotion made definite and realizable as consciousness I
+feel and know that I am living. Doubly, completely, the poem is a
+work of art. And my response to it, the absorption of it into my own
+experience, is appreciation.
+
+I appreciate the poem as I make the experience which the poet has
+here phrased my own, and at the instant of reading I live out in
+myself what he has lived and here expressed. I read the words, and
+intellectually I take in their signification, but the poem is not
+realized in me until it wakens in me the feeling which the words are
+framed to convey. The images which an artist employs have the
+power to rouse emotion in us, so that they come to stand for the
+emotion itself. We care for nature and it is beautiful to us as its
+forms become objectively the intimate expression for us of what we
+feel.
+
+     "O to realize space!
+     The plenteousness of all, that there are no bounds,
+     To emerge and be of the sky, of the sun and moon and flying
+          clouds, as one with them."
+
+In his contact with the external world the artist identifies himself
+with his object. If he is painting a tree he in a measure becomes the
+tree; he values it at all because it expresses for him concretely what
+he feels in its presence. The object and his spirit fuse; and through
+the fusion they together grow into a new and larger unity. What his
+work expresses is not the object for its own sake but this larger unity
+of his identity with it. To appreciate the artist's work, therefore, we
+must in our turn merge ourselves in his emotion, and becoming one
+with it, so extend our personality into larger life.
+
+To make the artist's emotion our own, to identify ourselves with the
+object which he presents to us, we must pass beyond the material
+form in which the work is embodied, letting the spirit and meaning
+of it speak to our spirit. In itself an individual picture or statue or
+symphony is an objective, material thing, received into
+consciousness along the channel of the senses; but its origin and its
+end alike are in emotion. The material form, whether in nature or in
+works of art, is only the means by which the emotion is
+communicated. A landscape in nature is composed of meadow and
+hills, blue sky and tumbling clouds; these are the facts of the
+landscape. But they are not fixed and inert. The imagination of the
+beholder combines these elements into a harmony of color and mass;
+his spirit flows into consonance with the harmony his imagination
+has compelled out of nature, becoming one with it. To regard the
+world not as facts and things, but as everywhere the stimulus of
+feeling, feeling which becomes our own experience, is the condition
+of appreciation.
+
+To the awakening mind of a child, life is full of wonder, and each
+unfolding day reveals new marvels of excitement and surprise. As
+yet untrammeled by any sense of the limitations of material, his
+quick imagination peoples his world with creatures of his fancy,
+which to him are more real than the things he is able actually to see
+and touch. For him the external world is fluid and plastic, to be
+moulded into forms at will in obedience to his creative desire. In the
+tiny bundle of rags which mother-love clasps tight to her heart, a
+little girl sees only the loveliest of babies; and a small boy with his
+stick of lath and newspaper cap and plume is a mightier than
+Napoleon. The cruder the toy, the greater is the pleasure in the game;
+for the imagination delights in the exercise of itself. A wax doll, sent
+from Paris, with flaxen hair and eyes that open and shut, is laid away,
+when the mere novelty of it is exhausted, in theatric chest, and the
+little girl is fondling again her first baby of rag and string. A real
+steel sword and tin helmet are soon cast aside, and the boy is back
+again among the toys of his own making. That impulse to creation
+which all men feel, the impulse which makes the artist, is especially
+active in a child; his games are his art. With a child material is not
+an end but a means. Things are for him but the skeleton of life, to be
+clothed upon by the flesh and blood reality of his own fashioning.
+His feeling is in excess of his knowledge. He has a faculty of
+perception other than the intellectual. It is imagination.
+
+The child is the first artist. Out of the material around him he creates
+a world of his own. The prototypes of the forms which he devises
+exist in life, but it is the thing which he himself makes that interests
+him, not its original in nature. His play is his expression. He creates;
+and he is able to merge himself in the thing created. In his play he
+loses all consciousness of self. He and the toy become one, caught
+up in the larger unity of the game. According as he identifies himself
+with the thing outside of him, the child is the first appreciator.
+
+Then comes a change.
+
+     "Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
+     Shades of the prison-house begin to close
+          Upon the growing Boy,
+     But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
+          He sees it in his joy;
+     The Youth, who daily farther from the east
+     Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
+          And by the vision splendid
+          Is on his way attended;
+     At length the Man perceives it die away,
+     And fade into the light of common day."
+
+Imagination surrenders to the intellect; emotion gives place to
+knowledge.
+
+Gradually the material world shuts in about us until it becomes for
+us a hard, inert thing, and no longer a living, changing presence,
+instinct with infinite possibilities of experience and feeling. Now
+custom lies upon us
+
+          "with a weight,
+     Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!"
+
+It happens, unfortunately for our enjoyment of life, that we get used
+to things. Little by little we come to accept them, to take them for
+granted, and they cease to mean anything to us. Habit, which is our
+most helpful ally in lending our daily life its practical efficiency, is
+the foe of emotion and appreciation. Habit allows us to perform
+without conscious effort the innumerable little acts of each day's
+necessity which we could not possibly accomplish if every single act
+required a fresh exercise of will. But just because its action is
+unconscious and unregarded, habit blunts the edge of our
+sensibilities. "Thus let but a Rising of the Sun," says Carlyle, "let but
+a creation of the World happen _twice,_ and it ceases to be
+marvelous, to be noteworthy, or noticeable."
+
+"Except ye become as little children!" Unless the world is
+new-created every day, unless we can thrill to the beauty of nature with
+its fair surfaces and harmonies of vibrant sounds, or quicken to the
+throb of human life with its occupations and its play of energies, its
+burdens and its joys, unless we find an answer to our needs, and
+gladness, in sunlight or storms, in the sunset and evening and
+solitude under the stars, in fields and hills or in thronging city streets,
+in conflict and struggle or in the face of a friend, unless each new
+day is a gift and new opportunity, then we cannot interpret the
+meaning of life nor read the riddle of art. For we cannot truly
+appreciate art except as we learn to appreciate life. Until then art has
+no message for us; it is a sealed book, and we shall not open the
+book nor loose the seals thereof. The meaning of life is for the spirit,
+and art is its minister. To share in the communion we must become
+as children. As a child uses the common things of life to his own
+ends, transfiguring them by force of his creative desire, and
+fashioning thus a wonderful world of his own by the exercise of his
+shaping imagination, a world of limitless incident and high
+adventure, so we must penetrate the visible and tangible actuality
+around us, the envelope of seemingly inert matter cast in forms of
+rigid definition, and we must open ourselves to the influence of
+nature. That influence--nature's power to inspire, quicken, and
+dilate--flowing through the channel of the senses, plays upon our
+spirit. The indwelling significance of things is apprehended by the
+imagination, and is won for us in the measure that we feel.
+
+As we respond to the emotional appeal of the great universe external
+to ourselves we come to realize that the material world which we see
+and touch is not final. In the experience of us all there are moments
+of exaltation and quickened response, moments of illumination
+when--
+
+          "with an eye made quiet by the power
+     Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
+     We see into the life of things."
+
+The "life of things" is their significance for the spirit. By spirit I
+mean the sum of our conscious being, that complete entity within us
+which we recognize as the self. The material world, external, visible,
+tangible, may be regarded as the actual world. The real world is the
+world of spiritual forces and relations, apprehended by the
+imagination and received with feeling. Life, in the sense of our
+conscious experience of the world, is the moving of the spirit in
+emotion.
+
+The measure of life for the individual, therefore, is the degree of
+intensity with which he feels. Experience is not meted out by weeks
+and months; it is to be sounded by the depth and poignancy of
+instant emotion. Variety and multitude of incident may crowd
+through insentient years and leave no record of their progress along
+the waste places of their march. Or a day may be a lifetime. In such
+moments of intensest experience time and space fall away and are
+not. The outermost bounds of things recede; they vanish altogether:
+and we are made free of the universe. At such moments we are truly
+living; then we really _are._
+
+As the meaning of art is not the material thing which it calls into
+form, but what the work expresses of life, so in order to appreciate
+art it is necessary to appreciate life, which is the inspiration of art
+and its fulfillment. To appreciate life is to send out our being into
+experience and to _feel_,--to realize in terms of emotion our
+identity with the great universe outside of us, this world of color and
+form and sound and movement, this web of illimitable activities and
+energies, shot through with currents of endlessly varied and
+modulated feeling. "My son," says the father in Hindu lore, pointing
+to an animal, a tree, a rock, "my son, thou art that!" The universe is
+one. Of it we are each an essential part, distinct as individuals, yet
+fusing with it in our sense of our vital kinship with all other parts
+and with the whole. I am sauntering through the Public Garden on a
+fragrant hushed evening in June; touched by the lingering afterglow,
+the twilight has not yet deepened into night. Grouped about a bench,
+children are moving softly in the last flicker of play, while the
+mother nods above them. On the next bench a wanderer is stretched
+at full length, his face hidden in his crooked-up arm. I note a couple
+seated, silent, with shoulder touching shoulder. I meet a young man
+and woman walking hand in hand; they do not see me as I pass.
+Beyond, other figures are soundless shadows, gathering out of the
+enveloping dusk. It is all so intimate and friendly. The air, the
+flowers, the bit of water through the trees reflecting the lights of the
+little bridge, are a caress. And it is all for me! I am a child at his
+tired play, I am the sleeping tramp, I am the young fellow with his
+girl. It is not the sentiment of the thing, received intellectually, that
+makes it mine. My being goes out into these other lives and becomes
+one with them. I feel them in myself. It is not thought that
+constitutes appreciation; it is emotion.
+
+Another glimpse, caught this time through a car window. Now it is a
+winter twilight. The flurry of snow has passed. The earth is
+penetrated with blue light, suffused by it, merged in it, ever blue.
+Vague forms, still and shadowy, of hills and trees, soppy with light,
+are blue within the blue. The brief expanse of bay is deeply
+luminous and within the pervasive tempering light resolves itself
+into the cool and solemn reaches of the sky which bends down and
+touches it. Once more my spirit meets and mingles with the spirit of
+the landscape. By the harmony of nature's forms and twilight tones I
+am brought into a larger harmony within myself and with the world
+around.
+
+All experience offers to us at any moment just such possibilities of
+living. The infinite and ever-changing expressiveness of nature at
+every instant of day and night is ours to read if we will but look
+upon it with the inner vision. The works of men in cities and
+cultivated fields, if we will see beyond the actual material, may
+quicken our emotions until we enact in ourselves their story of
+struggle, of hopes and ambitions partly realized, of defeat or final
+triumph. The faces seen in a passing crowd bear each the record of
+life lived, of lives like ours of joys or disappointments, lives of great
+aims or no aims at all, of unwritten heroisms, of hidden tragedies
+bravely borne, lives sordid and mean or generous and bright. The
+panorama of the world unrolls itself _for us._ It is ours to experience
+and live out in our own being according as we are able to feel. Just
+as the impulse to expression is common to all men, and all are artists
+potentially, differing in the depth of their insight into life and in the
+degree of emotion they have to express, so appreciation lies within
+the scope of all, and the measure of it to us as individuals is
+determined by our individual capability of response.
+
+Life means to each one of us what we are able to receive of it in
+"wise passiveness," and then are able by the constructive force of
+our individuality to shape into coherence and completeness. As the
+landscape which an artist paints is the landscape visioned in
+imagination, though composed of forms given in nature, so life
+furnishes us the elements of experience, and out of these elements
+we construct a meaning, each for himself. To one man an object or
+incident is commonplace and blank; to another it may be charged
+with significance and big with possibilities of fuller living. "In every
+object." says Carlyle, "there is inexhaustible meaning; the eye sees
+in it what it brings means of seeing." To _see_ is not merely to
+receive an image upon the retina. The stimulation of the visual organ
+becomes sight properly only as the record is conveyed to the
+consciousness. When I am reading a description of a sunset, there is
+an image upon my retina of a white page and black marks of
+different forms grouped in various combinations. But what I see is
+the sunset. Momentarily to rest the eye upon a landscape is not
+really to see it, for our mind may be quite otherwhere. We see the
+landscape only as it becomes part of our conscious experience. The
+beauty of it is in us. A novelist conceives certain characters and
+assembles them in action and reaction, but it is we who in effect
+create the story as we read. We take up a novel, perhaps, which we
+read five years ago; we find in it now new significances and appeals.
+The book is the same; it is we who have changed. We bring to it the
+added power of feeling of those five years of living. Art works not
+by information but by evocation. Appreciation is not reception but
+response. The artist must compel us to feel what he has felt,--not
+something else. But the scope of his message, with its overtones and
+subtler implications, is limited by the rate of vibration to which we
+are attuned.
+
+     "All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it,
+     (Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of
+          the arches and cornices?)
+     All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by
+          the instruments."
+
+And again Whitman says, "A great poem is no finish to a man or
+woman, but rather a beginning." The final significance of both life
+and art is not won by the exercise of the intellect, but unfolds itself
+to us in the measure that we feel.
+
+To illustrate the nature of appreciation and the power from which
+appreciation derives, the power to project ourselves into the world
+external to us, I spoke of the joy of living peculiar to the child and to
+the childlike in heart. But that is not quite the whole of the story. A
+child by force of his imagination and capacity of feeling is able to
+pass beyond the limits of material, and he lives in a world of
+exhaustless play and happiness; for him objects are but means and
+not an end. To transcend thus the bounds of matter imposed by the
+senses and to live by the power of emotion is the first condition of
+appreciation. The second condition of appreciation is to feel and
+know it, to become conscious of ourselves in our relation to the
+object. To _live_ is the purpose of life; to be aware that we are
+living is its fulfillment and the reward of appreciation.
+
+Experience has a double value. There is the instant of experience
+itself, and then the reaction on it. A child is unconscious in his play;
+he is able to forget himself in it completely. At that moment he is
+most happy. The instant of supreme joy is the instant of ecstasy,
+when we lose all consciousness of ourselves as separate and distinct
+individualities. We are one with the whole. But experience does not
+yield us its fullest and permanent significance until, having
+abandoned ourselves to the moment, we then react upon it and
+become aware of what the moment means. A group of children are
+at play. Without thought of themselves they are projected into their
+sport; with their whole being merged in it, they are intensely living.
+A passer on the street stands and watches them. For the moment, in
+spirit he becomes a child with them. In himself he feels the
+absorption and vivid reality to them of what they are doing. But he
+feels also what they do not feel, and that is, what it means to be a
+child. Where they are unconscious he is conscious; and therefore he
+is able, as they are not, to distill the significance of their play. This
+recognition makes possible the extension of his own life; for the
+man adds to himself the child. The reproach is sometimes brought
+against Walt Whitman that the very people he writes about do not
+read him. The explanation is simple and illustrates the difference
+between the unconscious and the conscious reception of life. The
+"average man" who is the hero of Whitman's chants is not aware of
+himself as such. He goes about his business, content to do his work;
+and that makes up his experience. It is not the average man himself,
+but the poet standing outside and looking on with imaginative
+sympathy, who feels what it means to be an average man. It is the
+poet who must "teach the average man the glory of his daily walk
+and trade." It is not enough to be happy as children are
+happy,--unconsciously. We must be happy and know it too.
+
+The attitude of appreciation is the attitude of response,--the
+projection of ourselves into new and fuller ranges of feeling, with
+the resultant extension of our personality and a larger grasp on life.
+We do not need to go far afield for experience; it is here and now.
+To-day is the only day, and every day is the best day. "The readiness
+is all." But mere contact with the surface of life is not enough.
+Living does not consist in barely meeting the necessities of our
+material existence; to live is to feel vibrantly throughout our being
+the inner significance of things, their appeal and welcome to the
+spirit. This fair world of color and form and texture is but a show
+world, after all,--this world which looms so near that we can see it,
+touch it, which comes to us out of the abysms of time and recedes
+into infinitudes of space whither the imagination cannot follow it.
+The true and vital meaning of it resides within and discovers itself to
+us finally as emotion. Some of this meaning art reveals to us, and in
+that measure it helps us to find ourselves. But art is only the means.
+The starting-point of the appreciation of art, and its goal, is the
+appreciation of life. The reward of living is the added ability to live.
+And life yields its fullest opportunities, its deepest tragedies, its
+highest joys, all its infinite scope of feeling, to those who enter by
+the gate of appreciation.
+
+
+
+III
+
+TECHNIQUE AND THE LAYMAN
+
+A PEASANT is striding across a field in the twilight shadow of a
+hill. Beyond, where the fold of the hill dips down into the field,
+another peasant is driving a team of oxen at a plow. The distant
+figures are aglow with golden mellow light, the last light of day,
+which deepens the gloom of the shadowing hillside. The sower's cap
+is pulled tight about his head, hiding under its shade the unseeing
+eyes. The mouth is brutal and grim. The heavy jaw flows down into
+the thick, resistive neck. The right arm swings powerfully out,
+scattering the grain. The left is pressed to his body; the big, stubborn
+hand clutches close the pouch of seed. Action heroic, elemental; the
+dumb bearing of the universal burden. In the flex of the shoulder,
+the crook of the outstretched arm, the conquering onward stride, is
+expressed all the force of that word of the Lord to the first toiler, "In
+the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread."
+
+Three men are standing before Millet's canvas.
+
+One recognizes the subject of the picture. With the pleasure of
+recognition he notes what the artist has here represented, and he is
+interested in the situation. This is a peasant, and he is sowing his
+grain. So the onlooker stands and watches the peasant in his
+movement, and he _thinks_ about the sower, recalling any sower he
+may have read of or seen or known, his own sower rather than the
+one that Millet has seen and would show to him. This man's pleasure
+in the picture has its place.
+
+The second of the three men is attracted by the qualities of execution
+which the work displays, and he is delighted by what he calls the
+"actual beauty" of the painting. With eyes close to the canvas he
+notes the way Millet has handled his materials, his drawing, his
+color, his surfaces and edges, all the knack of the brush-work,
+recognizing in his examination of the workmanship of the picture
+that though Millet was a very great artist, he was not a great painter,
+that the reach of his ideas was not equaled by his technical skill.
+Then as the beholder stands back from the canvas to take in the
+ensemble, his eye is pleased by the color-harmony, it rests lovingly
+upon the balance of the composition, and follows with satisfaction
+the rhythmic flow of line. His enjoyment is both intellectual and
+sensuous. And that too has its place.
+
+The third spectator, with no thought of the facts around which the
+picture is built, not observing the technical execution as such,
+unconscious at the moment also of its merely sensuous charm, feels
+within himself, "_I_ am that peasant!" In his own spirit is enacted
+the agelong world-drama of toil. He sees beyond the bare subject of
+the picture; the medium with all its power of sensuous appeal and
+satisfaction becomes transparent. The beholder enters into the very
+being of the laborer; and as he identifies himself with this other life
+outside of him, becoming one with it in spirit and feeling, he adds
+just so much to his own experience. In his reception of the meaning
+of Millet's painting of the "Sower" he lives more deeply and
+abundantly.
+
+It is the last of these three men who stands in the attitude of full and
+true appreciation. The first of the three uses the picture simply as a
+point of departure; his thought travels away from the canvas, and he
+builds up the entire experience out of his own knowledge and store
+of associations. The second man comes a little nearer to appreciation,
+but even he falls short of full realization, for he stops at the actual
+material work itself. His interest in the technical execution and his
+pleasure in the sensuous qualities of the medium do not carry him
+through the canvas and into the emotion which it was the artist's
+purpose to convey. Only he truly appreciates the painting of the
+"Sower" who feels something of what Millet felt, partaking of the
+artist's experience as expressed by means of the picture, and making
+it vitally his own.
+
+But before the appreciator can have brought himself to the point of
+perception where he is able to respond directly to the significance of
+art and to make the artist's emotion a part of his own emotional
+experience, he must needs have traveled a long and rather devious
+way. Appreciation is not limited to the exercise of the intellect, as in
+the recognition of the subject of a work of art and in the interest
+which the technically minded spectator takes in the artist's skill. It
+does not end with the gratification of the senses, as with the delight
+in harmonious color and rhythmic line and ordered mass. Yet the
+intellect and the senses, though they are finally but the channel
+through which the artist's meaning flows to reach and rouse the
+feelings, nevertheless play their part in appreciation. Between the
+spirit of the artist and the spirit of the appreciator stands
+the individual work of art as the means of expression and
+communication. In the work itself emotion is embodied in material
+form. The material which art employs for expression constitutes its
+language. Certain principles govern the composition of the work,
+certain processes are involved in the making of it, and the result
+possesses certain qualities and powers. The processes which enter
+into the actual fashioning of the work are both intellectual and
+physical, requiring the exercise of the artist's mind in the planning of
+the work and in the directing of his hand; so far as the appreciator
+concerns himself with them, they address themselves to his intellect.
+The finished work in its material aspect possesses qualities which
+are perceived by the senses and which have a power of sensuous
+delight. Upon these processes and these qualities depends in part the
+total character of a work of art, and they must be reckoned with in
+appreciation.
+
+In his approach to any work of art, therefore, the layman is
+confronted first of all with the problem of the language which the
+work employs. Architecture uses as its language the structural
+capabilities of its material, as wood or stone, bringing all together
+into coherent and serviceable form. Poetry is phrased in words.
+Painting employs as its medium color and line and mass. At the
+outset, in the case of any art, we have some knowledge of the
+signification of its terms. Here is a painting of a sower. Out of
+previous experience of the world we easily recognize the subject of
+the picture. But whence comes the majesty of this rude peasant, the
+dignity august of this rough and toil-burdened laborer, his power to
+move us? In addition to the common signification of its terms, then,
+language seems to have a further expressiveness, a new meaning
+imparted to it by the way in which the artist uses it. In a poem we
+know the meaning of the words, but the _poetry_ of it, which we
+feel rather than know, is the creation of the poet, wrought out of the
+familiar words by his cunning manipulation of them.
+
+     "The grey sea and the long black land;
+     And the yellow half-moon large and low;
+     And the startled little waves that leap
+     In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
+     As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
+     And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.
+
+     "Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
+     Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
+     A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
+     And blue spurt of a lighted match,
+     And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
+     Than the two hearts beating each to each!"
+
+A drama in twelve lines. These are words of common daily usage,
+every one,--for the most part aggressively so. But the romance
+which they effuse, the glamour which envelops the commonplace
+incident as with an aura, is due to the poet's strategic selection of his
+terms, the one right word out of many words that offered, and his
+subtle combination of his terms into melody and rhythm. The
+wonder of the poet's craft is like the musician's,--
+
+     "That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a
+          star."
+
+A building rises before us; we recognize it as a building, and again
+easily we infer the purpose which it serves, that it is a temple or a
+dwelling. And then the beauty of it, a power to affect us beyond the
+mere feet that it is a building, lays hold upon us, an influence
+emanating from it which we do not altogether explain to ourselves.
+Simply in its presence we feel that we are pleased. The fact, the
+material which the artist uses, exists out there in nature. But the
+beauty of the building, the majesty and power of the picture, the
+charm of the poem,--this is the _art_ of the artist; and he wins his
+effects by the way in which he handles his materials, by his
+_technique._ Some knowledge of technique, therefore,--not the
+artist's knowledge of it, but the ability to read the language of art as
+the artist intends it to be read,--is necessary to appreciation.
+
+The hut which the traveler through a wild country put together to
+provide himself shelter against storm and the night was in essence a
+work of art. The purpose of his effort was not the hut itself but
+shelter, to accomplish which he used the hut as his means. The
+emotion of which the work was the expression, in this case the
+traveler's consciousness of his need, embodied itself in a concrete
+form and made use of material. The hut which he conceived in
+response to his need became for him the subject or motive of his
+work. For the actual expression of his design he took advantage of
+the qualities of his material, its capabilities to combine thus and so;
+these inherent qualities were his medium. The material wood and
+stone which he employed were the vehicle of his design. The way in
+which he handled his vehicle toward the construction of the hut,
+availing himself of the qualities and capabilities of his material,
+might be called his technique.
+
+The sight of some landscape wakens in the beholder a vivid and
+definite emotion; he is moved by it to some form of expression. If he
+is a painter he will express his emotion by means of a picture, which
+involves in the making of it certain elements and certain processes.
+The picture will present selected facts in the landscape; the
+landscape, then, as constructed according to the design the painter
+has conceived of it, becomes the motive or subject of his picture.
+The particular aspects of the landscape which the picture records are
+its color and its form. These qualities of color and form are the
+painter's medium. An etching of the scene would use not color but
+line to express the artist's emotion in its presence; so line is the
+medium of etching. But "qualities" of objects are an abstraction
+unless they are embodied in material. In order, therefore, to give his
+medium actual embodiment the painter uses pigment, as oil-color or
+water-color or tempera, laid upon a surface, as canvas, wood, paper,
+plaster; this material pigment is his vehicle. The etcher employs
+inked scratches upon his plate of zinc or copper, bitten by acid or
+scratched directly by the needle; these marks of ink are the vehicle
+of etching. To the way in which the artist uses his medium for
+practical expression and to his methods in the actual handling of his
+vehicle is applied the term technique. The general conception of his
+picture, its total design, the choice of motive, the selection of details,
+the main scheme of composition,--these belong to the great strategy
+of his art. The application of these principles in practice and their
+material working out upon his canvas are an affair of tactics and fall
+within the province of technique.
+
+The ultimate significance of a work of art is its content of emotion,
+the essential controlling idea, which inspires the work and gives it
+concrete form. In its actual embodiment, the expressive power of the
+work resides in the medium. The medium of any art, then, as color
+and mass in painting, line in drawing and etching, form in sculpture,
+sound in music, is its means of expression and constitutes its
+language. Now the signification of language derives from
+convention. Line, for example, which may be so sensitive and so
+expressive, is only an abstraction and does not exist in nature. What
+the draughtsman renders as line is objectively in fact the boundary
+of forms. A head, with all its subtleties of color and light and shade,
+may be represented by a pencil or charcoal drawing, black upon a
+white surface. It is not the head which is black and white, but
+the drawing. Our acceptance of the drawing as an adequate
+representation of the head rests upon convention. Writing is an
+elementary kind of drawing; the letters of the alphabet were
+originally pictures or symbols. So to-day written or printed letters
+are arbitrary symbols of sounds, and grouped together in arbitrary
+combinations they form words, which are symbols of ideas. The
+word _sum_ stood to the old Romans for the idea "I am;" to
+English-speaking people the word signifies a "total" and also a problem in
+arithmetic. A painting of a landscape does not attempt to imitate the
+scene; it uses colors and forms as symbols which serve for
+expression. The meaning attaching to these symbols derives from
+common acceptance and usage, Japanese painting, rendering the
+abstract spirit of movement of a wave, for example, rather than the
+concrete details of its surface appearance, differs fundamentally
+from the painting of the western world; it is none the less pregnant
+with meaning for those who know the convention. To understand
+language, therefore, we must understand the convention and accept
+its terms. The value of language as a means of expression and
+communication depends upon the knowledge, common to the user
+and to the person addressed, of the signification of its terms. Its
+effectiveness is determined by the way in which it is employed,
+involving the choice of terms, as the true line for the false or
+meaningless one, the right value or note of color out of many that
+would almost do, the exact and specific word rather than the vague
+and feeble; involving also the combination of terms into articulate
+forms. These ways and methods in the use of language are the
+concern of technique. Technique, therefore, plays an important part
+in the creation and the ultimate fortunes of the artist's work.
+
+Just here arises a problem for the layman in his approach to art. The
+man who says, "I don't know anything about art, but I know what I
+like," is a familiar figure in our midst; of such, for the most part, the
+"public" of art is constituted. What he really means is, "I don't know
+anything about technique, but art interests me. I read books, I go to
+concerts and the theatre, I look at pictures; and in a way they have
+something for me." If we make this distinction between art and
+technique, the matter becomes simplified. The layman does not
+himself paint pictures or write books or compose music; his contact
+with art is with the purpose of appreciation. Life holds some
+meaning for him, as he is engaged in living, and there his chief
+interest lies. So art too has a message addressed to him, for art starts
+with life and in the end comes back to it. If art is not the expression
+of vital feeling, in its turn communicating the feeling to the
+appreciator so that he makes it a real part of his experience of life,
+then the thing called art is only an exercise in dexterity for the maker
+and a pastime for the receiver; it is not art. But art is not quite the
+same as life at first hand; it is rather the distillment of it. In order to
+render the significance of life as he has perceived and felt it, the
+artist selects and modifies his facts; and his work depends for its
+expressiveness upon the material form in which the emotion is
+embodied. The handling of material to the end of making it
+expressive is an affair of technique. The layman may ask himself,
+then, To what extent is a knowledge of technique necessary for
+appreciation? And how may he win that knowledge?
+
+On his road to appreciation the layman is beset with difficulties.
+Most of the talk about art which he hears is either the translation of
+picture or sonata into terms of literary sentiment or it is a discussion
+of the way the thing is done. He knows at least that painting is not
+the same as literature and that music has its own province; he
+recognizes that the meaning of pictures is not literary but pictorial,
+the meaning of music is musical. But the emphasis laid upon the
+manner of execution confuses and disturbs him. At the outset he
+frankly admits that he has no knowledge of technical processes as
+such. Yet each art must be read in its own language, and each has its
+special technical problems. He realizes that to master the technique
+of any single art is a career. And yet there are many arts, all of
+which may have some message for him in their own kind. If he must
+be able to paint in order to enjoy pictures rightly, if he cannot listen
+intelligently at a concert without being able himself to compose or at
+least to perform, his case for the appreciation of art seems hopeless.
+
+If the layman turns to his artist friends for enlightenment and a little
+sympathy, it is possible he may encounter a rebuff. Artists
+sometimes speak contemptuously of the public. "A painter," they
+say, "paints for painters, not for the people; outsiders know nothing
+about painting." True, outsiders know nothing about painting, but
+perhaps they know a little about life. If art is more than intellectual
+subtlety and manual skill, if art is the expression of something the
+artist has felt and lived, then the outsider has after all some standard
+for his estimate of art and a basis for his enjoyment. He is able to
+determine the value of the work to himself according as it expresses
+what he already knows about life or reveals to him fuller
+possibilities of experience which he can make his own. He does not
+pretend to judge painting; but he feels that he has some right to
+appreciate art. In reducing all art to a matter of technique artists
+themselves are not quite consistent. My friends Jones, a painter, and
+Smith, a composer, do not withhold their opinion of this or that
+novel and poem and play, and they discourse easily on the
+performances of Mr. James and Mr. Swinburne and Mr. Shaw; but I
+have no right to talk about the meaning to me of Jones's picture or
+Smith's sonata, for my business is with words, and therefore I cannot
+have any concern with painting or with music. To be sure, literature
+uses as its vehicle the means of communication of daily life, namely,
+words. But the _art_ in literature, the interpretation of life which it
+gives us, as distinct from mere entertainment, is no more generally
+appreciated than the art in painting. A man's technical
+accomplishment may be best understood and valued by his
+fellow-workmen in the same craft; and often the estimate set by artists on
+their own work is referred to the qualities of its technical execution.
+As a classic instance, Raphael sent some of his drawings to Albert
+Duerer to "show him his hand." So a painter paints for the painters.
+But the artist gives back a new fullness and meaning to life and
+addresses all who live. That man is fortunate who does not allow his
+progress toward appreciation to be impeded by this confusion of
+technique with art.
+
+The emphasis which workers in any art place upon their powers of
+execution is for themselves a false valuation of technique, and it
+tends to obscure the layman's vision of essentials. Technique is not,
+as it would seem, the whole of art, but only a necessary part. A work
+of art in its creation involves two elements,--the idea and the
+execution. The idea is the emotional content of the work; the
+execution is the practical expressing of the idea by means of the
+medium and the vehicle. The idea of Millet's "Sower" is the emotion
+attending his conception of the laborer rendered in visual terms; the
+execution of the picture is exhibited in the composition, the color,
+the drawing, and the actual brush-work. So, too, the artist himself is
+constituted by two qualifications, which must exist together: first,
+the power of the subject over the artist; and second, the artist's
+power over his subject. The first of these without the second results
+simply in emotion which does not come to expression as art. The
+second without the first produces sham art; the semblance of art may
+be fashioned by technical skill, but the life which inspires art is
+wanting. The artist, then, may be regarded in a dual aspect. He is
+first a temperament and a mind, capable of feeling intensely and
+able to integrate his emotions into unified coherent form; in this
+aspect he is essentially the _artist_. Secondly, for the expression of
+his idea he brings to bear on the execution of his work his command
+of the medium, his intellectual adroitness and his manual skill; in
+this aspect he is the _technician_. Every artist has a special kind of
+means with which he works, requiring knowledge and dexterity; but
+it may be assumed that in addition to his ability to express himself
+he has something to say. We may test a man's merit as a painter by
+his ability to paint. As an artist his greatness is to be judged with
+reference to the greatness of his ideas; and in his capacity as artist
+his technical skill derives its value from the measure in which it is
+adequate to their expression. In the case of an accomplished pianist
+or violinist we take his proficiency of technique for granted, and we
+ask, What, with all this power of expression at his command, has he
+to say? In his rendering of the composer's work what has he of his
+own to contribute by way of interpretation? Conceding at once to Mr.
+Sargent his supreme competence as a painter, his consummate
+mastery of all his means, we ask, What has he seen in this man or
+this woman before him worthy of the exercise of such skill? In terms
+of the personality he is interpreting, what has he to tell us of the
+beauty and scope of life and to communicate to us of larger
+emotional experience? The worth of technique is determined, not by
+its excellence as such, but by its efficiency for expression.
+
+It is difficult for an outsider to understand why painters, writers,
+sculptors, and the rest, who are called artists in distinction from the
+ordinary workman, should make so much of their skill. Any man
+who works freely and with joy takes pride in his performance. And
+instinctively we have a great respect for a good workman. Skill is
+not confined to those who are engaged in what is conventionally
+regarded as art. Indeed, the distinction implied in favor of "art" is
+unjust to the wide range of activities of familiar daily life into which
+the true art spirit may enter. A bootblack who polishes his shoes as
+well as he can, not merely because he is to be paid for it, though too
+he has a right to his pay, but because that is his work, his means of
+expression, even he works in the spirit of an artist. Extraordinary
+skill is often developed by those who are quite outside the pale of art.
+In a circus or music-hall entertainment we may see a man throw
+himself from a trapeze swinging high in air, and after executing a
+double somersault varied by complex lateral gyrations, catch the
+extended arms of his partner, who is hanging by his knees on
+another flying bar. Or a man leaning backwards over a chair shoots
+at a distance of fifty paces a lump of sugar from between the
+foreheads of two devoted assistants. Such skill presupposes
+intelligence. Of the years of training and practice, of the sacrifice
+and the power of will, that have gone to the accomplishment of this
+result, the looker-on can form but little conception. These men are
+not considered artists. Yet a painter who uses his picture to exhibit a
+skill no more wonderful than theirs would be grieved to be
+accounted an acrobat or a juggler. Only such skill as is employed in
+the service of expression is to be reckoned with as an element in art;
+and in art it is of value not for its own sake but as it serves its
+purpose. The true artist subordinates his technique to expression,
+justly making it a means and not the end. He cares for the
+significance of his idea more than for his sleight of hand; he effaces
+his skill for his art.
+
+A recognition of the skill exhibited in the fashioning of a work of art,
+however, if seen in its right relation to the total scope of the work, is
+a legitimate source of pleasure. Knowledge of any subject brings its
+satisfactions. To understand with discerning insight the workings of
+any process, whether it be the operation of natural laws, as in
+astronomy or chemistry, whether it be the construction of a
+locomotive, the playing of a game of foot-ball, or the painting of a
+picture, to see the "wheels go round" and know the how and the
+wherefore,--undeniably this is a source of pleasure. In the
+understanding of technical processes, too, there is a further occasion
+of enjoyment, differing somewhat from the satisfaction which
+follows in the train of knowledge.
+
+     "There is a pleasure in poetic pains
+     Which only poets know,"
+
+says the poet Cowper. There is a pleasure in the sense of difficulties
+overcome known only to those who have tried to overcome them.
+But such enjoyment--the pleasure which comes with enlightened
+recognition and the pleasure of mastery and triumph--derives from
+an intellectual exercise and is not to be confounded with the full
+appreciation of art. Art, finally, is not the "how" but the "what" in
+terms of its emotional significance. Our pleasure in the result, in the
+design itself, is not the same as our pleasure in the skill that
+produced the work. The design, with the message that it carries, not
+the making of it, is the end of art.
+
+Too great preoccupation with technique conflicts with full
+appreciation. To fix the attention upon the manner of expression is
+to lose the meaning. A style which attracts notice to itself is in so far
+forth bad style, because it defeats its own end, which is expression;
+but beyond this, our interest in technical execution is purely
+intellectual, whereas art reaches the emotions. At the theatre a critic
+sits unmoved; dispassionately he looks upon the personages of the
+drama, as they advance, retreat, and countermarch, little by little
+yielding up their secret, disclosing all the subtle interplay of human
+motives. From the heights of his knowledge the critic surveys the
+spectacle; with an insight born of his learning, he penetrates the
+mysteries of the playwright's craft. He knows what thought and skill
+have gone into this result; he knows the weary hours of toil, the
+difficulties of invention and selection, the heroic rejections, the
+intricacies of construction, the final triumph. He sees it all from the
+point of view of the master-workman, and sympathetically he
+applauds his success; his recognition of what has been accomplished
+is his pleasure. But all the while he has remained on the outside. Not
+for a moment has he become a party to the play. He brings to it
+nothing of his own feeling and power of response. There has been
+no union of his spirit with the artist's spirit,--that union in which a
+work of art achieves its consummation. The man at his side, with no
+knowledge or thought of how the effect has been won, surrenders
+himself to the illusion. These people on the stage are more intensely
+and vividly real to him than in life itself; the artist has distilled the
+significance of the situation and communicates it to him as emotion.
+The man's reaction is not limited to the exercise of his intellect,--he
+gives himself. In the experience which the dramatist conveys to him
+beautifully, shaping discords into harmony and disclosing their
+meaning for the spirit, he lives.
+
+A true artist employs his medium as an instrument of expression;
+and he values his own technical skill in the handling of it according
+to the measure that he is enabled thereby to express himself more
+effectively. On the layman's part so much knowledge of technique is
+necessary as makes it possible for him to understand the artist's
+language and the added expressiveness wrought out of language by
+the artist's cunning use of it. And such knowledge is not beyond his
+reach.
+
+In order to understand the meaning of any language we must first
+understand the signification of its terms, and then we must know
+something of the ways in which they may be combined into
+articulate forms of expression. The terms of speech are words; in
+order to speak coherently and articulately we must group words into
+sentences according to the laws of the tongue to which they belong.
+Similarly, every art has its terms, or "parts of speech," and its
+grammar, or the ways in which the terms are combined. The terms
+of painting are color and form, the terms of music are tones. Colors
+and forms are brought together into harmony and balance that by
+their juxtaposition they may be made expressive and beautiful.
+Tones are woven into a pattern according to principles of harmony,
+melody, and rhythm, and they become music. When technique is
+turned to such uses, not for the vainglory of a virtuoso, but for the
+service of the artist in his earnest work of expression, then it
+identifies itself with art.
+
+A knowledge of the signification of the terms of art the layman may
+win for himself by a recognition of the expressive power of all
+material and by sensitiveness to it. The beholder will not respond to
+the appeal of a painting of a landscape unless he has himself felt
+something of the charm or glory of landscape in nature; he will not
+quicken and expand to the dignity or force caught in rigid marble
+triumphantly made fluent in statue or relief until he has realized for
+himself the significance of form and movement which exhales from
+every natural object. Gesture is a universal language. The mighty
+burden of meaning in Millet's picture of the "Sower" is carried by
+the gesture of the laborer as he swings across the background of
+field and hill, whose forms also are expressive; here, too, the
+elemental dignity of form and movement is reinforced by the
+solemnity of the color. Gesture is but one of nature's characters
+wherewith she inscribes upon the vivid, shifting surface of the world
+her message to the spirit of man. A clue to the understanding of the
+terms of art, therefore, is found in the layman's own appreciation of
+the emotional value of all objects of sense and their multitudinous
+power of utterance,--the sensitive decision of line, the might or
+delicacy of form, the splendor and subtlety of color, the magic of
+sound, the satisfying virtue of harmony in whatever embodiment, all
+the beauty of nature, all the significance of human life. And this
+appreciation is to be won largely by the very experience of it. The
+more we feel, the greater becomes our power for deeper feeling.
+Every emotion to which we thrill is the entrance into larger capacity
+of emotion. We may allow for growth and trust to the inevitable
+working of its laws. In the appreciation of both life and art the
+individual may be his own teacher by experience.
+
+The qualities of objects with their inherent emotional values
+constitute the raw material of art, to be woven by the artist into a
+fabric of expressive form and texture. Equipped with a knowledge of
+the terms of any art, the layman has yet to understand something of
+the ways in which the terms may be combined. Every artist has his
+idiom or characteristic style. Rembrandt on the flat surface of his
+canvas secures the illusion of form in the round by a system of light
+and shade; modeling is indicated by painting the parts in greater
+relief in light and the parts in less relief in shadow. Manet renders
+the relief of form by a system of "values," or planes of more and less
+light. The local color of objects is affected by the amount of light
+they receive and the distance an object or part of an object is from
+the eye of the spectator. Manet paints with degrees of light, and he
+wins his effects, not by contrasts of color, but by subtle modulations
+within a given hue. Landscape painters before the middle of the
+nineteenth century, working with color in masses, secured a total
+harmony by bringing all their colors, mixed upon the palette, into
+the same key. The "Luminarists," like Claude Monet, work with
+little spots or points of color laid separately upon the canvas; the
+fusion of these separate points into the dominant tone is made by the
+eye of the beholder. The characteristic effect of a work of art is
+determined by the way in which the means are employed. Some
+knowledge, therefore, of the artist's aims as indicated in his method
+of working is necessary to a full understanding of what he wants to
+say.
+
+In his effort to understand for his own purposes of appreciation what
+the artist has accomplished by his technique, the layman may first of
+all distinguish between processes and results. A landscape in nature
+is beautiful to the beholder because he perceives in it some harmony
+of color and form which through the eye appeals to the emotions.
+His vision does not transmit every fact in the landscape;
+instinctively his eye in its sweep over meadow and trees and hill
+selects those details that compose. By this act of _integration_ he is
+for himself in so far forth an artist. If he were a painter he would
+know what elements in the landscape to put upon his canvas. But he
+has no skill in the actual practice of drawing and of handling the
+brush, no knowledge of mixing colors and matching tones; he
+understands nothing of perspective and "values" and the relations of
+light and shade. He knows only what he sees, that the landscape as
+he sees it is beautiful; and equally he recognizes as beautiful the
+presentment of it upon canvas. He is ignorant of the technical
+problems with which the painter in practice has had to contend in
+order to reach this result; it is the result only that is of concern to
+him in so far as it is or is not what he desires. The painter's color is
+significant to him, not because he knows how to mix the color for
+himself, but because that color in nature has spoken to him
+unutterable things and he has responded to it. The layman cannot
+make a sunset and he cannot paint a picture; but he can enjoy both.
+So he cares, then, rather for what the painter has done than for how
+he has done it, because the processes do not enter into his own
+experience. The picture has a meaning for him in the measure that it
+expresses what he perceives and feels, and that is the beauty of the
+landscape.
+
+Any knowledge of technical processes which the layman may
+happen to possess may be a source of intellectual pleasure. But for
+appreciation, only so much understanding of technique is necessary
+as enables him to receive the message of a given work in the degree
+of expressiveness which the artist by his use of his medium has
+attained. A clue to this understanding may come to him by intuition,
+by virtue of his own native insight and intelligence. He may gain it
+by reading or by instruction. He may go out and win it by intrepid
+questioning of those who know; and it is to be hoped that such will
+be very patient with him, for after all even a layman has the right to
+live. Once started on the path, then, in the mysteries of art as in the
+whole complex infinite business of living, he becomes his own tutor
+by observation and experience; and he may develop into a fuller
+knowledge in obedience to the law of growth. Each partial clue to
+understanding brings him a step farther on his road; each new
+glimmer of insight beckons him to ultimate illumination. Though
+baffled at the outset, yet patient under disappointment, undauntedly
+he pushes on in spite of obstacles, until he wins his way at last to
+true appreciation.
+
+If the layman seeks a standard by which to test the value of any
+technical method, he finds it in the success of the work itself. Every
+method is to be judged in and for itself on its own merits, and not as
+better or worse than some other method. Individually we may prefer
+Velasquez to Frans Hals; Whistler may minister to our personal
+satisfaction in larger measure than Mr. Sargent; we may enjoy Mr.
+James better than Stevenson; Richard Strauss may stir us more
+deeply than Brahms. We do not affirm thereby that impressionism is
+inherently better than realism, or that subtlety is more to be desired
+than strength; the psychological novel is not necessarily greater than
+romance; because of our preference "programme music" is not
+therefore more significant than "absolute music." The greatness of
+an artist is established by the greatness of his ideas, adequately
+expressed. And the value of any technical method is determined by
+its own effectiveness for expression.
+
+There is, then, no invariable standard external to the work itself by
+which to judge technique. For no art is final. A single work is the
+manifestation of beauty as the individual artist has conceived or felt
+it. The perception of what is beautiful varies from age to age and
+with each person. So, too, standards of beauty in art change with
+each generation; commonly they are deduced from the practice of
+preceding artists. Classicism formulates rules from works that have
+come to be recognized as beautiful, and it requires of the artist
+conformity to these rules. By this standard, which it regards as
+absolute, it tries a new work, and it pretends to adjudge the work
+good or bad according as it meets the requirements. Then a Titan
+emerges who defies the canons, wrecks the old order, and in his own
+way, to the despair or scorn of his contemporaries, creates a work
+which the generation that follows comes to see is beautiful. "Every
+author," says Wordsworth, "as far as he is great and at the same time
+_original,_ has had the task of creating the taste by which he is to be
+enjoyed." Wordsworth in his own generation was ridiculed; Millet,
+when he ceased painting nudes for art-dealers' windows and
+ventured to express himself, faced starvation. Every artist is in some
+measure an innovator; for his own age he is a romanticist. But the
+romanticist of one age becomes a classic for the next; and his
+performance in its turn gives laws to his successors. Richard Strauss,
+deriving in some sense from Wagner, makes the older man seem a
+classic and conservative. Then a new mind again is raised up, a new
+temperament, with new needs; and these shape their own adequate
+new expression. "The cleanest expression," says Whitman, "is that
+which finds no sphere worthy of itself and makes one." As all life is
+growth, as there are no bounds to the possibilities of human
+experience, so the workings of the art-impulse cannot be
+compressed within the terms of a hard and narrow definition, and
+any abstract formula for beauty is in the very nature of things
+foredoomed to failure. No limit can be set to the forms in which
+beauty may be made manifest.
+
+"The true poets are not followers of beauty, but the august masters
+of beauty." And Whitman's own verse is a notable example of a new
+technique forged in response to a new need of expression. Dealing
+as he did with the big basic impulses of common experience
+accessible to all men, Whitman needed a largeness and freedom of
+expression which he did not find in the accepted and current poetic
+forms. To match the limitlessly diversified character of the people,
+occupations, and aspirations of "these States," as yet undeveloped
+but vital and inclosing the seed of unguessed-at possibilities, to tally
+the fluid, indeterminate, outward-reaching spirit of democracy and a
+new world, the poet required a medium of corresponding scope and
+flexibility, all-inclusive and capable of endless modulation and
+variety. Finding none ready to his hand, he created it. Not that
+Whitman did not draw for his resources on the great treasury of
+world-literature; and he profited by the efforts and achievement of
+predecessors. But the form in his hands and as he uses it is new.
+Whatever we may think of the success of his total accomplishment,
+there are very many passages to which we cannot deny the name of
+poetry. Nor did Whitman work without conscious skill and
+deliberate regard for technical processes. His note-books and papers
+reveal the extreme calculation and pains with which he wrote,
+beginning with the collection of synonyms applying to his idea and
+mood, and so building them up gradually, with many erasures,
+corrections, and substitutions, into the finished poem. Much of the
+vigor of his style is due to his escape from conventional literary
+phrase-making and his return to the racy idiom of common life. His
+verse, apparently inchoate and so different from classical poetic
+forms, is shaped with a cunning incredible skill. And more than that,
+it is art, in that it is not a bare statement of fact, but communicates to
+us the poet's emotion, so that we realize the emotion in ourselves.
+When his purpose is considered, it is seen that no other technique
+was possible. His achievement proves that a new need creates its
+own means of expression.
+
+What is true of Whitman in respect to his technique is true in greater
+or less degree of every artist, working in any form. It is true of
+Pheidias, of Giotto and Michelangelo and Rembrandt, of Dante and
+Shakespeare, of Beethoven and Wagner, of Monet, of Rodin, in fine,
+from the beginnings of art to the day that now is. All have created
+out of existing forms of expression their own idiom and way of
+working. Every artist owes something to his predecessors, but
+language is re-created in the hands of each master and becomes a
+new instrument. There can be then no single formula for technical
+method nor any fixed and final standard of judgment.
+
+An artist himself is justified from his own point of view in his
+concern with technique, for upon his technique depends his
+effectiveness of expression. His practice serves to keep alive the
+language and to develop its resources. Art in its concrete
+manifestations is an evolution. From Velasquez through Goya to
+Manet and Whistler is a line of inheritance. But a true artist
+recognizes that technique is only a means. As an artist he is seeking
+to body forth in external form the vision within, and he tries to make
+his medium "faithful to the coloring of his own spirit." Every artist
+works out his characteristic manner; but the progress must be from
+within outwards. Toward the shaping of his own style he is helped
+by the practice of others, but he is helped and not hindered only in
+so far as the manner of others can be made genuinely the expression
+of his own feeling. Direct borrowing of a trick of execution and
+servile imitation of a style have no place in true art. A painter who
+would learn of Velasquez should study the master's technique, not
+that in the end he may paint like Velasquez, but that he may
+discover just what it was that the master, by means of his individual
+style, was endeavoring to express, and so bring to bear on his own
+environment here in America to-day the same ability to see and the
+same power of sympathetic and imaginative penetration that
+Velasquez brought to his environment at the court of seventeenth-century
+Spain. The way to paint like Velasquez is to be Velasquez. No man
+is a genius by imitation. Every man may seek to be a master
+in his own right. Technique does not lead; it follows. Style is the
+man.
+
+From within outwards. Art is the expression of sincere and vital
+feeling; the material thing, picture, statue, poem, which the artist
+conjures into being is only a means. The moment art is worshiped
+for its own sake, that moment decadence begins. "No one," says
+Leonardo, "will ever be a great painter who takes as his guide the
+paintings of other men." In general the history of art exhibits this
+course. In the beginning arises a man of deep and genuine feeling,
+the language at whose command, however, has not been developed
+to the point where it is able to carry the full burden of his meaning.
+Such a man is Giotto; and we have the "burning messages of
+prophecy delivered by the stammering lips of infants." In the
+generations which supervene, artists with less fervor of spirit but
+with growing skill of hand, increased with each inheritance, turn
+their efforts to the development of their means. The names of this
+period of experiment and research are Masaccio, Uccello, Pollaiuolo,
+Verrocchio. At length, when the fullness of time is come, emerges
+the master-mind, of original insight and creative power. Heir to the
+technical achievements of his predecessors, he is able to give his
+transcendent idea its supremely adequate expression. Content is
+perfectly matched by form. On this summit stand Michelangelo,
+Raphael, Leonardo. Then follow the Carracci, Domenichino,
+Guercino, Guido Reni, Carlo Dolci, men who mistake the master's
+manner for his meaning. The idea, the vital principle, has spent itself.
+The form only is left, and that is elaborated into the exuberance of
+decay. Painters find their impulse no longer in nature and life but in
+paint. Technique is made an end in itself. And art is dead, to be
+reborn in another shape and guise.
+
+The relation of technique to appreciation in the experience of the
+layman begins now to define itself. Technique serves the artist for
+efficient expression; an understanding of it is of value to the layman
+in so far as the knowledge helps him to read the artist's language and
+thus to receive his message. Both for artist and for layman technique
+is only a means. Out of his own intelligent and patient experience
+the layman can win his way to an understanding of methods; and his
+standard of judgment, good enough for his own purposes, is the
+degree of expressiveness which the work of art, by virtue of its
+qualities of execution, is able to achieve. Skill may be enjoyed
+intellectually for its own sake as skill; in itself it is not art.
+Technique is most successful when it is least perceived. _Ars celare
+artem:_ art reveals life and conceals technique. We must understand
+something of technique and then forget it in appreciation. When we
+thrill to the splendor and glory of a sunset we are not thinking of the
+laws of refraction. Appreciation is not knowledge, but emotion.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE VALUE OF THE MEDIUM
+
+AS I swing through the wide country in the freshness and fullness of
+a blossoming, sun-steeped morning in May, breathing the breath of
+the fields and the taller by inches for the sweep of the hills and the
+reaches of sky above my head, every nerve in my body is alive with
+sensation and delight. My joy is in the fragrance of earth, the
+ingratiating warmth of the fresh morning, the spacious, inclosing air.
+My pleasure in this direct contact with the landscape is a physical
+reaction, to be enjoyed only by the actual experience of it; it cannot
+be reproduced by any other means; it can be recalled by memory but
+faintly and as the echo of sensation. There is, however, something
+else in the landscape which can be reproduced; and this recall may
+seem more glorious than the original in nature. There are elements
+in the scene which a painter can render for me more intensely and
+vividly than I perceived them for myself. These elements embody
+the value that the landscape has for my emotions. The scene appeals
+to something within me which lies beyond my actual physical
+contact with it and the mere sense of touch. The harmony that the
+eye perceives in these open fields, the gracious line of trees along
+the stream's edge, the tossing hills beyond, and the arch of the blue
+sky above impregnating the earth with light, is communicated to my
+spirit, and I feel that this reach of radiant country is an extension of
+my own personality. A painter, by the manipulation of his color and
+line and mass, concentrates and intensifies the harmony of it and so
+heightens its emotional value. The meaning of the scene for the
+spirit is conveyed in terms of color and mass.
+
+Color and mass are the painter's medium, his language. The final
+import of art is the _idea,_ the emotional content of the work. On his
+way to the expression of his idea the artist avails himself of material
+to give his feeling concrete actuality and visible or audible
+realization. He paints a picture, glorious in color and compelling in
+the concentration of its massing; he carves a statue, noble in form or
+subtly rhythmic; he weaves a pattern of harmonious sounds. He
+values objects not for their own sake but for the energies they
+possess,--their power to rouse his whole being into heightened
+activity. And they have this power by virtue of their material
+qualities, as color and form or sound. A landscape is gay in
+springtime or sad in autumn. The difference in its effect upon us is
+not due to our knowledge that it is spring or autumn and our
+consciousness of the associations appropriate to each season. The
+emotional quality of the scene is largely a matter of its color. Let the
+spring landscape be shrouded in gray mist sifting down out of gray
+skies, and we are sad. Let the autumn fields and woodland sparkle
+and dance in the crisp golden sunlight, and our blood dances with
+them and we want to shout from full lungs. In music the major key
+wakens a different emotion from the minor. The note of a violin is
+virgin in quality; the voice of the 'cello is the voice of experience.
+The distinctive emotional value of each instrument inheres in the
+character of its sound. These qualities of objects art uses as its
+language.
+
+Though all art is one in essence, yet each art employs a medium of
+its own. In order to understand a work in its scope and true
+significance we must recognize that an artist thinks and feels in
+terms of his special medium. His impulse to create comes with his
+vision, actual or imaginative, of color or form, and his thought is
+transmitted to his hand, which shapes the work, without the
+intervention of words. The nature of his vehicle and the conditions
+in which he works determine in large measure the details of the form
+which his idea ultimately assumes. Thus a potter designs his vessel
+first with reference to its use and then with regard to his material, its
+character and possibilities. As he models his plastic clay upon a
+wheel, he naturally makes his bowl or jug round rather than sharply
+angular. A pattern for a carpet, to be woven by a system of little
+squares into the fabric, will have regard for the conditions in which
+it is to be rendered, and it will differ in the character of its lines and
+masses from a pattern for a wall-paper, which may be printed from
+blocks. The designer in stained glass will try less to make a picture
+in the spirit of graphic representation than to produce an harmonious
+color-pattern whose outlines will be guided and controlled by the
+possibilities of the "leading" of the window. The true artist uses the
+conditions and very limitations of his material as his opportunity.
+The restraint imposed by the sonnet form is welcomed by the poet as
+compelling a collectedness of thought and an intensity of expression
+which his idea might not achieve if allowed to flow in freer channels.
+The worker in iron has his triumphs; the goldsmith has his. The
+limitations of each craft open to it effects which are denied to the
+other. There is an art of confectionery and an art of sculpture. The
+designer of frostings who has a right feeling for his art will not
+emulate the sculptor and strive to model in the grand style; the
+sculptor who tries to reproduce imitatively the textures of lace or
+other fabrics and who exuberates in filigrees and fussinesses so far
+departs from his art as to rival the confectioner. In the degree that a
+painter tries to wrench his medium from its right use and function
+and attempts to make his picture tell a story, which can better be told
+in words, to that extent he is unfaithful to his art. Painting, working
+as it does with color and form, should confine itself to the
+expression of emotion and idea that can be rendered visible. On the
+part of the appreciator, likewise, the emotion expressed in one kind
+of medium is not to be translated into any other terms without a
+difference. Every kind of material has its special value for
+expression. The meaning of pictures, accordingly, is limited
+precisely to the expressive power of color and form. The impression
+which a picture makes upon the beholder maybe phrased by him in
+words, which are his own means of expression; but he suggests the
+import of the picture only incompletely. If I describe in words
+Millet's painting of the "Sower" according to my understanding of it,
+I am telling in my own terms what the picture means to me. What it
+meant to Millet, the full and true significance of the situation as the
+painter felt it, is there expressed upon his canvas in terms of visible
+aspect; and correspondingly, Millet's meaning is fully and truly
+received in the measure that we feel in ourselves the emotion roused
+by the sight of his color and form.
+
+The essential content of a work of art, therefore, is modified in its
+effect upon us by the kind of medium in which it is presented. If an
+idea phrased originally in one medium is translated into the terms of
+another, we have _illustration._ Turning the pages of an "illustrated"
+novel, we come upon a plate showing a man and a woman against
+the background of a divan, a chair, and a tea-table. The man, in a
+frock coat, holding a top hat in his left hand, extends his right hand
+to the woman, who has just risen from the table. The legend under
+the picture reads, "Taking his hat, he said good-by." Here the
+illustrator has simply supplied a visible image of what was
+suggested in the text; the drawing has no interest beyond helping the
+reader to that image. It is a statement of the bare fact in other terms.
+In the hands of an artist, however, the translation may take on a
+value of its own, changing the original idea, adding to it, and
+becoming in itself an independent work of art. This value derives
+from the form into which the idea is translated. The frescoes of the
+Sistine Chapel are only sublime illustration; but how little of their
+power attaches to the subject they illustrate, and how much of their
+sublimity lies in the painter's rendering! Conversely, an example of
+the literary interpretation of a picture is Walter Pater's description of
+Leonardo's Mona Lisa.
+
+The presence that thus rose so strangely beside the waters, is
+expressive of what in the ways of a thousand years men had come to
+desire. Hers is the head upon which all "the ends of the world are
+come," and the eyelids are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought out
+from within upon the flesh, the deposit, little cell by cell, of strange
+thoughts and fantastic reveries and exquisite passions. Set it for a
+moment beside one of those white Greek goddesses or beautiful
+women of antiquity, and how would they be troubled by this beauty,
+into which the soul with all its maladies has passed! All the thoughts
+and experience of the world have etched and moulded there, in that
+which they have of power to refine and make expressive the outward
+form, the animalism of Greece, the lust of Rome, the reverie of the
+middle age with its spiritual ambition and imaginative loves, the
+return of the Pagan world, the sins of the Borgias. She is older than
+the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire, she has been dead
+many times, and learned the secrets of the grave; and has been a
+diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her; and
+trafficked for strange webs with Eastern merchants; and, as Leda,
+was the mother of Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of
+Mary; and all this has been to her but as the sound of lyres and flutes,
+and lives only in the delicacy with which it has moulded the
+changing lineaments, and tinged the eyelids and the hands. The
+fancy of a perpetual life, sweeping together ten thousand
+experiences, is an old one; and modern thought has conceived the
+idea of humanity as wrought upon by, and summing up in itself, all
+modes of thought and life. Certainly Lady Lisa might stand as the
+embodiment of the old fancy, the symbol of the modern idea.
+
+It is Leonardo's conception, yet with a difference. Here the critic has
+woven about the subject an exquisite tissue of associations, a whole
+wide background of knowledge and thought and feeling which it lay
+beyond the painter's range to evoke; but the critic is denied the
+vividness, the immediateness and intimate warmth of vital contact,
+which the painter was able to achieve. The Lisa whom Leonardo
+shows us and the Lisa whom Pater interprets for us are the same in
+essence yet different in their power to affect us. The difference
+resulting from the kind of medium employed is well exemplified by
+Rossetti's "Blessed Damozel." The fundamental concept of both
+poem and picture is identical, but picture and poem have each its
+distinctive range and limitations and its own peculiar appeal. If we
+cancel the common element in the two, the difference remaining
+makes it possible for us to realize how much of the effect of a work
+of art inheres in the medium itself. Painting may be an aid to
+literature in that it helps us to more vivid images; the literary
+interpretation of pictures or music gives to the works with which it
+deals an intellectual definiteness. But the functions peculiar to each
+art are not to be confounded nor the distinctions obscured.
+
+Pictures are not a substitute for literature, and their true meaning is
+finally not to be translated into words. Their beauty is a visible
+beauty; the emotions they rouse are such as can be conveyed
+through the sense of sight. In the end they carry their message
+sufficingly as color and mass. Midway, however, our enjoyment
+may be complicated by other elements which have their place in our
+total appreciation. Thus a painting of a landscape may appeal to us
+over and above its inherent beauty because we are already, out of
+actual experience, familiar with the scene it represents, and the sight
+of it wakens in our memory a train of pleasant allied associations. A
+ruined tower, in itself an exquisite composition in color and line and
+mass, may gather about it suggestions of romance, elemental
+passions and wild life, and may epitomize for the beholder the
+whole Middle Age. Associated interest, therefore, may be
+sentimental or intellectual. It may be sensuous also, appealing to
+other senses than those of sight. The sense of touch plays a large
+part in our enjoyment of the world. We like the "feel" of objects, the
+catch of raw silk, the chill smoothness of burnished brass, the thick
+softness of mists, the "amorous wet" of green depths of sea. The
+senses of taste and smell may be excited imaginatively and
+contribute to our pleasure. Winslow Homer's breakers bring back to
+us the salt fragrance of the ocean, and in the presence of these white
+mad surges we feel the stinging spray in our faces and we taste the
+cosmic exhilaration of the sea-wind. But the final meaning of a
+picture resides in the total harmony of color and form, a harmony
+into which we can project our whole personality and which itself
+constitutes the emotional experience.
+
+All language in its material aspect has a sensuous value, as the
+wealth of color of Venetian painting, the sumptuousness of
+Renaissance architecture, the melody of Mr. Swinburne's verse, the
+gem-like brilliance of Stevenson's prose, the all-inclusive
+sensuousness, touched with sensuality, of Wagner's music-dramas.
+Because of the charm of beautiful language there are many
+art-lovers who regard the sensuous qualities of the work itself as
+making up the entire experience. Apart from any consideration of
+intention or expressiveness, the material _thing_ which the artist's
+touch summons into form is held to be "its own excuse for being."
+
+This order of enjoyment, valid as far as it goes, falls short of
+complete appreciation. It does not pass the delight one has in the
+radiance of gems or the glowing tincture of some fabric. The
+element of meaning does not enter in. There is a beauty for the eye
+and a beauty for the mind. The qualities of material may give
+pleasure to the senses; the object embodying these qualities becomes
+beautiful only as it is endowed with a significance wakened in the
+human spirit. A landscape, says Walter Crane, "owes a great part of
+its beauty to the harmonious relation of its leading lines, or to certain
+pleasant contrasts, or a certain impressiveness of form and mass, and
+at the same time we shall perceive that this linear expression is
+inseparable from the sentiment or emotion suggested by that
+particular scene." In the appreciation of art, to stop with the
+sensuous appeal of the medium is to mistake means for an end.
+"Rhyme," says the author of "Intentions," "in the hands of a real
+artist becomes not merely a material element of metrical beauty, but
+a spiritual element of thought and passion also." An artist's color,
+glorious or tender, is only a symbol and manifestation to sense of his
+emotion. At first glance Titian's portrait of the "Man with the Glove"
+is an ineffable color-harmony. But truly seen it is infinitely more. By
+means of color and formal design Titian has embodied here his
+vision of superb young manhood; by the expressive power of his
+material symbols he has rendered visible his sense of dignity, of
+fineness, of strength in reserve. The color is beautiful because his
+idea was beautiful. Through the character of this young man as
+revealed and interpreted by the artist, the beholder is brought into
+contact with a vital personality, whose influence is communicated to
+him; in the appreciation of Titian's message he sees and feels and
+lives.
+
+The value of the medium resided not in the material itself but in its
+power for expression. When language is elaborated at the expense of
+the meaning, we have in so far forth sham art. It should be easy to
+distinguish in art between what is vital and what is mechanical. The
+mechanical is the product of mere execution and calls attention to
+the manner. The vital is born out of inspiration, and the living idea
+transmutes its material into emotion. Too great an effort at
+realization defeats the intended illusion, for we think only of the
+skill exercised to effect the result, and the operation of the intellect
+inhibits feeling. In the greatest art the medium is least perceived, and
+the beholder stands immediately in the presence of the artist's idea.
+The material is necessarily fixed and finite; the idea struggles to free
+itself from its medium and untrammeled to reach the spirit. It is
+mind speaking to mind. However complete the material expression
+may seem, it is only a part of what the artist would say; imagination
+transcends the actual.  In the art which goes deepest into life, the
+medium is necessarily inadequate. The artist fashions his work in a
+sublime despair as he feels how little of the mighty meaning within
+him he is able to convey. In the greatest works rightly seen the
+medium becomes transparent. Within the Sistine Chapel the visitor,
+when once he has yielded to the illusion, is not conscious of plaster
+surface and pigment; indeed, he hardly sees color and design as such
+at all; through them he looks into the immensity of heaven, peopled
+with gods and godlike men. Consummate acting is that which makes
+the spectator forget that it is acting. The part and the player become
+one. The actor, in himself and in the words he utters, is the
+unregarded vehicle of the dramatist's idea. In a play like Ibsen's
+"Ghosts," the stage, the actors, the dialogue merge and fall away,
+and the overwhelming meaning stands revealed in its complete
+intensity. As the play opens, it cuts out a segment from the chaos of
+human life; step by step it excludes all that is unessential, stroke by
+stroke with an inevitableness that is crushing, it converges to the
+great one-thing that the dramatist wanted to say, until at the end the
+spectator, conscious no longer of the medium but only of the idea
+and all-resolving emotion, bows down before its overmastering
+force with the cry, "What a _mind_ is there!"
+
+In the art which most completely achieves expression the medium is
+not perceived as distinct from the emotion of which the medium is
+the embodiment. In order to render expressive the material
+employed in its service, art seeks constantly to identify means and
+end, to make the form one with the content. The wayfarer out of his
+need of shelter built a hut, using the material which chance gave into
+his hand and shaping his design according to his resources; the
+purpose of his work was not the hut itself but shelter. So the artist in
+any form is impelled to creation by his need of expression; the thing
+which he creates is not the purpose and end of his effort, but only
+the means. Each art has its special medium, and each medium has its
+peculiar sensuous charm and its own kind of expressiveness. This
+power of sensuous delight is incidental to the real beauty of the
+work; and that beauty is the message the work is framed to convey
+to the spirit. In the individual work, the inspiring and shaping idea
+seeks so to fuse its material that we feel the idea could not have been
+phrased in any other way as we surrender to its ultimate appeal,--the
+sum of the emotional content which gave it birth and in which it
+reaches its fulfillment.
+
+
+
+V
+
+THE BACKGROUND OF ART
+
+SCENE: The main hall of the Accademia in Venice.
+
+Time: Noon of a July day.
+
+Dramatis personae: A guide; two drab-colored and tired men; a
+group of women, of various ages, equipped with red-covered little
+volumes, and severally expressive of great earnestness, wide-eyed
+rapture, and giggles.
+
+_The guide, in strident, accentless tones:_ Last work of Titian.
+Ninety-nine years old. He died of smallpox.
+
+_A woman:_ Is that it?
+
+_A high voice on the outskirts:_ I'm going to get one for forty
+dollars.
+
+_Another voice:_ Well, I'm not going to pay more than fifty for
+mine.
+
+_A straggler:_ Eliza, look at those people. Oh, you missed it!
+_(Stopping suddenly?)_ My, isn't that lovely!
+
+_Chorus:_ Yes, that's Paris Bordone. Which one is that? He has
+magnificent color.
+
+_The guide:_ The thing you want to look at is the five figures in
+front.
+
+_A voice:_ Oh, that's beautiful. I love that.
+
+_A man:_ Foreshortened; well, I should say so! But I say, you can't
+remember all these pictures.
+
+_The other man:_ Let's get out of this!
+
+_The guide, indicating a picture of the Grand Canal:_ This one has
+been restored.
+
+_A girl's voice:_ Why, that's the house where we are staying!
+
+_The guide:_ The next picture . . .
+
+The squad shuffles out of range.
+
+This little comedy, enacted in fact and here faithfully reported, is not
+without its pathos. These people are "studying art." They really want
+to understand, and if possible, to enjoy. They have visited galleries
+and seen many pictures, and they will visit other galleries and see
+many more pictures before their return home. They have read
+guide-books, noting the stars and double stars; they have dipped into
+histories of art and volumes of criticism. They have been told to
+observe the dramatic force of Giotto, the line of Botticelli, the
+perfect composition of Raphael, the color of Titian; all this they
+have done punctiliously. They know in a vague way that Giotto was
+much earlier than Raphael, that Botticelli was rather pagan than
+Christian, that Titian belonged to the Venetian school. They have
+come to the fountain head of art, the very works themselves as
+gathered in the galleries; they have tried to remember what they
+have read and to do what they have been told; and now they are left
+still perplexed and unsatisfied.
+
+The difficulty is that these earnest seekers after knowledge of art
+have laid hold on partial truths, but they have failed to see these
+partial truths in their right relation to the whole. The period in which
+an artist lived means something. His way of thinking and feeling
+means something. The quality of his color means something. But
+what does his _picture_ mean? These people have not quite found
+the key by which to piece the fragments of the puzzle into the
+complete design. They miss the central fact with regard to art; and as
+a consequence, the ways of approach to the full enjoyment of art,
+instead of bringing them nearer the centre, become for them a
+network of by-paths in which they enmesh themselves, and they are
+left to wander helplessly up and down and about in the blind-alleys
+of the labyrinth. The central fact with regard to art is this, that a
+work of art is the expression of some part of the artist's experience
+of life, his vision of some aspect of the world. For the appreciator,
+the work takes on a meaning as it becomes for him in his turn the
+expression of his own actual or possible experience and thus relates
+itself by the subtle links of feeling to his own life. This is the central
+fact; but there are side issues. Any single work of art is in itself
+necessarily finite. Because of limitations in both the artist and the
+appreciator the work cannot express immediately and completely of
+itself all that the author wished to convey; it can present but a single
+facet of his many-sided radiating personality. What is actually said
+may be reinforced by some understanding on the beholder's part of
+what was intended. In order to win its fullest message, therefore, the
+appreciator must set the work against the large background out of
+which it has proceeded.
+
+A visitor in the _Salon Carre_ of the Louvre notes that there are
+arrayed before him pictures by Jan van Eyck and Memling, Raphael
+and Leonardo, Giorgione and Titian, Rembrandt and Metsu, Rubens
+and Van Dyck, Fouquet and Poussin, Velasquez and Murillo. Each
+one bears the distinctive impress of its creator. How different some
+of them, one from another,--the Virgin of Van Eyck from the
+Virgin of Raphael, Rembrandt's "Pilgrimsat Emmaus" from the
+"Entombment" by Titian. Yet between others there are common
+elements of likeness. Raphael and Titian are distinguished by an
+opulence of form and a luxuriance of color which reveal supreme
+technical accomplishment in a fertile land under light-impregnated
+skies. The rigidity and restraint of Van Eyck and Memling suggest
+the tentative early efforts of the art of a sober northern race. To a
+thoughtful student of these pictures sooner or later the question
+comes, Whence are these likenesses and these differences?
+
+Hitherto I have referred to the creative mind and executive hand as
+generically _the artist._ I have thought of him as a type,
+representative of all the great class of those who feel and express,
+and who by means of their expression communicate their feeling.
+Similarly I have spoken of _the work of art,_ as though it were
+complete in itself and isolated, sprung full-formed and panoplied
+from the brain of its creator, able to win its way and consummate its
+destiny alone. The type is conceived intellectually; in actual life the
+type resolves itself into individuals. So there are individual artists,
+each with his own distinctive gifts and ideals, each with his own
+separate experience of life, with his personal and special vision of
+the world, and his characteristic manner of expression. Similarly, a
+single work of art is not an isolated phenomenon; it is only a part of
+the artist's total performance, and to these other works it must be
+referred. The kind of work an artist sets himself to do is determined
+to some extent by the period into which he was born and the country
+in which he lived. The artist himself, heir to the achievements of his
+predecessors, is a development, and his work is the product of an
+evolution. A work of art, therefore, to be judged aright and truly
+appreciated, must be seen in its relation to its background, from
+which it detaches itself at the moment of consideration,--the
+background of the artist's personality and accomplishment and of the
+national life and ideals of his time.
+
+If the layman's interest in art is more than the casual touch-and-go of
+a picture here, a concert there, and an entertaining book of an
+evening, he is confronted with the important matter of the study of
+art as it manifests itself through the ages and in diverse lands. It is
+not a question of practicing an art himself, for technical skill lies
+outside his province. The study of art in the sense proposed has to
+do with the consideration of an individual work in its relation to all
+the factors that have entered into its production. The work of an
+artist is profoundly influenced by the national ideals and way of life
+of his race and of his age. The art of Catholic Italy is ecclesiastical;
+the art of the Protestant North is domestic and individual. The actual
+form an artist's work assumes is modified by the resources at his
+disposal,--resources both of material and of technical methods.
+Raphael may have no more to say than Giotto had, but he is able to
+express himself in a fuller and more finished way, because in his
+time the language of painting had become richer and more varied
+and the rhetoric of it had been carried to a farther point of
+development. Finally, as all art is in essence the expression of
+personality, a single work is to be understood in its widest intention
+and scope by reference to the total personality of the individual artist
+as manifested in his work collectively, and to be interpreted by the
+appreciator through his knowledge of the artist's experience of life.
+
+In order to wrest its fullest expressiveness from a work of art it is
+necessary as far as possible to regard the work from the artist's own
+point of view. We must try to see with his eyes and to feel with him
+what he was working for. To this end we must reconstruct
+imaginatively on a basis of the facts the conditions in which he lived
+and wrought. The difference between Giotto and Raphael is a
+difference not of individuality only. Each gives expression to the
+ideals and ways of thought of his age. Each is a creative mind, but
+each bases his performance upon what has gone before, and the
+form of their work is conditioned by the resources each had at his
+disposal. To discover the artist's purpose more completely than he
+was able to realize it for himself in the single work,--that is the aim
+and function of the historical study of art. A brief review of the
+achievement of Giotto and of Raphael may serve to illustrate
+concretely the application of the principle and to fix its value to
+appreciation.
+
+In the period of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire art passed
+from Rome to Byzantium. The arts of sculpture and painting were
+employed in the service of the Church, imposing by its magnificence
+and all-powerful in its domination over the lives and minds of men.
+The function of art was to teach; its character was symbolic and
+decorative. Art had no separate and independent existence. It had no
+direct reference to nature; the pictorial representation of individual
+traits was quite outside its scope; a few signs fixed by convention
+sufficed. A fish--derived from the acrostic _ichtbus--_symbolized
+the Saviour; a cross was the visible token of redeeming grace. And
+so through several hundred years. The twelfth century saw the
+beginnings of a change in the direction of spiritual and intellectual
+emancipation. The teachings and example of Francis of Assisi
+brought men to the consciousness of themselves and to a realization
+of the worth and significance of the individual life. The work of
+Giotto is the expression in art of the new spirit.
+
+Of necessity Giotto founded his work upon the accepted forms of
+the Byzantine tradition. But Giotto was a man of genius and a
+creative mind. In the expression of his fresh impulse and vital
+feeling, the assertion of new-found individuality, he tried to
+_realize_ as convincingly and vividly as possible the situation with
+which he was dealing; and with this purpose he looked not back
+upon art but out upon nature. Where the Byzantine convention had
+presented but a sign and remote indication of form by means of flat
+color, Giotto endows his figures with life and movement and
+actuality by giving them a body in three dimensions; his forms exist
+in the round. Until his day, light and shade had not been employed;
+and such perspective as he was able to achieve he had to discover
+for himself. For the first time in Christian painting a figure has
+bodily existence. Giotto gives the first evidence, too, of a sense of
+the beauty of color, and of the value of movement as a means of
+added expressiveness. His power of composition shows an immense
+advance on his predecessors. In dealing with traditional subjects, as
+the Madonna and child, he follows in general the traditional
+arrangement. But in those subjects where his own inventiveness is
+given free play, as in the series of frescoes illustrating the life of St.
+Francis, he reveals an extraordinary faculty of design and a dramatic
+sense which is matched by a directness and clarity of expression.
+
+Not only in the technique of his craft was Giotto an innovator, but
+also in the direction of naturalness and reality of feeling. He was the
+first to introduce portraits into his work. His Madonnas and saints
+are no longer mere types; they are human and individual, vividly felt
+and characterized by immediate and present actuality. Giotto was
+the first realist, but he was a poet too. His insight into life is
+tempered by a deep sincerity and piety; his work is genuinely and
+powerfully felt. As a man Giotto was reverent and earnest, joyous
+and beautifully sane. As a painter, by force of the freshness of his
+impulse and the clarity of his vision, he created a new manner of
+expression. As an artist he reveals a true power of imaginative
+interpretation. The casual spectator of to-day finds him naive and
+quaint. In the eyes of his contemporaries he was anything but that;
+they regarded him as a marvel of reality, surpassing nature itself.
+When judged with reference to the conditions of life in which he
+worked and to the technical resources at his command, Giotto is
+seen to be of a very high order of creative mind.
+
+The year 1300 divides the life of Giotto into two nearly equal parts;
+the year 1500 similarly divides the life of Raphael. In the two
+centuries that intervene, the great age of Italian painting, initiated by
+Giotto, reaches its flower and perfection in Michelangelo, Leonardo,
+and Raphael. The years which followed the passing of these
+greatnesses were the years of decadence and eclipse. If we are to
+understand and justly appreciate the work of each man in its own
+kind, the painting of Giotto must be tried by other standards than
+those we apply to the judgment of Raphael. Giotto was a pioneer;
+Raphael is a consummation. The two centuries between were a
+period of development and change, a development in all that regards
+technique, a change in national ideals and in the artist's attitude
+toward life and toward his art. A quick survey of the period, if so
+hasty a generalization permits correctness of statement, will help us
+in the understanding of the craft and art of Raphael.
+
+Giotto was succeeded by a host of lesser men, regarded as his
+followers, men who sought to apply the principles and methods of
+painting worked out by the master, but who lacked his inspiration
+and his power. Thus it was for nearly a hundred years. The turn of
+the fourteenth century into the fifteenth saw the emergence of new
+forces in the science and the mechanics of painting. The laws of
+perspective and foreshortening were made the object of special
+research and practice by men like Uccello (1397-1475), Piero dei
+Franceschi (1416-1492), and Mantegna (1431-1506). "Oh, what a
+beautiful thing this perspective is!" Uccello exclaimed, as he stood
+at his desk between midnight and dawn while his wife begged him
+to take some rest. In the first thirty years of the fifteenth century,
+Masaccio contributed to the knowledge of anatomy by his painting
+of the nude form; and the study of the nude was continued by
+Pollaiuolo and Luca Signorelli, in the second half of the century.
+Masaccio, also, was the first to place his figures in _air,_ enveloping
+them in atmosphere. Verrocchio, a generation later than Masaccio,
+was one of the first of the Florentines to understand landscape and
+the part played in it by air and light. The realistic spirit, which
+suffices itself with subjects drawn from every-day actual experience,
+finds expression in the first half of the fifteenth century in the work
+of Andrea del Castagno. And so down through that century of spring
+and summer. Each painter in his own way carries some detail of his
+craft to a further point of development and prepares the path for the
+supreme triumphs of Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Raphael.
+
+The growing mastery of the principles and technique of painting
+accompanied a change in the painter's attitude toward his art.
+Originally, painting, applied in subjection to architecture and
+employed in the service of the Church, was decorative in scope; its
+purpose was illustration, its function was to teach. As painters, from
+generation to generation, went deeper into the secrets of their craft,
+they became less interested in the didactic import of their work, and
+they concerned themselves more and more with its purely artistic
+significance. Religious subjects were no longer used merely as
+symbols for the expression of piety and as incitements to devotion;
+they became inherently artistic motives, valued as they furnished the
+artist an opportunity for the exercise of his knowledge and skill and
+for the exhibition of lovely color and significant form. A change in
+the mechanical methods of painting, also, had its influence on a
+change in the conception of the function of art. With a very few
+exceptions, the works of Giotto were executed in fresco as wall
+decorations. The principles of mural painting require that the
+composition shall be subordinated to the architectural conditions of
+the space it is to fill and that the color shall be kept flat. The fresco
+method meets these requirements admirably, but because of its
+flatness it has its limitations. The introduction of an oil vehicle for
+the pigment material, in the fifteenth century, made possible a much
+greater range in gradated color, and reinforcing the increased
+knowledge of light and shade, aided in the evolution of decoration
+into the "easel picture," complete in itself. Released from its
+subjection to architecture, increasing its technical resources, and
+widening its interests in the matter of subject so as to include all life,
+painting becomes an independent and self-sufficing art.
+
+Coincident with the development of painting as a craft, a mighty
+change was working itself out in the national ideals and in men's
+ways of thought and feeling. Already in Giotto's time the spirit of
+individualism had begun to assert itself in reaction from the
+dominance of an all-powerful restrictive ecclesiasticism, but the age
+was still essentially pietistic and according to its lights, religious.
+The fifteenth century witnessed the emancipation from tradition.
+The new humanism, which took its rise with the rediscovery of
+Greek culture, extended the intellectual horizon and intensified the
+enthusiasm for beauty. Men's interest in life was no longer narrowly
+religious, but human; their art became the expression of the new
+spirit. Early Christianity had been ascetic, enjoining negation of life
+and the mortification of the flesh. The men of the Renaissance, with
+something of the feeling of the elder Greeks, glorified the body and
+delighted in the pride of life. Pagan myths and Greek legends take
+their place alongside of Bible episodes and stories of saints and
+martyrs, as subjects of representation; all served equally as motives
+for the expression of the artist's sense of the beauty of this world.
+
+To this new culture and to these two centuries of growth and
+accomplishment in the practice of painting Raphael was heir. With a
+knowledge of the background out of which he emerges, we are
+prepared now to understand and appreciate his individual
+achievement. In approaching the study of his work we may ask,
+What is in general his ideal, his dominant motive, and in what
+manner and by what means has he realized his ideal?
+
+How much was already prepared for him, what does he owe to the
+age and the conditions in which he worked, and what to the common
+store has he added that is peculiarly his own?
+
+Whereas Giotto, the shepherd boy, was a pioneer, almost solitary, by
+sheer force of mind and by his sincerity and intensity of feeling
+breaking new paths to expression, for Raphael, on the contrary, the
+son of a painter and poet, the fellow-worker and well-beloved friend
+of many of the most powerful artistic personalities of his own or any
+age, the way was already prepared along which he moved in
+triumphant progress. The life of Raphael as an artist extends through
+three well-defined periods, the Umbrian, the Florentine, and the
+Roman, each one of which contributed a distinctive influence upon
+his development and witnessed a special and characteristic
+achievement.
+
+To his father, who died when the boy was eleven years old, Raphael
+owed his poetic nature, scholarly tastes, and love of beauty, though
+he probably received from him no training as a painter. His first
+master was Timoteo Viti of Urbino, a pupil of Francia; from him he
+learned drawing and acquired a "certain predilection for round and
+opulent forms which is in itself the negation of the ascetic ideal." At
+the age of seventeen he went from Urbino to Perugia; there he
+entered the workshop of Perugino as an assistant. The ideal of the
+Umbrian school was tenderness and sweetness, the outward and
+visible rapture of pietistic feeling; something of these qualities
+Raphael expressed in his Madonnas throughout his career. Under the
+teaching of Perugino he laid hold on the principles of "space
+composition" which he was afterwards to carry to supreme
+perfection.
+
+From Perugia the young Raphael made his way to Florence, and
+here he underwent many influences. At that moment Florence was
+the capital city of Italian culture. It was here that the new humanism
+had come to finest flower. Scholarship was the fashion; art was the
+chief interest of this beauty-loving people. It was the Florentines
+who had carried the scientific principles of painting to their highest
+point of development, particularly in their application to the
+rendering of the human figure. In Florence were collected the art
+treasures of the splendid century; here Michelangelo and Leonardo
+were at work; here were gathered companies of lesser men. By the
+study of Masaccio Raphael was led out to a fresh contact with nature.
+Fra Bartolomeo revealed to him further possibilities of composition
+and taught him some of the secrets of color. In Florence, too, he
+acknowledged the spell of Michelangelo and Leonardo. But though
+he learned from many teachers, Raphael was never merely an
+imitator. His scholarship and his skill he turned to his own uses; and
+when we have traced the sources of his motives and the influences
+in the moulding of his manner, there emerges out of the fusion a
+creative new force, which is his genius. What remains after our
+analysis is the essential Raphael.
+
+Raphael's residence in Florence is the period of his Madonnas. From
+Florence Raphael, twenty-five years old and now a master in his
+own right, was summoned to Rome by Pope Julius II; and here he
+placed his talents and his mastership at the disposal of the Church.
+He found time to paint Madonnas and a series of powerful and
+lovely portraits; but these years in Rome, which brought his brief
+life to a close, are preeminently the period of the great frescoes,
+which are his supreme achievement. But even in these mature years,
+and though he was himself the founder of a school, he did not cease
+to learn. Michelangelo was already in Rome, and now Raphael came
+more immediately under his influence, although not to submit to it
+but to use it for his own ends. In Rome were revealed to him the
+culture of an older and riper civilization and the glories and
+perfectness of an elder art. Raphael laid antiquity under contribution
+to the consummation of his art and the fulfillment and complete
+realization of his genius.
+
+This analysis of the elements and influences of Raphael's career as
+an artist--inadequate as it necessarily is--may help us to define his
+distinctive accomplishment. A comparison of his work with that of
+his predecessors and contemporaries serves to disengage his
+essential significance. By nature he was generous and tender; the
+bent of his mind was scholarly; and he was impelled by a passion for
+restrained and formal beauty. Chiefly characteristic of his mental
+make-up was his power of assimilation, which allowed him to
+respond to many and diverse influences and in the end to dominate
+and use them. He gathered up in himself the achievements of two
+centuries of experiment and progress, and fusing the various
+elements, he created by force of his genius a new result and stamped
+it with the seal perfection. Giotto, to whom religion was a reality,
+was deeply in earnest about his message, and he phrased it as best he
+could with the means at his command; his end was expression.
+Raphael, under the patronage of wealthy dilettanti and in the service
+of a worldly and splendor-loving Church, delighted in his
+knowledge and his skill; he worshiped art, and his end was beauty.
+The genius of Giotto is a first shoot, vigorous and alive, breaking
+ground hardily, and tentatively pushing into freer air. The genius of
+Raphael is the full-blown flower and final fruit, complete, mature.
+The step beyond is decay.
+
+By reference to Giotto and to Raphael I have tried to illustrate the
+practical application of certain principles of art study. A work of art
+is not absolute; both its content and its form are determined by the
+conditions out of which it proceeds. All judgment, therefore, must
+be comparative, and a work of art must be considered in its relation
+to its background and its conventions. Art is an interpretation of
+some aspect of life as the artist has felt it; and the artist is a child of
+his time. It is not an accident that Raphael portrayed Madonnas,
+serene and glorified, and Millet pictured rude peasants bent with toil.
+Raphael's painting is the culmination of two centuries of eager
+striving after the adequate expression of religious sentiment; in
+Millet's work the realism of his age is transfigured. As showing
+further how national ideals and interests may influence individual
+production, we may note that the characteristic art of the Italian
+Renaissance is painting; and Italian sculpture of the period is
+pictorial rather than plastic in motive and handling. Ghiberti's doors
+of the Florence Baptistery, in the grouping of figures and the three
+and four planes in perspective of the backgrounds, are essentially
+pictures in bronze. Conversely, in the North the characteristic art of
+the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries is carving and sculpture; and
+"the early painters represented in their pictures what they were
+familiar with in wood and stone; so that not only are the figures dry
+and hard, but in the groups they are packed one behind another,
+heads above heads, without really occupying space, in imitation of
+the method adopted in the carved relief." Some knowledge of the
+origin and development of a given form of technique, a knowledge
+to be reached through historical study, enables us to measure the
+degree of expressiveness of a given work. The ideas of a child may
+be very well worth listening to, though his range of words is limited
+and his sentences are crude and halting, A grown man, having
+acquired the trick of language, may talk fluently and say nothing. In
+our endeavor to understand a work of art, a poem by Chaucer or by
+Tennyson, a picture by Greco or by Manet, a prelude by Bach or a
+symphony by Brahms, we may ask, Of that which the artist wanted
+to say, how much could he say with the means at his disposal? With
+a sense of the artist's larger motive, whether religious sentiment, or a
+love of sheer beauty of color and form, or insight into human
+character, we are aided by a study of the history of technique to
+determine how far the artist with the language at his command was
+able to realize his intention.
+
+But not only is art inspired and directed by the time-spirit of its age.
+A single work is the expression for the artist who creates it of his
+ideal. An artist's ideal, what he sets himself to accomplish, is the
+projection of his personality, and that is determined by many
+influences. He is first of all a child of his race and time; inheritance
+and training shape him to these larger conditions. Then his ideal is
+modified by his special individuality. A study of the artist's character
+as revealed in his biography leads to a fuller understanding of the
+intention and scope of his work. The events of his life become
+significant as they are seen to be the causes or the results of his total
+personality, that which he was in mind and temperament. What were
+the circumstances that moulded his character and decided his course?
+What events did he shape to his own purpose by the active force of
+his genius? What was the special angle of vision from which he
+looked upon the world? The answers to these questions are the clue
+to the full drift of his work. As style is the expression of the man, so
+conversely a knowledge of the man is an entrance into the wider and
+subtler implications of his style. We explore the personality of the
+man in order more amply to interpret his art, and we turn to his art
+as the revelation of his personality. In studying an artist we must
+look for his _tendency_ and seek the unifying principle which binds
+his separate works into a whole. An artist has his successive periods
+or "manners." There is the period of apprenticeship, when the young
+man is influenced by his predecessors and his masters. Then he
+comes into his own, and he registers nature and life as he sees it
+freshly for himself. Finally, as he has mastered his art and won some
+of the secrets of nature, and as his own character develops, he tends
+more and more to impose his subjective vision upon the world, and
+he subordinates nature to the expression of his distinctive
+individuality. A single work, therefore, is to be considered in
+relation to its place in the artist's development; it is but a part, and it
+is to be interpreted by reference to the whole.
+
+In the study of biography, however, the man must not be mistaken
+for the artist; his acts are not to be confounded with his message. "A
+man is the spirit he worked in; not what he did, but what he
+became." We must summon forth the spirit of the man from within
+the wrappages of material and accident. In our preoccupation with
+the external details of a man's familiar and daily life it is easy to lose
+sight of his spiritual experience, which only is of significance.
+Whistler, vain, aggressive, quarrelsome, and yet so exquisite and so
+subtle in extreme refinement, is a notable example of a great spirit
+and a little man. Wagner wrote to Liszt: "As I have never felt the
+real bliss of love, I must erect a monument to the most beautiful of
+my dreams, in which from beginning to end that love shall be
+thoroughly satiated." Not the Wagner of fact, but the Wagner of
+dreams. Life lived in the spirit and imagination may be different
+from the life of daily act. So we should transcend the material,
+trying through that to penetrate to the spiritual. It is not a visit to the
+artist's birthplace that signifies, it is not to do reverence before his
+likeness or cherish a bit of his handwriting. All this may have a
+value to the disciple as a matter of loyalty and fine piety. But in the
+end we must go beyond these externals that we may enter
+intelligently and sympathetically into the temper of his mind and
+mood and there find disclosed what he thought and felt and was able
+only in part to express. It is not the man his neighbors knew that is
+important. His work is the essential thing, what that work has to tell
+us about life in terms of emotional experience.
+
+Studies in the history of art and in biography are avenues of
+approach to the understanding of a work of art; they do not in
+themselves constitute appreciation. Historical importance must not
+be mistaken for artistic significance. In reading about pictures we
+may forget to look at them. The historical study of art in its various
+divisions reduces itself to an exercise in analysis, resolving a given
+work into its elements. But art is a synthesis. In order to appreciate a
+work the elements must be gathered together and fused into a whole.
+A statue or a picture is meant not to be read about, but to be looked
+at; and its final message must be received through vision. Our
+knowledge will serve us little if we are not sensitive to the appeal of
+color and form. There is danger that preoccupation with the history
+of art may betray us if we are not careful to keep it in its place. The
+study of art should follow and not lead appreciation. We are apt to
+see what we are looking for. So we ought to come to each work
+freshly without prejudice or bias; it is only afterwards that we should
+bring to bear on it our knowledge about the facts of its production.
+Connoisseurship is a science and may hold within itself no element
+of aesthetic enjoyment. Appreciation is an art, and the quality of it
+depends upon the appreciator himself. The end of historical study is
+not a knowledge of facts for their own sake, but through those facts
+a deeper penetration and fuller true enjoyment. By the aid of such
+knowledge we are enabled to recognize in any work more certainly
+and abundantly the expression of an emotional experience which
+relates itself to our own life.
+
+The final meaning of art to the appreciator lies in just this sense of
+its relation to his own experience. The greatest works are those
+which express reality and life, not limited and temporary conditions,
+but life universal and for all time. Without commentary these carry
+their message, appealing to the wisest and the humblest. Gather into
+a single room a fragment of the Parthenon frieze, Michelangelo's
+"Day and Night," Botticelli's "Spring," the sprites and children of
+Donatello and Delia Robbia, Velasquez's "Pope Innocent,"
+Rembrandt's "Cloth-weavers," Frans Hals' "Musician," Millet's
+"Sower," Whistler's "Carlyle." There is here no thought of period or
+of school. These living, present, eternal verities are all one company.
+
+
+
+VI
+
+THE SERVICE OF CRITICISM
+
+THE greatest art is universal. It transcends the merely local
+conditions in which it is produced. It sweeps beyond the individual
+personality of its creator, and links itself with the common
+experience of all men. The Parthenon, so far as it can be
+reconstructed in imagination, appeals to a man of any race or any
+period, whatever his habit of mind or degree of culture, as a perfect
+utterance. The narrow vault of the Sistine Chapel opens into
+immensity, and every one who looks upon it is lifted out of himself
+into new worlds. Shakespeare's plays were enjoyed by the
+apprentices in the pit and royalty in the boxes, and so all the way
+between. The man Shakespeare, of such and such birth and training,
+and of this or that experience in life, is entirely merged in his
+creations; he becomes the impersonal channel of expression of the
+profoundest, widest interpretation of life the world has known. Such
+art as this comes closest to the earth and extends farthest into
+infinity, "beyond the reaches of our souls."
+
+But there is another order of art, more immediately the product of
+local conditions, the personal expression of a distinctive
+individuality, phrased in a language of less scope and currency, and
+limited as to its content in the range of its appeal. These lesser works
+have their place; they can minister to us in some moment of need
+and at some point in our development. Because of their limitations,
+however, their effectiveness can be furthered by interpretation. A
+man more sensitive than we to the special kind of beauty which they
+embody and better versed in their language, can discover to us a
+significance and a charm in them to which we have not penetrated.
+To help us to the fullest enjoyment of the great things and to a more
+enlightened and juster appreciation of the lesser works is the service
+of criticism.
+
+We do not wholly possess an experience until, having merged
+ourselves in it, we then react upon it and become conscious of its
+significance. A novel, a play, a picture interests us, and we surrender
+to the enjoyment of the moment. Afterwards we think about our
+pleasure, defining the nature of the experience and analyzing the
+means by which it was produced, the subject of the work and the
+artist's method of treating it. It may be that we tell our pleasure to a
+friend, glad also perhaps to hear his opinion of the matter. The
+impulse is natural; the practice is helpful. And herein lies the origin
+of criticism. In so far as an appreciator does not rest in his
+immediate enjoyment of a work of art, but seeks to account for his
+pleasure, to trace the sources of it, to establish the reasons for it, and
+to define its quality, so far he becomes a critic. As every man who
+perceives beauty in nature and takes it up into his own life is
+potentially an artist, so every man is a critic in the measure that he
+reasons about his enjoyment. The critical processes, therefore, are an
+essential part of our total experience of art, and criticism may be an
+aid to appreciation.
+
+The function of criticism has been variously understood through the
+centuries of its practice. Early modern criticism, harking back to the
+method of Aristotle, concerned itself with the form of a work of art.
+From the usage of classic writers it deduced certain "rules" of
+composition; these formulas were applied to the work under
+examination, and that was adjudged good or bad in the degree that it
+conformed or failed to conform to the established rules. It was a
+criticism of law-giving and of judgment. In the eighteenth century
+criticism extended its scope by the admission of a new consideration,
+passing beyond the mere form of the work and reckoning with its
+power to give pleasure. Addison, in his critique of "Paradise Lost,"
+still applies the formal tests of the Aristotelian canons, but he
+discovers further that a work of art exists not only for the sake of its
+form, but also for the expression of beautiful ideas. This power of
+"affecting the imagination" he declares is the "very life and highest
+perfection" of poetry. This is a long step in the right direction. With
+the nineteenth century, criticism conceives its aims and procedure in
+new and larger ways. A work of art is now seen to be an evolution;
+and criticism adapts to its own uses the principles of historical study
+and the methods of scientific investigation. Recognizing that art is
+organic, that an art-form, as religious painting or Gothic architecture
+or the novel, is born, develops, comes to maturity, lapses, and dies,
+that an individual work is the product of "race, environment, and the
+moment," that it is the expression also of the personality of the artist
+himself, criticism no longer regards the single work as an isolated
+phenomenon, but tries to see it in its relation to its total background.
+
+Present-day criticism avails itself of this larger outlook upon art. But
+the ends to be reached are understood differently by different critics.
+With M. Brunetiere, to cite now a few representative names,
+criticism is authoritative and dogmatic: he looks at the work
+objectively, refusing to be the dupe of his pleasure, if he has any;
+and approaching the work in the spirit of dispassionate impersonal
+inquiry as an object of historical importance and scientific interest,
+he decrees that it is good or bad. Matthew Arnold considers
+literature a "criticism of life," and he values a work with reference to
+the moral significance of its ideas. Ruskin's criticism is didactic; he
+wishes to educate his public, and by force of his torrential eloquence
+he succeeds in persuading his disciples into acceptance of his
+teaching, though he may not always convince. Impressionistic
+criticism, as with M. Anatole France or M. Jules Lemaitre, does not
+even try to see the work "as in itself it really is," but is an account of
+the critic's own subjective reaction on it, a narrative of what he
+thought and felt in this chance corner of experience. With Walter
+Pater criticism becomes _appreciation._ A given work of art
+produces a distinctive impression and communicates a special and
+unique pleasure; this active power constitutes its beauty. So the
+function of the critic as Pater conceives it is "to distinguish, analyze,
+and separate from its adjuncts, the virtue by which a picture, a
+landscape, a fair personality in life or in a book, produces this
+special impression of beauty or pleasure, to indicate what the source
+of that impression is, and under what conditions it is experienced."
+The interpretative critic--represented in the practice of Pater--stands
+between a work of art and the appreciator as mediator and revealer.
+
+Each kind of criticism performs a certain office, and is of use within
+its own chosen sphere. To the layman, for his purposes of
+appreciation, that order of criticism will be most helpful which
+responds most closely and amply to his peculiar needs. A work of
+art may be regarded under several aspects, its quality of technical
+execution, its power of sensuous appeal, its historical importance;
+and to each one of these aspects some kind of criticism applies. The
+layman's reception of art includes all these considerations, but
+subordinates them to the total experience. His concern, therefore, is
+to define the service of criticism to appreciation.
+
+The analysis of a work of art resolves it into these elements. There is
+first of all the emotion which gives birth to the work and which the
+work is designed to express. The emotion, to become definite,
+gathers about an idea, conceived in the terms of its own medium, as
+form, or color and mass, or musical relations; and this artistic idea
+presents itself as the subject or motive of the work. The emotion and
+artistic idea, in order that they may be expressed and become
+communicable, embody themselves in material, as the marble of a
+statue, the pigment of a picture, the audible tones of a musical
+composition. This material form has the power to satisfy the mind
+and delight the senses. Through the channel of the senses and the
+mind the work reaches the feelings; and the aesthetic experience is
+complete.
+
+As art springs out of emotion, so it is to be received as emotion; and
+a work to be appreciated in its true spirit must be enjoyed. But to be
+completely enjoyed it must be understood. We must know what the
+artist was trying to express, and we must be able to read his
+language; then we are prepared to take delight in the form and to
+respond to the emotion.
+
+To help us to understand a work of art in all the components that
+entered into the making of it is the function of historical study. Such
+study enables us to see the work from the artist's own point of view.
+A knowledge of its background, the conditions in which the artist
+wrought and his own attitude toward life, is the clue to his ideal; and
+by an understanding of the language it was possible for him to
+employ, we can measure the degree of expressiveness he was able to
+achieve. This study of the artist's purpose and of his methods is an
+exercise in explanation.
+
+The interpretation of art, for which we look to criticism, deals with
+the picture, the statue, the book, specifically in its relation to the
+appreciator. What is the special nature of the experience which the
+work communicates to us in terms of feeling? In so far as the
+medium itself is a source of pleasure, by what qualities of form has
+the work realized the conditions of beauty proper to it, delighting
+thus the senses and satisfying the mind? These are the questions
+which the critic, interpreting the work through the medium of his
+own temperament, seeks to answer.
+
+Theoretically, the best critic of art would be the artist himself. He
+above all other men should understand the subtle play of emotion
+and thought in which a work of art is conceived; and the artist rather
+than another should trace the intricacies and know the cunning of the
+magician processes by which the immaterial idea builds itself into
+visible actuality. In practice, however, the theory is not borne out by
+the fact. The artist as such is very little conscious of the workings of
+his spirit. He is creative rather than reflective, synthetic and not
+analytic. From his contact with nature and from his experience of
+life, out of which rises his generative emotion, he moves directly to
+the fashioning of expressive forms, without pausing on the way to
+scan too closely the "meaning" of his work. Mr. Bernard Shaw
+remarks that Ibsen, giving the rein to the creative impulse of his
+poetic nature, produced in "Brand" and "Peer Gynt" a "great puzzle
+for his intellect." Wagner, he says, "has expressly described how the
+intellectual activity which he brought to the analysis of his music
+dramas was in abeyance during their creation. Just so do we find
+Ibsen, after composing his two great dramatic poems, entering on a
+struggle to become intellectually conscious of what he had done."
+Moreover, the artist is in the very nature of things committed to one
+way of seeing. His view of life is limited by the trend of his own
+dominant and creative personality; what he gains in intensity and
+penetration of insight he loses in breadth. He is less quick to see
+beauty in another guise than that which his own imagination weaves
+for him; he is less receptive of other ways of envisaging the world.
+
+The ideal critic, on the contrary, is above everything else catholic
+and tolerant. It is his task to discover beauty in whatever form and to
+affirm it. By nature he is more sensitive than the ordinary man, by
+training he has directed the exercise of his powers toward their
+fullest scope, and by experience of art in its diverse manifestations
+he has certified his judgment and deepened his capacity to enjoy.
+The qualifications of an authentic critic are both temperament and
+scholarship. Mere temperament uncorrected by knowledge may
+vibrate exquisitely when swept by the touch of a thing of beauty, but
+its music may be in a quite different key from the original motive.
+Criticism must relate itself to the objective fact; it should interpret
+and not transpose. Mere scholarship without temperament misses art
+at its centre, that art is the expression and communication of
+emotional experience; and the scholar in criticism may wander his
+leaden way down the by-paths of a sterile learning. To mediate
+between the artist and the appreciator, the critic must understand the
+artist and he must feel with the appreciator. He is at once the artist
+translated into simpler terms and the appreciator raised to a higher
+power of perception and response.
+
+The service of criticism to the layman is to furnish him a clue to the
+meaning of the work in hand, and by the critic's own response to its
+beauty to reveal its potency and charm. With technique as such the
+critic is not concerned. Technique is the business of the artist; only
+those who themselves practice an art are qualified to judge in
+matters of practice. The form is significant to the appreciator only so
+far as regards its expressiveness and beauty. It is not the function of
+the critic to tell the artist what his work _should be;_ it is the critic's
+mission to reveal to the appreciator what the work _is_. That
+revelation will be accomplished in terms of the critic's own
+experience of the beauty of the work, an experience imaged forth in
+such phrases that the pleasure the work communicates is conveyed
+to his readers in its true quality and foil intensity. It is not enough to
+dogmatize as Ruskin dogmatizes, to bully the reader into a terrified
+acceptance. It is not enough to determine absolute values as
+Matthew Arnold seeks to do, to fix certain canons of intellectual
+judgment, and by the application of a formula as a touchstone, to
+decide that this work is excellent and that another is less good.
+Really serviceable criticism is that which notes the special and
+distinguishing quality of beauty in any work and helps the reader to
+live out that beauty in his own experience.
+
+These generalizations may be made more immediate and practical
+by examples. In illustration of the didactic manner in criticism I may
+cite a typical paragraph of Ruskin, chosen from his "Mornings in
+Florence."
+
+First, look at the two sepulchral slabs by which you are standing.
+That farther of the two from the west end is one of the most
+beautiful pieces of fourteenth-century sculpture in this world. . . .
+And now, here is a simple but most useful test of your capacity for
+understanding Florentine sculpture or painting. If you can see that
+the lines of that cap are both right, and lovely; that the choice of the
+folds is exquisite in its ornamental relations of line; and that the
+softness and ease of them is complete,--though only sketched with a
+few dark touches,--then you can understand Giotto's drawing, and
+Botticelli's;--Donatello's carving, and Luca's. But if you see nothing
+in _this_ sculpture, you will see nothing in theirs, _of_ theirs. Where
+they choose to imitate flesh, or silk, or to play any vulgar modern
+trick with marble--(and they often do)--whatever, in a word, is
+French, or American, or Cockney, in their work, you can see; but
+what is Florentine, and for ever great--unless you can see also the
+beauty of this old man in his citizen's cap,--you will see never.
+
+The earnest and docile though bewildered layman is intimidated into
+thinking that he sees it, whether he really does or not. But it is a
+question if the contemplation of the "beauty of this old man in his
+citizen's cap," however eager and serious the contemplation may be,
+adds much to his experience; it may be doubted whether as a result
+of his effort toward the understanding of the rightness and loveliness
+of the lines of the cap and the exquisiteness of the choice of folds,
+which the critic has pointed out to him with threatening finger, he
+feels that life is a fuller and finer thing to live.
+
+An example of the intellectual estimate, the valuation by formulas,
+and the assignment of abstract rank, is this paragraph from Matthew
+Arnold's essay on Wordsworth.
+
+Wherever we meet with the successful balance, in Wordsworth, of
+profound truth of subject with profound truth of execution, he is
+unique. His best poems are those which most perfectly exhibit this
+balance. I have a warm admiration for "Laodameia" and for the great
+"Ode;" but if I am to tell the very truth, I find "Laodameia" not
+wholly free from something artificial, and the great "Ode" not
+wholly free from something declamatory. If I had to pick out poems
+of a kind most perfectly to show Wordsworth's unique power, I
+should rather choose poems such as "Michael," "The Fountain,"
+"The Highland Reaper." And poems with the peculiar and unique
+beauty which distinguishes these, Wordsworth produced in
+considerable number; besides very many other poems of which the
+worth, although not so rare as the worth of these, is still exceedingly
+high.
+
+Thus does the judicial critic mete out his estimate by scale and
+measuring-rod. We are told dogmatically what is good and what is
+less good; but of distinctive quality and energizing life-giving
+virtues, not a word. The critic does not succeed in communicating to
+us anything of Wordsworth's special charm and power. We are
+informed, but we are left cold and unresponding.
+
+The didactic critic imposes his standard upon the layman. The
+judicial critic measures and awards. The appreciative critic does not
+attempt to teach or to judge; he makes possible to his reader an
+appreciation of the work of art simply by recreating in his own terms
+the complex of his emotions in its presence. Instead of declaring the
+work to be beautiful or excellent, he makes it beautiful in the very
+telling of what it means to him. As the artist interprets life,
+disclosing its depths and harmonies, so the appreciative critic in his
+turn interprets art, reconstituting the beauty of it in his own terms.
+Through his interpretation, the layman is enabled to enter more fully
+into the true spirit of the work and to share its beauty in his own
+experience.
+
+In contrast to the passage from Arnold is this paragraph from an
+essay on Wordsworth by Walter Pater.
+
+And so he has much for those who value highly the concentrated
+presentment of passion, who appraise men and women by their
+susceptibility to it, and art and poetry as they afford the spectacle of
+it. Breaking from time to time into the pensive spectacle of their
+daily toil, their occupations near to nature, come those great
+elementary feelings, lifting and solemnizing their language and
+giving it a natural music. The great, distinguishing passion came to
+Michael by the sheepfold, to Ruth by the wayside, adding these
+humble children of the furrow to the true aristocracy of passionate
+souls. In this respect, Wordsworth's work resembles most that of
+George Sand, in those of her novels which depict country life. With
+a penetrative pathos, which puts him in the same rank with the
+masters of the sentiment of pity in literature, with Meinhold and
+Victor Hugo, he collects all the traces of vivid excitement which
+were to be found in that pastoral world--the girl who rung her
+father's knell; the unborn infant feeling about its mother's heart; the
+instinctive touches of children; the sorrows of the wild creatures,
+even--their home-sickness, their strange yearnings; the tales of
+passionate regret that hang by a ruined farm-building, a heap of
+stones, a deserted sheepfold; that gay, false, adventurous, outer
+world, which breaks in from time to time to bewilder and deflower
+these quiet homes; not "passionate sorrow" only, for the overthrow
+of the soul's beauty, but the loss of, or carelessness for personal
+beauty even, in those whom men have wronged--their pathetic
+wanness; the sailor "who, in his heart, was half a shepherd on the
+stormy seas;" the wild woman teaching her child to pray for her
+betrayer; incidents like the making of the shepherd's staff, or that of
+the young boy laying the first stone of the sheepfold;--all the
+pathetic episodes of their humble existence, their longing, their
+wonder at fortune, their poor pathetic pleasures, like the pleasures of
+children, won so hardly in the struggle for bare existence; their
+yearning towards each other, in their darkened houses, or at their
+early toil. A sort of biblical depth and solemnity hangs over this
+strange, new, passionate, pastoral world, of which he first raised the
+image, and the reflection of which some of our best modern fiction
+has caught from him.
+
+Here is the clue to Wordsworth's meaning; and the special quality
+and power of his work, gathering amplitude and intensity as it plays
+across the critic's temperament, is reconstituted in other and
+illuminating images which communicate the emotion to us. The
+critic has felt more intimately than we the appeal of this poetry, and
+he kindles in us something of his own enthusiasm. So we return to
+Wordsworth for ourselves, more alert to divine his message, more
+susceptible to his spell, that he may work in us the magic of
+evocation.
+
+Criticism is of value to us as appreciators in so far as it serves to
+recreate in us the experience which the work was designed to
+convey. But criticism is not a short cut to enjoyment. We cannot
+take our pleasure at second hand. We must first come to the work
+freshly and realize our own impression of it; then afterwards we may
+turn to the critic for a further revelation. Criticism should not shape
+our opinion, but should stimulate appreciation, carrying us farther
+than we could go ourselves, but always in the same direction with
+our original impression. There is a kind of literary exercise, calling
+itself criticism, which takes a picture or a book as its point of
+departure and proceeds to create a work of art in its own right,
+attaching itself only in name to the work which it purports to
+criticise. "Who cares," exclaims a clever maker of epigrams,
+"whether Mr. Ruskin's views on Turner are sound or not? What does
+it matter? That mighty and majestic prose of his, so fervid and so
+fiery-coloured in its noble eloquence, so rich in its elaborate
+symphonic music, so sure and certain, at its best, in subtle choice of
+word and epithet, is at least as great a work of art as any of those
+wonderful sunsets that bleach or rot on their corrupted canvases in
+England's Gallery." A very good appreciation of Ruskin, this. But
+the answer is that such writing as is here attributed to Ruskin is
+magnificent: it may be art; but it is not true criticism. A work of art
+is not "impressive" merely, but "expressive" too. Criticism in its
+relation to the work itself has an objective base, and it must be
+steadied and authenticated by constant reference to the original feet.
+Criticism is not the source of our enjoyment but a medium of
+interpretation.
+
+Before we turn to criticism, therefore, we must first, as Pater
+suggests, know our own impression as it really is, discriminate it,
+and realize it distinctly. Only so shall we escape becoming the dupe
+of some more aggressive personality. In our mental life suggestion
+plays an important and perhaps unrecognized part. In a certain frame
+of mind we can be persuaded into believing anything and into liking
+anything. When, under the influence of authority or fashion, we
+think we care for that which has no vital and consciously realized
+relation to our own experience, we are the victims of a kind of
+hypnotism, and there is little hope of our ultimate adjustment over
+against art. It is far better honestly to like an inferior work and know
+why we like it than to pretend to like a good one. In the latter case
+no real progress or development is possible, for we have no
+standards that can be regarded as final; we are swayed by the
+authority or influence which happens at that moment to be most
+powerful. In the former case we are at least started in the right
+direction. Year by year, according to the law of natural growth, we
+come to the end of the inferior work which up to that time has been
+able to minister to us, and we pass on to new and greater works that
+satisfy the demands of our deepening experience. It is sometimes
+asked if we ought not to try to like the best things in art. I should
+answer, the very greatest things we do not have to _try_ to like; the
+accent of greatness is unmistakable, and greatness has a message for
+every one. As regards the lesser works, we ought to be willing to
+grow up. There was a time when I enjoyed "Robinson Crusoe" in
+words of one syllable. If I had _tried_ then to like Mr. George
+Meredith, I should not really have enjoyed him, and I should have
+missed the fun of "Robinson Crusoe." Everything in its time and
+place. The lesser works have their use: they may be a starting-point
+for our entrance into life; and they furnish a basis of comparison by
+which we are enabled to realize the greatness of the truly great. We
+must value everything in its own kind, affirming what it is, and not
+regretting what it is not. But the prerequisite of all appreciation,
+without which our contact with art is a pastime or a pretense, is that
+we be honest with ourselves. In playing solitaire at least we ought
+not to cheat.
+
+So the layman must face the situation squarely and accept the
+responsibility of deciding finally for himself. On the way we may
+look to criticism to guide us to those works which are meant for us.
+In art as in the complex details of living, there is need of selection;
+and criticism helps toward that. In literature alone, to name but a
+single art, there is so much to be left unread which the length of our
+life would not otherwise permit us to escape, that we are grateful to
+the critic who aids us to omit gracefully and with success. But the
+most serviceable criticism is positive and not destructive. The lesser
+works may have a message for us, and it is that message in its
+distinctive quality which the critic should affirm. In the end,
+however, the use we make of criticism should not reduce itself to an
+unquestioning acceptance of authority. In the ceremonial of the
+Roman service, at the moment preceding the elevation of the Host,
+two acolytes enter the chancel, bearing candles, and kneel between
+the congregation and the ministrants at the altar; the tapers,
+suffusing the altar in their golden radiance, throw the dim figures of
+the priests into a greater gloom and mystery. So it happens that art
+often is enshrouded by the off-giving of those who would seem to
+illuminate it; and "dark with excess of light," the obscurity is
+intensified. The layman is told of the virginal poetry of early Italian
+painting; he is bidden to sit at the homely, substantial feast of the
+frank actuality of Dutch art; he listens in puzzled wonder to the
+glorification of Velasquez and Goya; he reads in eloquent, glowing
+language of the splendor of Turner. He is more than half persuaded;
+but he does not quite understand. From this tangle of contending
+interests there seems for the moment to be no way out. It is assumed
+that the layman has no standard of his own; and he yields himself to
+the appeal which comes to him immediately at the instant. The next
+day, perhaps, brings a new interest or another judgment which runs
+counter to the old. Back and forth and back again, without purpose
+and without reason; it is only an endless recurrence of the conflict
+instead of development and progress. Taking all his estimates at
+second hand, so for his opinion even of a concert or a play he is at
+the mercy of a critic who may have dined badly. Some boy, caught
+young at the university and broken to miscellaneous tasks on a big
+newspaper, is sent to "do" a picture-exhibition, a concert, and the
+theatre in the same day. He is expected to "criticise" in an hour the
+work of a lifetime of struggle and effort and knowledge and thought
+and feeling. This is the guide of opinion and the foundation of
+artistic creed. I have stated the reduction to absurdity of the case for
+authority in criticism. If the layman who leans too heavily upon
+criticism comes to realize the hopelessness of his position and thinks
+the situation through to its necessary conclusion, he sees that the
+authority of criticism is not absolute, but varies with the powers and
+range of the individual critic, and that at the last he must find his
+standard within himself.
+
+There are, of course, certain standards of excellence recognized
+universally and certain principles of taste of universal validity; and
+to these standards and these principles must be referred our
+individual estimates for comparison and correction. Given a native
+sensibility to the worth of life and to the appeal of beauty, the justice
+of our estimate will be in proportion to the extent of our knowledge
+of life and of our contact with art. Our individual judgment,
+therefore, must be controlled by experience,--our momentary
+judgments by the sum of our own experience, and our total
+judgment by universal experience. In all sound criticism and right
+appreciation there must be a basis of disciplined taste. We must
+guard ourselves against whims and caprice, even our own. So the
+individual may not cut loose altogether from external standards. But
+these must be brought into relation to his personal needs and applied
+with reference to his own standard. Finally, for his own uses, the
+individual has the right to determine the meaning and value to him
+of any work of art in the measure that it links itself with his own
+actual or possible experience and becomes for him a revelation of
+fuller life. For beauty is the power possessed by objects to quicken
+us with a sense of larger personality; and art, whether the arts of
+form or of representation, is the material bodying forth of beauty as
+the artist has perceived it and the means by which his emotion in its
+presence is communicated. Upon this conception of beauty and this
+interpretation of the scope and function of art rests the justice of the
+personal estimate.
+
+
+
+VII
+
+BEAUTY AND COMMON LIFE
+
+TO become sensitive to the meaning of color and form and sound as
+the artist employs them for expression, to feel a work of art in its
+relation to its background, to find in criticism enlightenment and
+guidance but not a substitute for one's own experience,--these are
+methods of approach to art. But the appreciator has yet to penetrate
+art's inmost secret. At the centre, as the motive of all his efforts to
+understand the language of art and the processes of technique, as the
+goal of historical study and the purpose of his recourse to criticism,
+stands the work itself with its power to attract and charm. Here is
+Millet's painting of the "Sower." In the actual presence of the picture
+the appreciator's experience is complex. Analysis resolves it into
+considerations of the material form of the work, involving its
+sensuous qualities and the processes of execution, considerations
+also of the subject of the picture, which gathers about itself many
+associations out of the beholder's own previous knowledge of life.
+But the clue to the final meaning of the work, its meaning both to
+the artist and to the appreciator, is contained in the answer to the
+question, Why did Millet paint this picture? And just what is it
+designed to express?
+
+Art is born out of emotion. Though the symbols it may employ to
+expression, the forms in which it may manifest itself, are infinitely
+various in range and character, essentially all art is one. A work of
+art is the material bodying forth of the artist's sense of a meaning in
+life which unfolds itself to him as harmony and to which his spirit
+responds accordantly. It may be a pattern he has conceived; or he
+adapts material to a new use in response to a new need: the artist is
+here a craftsman. He is stirred by the tone and incident of a
+landscape or by the force or charm of some personality: and he puts
+brush to canvas. He apprehends the complex rhythms of form: and
+the mobile clay takes shape under his fingers. He feels the
+significance of persons acting and reacting in their contact with one
+another: and he pens a novel or a drama. He is thrilled by the
+emotion attending the influx of a great idea; philosophy is touched
+with feeling: and the thinker becomes a poet. The discords of
+experience resolve themselves within him into harmonies: and he
+gives them out in triumphant harmonies of sound. The particular
+medium the artist chooses in which to express himself is incidental
+to the feeling to be conveyed. The stimulus to emotion which impels
+the artist to create and the essential content of his work is _beauty._
+As beauty, then, is the very stuff and fibre of art, inextricably bound
+up with it, so in our effort to relate art to our experience we may
+seek to know something of the nature of beauty and its place in
+common life.
+
+During a visit in Philadelphia I was conducted by a member of the
+firm through the great Locomotive Works in that city. From the vast
+office, with its atmosphere of busy, concentrated quiet, punctuated
+by the clicking of many typewriters, I was led through doors and
+passages, and at length came upon the shrieking inferno of the shops.
+The uproar and din were maddening. Overhead, huge cranes were
+swinging great bulks of steel from one end of the cavernous shed to
+the other; vague figures were moving obscurely in the murk; the
+floor was piled and littered with heaps of iron-work of unimaginable
+shapes. After a time we made our way into another area where there
+was more quiet but no less confusion. I yelled to my guide, "Such a
+rumpus and row I never saw; it is chaos come again!" And he
+replied, "Why, to me it is all a perfect order. Everything is in its
+place. Every man has his special job and does it. I know the meaning
+and purpose of all those parts that seem to you to be thrown around
+in such a mess. If you could follow the course of making from the
+draughting-rooms to the finishing-shop, if you could see the process
+at once as a whole, you would understand that it is all a complete
+harmony, every part working with every other part to a definite
+end." It was not I but my friend who had the truth of the matter.
+Where for me there was only chaos, for him was order. And the
+difference was that he had the clue which I had not. His sense of the
+meaning of the parts brought the scattering details into a final unity;
+and therein he found harmony and satisfaction.
+
+I went away much impressed by what I had seen. When I had
+collected my wits a little in the comparative calm of the streets, it
+occurred to me that the immense workshops were a symbol of man's
+life in the world. In the instant of experience all seems chaos. At
+close range, in direct contact with the facts and demands of every
+day, we feel how confusing and distracting it all is. Life is beating in
+upon us at every point; all our senses are assailed at once. Each new
+day brings its conflicting interests and obligations. Now, whether we
+are aware of it or not, our constant effort is, out of the great variety
+of experience pressing in upon us, to select such details as make to a
+definite purpose and end. Instinctively we grope toward and attract
+to us that which is special and proper to our individual development.
+Our progress is toward harmony. By the adjustment of new material
+to the shaping principle of our experience, the circle of our
+individual lives widens its circumference. We are able to bring more
+and more details into order, and correspondingly fuller and richer
+our life becomes.
+
+The mental perception of order in the parts gives the whole its
+significance. This quick grasp of the whole is like the click of the
+kaleidoscope which throws the tumbling, distorted bits into a design.
+The conduct of practical life on the mental plane is the process also
+of art on the plane of the emotions. Not only does experience offer
+itself to us as the subject of thought; our contact with the world is
+also the stimulus of feeling. In my account of the visit to the
+Locomotive Works I have set down but a part and not the sum of my
+reaction. After I had come away, I fell to thinking about what I had
+seen, and intellectually I deduced certain abstract principles with
+regard to unity and significance. But at the moment of experience
+itself I simply felt. I was overwhelmed by the sense of unloosened
+power. The very confusion of it all constituted the unity of
+impression. The emotion roused in me by the roar and riotous
+movement and the vast gloom torn by fitful yellow gleams from
+opened furnaces and shapes of glowing metal was the emotion
+appropriate to the experience of chaos. That I can find a single word
+by which to characterize it, is evidence that the moment had its
+harmony for me and consequent meaning. All the infinite universe
+external to us is everywhere and at every instant potentially the
+stimulus to emotion. But unless feeling is discriminated, it passes
+unregarded. When the emotion gathers itself into design, when the
+moment reveals within itself order and significance, then and not till
+then the emotion becomes substance for expression in forms of art.
+
+If I were able to phrase what I saw and what I felt in the Locomotive
+Works, so that by means of presenting what I saw I might
+communicate to another what I felt and so rouse in him the same
+emotion, I should be an artist. Whistler or Monet might picture for
+us the murk and mystery of this pregnant gloom. Wagner might
+sound for us the tumultuous, weird emotions of this Niebelungen
+workshop of the twentieth century. Dante or Milton might phrase
+this inferno and pandemonium of modern industry and leave us
+stirred by the sense of power in the play of gigantic forces. Whether
+the medium be the painter's color, the musician's tones, or the poet's
+words, the purpose of the representation is fulfilled in so far as the
+work expresses the emotion which the artist has felt in the presence
+of this spectacle. He, the artist, more than I or another, has thrilled to
+its mystery, its tumult, its power. It is this effect, received as a unity
+of impression, that he wants to communicate. This power of the
+object over him, and consequently the content of his work, is beauty.
+
+In the experience of us all there are objects and situations which can
+stir us,--the twilight hour, a group of children at play, the spectacle
+of the great human crowd, it may be, or solitude under the stars, the
+works of man as vast cities or cunningly contrived machines, or
+perhaps it is the mighty, shifting panorama which nature unrolls for
+us at every instant of day and night, her endless pageant of color and
+light and shade and form. Out of them at the moment of our contact
+is unfolded a new significance; because of them life becomes for us
+larger, deeper. This power possessed by objects to rouse in us an
+emotion which comes with the realization of inner significance
+expressed in harmony is beauty. A brief analysis of the nature and
+action of beauty may help us in the understanding and appreciation
+of art, though the value to us of any explanation is to quicken us to a
+more vivid sensitiveness to the effect of beauty in the domain of
+actual experience of it.
+
+Because the world external to us, which manifests beauty, is
+received into consciousness by the senses, it is natural to seek our
+explanation in the processes involved in the functioning of our
+organism. Our existence as individual human beings is conditioned
+by our embodiment in matter. Without senses, without nerves and a
+brain, we should not _be._ Our feelings, which determine for us
+finally the value of experience, are the product of the excitement of
+our physical organism responding to stimulation. The rudimentary
+and most general feelings are pleasure and pain. All the complex
+and infinitely varied emotions that go to make up our conscious life
+are modifications of these two elementary reactions. The feeling of
+pleasure results when our organism "functions harmoniously with
+itself;" pain is the consequence of discord. In the words of a recent
+admirable statement of the psychologists' position: "When rhythm
+and melody and forms and colors give me pleasure, it is because the
+imitating impulses and movements that have arisen in me are such
+as suit, help, heighten my physical organization in general and in
+particular. . . . The basis, in short, of any aesthetic
+experience--poetry, music, painting and the rest--is beautiful
+through its harmony with the conditions offered by our senses,
+primarily of sight and hearing, and through the harmony of the
+suggestions and impulses it arouses with the whole organism." Beauty,
+then, according to the psychologists, is the quality inherent in
+things, the possession of which enables them to stimulate our
+organism to harmonious functioning. And the perception of beauty
+is a purely physiological reaction.
+
+This explanation, valid within its limits, seems to me to fall short of
+the whole truth. For it fails to reckon with that faculty and that entity
+within us whose existence we know but cannot explain,--the faculty
+we call mind, which operates as imagination, and the entity we
+recognize as spirit or soul. I mean the faculty which gives us the
+idea of God and the consciousness of self, the faculty which
+apprehends relations and significance in material transcending their
+material embodiment. I mean the entity within us which expresses
+itself in love and aspiration and worship, the entity which is able to
+fuse with the harmony external to it in a larger unity. When I glance
+out upon a winter twilight drenching earth and sky with luminous
+blue, a sudden delight floods in upon me, gathering up all my senses
+in a surging billow of emotion, and my being pulses and vibrates in
+a beat of joy. Something within me goes out to meet the landscape;
+so far as I am at all conscious of the moment, I feel, There, that is
+what I am! This deep harmony of tone and mass is the expression of
+a fuller self toward which I yearn. My being thrills and dilates with
+the sensation of larger life. Then, after the joy has throbbed itself out
+and my reaction takes shape as consciousness, I set myself to
+consider the sources and the processes of my experience. I note that
+my eye has perceived color and form. My intellect, as I summon it
+into action, tells me that I am looking upon a scene in nature
+composed of material elements, as land and trees and water and
+atmosphere. My senses, operating through channels of matter,
+receive, and my brain registers, impressions of material objects. But
+this analysis, though defining the processes, does not quite explain
+_my joy._ I know that beyond all this, transcending my material
+sense-perception and transcending the actual material of the
+landscape, there is something in me and there is something in nature
+which meet and mingle and become one. Above all embodiment in
+matter, there is a plane on which I feel my community with the
+world external to me, recognizing that world to be an extension of
+my own personality, a plane on which I can identify myself with the
+thing outside of me in so far as it is the expression of what I am or
+may become. Between me and the external world there is a common
+term. The effect which nature has upon us is determined, not by the
+object itself alone and not by our individual mind and temperament
+alone, but by the meeting of the two, the community between the
+object and the spirit of man. When we find nature significant and
+expressive, it is because we make nature in some way a part of our
+own experience.
+
+The material of an object is perceived by the senses. We see that it is
+blue or green or brown; we may touch it and note that it is rough or
+smooth, hard or soft, warm or cold. But the expressiveness of the
+object, its value for the emotions, does not stop with its merely
+material qualities, but comes with our grasp of the "relations" which
+it embodies; and these relations, transmitted through material by the
+senses, are apprehended by the mind. There are, of course,
+elementary data of sense-perception, such as color and sound. It may
+be that I prefer red to yellow because my eye is so constituted as to
+function harmoniously with a rate of vibration represented by 450
+billions per second, and discordantly with a rate of vibration
+represented by 526 billions per second. So also with tones of a given
+pitch. But though simple color and simple sound have each the
+power to please the senses, yet in actual experience neither color nor
+sound is perceived abstractly, apart from its embodiment in form.
+Color is felt as the property of some concrete object, as the crimson
+of a rose, the dye of some fabric or garment, the blue of the sky,
+which, though we know it to be the infinite extension of atmosphere
+and ether, we nevertheless conceive as a dome, with curvature and
+the definite boundary of the horizon. Sound in and of itself has pitch
+and _timbre_, qualities of pure sensation; but even with the
+perception of sound the element of form enters in, for we hear it
+with a consciousness of its duration--long or short--or of its relation
+to other sounds, heard or imagined.
+
+Our perceptions, therefore, give us forms. Now form implies
+_relation,_ the reference of one part to the other parts in the
+composition of the whole. And relation carries with it the
+possibilities of harmony or discord, of unity or disorder. Before an
+object can be regarded as beautiful it must give out a unity of
+impression. This unity does not reside in the object itself, but is
+effected by the mind which perceives it. In looking at a
+checkerboard I may see it as an aggregation of white squares set off
+by black, or as black squares relieved by white. I may read it as a
+series of horizontals, or of verticals, or of diagonals, according as I
+_attend_ to it. The design of the checker-board is not an absolute
+and fixed quantity inherent in the object itself, but is capable of a
+various interpretation according to the relative emphasis given to the
+parts by the perceiving mind. So with all objects in nature. The
+twilight landscape which stirred me may have been quite without
+interest or meaning to the man at my side; or, if he responded to it at
+all, his feelings may have been of a different order and quality than
+mine. Where I felt a deep and intimate solemnity in the landscape,
+he might have received the twilight as chill and forbidding.  Beauty,
+then, which consists in harmonious relation, does not lie in nature
+objectively, but is constituted by the perception in man's
+constructive imagination of a harmony and consequent significance
+drawn out of natural forms.  It is, in Emerson's phrase, "the integrity
+of impression made by manifold natural objects." And Emerson says
+further, "The charming landscape which I saw this morning is
+indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns
+this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none
+of them owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon
+which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that
+is, the poet." The mere pleasurable excitement of the senses is hardly
+to be called beauty. An object to be beautiful must express a
+harmony of relations and hence a meaning,--a meaning which goes
+beyond sense-perception and does not stop with the intellect, but
+reaches the spirit. Psychologists tell us that "a curved line is pleasing
+because the eye is so hung as best to move in it." Pleasing, yes; but
+not beautiful. And precisely herein is illustrated the distinction. A
+life wearied with an undulating uniformity of days will find beauty
+less in the curve than in the zigzag, because the sight of the broken
+line brings to the spirit suggestions of change and adventure. A
+supine temper finds shock, excitement, and a meaning in the vertical.
+Yet the significance of forms is not determined necessarily by
+contrasts. A quiet spirit sees its own expression, a harmony of self
+with external form, in the even lines and flat spaces of some Dutch
+etching. Or a vigorous, hardy mind takes fresh stimulus and courage
+from the swirling clouds of Turner or the wind-torn landscapes of
+Constable. An object is beautiful, not because of the physical ease
+with which the eye follows its outlines, but in so far as it has the
+power to communicate to us the feeling of larger life, to express and
+complete for us a harmony within our emotional experience.
+
+Our senses report to us the material world; we see, we hear, we
+touch and taste and smell. But we recognize also that nature has a
+value for the emotions; it can delight and thrill and uplift, taking us
+out of ourselves and carrying us beyond the confines of the little
+circle of our daily use and wont. As I look from my window I see
+against the sky a pear tree, radiant with blossom, an explosion of
+light and sensation. Its green and white, steeped in sunshine and
+quivering out of rain-washed depths of blue, are good to behold. But
+for me, as my spirit goes out to meet it, the tree is spring! In this I do
+not mean to characterize a process of intellectual deduction,--that as
+blossoms come in the spring, so the flowering of the tree is evidence
+that spring is here. I mean that by its color and form, all its outward
+loveliness, the tree communicates to me the spirit of the new birth of
+the year. In myself I feel and live the spring. My joy in the tree,
+therefore, does not end with the sight of its gray trunk and
+interwoven branches and its gleaming play of leaves: there my joy
+only begins, and it comes to its fulfillment as I feel the life of the
+tree to be an expression and extension of the life that is in me. My
+physical organism responds harmoniously in rhythm with the form
+of the tree, and so far the tree is pleasing. But, finally, a form is
+beautiful because it is expressive. "Beauty," said Millet, "does not
+consist merely in the shape or coloring of a face. It lies in the
+general effect of the form, in suitable and appropriate action. . . .
+When I paint a mother, I shall try and make her beautiful simply by
+the look she bends upon her child. Beauty is expression." Beauty
+works its effect through significance, a significance which is not
+always to be phrased in words, but is felt; conveyed by the senses, it
+at last reaches the emotions. Where the spirit of man comes into
+harmony with a harmony external to it, there is beauty.
+
+The elements of beauty are design, wholeness, and significance.
+Significance proceeds out of wholeness or unity of impression; and
+unity is made possible by design. Whatever the flower into which it
+may ultimately expand, beauty has its roots in fitness and utility;
+design in this case is constituted by the adaptation of the means to
+the end. The owner of a saw-mill wanted a support made for a
+shafting. Indicating a general idea of what he desired, he applied to
+one of his workmen, a man of intelligence and skill in his craft, but
+without a conventional education. The man constructed the support,
+a triangular framework contrived to receive the shafting at the apex;
+where there was no stress within the triangle, he cut away the timber,
+thus eliminating all surplusage of material. When the owner saw the
+finished product he said to his workman, "Well, John, that is a really
+beautiful thing you have made there." And the man replied, "I don't
+know anything about the beauty of it, but I know it's strong!" The
+end to be reached was a support which should be strong. The strong
+support was felt to be beautiful, for its lines and masses were
+apprehended as _right._ Had the man, with the "little learning" that
+is dangerous, attempted embellishment or applied ornament, he
+would have spoiled the effect; for ornateness would have been out of
+place. The perfect fitness of means to end, without defect and
+without excess, constituted its beauty; and its beauty was perceived
+aesthetically, as a quality inherent in the form, a quality which apart
+from the practical serviceableness of the contrivance was capable of
+communicating pleasure. So in general, when the inherent needs of
+the work give shape to the structure or contrivance, the resulting
+form is in so far forth beautiful. The early "horseless carriages," in
+which a form intended for one use was grafted upon a different
+purpose, were very ugly. Today the motor-car, evolved out of
+structural needs, a thing complete in and for itself, has in its lines
+and coherence of composition certain elements of beauty. In his
+"Song of Speed," Henley has demonstrated that the motorcar,
+mechanical, modern, useful, may even be material for poetry. That
+the useful is not always perceived as beautiful is due to the fact that
+the design which has shaped the work must be regarded apart from
+the material serviceableness of the object itself. Beauty consists not
+in the actual material, but in the unity of relations which the object
+embodies. We appreciate the art involved in the making of the first
+lock and key only as we look beyond the merely practical usefulness
+of the device and so apprehend the harmony of relations effected
+through its construction. As the lock and key serve to fasten the door,
+they are useful; they are beautiful as they manifest design and we
+feel their harmony. Beauty is removed from practical life, not
+because it is unrelated to life,--just the reverse of that is true,--but
+because the enjoyment of beauty is disinterested. The detachment
+involved in appreciation is a detachment from material. The
+appreciator may seem to be a looker-on at life, in that he does not
+act but simply feels. But his spirit is correspondingly alert. In the
+measure that he is released from servitude to material he gives free
+play to his emotion.
+
+Although beauty is founded upon design, design is not the whole of
+beauty. Not all objects which exhibit equal integrity of design are
+equally beautiful. The beauty of a work of art is determined by the
+degree of emotion which impelled its creation and by the degree in
+which the work itself is able to communicate the emotion
+immediately. The feeling which entered into the making of the first
+lock and key was simply the inventor's desire for such a device, his
+desire being the feeling which accompanied his consciousness of his
+need. At the other extreme is the emotion such as attended
+Michelangelo's vision of his "David" and urged his hand as he set
+his chisel to the unshaped waiting block. And so all the way between.
+Many pictures are executed in a wholly mechanical spirit, as so
+much manufacture; and they exhibit correspondingly little beauty.
+Many useful things, as a candle-stick, a pair of andirons, a chair, are
+wrought in the spirit of art; into them goes something of the maker's
+joy in his work; they become the expression of his emotion: and
+they are so far beautiful. It is asserted that Millet's "Angelus" is a
+greater picture than the painting entitled "War" by Franz Stuck,
+because "the idea of peasants telling their beads is more beautiful
+than the idea of a ruthless destroyer only in so far as it is morally
+higher." The moral value as such has very little to do with it. It is a
+question of emotion. If Stuck were to put on canvas his idea of
+peasants at prayer and if Millet had phrased in pictorial terms his
+feeling about war, there is little doubt that Millet's painting would be
+the more telling and beautiful. The degree of beauty is fixed by the
+depth of the man's insight into life and the corresponding intensity of
+his emotion.
+
+Beauty is not limited to one class of object or experience and
+excluded from another. A chair may be beautiful, although turned to
+common use; a picture is not beautiful necessarily because it is a
+picture. "Nothing out of its place is good, nothing in its place is
+bad," says Whitman, Whistler speaks of art as "seeking and finding
+the beautiful in all conditions and in all times, as did her high priest,
+Rembrandt, when he saw picturesque grandeur and noble dignity in
+the Jews' quarter of Amsterdam, and lamented not that its
+inhabitants were not Greeks." The beautiful must exhibit an integrity
+of relations within itself, and it must be in integral relation with its
+surroundings. The standard of beauty varies with every age, with
+every nation, indeed with every individual. As beauty is not in the
+object itself, but is in the mind which integrates the relations which
+the object manifests, so our appreciation of beauty is determined by
+our individuality. And individuality is the resultant of many forces.
+The self, inexplicable in essence, is the product of inheritance, and is
+modified by environment and training. More than we realize, our
+judgment is qualified by tradition and habit and even fashion.
+Because men have been familiar for so many centuries with the idea
+that sculpture should find its vehicle in white marble, the knowledge
+that Greek marbles originally were painted comes with something of
+a shock; and for the moment they have difficulty in persuading
+themselves that a Parthenon frieze _colored_ could possibly be
+beautiful. Until within comparatively recent years the French have
+regarded Shakespeare as a barbarian. The heroic couplet, which was
+the last word in poetical expression in the age of Queen Anne, we
+consider to-day as little more than a mechanical jingle. Last year's
+fashions in dress, which seemed at the time to have their merits, are
+this year amusingly grotesque. In our judgment of beauty, therefore,
+allowance must be made for standards which merely are imposed
+upon us from without. It is necessary to distinguish between a
+formula and the reality. As far as possible we should seek to come
+into "original relation" with the universe, freshly for ourselves. So
+we must return upon our individual consciousness, and thus
+determine what is vitally significant to us. For the man who would
+appreciate beauty, it is not a question between this or that "school"
+in art, whether the truth lies with the classicists or the romanticists; it
+is not a question of this or that subject or method to the exclusion of
+all others. Beauty may be anywhere or everywhere. It is our task and
+joy to find it, wherever it may be. And we shall find it, if we are able
+to recognize it and we hold ourselves responsive to its multitudinous
+appeal.
+
+The conception of beauty which limits its manifestation to one kind
+of experience is so far false and leads to mischievous acceptances
+and narrowing rejections. We mistake the pretty for the beautiful
+and so fail of the true value of beauty; we are blind to the
+significance which all nature and all life, in the lowest and
+commonest as in the highest and rarest, hold within them. "If
+beauty," says Hamerton, "were the only province of art, neither
+painters nor etchers would find anything to occupy them in the foul
+stream that washes the London wharfs." By beauty here is meant the
+merely agreeable. Pleasing the river may not be, to the ordinary man;
+but for the poet and the painter, those to whom it is given to see with
+the inner eye, the "foul stream" and its wharfs may be lighted with
+mysterious and tender beauty.
+
+     "Earth has not anything to show more fair:
+     Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
+     A sight so touching in its majesty:
+     This city now doth, like a garment, wear
+     The beauty of the morning.
+
+     . . . . .
+
+     Never did sun more beautifully steep
+     In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
+     Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
+     The river glideth at his own sweet will:
+     Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
+     And all that mighty heart is lying still!"
+
+And Whistler, by the witchery of his brush and his needle, has
+transmuted the confusion and sordidness and filth of this
+Thames-side into exquisite emotion. The essence of beauty is harmony, but
+that harmony is not to be reduced to rule and measure. In the very
+chaos of the Locomotive Works we may feel beauty; in the thrill
+which they communicate we receive access of power and we _are,_
+more largely, more universally. The harmony which is beauty is that
+unity or integrity of impression by force of which we are able to feel
+significance and the relation of the object to our own experience. It
+is an error to suppose that beauty must be racked on a procrustean
+bed of formula. Such false conceptions result in sham art. To create
+a work which shall be beautiful it is not necessary to "smooth, inlay,
+and clip, and fit." Beauty is not imposed upon material from without,
+according to a recipe; it is drawn out from within by the integrating
+power of imagination. Art is not artificiality. Art is the expression of
+vital emotion and essential significance. The beauty of architecture,
+for example, consists not in applied ornament but in structural
+fitness and adaptability, and grows out of the inherent needs of the
+work. The cathedral-builders of old time did not set themselves to
+create a "work of art." They wanted a church; and it was a church
+they built. It is we who, perceiving the rightness of their
+achievement, pronounce it to be beautiful. Beauty is not
+manufactured, but grows; it cannot be laid on as ornament. Beauty is
+born out of the contact of the spirit of man with natural forms, that
+contact which gives to objects their significance.
+
+The recognition of the true nature of beauty may change for us the
+face of the world. Some things are universally regarded as beautiful
+because their appeal is universal. There are passions, joys,
+aspirations, common to all the race; and the forms which objectify
+these emotions are beautiful universally. We can all enter into the
+feelings that gather about a group of children dancing round a
+Maypole in the Park; but in the murk and din and demoniacal
+activity of the Locomotive Works the appeal is not so obvious. The
+stupendous workshops become beautiful to me as my being merges
+into harmony with them and dilates with the emotion of intenser and
+fuller life. The Sistine Madonna is generally regarded as beautiful.
+But what is the beauty in the unspeakable witch on the canvas of
+Frans Hals? Harmony of color and of composition is employed by
+Raphael in the rendering of a figure and in the expression of an
+emotion both of which relate themselves to the veneration of
+mankind. Maternity, Christian or pagan, divine or human, evokes its
+universal tribute of feeling. On Raphael's canvas complete harmony
+is made visible; and the beauty of the picture for us is measured by
+its power to stir us. In the painting by Frans Hals the subject
+represented is in itself not pleasing. The technical execution of the
+picture is masterly. But our delight goes beyond any enjoyment of
+the skill here exhibited, goes beyond even the satisfaction of the
+senses in its color and composition. What the picture expresses is
+not merely the visible aspect of this woman, but the painter's own
+sympathy and appreciation. He saw a beauty in ugliness, a beauty to
+which we were blind, for he felt the significance of her life, the
+eternal rightness to herself of what she was. His joy in this inner
+harmony has transfigured the object and made it beautiful. Beauty
+penetrates deeper than grace and comeliness; it is not confined to the
+pretty and agreeable. Indeed, beauty is not always immediately
+pleasant, but is received often with pain. The emotion of pleasure,
+which is regarded as the necessary concomitant of beauty, ensues as
+we are able to merge ourselves in the experience and so come to feel
+its ultimate harmony. What is commonly accepted as ugly, as
+shocking or sordid, becomes beautiful for us so soon as we
+apprehend its inner significance. Judged by the canons of formal
+beauty, the sky-line of New York city, seen from the North River, is
+ugly and distressing. But the responsive spirit, reaching ever
+outward into new forms of feeling, can thrill at sight of those Titanic
+structures out-topping the Palisades themselves, thrusting their
+squareness adventurously into the smoke-grayed air, and telling the
+triumph of man's mind over the forces of nature in this fulfillment of
+the needs of irrepressible activity, this expression of tremendous
+actuality and life. Not that the reaction is so definitely formulated in
+the moment of experience; but this is something of what is felt. The
+discovery of such a harmony is the entrance into fuller living. So it
+is that the boundaries of beauty enlarge with the expansion of the
+individual spirit.
+
+To extend the boundaries of beauty by the revelation of new
+harmonies is the function of art. With the ordinary man, the plane of
+feeling, which is the basis of appreciation, is below the plane of his
+attention as he moves through life from day to day. As a clock may
+be ticking in the room quite unheeded, and then suddenly we hear it
+because our attention is called to it; so only that emotion really
+counts to us as experience which comes to our cognizance. When
+once the ordinary man is made aware of the underlying plane of
+feeling, the whole realm of appreciation is opened to him by his
+recognition of the possibilities of beauty which life may hold.
+Consciously to recognize that forces are operating which lie behind
+the surface aspect of things is to open ourselves to the play of these
+forces. With persons in whom intellect is dominant and the
+controlling power, the primary need is to understand; and for such,
+first to know is to be helped finally to feel. To comprehend that
+there is a soul in every fact and that within material objects reside
+meanings for the spirit, or beauty, is to be made more sensitive to
+their influence. With the artist, however, the case is different. At the
+moment of creation he is little conscious of the purport of the work
+to which he sets his hand. He is not concerned, as we have been,
+with the "why" of beauty; from the concrete directly to the concrete
+is his progress. Life comes to him not as thought but as emotion. He
+is moved by actual immediate contact with the world about him,--by
+the sight of a landscape, by the mood of an hour or place, by the
+power of some personality; it may be, too, a welter of recollected
+sensations and impressions that plays upon his spirit. The resultant
+emotion, not reasoned about but nevertheless directed to a definite
+end, takes shape in external concrete forms which are works of art.
+Just because he is so quick to feel the emotional value of life he is an
+artist; and much of his power as an artist derives from the
+concreteness of his emotion. The artist is the creative mind, creative
+in this sense, that in the outward shows of things he feels their
+inward and true relations, and by new combinations of material
+elements he reembodies his feeling in forms whose message is
+addressed to the spirit. The reason why Millet painted the "Sower"
+was that he felt the beauty of this peasant figure interpreted as
+significance and life. And it is this significance and life, in which we
+are made to share, that his picture is designed to express.
+
+Experience comes to us in fragments; the surface of the world
+throws back to us but broken glimpses. In the perspective of a
+lifetime the fragments flow together into order, and we dimly see the
+purpose of our being here; in moments of illumination and deeper
+insight a glimpse may disclose a sudden harmony, and the brief
+segment of nature's circle becomes beautiful. For then is revealed
+the shaping principle. Within the fact, behind the surface, are
+apprehended the relations of which the fact and the surface are the
+expression. The rhythm thus discovered wakens an accordant
+rhythm in the spirit of man. The moment gives out its meaning as
+man and nature merge together in the inclusive harmony. If the
+human spirit were infinite in comprehension, we should receive all
+things as beautiful, for we should apprehend their rightness and their
+harmony. To our finite perception, however, design is not always
+evident, for it is overlaid and confounded with other elements which
+are not at the moment fused. Just here is the office of art. For art
+presents a harmony liberated from all admixture of conflicting
+details and purged of all accidents, thus rendering the single
+meaning salient. To compel disorder into order and so reveal new
+beauty is the achievement of the artist. The world is commonplace
+or fraught with divinest meanings, according as we see it so. To art
+we turn for revelation, knowing that ideals of beauty may be many
+and that beauty may manifest itself in many forms.
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE ARTS OF FORM
+
+THE maker of the first bowl moulds the plastic clay into the shape
+best adapted to its purpose, a vessel to hold water, from which he
+can drink easily; the half-globe rather than the cube affords the
+greatest holding capacity with the least expenditure of material. He
+finds now that the form itself--over and above the practical
+serviceableness of the bowl--gives him pleasure. With a pointed
+stick or bit of flint he traces in the yielding surface a flowing line or
+an ordered series of dots or crosses, allowing free play to his fancy
+and invention. The design does not resemble anything else, nor does
+it relate itself to any object external to the maker; it has no meaning
+apart from the pleasure which it gave him as he conceived and
+traced it, and the pleasure it now gives him to look at it. To another
+man who sees the bowl, its form and its decoration afford likewise a
+double pleasure: there is first the satisfaction of senses and mind in
+the contemplation of harmonious form and rhythmic pattern; and
+second, there is communicated to him a feeling of the maker's
+delight in his handiwork, and sympathetically and imaginatively the
+beholder realizes that delight in his own experience.
+
+I am walking with a friend along a road which climbs a wooded
+hillside. A few steps bring us to the top and the edge of a clearing.
+There, suddenly a sweep of country is rolled out before us. A quick
+intake of the breath, and then the cry, "Ah!" Consciousness surges
+back over me, and turning to my friend, I exclaim, "See the line of
+those hills over there across the tender sky and those clouds
+tumbling above them; see how the hills dip down into the meadows;
+look at the lovely group of willows along the bank of the river, how
+graciously they come in, and then that wash of purple light over
+everything!" My simple cry, "Ah!" was the expression of emotion,
+the unconscious, involuntary expression; it was not art. It did not
+formulate my emotion definitely, and although it was an expression
+of emotion, it had no power to communicate the special quality of it.
+So soon, however, as I composed the elements in the landscape,
+which stimulated my emotion, into a distinct and coherent whole
+and by means of that I tried to convey to my friend something of
+what I was feeling, my expression tended to become art. My
+medium of expression happened to be words. If I had been alone and
+wanted to take home with me a record of my impression of the
+landscape, a pencil-sketch of the little composition might have
+served to indicate the sources of my feeling and to suggest its
+quality. Whether in words or in line and mass, my work would be in
+a rudimentary form a work of representative art. The objective fact
+of the landscape which I point out to my friend engages his interest;
+his pleasure derives from those aspects of it which my emotion
+emphasizes and which constitute its beauty; and something of the
+same emotion that I felt he realizes in his own experience.
+
+The impulse to expression which fulfills itself in a work of art is
+directed in general by one of two motives,--the motive of
+representation and the motive of pure form. These two motives are
+coexistent with human activity itself. The earliest vestiges of
+prehistoric races and the remains of the remotest civilizations are
+witnesses of man's desire to imitate and record, and also of his
+pleasure in harmony of form. Certain caves in France, inhabited by
+man some thousands of years before history begins, have yielded up
+reindeer horns and bones, carved with reliefs and engraved with
+drawings of mammoths, reindeer, and fish. On the walls and roofs of
+these caves are paintings in bright colors of animals, rendered with
+correctness and animation. Flint axes of a still remoter epoch "are
+carved with great dexterity by means of small chips flaked off the
+stone, and show a regularity of outline which testifies to the delight
+of primitive man in symmetry."[*] Burial mounds, of unknown
+antiquity, and the rude stone monuments such as Stonehenge and the
+dolmens of Brittany and Wales, emerging out of prehistoric dawns,
+are evidence of man's striving after architectural unity in design and
+harmony of proportion.
+
+[*] S. Reinach, _The Story of Art throughout the Ages,_ chapter i.
+
+The existence of these two separate motives which impel creation,
+man's desire to imitate and his delight in harmony, gives rise to a
+division of the arts into two general classes, namely, the
+representative arts and the arts of pure form. The representative arts
+comprise painting and sculpture, and literature in its manifestations
+of the drama, fiction, and dramatic and descriptive poetry. These arts
+draw their subjects from nature and human life, from the world
+external to the artist. The arts of form comprise architecture and
+music, and that limitless range of human activities in design and
+pattern-making for embellishment--including also the whole
+category of "useful arts"--which may be subsumed under the
+comprehensive term _decoration._ In these arts the "subject" is
+self-constituted and does not derive its significance from its likeness to
+any object external to it; the form itself is the subject. Lyric poetry
+stands midway between the two classes. It is the expression of
+"inner states" but it externalizes itself in terms of the outer world. It
+has a core of thought, and it employs images from nature which can
+be visualized, and it recalls sounds whose echo can be wakened in
+imaginative memory.
+
+     "Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
+          And Phoebus 'gins arise,
+     His steeds to water at those springs
+          On chaliced flowers that lies;
+     And winking Mary-buds begin
+          To ope their golden eyes;
+     With everything that pretty bin,
+          My lady sweet, arise!
+               Arise, arise!"
+
+The intellectual and sensuous elements which lyric poetry embodies
+are finally submerged under the waves of emotional stimulus which
+flow from the form as form. Such poetry does not depend upon the
+fact of representation for its meaning; the very form itself, as in
+music, is its medium of communicating the emotion. Art, therefore,
+to phrase the same matter in slightly different terms, has a subjective
+and an objective aspect. In the one case, the artist projects his
+feeling into the forms which he himself creates; in the other case, the
+forms external to him, as nature and human life, inspire the emotion,
+and these external forms the artist reproduces, with of course the
+necessary modifications, as the symbol and means of expression of
+his emotion.
+
+The distinction between the representative arts and the arts of form
+is not ultimate, nor does it exclude one class wholly from the other;
+it defines a general tendency and serves to mark certain differences
+in original motive and in the way in which the two kinds of work
+may be received and appreciated. In actual works of art themselves,
+though they differ as to origin and function, the line of division
+cannot be sharply drawn. The dance may be an art of form or a
+representative art according as it embodies the rhythms of pure
+movement or as it numerically figures forth dramatic ideas. Painting,
+as in the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel and the wall paintings of
+Tintoretto and Veronese in the Ducal Palace of Venice, may be
+employed in the service of decoration. Decoration, as in
+architectural sculpture and in patterns for carpets and wall-coverings,
+often draws its motives from nature, such as leaves, flowers, fruits,
+and animals; but when the function of the work is decorative and not
+representative, the naturalistic and graphic character of the subject is
+subordinated to the purposes of abstract and formal design. A
+picture, on the other hand, which is frankly representative in purpose,
+must submit its composition and color-harmony to the requirements
+of unity in design; in a sense it must make a pattern. And a statue, as
+the "Victory of Samothrace," bases its ultimate appeal, not upon the
+fact of representation, but upon complete, rhythmic, beautiful form.
+
+To the appreciator the arts of form carry a twofold significance.
+There is first the pleasure which derives from the contemplation and
+reception of a harmony of pure form, including harmony of color, of
+line, and of flat design as well as form in the round, a pleasure of the
+senses and the mind. Second, works of art in this category, as they
+are the expression for the artist of his emotion, become therefore the
+manifestation to the appreciator and means of communication of that
+emotion.
+
+Man's delight in order, in unity, in harmony, rhythm, and balance, is
+inborn. The possession of these qualities by an object constitutes its
+form. Form, in the sense of unity and totality of relations, is not to
+be confounded with mere regularity. It may assume all degrees of
+divergence from geometric precision, all degrees of variety, ranging
+from the visual perfectness of the Parthenon to the sublime and
+triumphant inconsequence of the sky-line of New York city. It may
+manifest all degrees of complexity from a cup to a cathedral or from
+"Home, Sweet Home" to Tschaikowski's "Pathetic Symphony."
+Whatever the elements and the incidents, our sense of order in the
+parts and of singleness of impression endows the object with its
+form. The form as we apprehend it of an object constitutes its beauty,
+its capability to arouse and to delight.
+
+Because of the essential make-up of man's mind and spirit, powers
+that are innate and determined by forces still beyond the scope of
+analysis, the perception of a harmony of relations, which is beauty,
+is attended with pleasure, a pleasure that is felt and cannot be
+explained. This inborn, inexplicable delight is at once the origin of
+the arts of form and the basis of our appreciation. Each art, as the
+fashioning of objects of use, as decoration, architecture, and music,
+is governed by its own intrinsic, inherent laws and rests its appeal
+upon man's pleasure in form. There is no standard external to the
+laws of the art itself by which to judge the rightness and the beauty
+of the individual work. In the arts of use and in decoration and
+architecture, the beauty of a work, as the beauty of a chair, as in the
+ordering and appointments of a room, as the beauty of a temple, a
+theatre, a dwelling, derives primarily from the fitness of the object to
+its function, and finally from the rhythm of its lines and the harmony
+of its masses and proportions,--its total form. A chair which cannot
+be sat in may be interesting and agreeable to look at, but it is not
+truly beautiful; for then it is not a chair but a curiosity, a bijou, and a
+superfluity; to be beautiful it must be first of all frankly and
+practically a chair. A living-room which cannot be lived in with
+comfort and restfulness and peace of mind is not a living-room, but
+a museum or a concentrated department store; at best it is only an
+inclosed space. A beautiful building declares its function and use,
+satisfies us with the logic and coherence of its parts, and delights us
+with its reticence or its boldness, its simplicity or its inventiveness,
+in fine, its personality, as expressed in its parts and their confluence
+into an ordered, self-contained, and self-sufficing whole. Music,
+using sound for its material, is a pattern-weaving in tones. The
+power of music to satisfy and delight resides in the sensuous value
+of its material and in the character of its pattern as form, the balance
+and contrast of tonal relations, the folding and unfolding of themes,
+their development and progress to the final compelling unity-in-variety
+which constitutes its form and which in its own inherent and
+self-sufficing way is made the expression of the composer's emotion
+and musical idea. Lyric poetry is the fitting of rhythmic, melodious,
+colored words to the emotion within, to the point where the very
+form itself becomes the meaning, and the essence and mystery of the
+song are in the singing. Beauty is harmony materialized; it is
+emotion ordered and made visible, audible, tangible. If in the arts of
+form we seek further a standard of truth, their truth is not found in
+their relation to any external verity, but is determined by their
+correspondence with inner experience.
+
+In the category of the arts of form the single work is to be received
+in its entirety and integrity as form. The whole, however, may be
+resolved into its parts, and the individual details may be interesting
+in themselves. Thus into decorative patterns are introduced elements
+of meaning which attach themselves to the world and experience
+external to the artist. Many ornamental motives, like the zigzag and
+the egg-and-dart, for example, had originally a symbolic value.
+Sometimes they are drawn from primitive structures and fabrics, as
+the checker-board pattern, with its likeness to the plaitings of rush
+mattings, and the volute and spiral ornaments, which recall the
+curves and involutions of wattle and wicker work. Again, decoration
+may employ in its service details that in themselves are genuinely
+representative art. The frieze of the Parthenon shows in relief a
+procession of men and women and horses and chariots and animals.
+The sculptures of Gothic churches represent men and women, and
+the carvings of mouldings, capitals, and traceries are based on
+naturalistic motives, taking their designs from leaves and flowers.
+The essential function of ornament is to emphasize form and not to
+obscure it, though nowadays in machine-made things a kind of
+pseudo-embellishment is laid on to distract attention from the
+badness and meaninglessness of the form; in true decoration the
+representative elements are subordinated to the formal character of
+the whole. The representative interest may be enjoyed separately and
+in detail; but finally the graphic purpose yields to the decorative, and
+the details take their place as parts of the total design. Thus a Gothic
+cathedral conveys its complete and true impression first and last as
+form. Midway we may set ourselves to a reading of the details. The
+figure of this saint on the jamb or the archivolt of the portal is
+expressive of such simple piety and enthusiasm! In this group on the
+tympanum what animation and spirit! This moulding of leaves and
+blossoms is cut with such loving fidelity and exquisite feeling for
+natural truth! But at the last the separate members fulfill their
+appointed office as they reveal the supreme function of the living
+total form.
+
+Music, too, in some of its manifestations, as in song, the opera, and
+programme music, has a representative and illustrative character. In
+Chopin's "Funeral March" we hear the tolling of church bells, and it
+is easy to visualize the slow, straggling file of mourners following
+the bier; the composition here has a definite objective base drawn
+from external fact, and the "idea" is not exclusively musical, but
+admits an infusion of pictorial and literary elements. In listening to
+the love duet of the second act of "Tristan," although the lovers are
+before us in actual presence on the stage, I find myself involuntarily
+closing my eyes, for the music is so personal and so spiritualized, it
+is in and of itself so intensely the realization of the emotion, that the
+objective presentment of it by the actors becomes unnecessary and is
+almost an intrusion. The representative, figurative element in music
+may be an added interest, but its appeal is intellectual; if as we hear
+the "Funeral March," we say to ourselves, This is so and so, and,
+Here they do this or that, we are thinking rather than feeling. Music
+is the immediate expression of emotion communicated immediately;
+and the composition will not perfectly satisfy unless it is _music,_
+compelling all relations of melody, harmony, and rhythm into a
+supreme and triumphant order.
+
+Whereas the representative arts are based upon objective fact,
+drawing their "subjects" from nature and life external to the artist; in
+decoration, in architecture, and in music the artist creates his own
+forms as the projection of his emotion and the means of its
+expression. Richard Wagner, referring to the composition of his
+"Tristan," writes: "Here, in perfect trustfulness, I plunged into the
+inner depth of soul events, and from out this inmost centre of the
+world I fearlessly built up its outer form. . . . Life and death, the
+whole import and existence of the outer world, here hang on nothing
+but the inner movements of the soul. The whole affecting Action
+comes about for the reason only that the inmost soul demands it, and
+steps to light with the very shape foretokened in the inner shrine."
+The form, thus self-constituted, has the power to delight us, and the
+work is at the same time the expression of emotion. The arts of form
+please us with the pleasure that attends the perception of formal
+beauty; but this pleasure docs not exhaust their capability to minister
+to us. What differentiates art from manufacture is the element of
+personal expression. Born out of need, whether the need be physical
+or spiritual, fulfilling the urge to expression, a work of art embodies
+its maker's delight in creating. Correspondingly, beyond our
+immediate enjoyment of the work as form, we feel something of
+what the man felt who was impelled to create it. His handiwork, his
+pattern, his composition, becomes the means of communicating to
+us his emotional experience.
+
+Obviously the significance of any work is determined primarily by
+the intensity and scope of emotion which has prompted it. The
+creation of works of art involves all degrees of intention, from the
+hut in the wilderness rudely thrown together, whose purpose was
+shelter, to a Gothic cathedral, in its multitudinousness eloquent of
+man's worship and aspiration. The man who moulded the first bowl,
+adapting its form as closely as possible to its use and shaping its
+proportions for his own pleasure to satisfy his sense of harmony and
+rhythm, differs from the builders of the Parthenon only in the degree
+of intensity of his inspiring emotion and in the measure of his
+controlling thought. The beauty of accomplished form of cathedral
+and of temple is compelling; and we may forget that they rose out of
+need. Both hut and bowl are immediately useful, and their beauty is
+not so evident,--that little touch of feeling which wakens a response
+in us. But in their adaptation to their function they become
+significant; the satisfaction which accompanies expression is
+communicated to us as we apprehend in the work the creator's
+intention and we realize in ourselves what the creation of it meant to
+him as the fulfillment of his need and the utterance of his emotion.
+
+So the expressive power of an individual work is conditioned
+originally by the amount of feeling that enters into the making of it.
+Every phrase of a Beethoven symphony is saturated with emotion,
+and the work leads us into depths and up to heights of universal
+experience, disclosing to us tortuous ways and infinite vistas of the
+possibilities of human feeling. A simple earthen jug may bear the
+impress of loving fingers, and the crudely turned form may be
+eloquent of the caress of its maker. So we come to value even in the
+humblest objects of use this autographic character, which is the gate
+of entrance into the experience of the men who fashioned them.
+Every maker strives toward perfection, the completest realization of
+his ideal within his power of execution. But the very shortcomings
+of his work are significant as expressive of what he felt and was
+groping after; they are so significant that by a curious perversion,
+machinery, which in our civilized day has supplanted the craftsman,
+tries by mechanical means to reproduce the roughness and supposed
+imperfections of hand work. Music is the consummate art, in which
+the form and the content are one and inextricable; its medium is the
+purest, least alloyed means of expression of instant emotion.
+Architecture, in its harmonies and rhythms, the gathering up of
+details into the balanced and perfect whole, partakes of the nature of
+music. But the arts of use and decoration also have their message for
+the spirit. There is no object fashioned by the hand of man so
+humble that it may not embody a true thought and a sincere delight.
+There is no pattern or design so simple and so crude that it may not
+be the overflow of some human spirit, a mind and heart touched to
+expression.
+
+
+
+IX
+
+REPRESENTATION
+
+BEFORE me is a little bowl of old Satsuma. As I look at it there
+wakens in me a responsive rhythm, and involuntarily my fingers
+move as if to caress its suave and lovely lines. The rich gold and
+mingled mellow browns of its surface pattern intricately woven are a
+gracious harmony and a delight. Gradually, as I continue to look on
+it, a feeling is communicated to me of the maker's own joy in his
+work; and the bowl, its harmonies and rhythms, and all that it
+expresses, become part of me. There it is, complete in itself,
+gathering up and containing within itself the entire experience. My
+thoughts, sensations, feelings do not go beyond the bowl.
+
+Another time I am standing in the hall of the Academy in Florence.
+At the end of the corridor towers a superb form. I see that it is the
+figure of a youth. His left hand holds a sling drawn across his
+shoulder; his right arm hangs by his side, his hand grasping a pebble
+close to his thigh; calm and confident, his head erect, his strength
+held in leash waiting to be loosed, he fronts the oncoming of the foe.
+The statue is the presentation of noble form, and it wakens in me an
+accordant rhythm; I feel in myself something of what youthful
+courage, life, and conscious power mean. But my experience does
+not stop there. The statue is not only presentation but representation.
+It figures forth a youth, David, the Hebrew shepherd-boy, and he
+stands awaiting the Philistine. I have read his story, I have my own
+mental image of him, and about his personality cluster many
+thoughts. To what Michelangelo shows me I add what I already
+know. Recognition, memory, knowledge, facts and ideas, a whole
+store of associations allied with my previous experience, mingle
+with my instant emotion in its presence. The sculptor, unlike the
+potter, has not created his own form; the subject of his work exists
+outside of him in nature. He uses the subject for his own ends, but in
+his treatment of it he is bound by certain responsibilities to external
+truth. His work as it stands is not completely self-contained, but is
+linked with the outer world; and my appreciation of it is affected by
+this reference to extrinsic fact.
+
+An artist is interested in some scene in nature or a personality or
+situation in human life; it moves him. As the object external to him
+is the stimulus of his emotion and is associated with it, so he uses
+the object as the symbol of his experience and means of expression
+of his emotion. Here, then, the feeling, to express which the work is
+created, gathers about a subject, which can be recognized
+intellectually, and the fact of the subject is received as in a measure
+separate from the feeling which flows from it. In a painting of a
+landscape, we recognize as the basis of the total experience the fact
+that it is a landscape, so much water and field and sky; and then we
+yield ourselves to the _beauty_ of the landscape, the emotion with
+which the artist suffuses the material objects and so transfigures
+them. Into representative art, therefore, there enters an element not
+shared by the arts of pure form, the element of _the subject,_
+carrying with it considerations of objective truth and of likeness to
+external fact. Toward the understanding of the total scope of a
+picture or a statue, and by inference and application of the principles,
+toward the understanding of literature as well, it may help us if we
+determine the relation of beauty to truth and the function and value
+of the subject in representative art.
+
+The final significance of a work of art is beauty, received as
+emotional experience. Nature becomes beautiful to us at the point
+where it manifests a harmony to which we feel ourselves attuned. At
+the moment of enjoyment we unconsciously project our personality
+into this harmony outside of us, identifying ourselves with it and
+finding it at that instant the expression of something toward which
+we reach and aspire. When we come consciously to reason about our
+experience, we see that the harmony external to us which we feel as
+the extension of ourselves does not stop with the actual material
+itself of nature, but emanates from it as the expression of nature's
+spirit. The harmony is a harmony of relations, made visible through
+material, and significant to us and beautiful in the measure that we
+respond to it.
+
+It is the beauty of the object, its significance for the spirit, that
+primarily moves the artist to expression. Why one landscape and not
+another impels him to render it upon his canvas is not to be
+explained. This impulse to immediate and concrete utterance is
+inspiration. And inspiration would seem to be a confluence of forces
+outside of the individual consciousness or will, focused at the instant
+into desire, which becomes the urge to creation. "The mind in
+creation," says Shelley, "is as a fading coal, which some invisible
+influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness;
+this power rises from within, like the colour of a flower which fades
+and changes as it is developed, and the conscious portions of our
+natures are unprophetic either of its approach or its departure." The
+artist does not say, "Lo, I will paint a landscape; let me find my
+subject!" The subject presents itself. There it is, by chance almost,--a
+sudden harmony before him, long low meadows stretching away to
+the dark hills, the late sun striking on the water, gold and green
+melting into a suffusing flush of purple light, a harmony of color and
+line and mass which his spirit leaps out to meet and with which it
+fuses in a larger unity. In the moment of contact all consciousness of
+self as a separate individuality is lost. Out of the union of the two
+principles, the spirit of man and the beauty of the object, is born the
+_idea,_ which is to come to expression as a work of art.
+
+But the artist is a mind as well as a temperament. Experience
+is a swing of the pendulum between the momentary ecstasy of
+immediate contact and the subsequent reaction upon the moment,
+which is consciousness of it. In order to make his vision actual, the
+artist rises out of the domain of feeling into that of thought. The
+landscape has compelled him; it is now he who must compel the
+landscape. To the shaping of his work he must bring to bear all his
+conscious power of selection and organization and all his knowledge
+of the capabilities and resources of his means. Art springs out of
+emotion; painting is a science. The artist's command of his subject
+as the symbol of his idea derives from the stern and vigorous
+exercise of mind. The rightness of his composition is determined by
+a logic more flexible, perhaps, but no less exacting than the laws of
+geometry. By the flow of his line and the disposition of his masses,
+the artist must carry the eye of the beholder along the way he wants
+it to travel until it rests upon the point where he wants it to rest.
+There must be no leaks and no false directions; there must be the
+cosmos within the frame and nothing outside of it. The principles of
+perspective have been worked out with a precision that entitles them
+to rank as a science. Color has its laws, which, again, science is able
+to formulate. These processes and formulas and laws are not the
+whole of art, but they have their place. The power to feel, the
+imaginative vision, and creative insight are not to be explained. But
+knowledge too, acquired learning and skill, plays its part, and to
+recognize its function and service is to be helped to a fuller
+understanding of the achievement of the artist.
+
+Gifted with a vibrant, sensitive temperament, endowed with
+discriminating and organizing power of mind, equipped with a
+knowledge of the science and the mechanics of his craft, and trained
+to skill in manual execution, the artist responds to the impulse of his
+inspiration. His subject is before him. But what is his subject? A
+scene in nature furnishes him the objective base of his picture, but
+properly his work is the expression of what he feels. A storm may
+convey to different men entirely different impressions. In its
+presence one man may feel himself overwhelmed with terror. These
+wild, black skies piling in upon him, the hilltops that seem to race
+through the clouds, the swaying, snapping trees, the earth caught up
+in the mad grasp of the tempest, may smite his soul with the
+pitilessness of nature and her inexorable blind power. Another thrills
+with joy in this cosmic struggle, the joy of conflict which he has
+known in his own life, the meeting of equal forces in fair fight,
+where the issue is still doubtful and victory will fall at last upon the
+strong, though it is not the final triumph but the present struggle that
+makes the joy. In rendering the "subject" upon his canvas, by the
+manipulation of composition and line and mass and color, he makes
+the storm ominous and terrible, or glorious, according as he feels.
+The import of his picture is not the natural fact of the storm itself,
+but its significance for the emotions.
+
+A work of representative art is the rendering of a unity of impression
+and harmony of relations which the artist has perceived and to which
+he has thrilled in the world external to him. He presents not the facts
+themselves but their spirit, that something which endows the facts
+with their significance and their power to stir him. As the meaning
+of nature to the beholder is determined by the effect it produces on
+his mind and temperament, so the artist, in the expression of this
+meaning, aims less at a statement of objective accuracy of exterior
+appearance than at producing a certain effect, the effect which is the
+equivalent of the meaning of nature to him. Thus the painter who
+sees beyond the merely intellectual and sensuous appeal of his
+subject and enters into its spirit, tries to render on his canvas, not the
+actual color of nature, but the sensation of color and its value for the
+emotions. With the material splendor of nature,--her inexhaustible
+lavish wealth of color, the glory of life which throbs through
+creation, the mystery of actual movement,--art cannot compete. For
+the hues and tones of nature, infinite in number and subtlety, the
+painter has only the few notes within the poor gamut of his palette.
+How can he quicken his dull paint with the life-beat of palpitating
+flesh, or the sculptor animate the rigid marble with the vibrations of
+vivid motion? But where nature is infinite in her range she is also
+scattering in her effects. By the concentration of divergent forces, art
+gains in intensity and directness of impression what it sacrifices in
+the scope of its material. Michelangelo uses as his subject David, the
+shepherd-boy; but the person, the mere name, does not signify. What
+his work embodies is triumphant youth, made visible and
+communicable. When Millet shows us the peasant, it is not what the
+peasant is feeling that the artist represents, but what Millet felt about
+him. The same landscape will be rendered differently by different
+men. Each selects his details according to the interest of his eye and
+mind and feeling, and he brings them into a dominant harmony
+which stands to him for the meaning of the landscape. None of the
+pictures is an accurate statement of the facts as they are, off there in
+nature; all are true to the integrating inner vision. The superficial
+observer sees only the accidents, and he does not distinguish relative
+importance. The artist, with quicker sensibilities and a trained mind,
+analyzes, discovers the underlying principle, and then makes a
+synthesis which embodies only the essential; he seizes the
+distinctive aspect of the object and makes it salient. There may be,
+of course, purely descriptive representation, which is a faithful
+record of the facts of appearance as the painter sees them, without
+any feeling toward them; here he works as a scientist, not as an artist.
+Merely imitative painting falls short of artistic significance, for it
+embodies no meaning beyond the external fact. It is the
+expressiveness of the object that the true artist cares to represent; it
+is its expressiveness, its value for the emotions, that constitutes its
+beauty.
+
+To achieve beauty the representative artist bases his work upon the
+truth of nature. It is nature that supplies him with his motive,--some
+glimpse, some fragment, which reveals within itself a harmony. It
+may be a form, as a tree, a man, a mountain range, the race of clouds
+across the sky; it may be a color-harmony or "arrangement," in
+which color rather than form is the dominant interest, as with a
+landscape or an interior; it may be the effects of light, as the
+sunshine playing over golden haystacks, or the glint of light on
+metal, or the sheen of lovely fabrics. Out of the complex of interests
+and appeals which an object offers, what is the _truth_ of the object?
+The truth of nature resides not in the accidents of surface but in the
+essential relations, of which the surface is the manifestation. A birch
+tree and an apple tree are growing side by side. Their roots strike
+down into the same soil, their branches are warmed by the same sun,
+wet by the same rains, and swept by the same winds. The birch tree
+is always lithe and gracious and feminine; the apple tree is always
+bent and sternly gnarled like the hand of an old man. The life-force
+which impels the tree to growth is distinctive to each kind. Within
+all natural objects, then, a crystal, a tree, a man, there is a shaping
+principle which determines their essential form. But no two
+individual apple trees are precisely alike; from the essential form of
+the tree there are divergences in the single manifestations. Though
+subject to accident and variation, however, every tree exhibits a
+characteristic, inviolate _tendency,_ and remains true to the inner
+life-principle of its being. The "truth" of the apple tree is this
+distinctive, essential form, by virtue of which it is an apple tree and
+not some other kind, the form which underlies and allows for all
+individual variations. What the painter renders on his canvas is not
+the superficial accidents of some single tree, but by means of that,
+he seeks to image forth in color and form the tendency of all trees.
+The truth of an object presents itself to the imagination as design, for
+this organic, shaping principle of things, expressed in colored
+myriad forms throughout the endless pageantry of nature, is
+apprehended by the spirit of man as a harmony; and in the
+experience of the artist truth identifies itself with beauty.
+
+The distinction between the accidental surface of things and the
+significance that may be drawn out of them is exemplified by the
+difference between accuracy and truth in representation. Accurate
+drawing is the faithful record of the facts of appearance as offered to
+the eye. Truth of drawing is the rendering in visible terms of the
+meaning and spirit of the object, the form which the object takes not
+simply for the eye but for the mind. A pencil sketch by Millet shows
+a man carrying in each hand a pail of water. The arms are drawn
+inaccurately, in that they are made too long. What Millet wanted to
+express, however, was not the physical shape of the arms, but the
+feeling of the burden under which the man was bending; and by
+lengthening the arms he has succeeded in conveying, as mere
+accuracy could not express it, the sensation of weight and muscular
+strain. In Hals' picture of the "Jester" the left hand is sketched in
+with a few swift strokes of the brush. But so, it "keeps its place" in
+relation to the whole; and it is more nearly right than if it had been
+made the centre of attention and had been drawn with the most
+meticulous precision. The hand is not accurate, but it is true.
+Similarly, size is an affair not of physical extent but of proportion. A
+figure six inches high may convey the same value as a figure six feet
+high, if the same proportions are observed. A statue is the
+presentation, not of the human body, but of the human form, and
+more than that, of what the form expresses. When I am talking with
+my friend I am aware of his physical presence detaching itself from
+the background of the room in which we are. But I feel in him
+something more. And that something more goes behind the details
+of his physical aspect. His eyes might be blue instead of brown, his
+nose crooked rather than straight; he might be maimed and
+disfigured by some mishap. These accidents would not change for
+me what is the reality. My friend is not his body, though it is by his
+body that he exists; the reality of my friend is what he essentially is,
+what he is of the spirit. A photograph of a man registers certain facts
+of his appearance at that moment. The eye and the mind of the artist
+discern the truth which underlies the surface; the artist feels his sitter
+not as a face and a figure, a mere body, but as a personality; and the
+portrait expresses a man.
+
+As grasped by our finite minds, there are partial truths and degrees
+of truth. There are, for example, the facts of outer appearance,
+modified in our reception of them by what we know as distinct from
+what we really see. Thus a tree against the background of hill or sky
+seems to have a greater projection and relief than is actually
+presented to the eye, because we _know_ the tree is round. Manet's
+"Girl with a Parrot," which appears to the ordinary man to be too flat,
+is more true to reality than any portrait that "seems to come out of its
+frame." Habitually in our observation of objects about us, we note
+only so much as serves our practical ends; and this is the most
+superficial, least essential aspect. Projection is a partial truth, and to
+it many painters sacrifice other and higher truths. Manet, recovering
+the "innocence of the eye" and faithful to it, has penetrated the
+secrets and won the truth of light. Botticelli saw the world as
+sonorous undulations of exquisite line; and his subtly implicated,
+evanescent patterns of line movement, "incorrect" as they may be
+superficially in drawing, caress the eye as music finds and satisfies
+the soul. When such is his power over us, it is difficult to say that
+Botticelli had not some measure of the truth. The world of the
+Venetians sang full-sounding harmonies of glorious color.
+Velasquez saw everything laved around with a flood of silver quiet
+atmosphere. All in their own way have found and shown to us a
+truth.
+
+To render what he has seen and felt in the essence and meaning of it,
+the artist seeks to disengage the shaping principle of the particular
+aspect of truth, which has impressed him, from all accidents in its
+manifestation. To make this dominant character salient beyond
+irrelevant circumstance, art works by selection. Art is necessarily a
+compromise. It isolates some elements and sacrifices others; but it is
+none the less true on that account. The mere material of the object is
+more or less fixed, but the relations which the object embodies are
+capable of many combinations and adjustments, according to the
+mind and temperament of the individual artist who is moved by it.
+All art is in a certain sense abstraction; all art in a measure idealizes.
+It is abstraction in the sense that it presents the intrinsic and
+distinctive qualities of things, purged of accident.
+
+Art does not compete with nature; it is a statement of the spirit and
+intention of nature in the artist's own terms. The test of the work is
+not apparent and superficial likeness, but truth. Art idealizes in the
+measure that it disengages the truth. In this aspect of it the work is
+ideal as distinct from merely actual. There is a practice in art which
+draws its standard of beauty, its ideal, not from nature but from
+other art, and which seeks to "improve nature" by the combination
+of arbitrarily chosen elements and by the modification of natural
+truth to fit a preconceived formula. The Eclectics of Bologna, in the
+seventeenth century, sought to combine Raphael's perfection of
+drawing and composition, Michelangelo's sublimity and his mastery
+of the figure, and Correggio's sweet sentiment and his supremacy in
+the rendering of light and shade, fondly supposing thus that the sum
+of excellent parts is equivalent to an excellence of the whole. This is
+false idealism. The Greeks carried their research for certain truths of
+the human form to the point of perfection and complete realization.
+The truth of the Greeks was mistaken by the pseudo-classicists and
+misapplied. Thus Delacroix exclaimed ironically, "In order to
+present an ideal head of a negro, our teachers make him resemble as
+far as possible the profile of Antinoeus, and then say, 'We have done
+our utmost; if, nevertheless, we fail to make the negro beautiful,
+then we ought not to introduce into our pictures such a freak of
+nature, the squat nose and thick lips, which are so unendurable to the
+eyes.'" True idealism treats everything after its own kind, making it
+more intensely itself than it is in the play of nature; the athlete is
+more heroically an athlete, the negro more vividly a negro. True
+idealism seeks to express the tendency by virtue of which an object
+is what it is. The abstraction which art effects is not an unreality but
+a higher reality. It is not the mere type, that art presents, for the type
+as such does not exist in nature. The individual is not lost but
+affirmed by this reference to the inner principle of its being. A good
+portrait has in it an element of caricature; the difference between
+portraiture and caricature is the difference between emphasis and
+exaggeration. Art is not the falsification of nature, but the fuller
+realization of it. It is the interpretation of nature's truth, the
+translation of it, divined by the artist, into simpler terms to be read
+and understood by those of less original insight. The deeper the
+penetration into the life-force and shaping principle of nature, the
+greater is the measure of truth.
+
+In representative art the truth of nature is the work's objective base.
+What the artist finally expresses is the relation of the object to his
+own experience. A work of art is the statement of the artist's insight
+into nature, moulded and suffused by the emotion attending his
+perception. Of the object, he uses that aspect and that degree of truth
+which serve him for the expression of his feeling toward it. What is
+called "realism" is one order of truth, one way of seeing.
+"Impressionism" is another order of truth. "Idealism" is still another.
+But all three elements blend in varying proportion in any work.
+Even the realist, who "paints what he sees," has his ideal, which is
+the effect he sets himself to produce by his picture, and he paints
+according to his impression. He renders not the object itself but his
+mental image of it; and that image is the result of his way of seeing
+and feeling, his habit of mind, his interest, and his store of memories.
+The idealist must base his work upon some kind of reality, or it is a
+monstrosity; he is obliged to refer to the external world for his
+symbols. The impressionist, who concerns himself with the play of
+light over surfaces in nature, is seeking for truth, and he cares to
+paint at all because that play of light, seemingly so momentary and
+so merely sensuous, has a value for his spirit of which he may or
+may not be wholly conscious; and these shifting effects are the
+realization of his ideal. Unwitting at the moment of contact itself of
+the significance that afterwards is to flow articulately from his work,
+the artist, in the presence of his object, knows only that he is
+impelled to render it. As faithfully as possible he tries to record what
+he sees, conscious simply that what he sees gives him delight. His
+vision wakens his feeling, and then by reaction his feeling
+determines his vision, controlling and directing his selection of the
+details of aspect. When Velasquez, engaged on a portrait of the king,
+saw the maids of honor graciously attending on the little princess, he
+did not set about producing a _picture,_ as an end in itself. In the
+relation of these figures to one another and to the background of the
+deep and high-vaulted chamber in which they were standing, each
+object and plane of distance receiving its just amount of light and
+fusing in the unity of total impression, were revealed to him the
+wonder and the mystery of nature's magic of light. This is what he
+tried to render. His revelation of natural truth, wrung from nature's
+inmost latencies and shown to us triumphantly, becomes a thing of
+beauty.
+
+So the differences among the various "schools" in art are after all
+largely differences of emphasis. The choice of subject or motive, the
+angle from which it is viewed, and the method of handling, all are
+determined by the artist's kind of interest; and that interest results
+from what the man is essentially by inheritance and individual
+character, and what he is moulded into by environment, training, and
+experience. It may happen that the external object imposes itself in
+its integrity upon the artist's mind and temperament, and he tries to
+express it, colored inevitably by his feeling toward it, in all
+faithfulness to the feet as he sees it. Millet said, "I should never paint
+anything that was not the result of an impression received from the
+aspect of nature, whether in landscape or figures." Millet painted
+what he saw, but he painted it as only he saw it. Or again it happens
+that an artist imposes his feeling upon nature. Thus Burne-Jones said,
+"I mean by a picture a beautiful romantic dream of something that
+never was, never will be--in a light better than any that ever shone--in
+a land no one can define or remember, only desire." Whether true
+to nature or true to the creative inner vision, the work of both men
+embodies truth. Sometimes an artist effaces entirely his own
+individuality, as in Greek sculpture and Gothic architecture, and the
+mere name of the creator does not signify. George Frederick Watts
+is reported to have said, "If I were asked to choose whether I would
+like to do something good, as the world judges popular art, and
+receive personally great credit for it, or, as an alternative, to produce
+something which should rank with the very best, taking a place with
+the art of Pheidias or Titian, with the highest poetry and the most
+elevating music, and remain unknown as the perpetrator of the work,
+I should choose the latter." Sidney Lanier wrote, "It is of little
+consequence whether _I_ fail; the _I_ in the matter is small
+business. . . . Let my name perish,--the poetry is good poetry and the
+music is good music, and beauty dieth not, and the heart that needs it
+will find it." Or on the contrary, a work may bear dominantly, even
+aggressively, the impress of the distinctive individuality of its
+creator, as with Carlyle's prose and Browning's poetry. Whistler
+seems at times to delight less in the beauty of his subject than in the
+_exercise_ of his own power of refinement. Where another man's art
+is personal, as with Velasquez or Frans Hals, Whistler's art becomes
+egotistical. He does not say, "Lo, how mysterious is this dusk
+river-side, how tenderly serene this mother, how wistful and mighty is this
+prophet-seer!" He exclaims rather, "Note how subtly I, Whistler,
+have seen. Rejoice with me in my powers of vision and of
+execution." There is no single method of seeing, no one formula of
+expression and handling. The truth both of nature and of art is great
+and infinitely various. For art, like nature, is organic, allowing for
+endless modifications, while remaining true to the inner principle of
+its being.
+
+The judgment of truth is a delicate business. To test the truth of a
+work of art by reference to the truth of nature is to presuppose that
+our power of perception is equal to the artist's power, and that our
+knowledge of the object represented is equal to his knowledge of it.
+The ordinary man's habitual contact with the world is practical, and
+his knowledge of natural fact, based upon the most superficial aspect
+of it and used for practical purposes, tends to falsify his vision. The
+artist's contact with the world, in his capacity as artist, is one of
+feeling; he values life, not for its material rewards and satisfactions,
+but for what it brings to him of emotional experience. The ordinary
+man uses nature for his own workaday ends. The artist loves nature,
+and through his love he understands her. His knowledge of natural
+fact, instead of falsifying his vision, reinforces it. He studies the
+workings of nature's laws as manifested in concrete phenomena
+around him,--the movement of storms, the growth of trees, the
+effects of light,--penetrating their inmost secrets, that he may make
+them more efficient instruments of expression. He uses his
+understanding of anatomy, of earth-structure, of the laws of color, as
+the means to a fuller and juster interpretation. As he receives the
+truth of nature with reverence and joy, so he transmutes truth into
+beauty.
+
+An artist's interest in the truth of nature is not the scientist's
+interest, an intellectual concern with knowledge for the sake of
+knowledge. The artist receives nature's revelation of herself with
+emotion. The deeper he penetrates into her hidden ways, the greater
+becomes her power to stir him. The artist values his "subject,"
+therefore, as the stimulus of emotion and as the symbol by means of
+which he expresses his emotion and communicates it. The value of the
+subject to the appreciator, however, is not immediately clear. It is
+not easy for us to receive the subject purely as the artist shows it
+to us and independently of our own knowledge of it. About it already
+gather innumerable associations, physical, practical, intellectual,
+sentimental, and emotional, all of them or any of them, which result
+from our previous contact with it in actual life. Here is a portrait of
+Carlyle. I cannot help regarding the picture first of all from the point
+of view of its likeness to the original. This is a person with whom I
+am acquainted, an individual, by name Carlyle. And my reaction on
+the picture is determined, not by what the artist has to say about a
+great personality interpreted through the medium of color and form,
+but by what I already know about Carlyle. Or here a painting shows
+me a landscape with which I am familiar. Then instead of trying to
+discover in the picture what the artist has seen in the landscape and
+felt in its presence, letting it speak to me in its own language, I allow
+my thoughts to wander from the canvas, and I enjoy the landscape in
+terms of my own knowledge and remembrance of it. The artist's
+work becomes simply a point of departure, whereas it should be not
+only the beginning but also the end and fulfillment of the complete
+experience. What is, then, we may ask, the relation of the fact of the
+subject to the beauty and final message of the work?
+
+The pleasure which attends the recognition of the subject is a
+legitimate element in our enjoyment of art. But the work should
+yield a delight beyond our original delight in the subject as it exists
+in nature. The significance of a work of representative art depends
+not upon the subject in and of itself, but upon what the artist has to
+say about it. A rose may be made to reveal the cosmos; a mountain
+range or cloud-swept spaces of the upper air may be niggled into
+meanness. The ugly in practical life may be transfigured by the
+artist's touch into supreme beauty. _"Il faut pouvoir faire servir le
+trivial a l'expression du sublime, c'est la vraie force,"_ said one who
+was able to invest a humble figure with august dignity. Millet's
+peasants reveal more of godlike majesty than all the array of
+personages in the pantheon of post-Raphaelite Italy and the classic
+school of France. Upon his subject the artist bases that harmony of
+relations which constitutes the beauty and significance of his work.
+Brought thus into a harmony, the object represented is made more
+vivid, more intensely itself, than it is in nature, with the result that
+we receive from the representation a heightened sense of reality and
+of extended personality. The importance of the subject, therefore, is
+measured by the opportunity it affords the artist, and with him his
+appreciators, to share in the beauty of nature and life. A picture
+should not "standout" from its frame, but should go back into it,
+reaching even into infinity. Our own associations attaching to the
+subject lose themselves as they blend with the artist's revelation of
+the fuller beauty of his object; and finally all becomes merged in the
+emotional experience.
+
+Eliminating the transient and accidental, a work of art presents the
+essential and eternal. Art appeals not to the intellect and the reason,
+but to the imagination and the emotions. The single work, therefore,
+is concrete and immediate. But universal in its scope, it transcends
+the particularities of limited place and individual name. We must
+distinguish between the abstractly typical and the universal. The
+representative artist does not conceive an abstraction and then seek
+to find a symbol for it. That is the method of allegory, where spring,
+for example, is figured as a young woman scattering flowers.
+Allegory is decorative rather than representative in intention. The
+artist receives his inspiration and stimulus from some actual
+concrete bit of nature, a woodland wrapt in tender mists of green, a
+meadow gold and softly white with blossoms, a shimmering gauze
+of sun touched air, moist and vibrating, enfolding it. That is what he
+paints. But he paints it so that it is spring, and instinct with the spirit
+of all springs. Michelangelo does not intellectually conceive youth
+and then carve a statue. Some boy has revealed to him the beauty of
+his young strength, and the sculptor moves to immediate expression.
+He calls his statue David, but the white form radiates the rhythm and
+glory of all youth. And as we realize youth in ourselves, more
+poignantly, more abundantly, the mere name of the boy does not
+matter. The fact that the portrait shows us Carlyle is an incident.
+Carlyle is the "subject" of the picture, but its meaning is the twilight
+of a mighty, indomitable mind, made visible and communicable. His
+work is done; the hour of quiet is given, and he finds rest. Into this
+moment, eternal in its significance, into this mood, universal in its
+appeal, we enter, to realize it in ourselves. The subject of picture or
+statue is but the means; the end is life. Objective fact is transmuted
+into living truth. Art is the manifestation of a higher reality than we
+alone have been able to know. It begins with the particular and then
+transcends it, admitting us to share in the beauty of the world, the
+cosmic harmony of universal experience.
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE PERSONAL ESTIMATE
+
+ART starts from life and in the end comes back to it. Art is born out
+of the stirring of the artist's spirit in response to his need of
+expression, and it reaches its fulfillment in the spirit of the
+appreciator as it answers his need of wider and deeper experience.
+Midway on its course from spirit to spirit it traverses devious paths.
+The emotion out of which art springs and of which it is the
+expression is controlled and directed by the shaping force of mind,
+and it embodies itself in material form. This material form, by virtue
+of its qualities, has the power to delight our senses; the skill which
+went into the fashioning of it, so far as we can recognize the
+processes of execution, gives us pleasure; the harmony which the
+work of art must manifest satisfies the mind and makes it possible
+for us to link the emotion with our own experience.
+
+These paths which a work of art traverses in its course from its
+origin to its fulfillment I have tried to follow in their ramifications,
+and I have tried to trace them to their issue in appreciation. Some
+lovers of art may linger on the way and rest content with the
+distance they have come, without pressing forward to the end. A
+work of art is complex in its appeal; and it is possible to stop with
+one or another of its elements. Thus we may receive the work
+intellectually, recognizing its subject, and turning the artist's
+emotion into our thought and translating it from his medium of color
+and form or sound into our own medium of words. Here is a portrait
+of Carlyle; and Carlyle we _know_ as an author and as a man. This
+landscape is from the Palisades, where we have roamed in leisure
+hours. Before us is a statue of Zeus, whom our classical reading has
+made a reality to us. This symphony gathers about a day in the
+country, suggesting an incident in our own experience of which we
+have pleasant remembrances. Intellectually, also, we enjoy the
+evidence of the artist's skill which the work exhibits. Or we may
+pass beyond the simple exercise of the intellect, and with a
+refinement of perception we may take a sensuous delight in the
+qualities of the material in which the work is embodied. This portrait
+is a subtle harmony of color and exquisite adjustment of line and
+mass. The luminous night which enwraps the Palisades is a solemn
+mighty chord. The white rhythm of this statue caresses the eye that
+follows it. This symphony is an intricate and wonderful
+wave-pattern upon a sea of billowing sound in which the listener immerses
+himself voluptuously. The essential significance of a work of art is
+not to be received apart from its form, but the form is more than
+merely sensuous in its appeal. Finally, therefore, the color and the
+composition of the portrait are but the point of meeting where we
+touch in energizing contact a powerful personality. Our spirit goes
+out into the night of these Palisades and dilates into immensity. This
+statue is Olympian majesty made visible, and in its presence we feel
+that we too are august. The symphony is a resolution of the struggle
+of our own tangled lives, a purification, and the experience of joy.
+
+Art is the expression of experience, whether the experience enacts
+itself within the spirit of the artist or derives from his contact with
+the external world. So by the same token, art is finally to be received
+as experience. The ultimate meaning of a work of art to the
+appreciator is what it wakens in him of emotion. It is the artist's
+business, by the manipulation of his materials and his elements, by
+the choice of motive and the rendering, by the note and pitch of his
+color, the ordering of his line, the disposition of his masses, to
+compel the direction of the emotion; he must not allow the
+solemnity and awe with which his night invests the Palisades to be
+mistaken by the beholder for terror or for mere obscurity. But the
+quality and the intensity of the emotion depend upon the temper of
+the appreciator's sensibilities and the depth and range of his
+experience of life. Art is not fixed and invariable in its effect.
+"Vanity Fair" is a great novel. One man may read it for the sake of
+the story, and in his amusement and interest in following the
+succession of incident, he may for a while forget himself. A possible
+use to put one's reading to; yet for that man the book is not art.
+Another may be entertained by the spectacle of the persons as they
+exhibit themselves in Thackeray's pages, much as he might stop a
+moment on the curbstone and watch a group of children at play in
+the street. Here he is a looker-on, holding himself aloof; and for him,
+again, the book is not art. Still a third may find in "Vanity Fair" a
+record of the customs and manners of English people at the
+beginning of the nineteenth century; and he adds this much to his
+stock of information. Still for him the book is not art. Not one of the
+three has touched in vital contact the essential meaning of "Vanity
+Fair." But the man who sees in the incidents of the book a situation
+possible in his own life, who identifies himself with the personages
+and acts out with them their adventures, who feels that he actually
+knows Rawdon Crawley and Becky Sharp, Jo Sedley, Dobbin, and
+Amelia, and understands their character and personality better here
+than in the actual world about him by force of Thackeray's greater
+insight and power of portraiture, who sees in English manners here
+represented the interpretation of his own surroundings, so that as a
+result of it all, his own experience becomes richer for his having
+lived out the life of the fictitious persons, his own acquaintances
+have revealed themselves more fully, his own life becomes more
+intelligible,--for him at last the book is a work of art. So any work
+may be a mirror which simply reflects the world as we know it; it
+may be a point of departure, from which tangentially we construct
+an experience of our own: it is truly art only in the degree that it is
+revelation.
+
+A work of art, therefore, is to be received by the individual
+appreciator as an added emotional experience. It appeals to him at
+all because in some way it relates itself to his own life; and its value
+to him is determined by the measure in which it carries him out into
+wider ranges of feeling. There are works whose absolute greatness
+he recognizes but yet which do not happen at the moment to find
+him. Constable comes to him as immensely satisfying; Turner,
+though an object of great intellectual interest, leaves him cold. He
+knows Velasquez to be supreme among painters, but he turns away
+to stand before Frans Hals, whose quick, sure strokes call such very
+human beings into actuality and rouse his spirit to the fullest
+response. Why is it that of two works of equal depth of insight into
+life, of equal scope of feeling, of the same excellence of technical
+accomplishment, one has an appeal and a message for him and not
+the other? What is the bridge of transition between the work and the
+spirit of the appreciator by which the subtle connection is
+established?
+
+It comes back to a matter of harmony. Experience presents itself to
+us in fragments; and in so far as the parts are scattering and
+unrelated, it is not easy for us to guess the purpose of our being here.
+But so soon as details, which by virtue of some selecting principle
+are related to one another, gather themselves into a whole, chaos is
+resolved into order, and this whole becomes significant, intelligible,
+and beautiful. Instinctively we are seeking, each in his own way, to
+bring the fragments of experience into order; and that order stands to
+each of us for what we are, for our individual personality, the self.
+We define thus our selecting principle, by which we receive some
+incidents of experience as related to our development and we reject
+others as not related to it. Thus the individual life achieves its
+integrity, its unity and significance. This, too, is the process of art. A
+landscape in nature is capable of a various, interpretation. By
+bringing its details into order and unity, the artist creates its beauty.
+His perception of the harmony which his imagination compels out of
+the landscape is attended with emotion, and the emotion flows
+outward to expression in a form which is itself harmonious. This
+form is a work of art. Art, therefore, is the harmonizing of
+experience. Appreciation is an act of fusion and identification. In
+spirit we _become_ the thing presented by the work of art and we
+merge with it in a larger unity. The individual harmony which a
+work of art manifests becomes significant to us as we can make it an
+harmonious part of our own experience and as it carries us in the
+direction of our development.
+
+But how to determine, each man for himself, what is the direction of
+our development? A life becomes significant to itself so soon as it is
+conscious of its purpose, and it becomes harmonious as it makes all
+the details of experience subserve that purpose. The purpose of the
+individual life, so far as we can guess it, seems to be that the life
+shall be as complete as possible, that it shall fulfill itself and provide
+through its offspring for its continuance. It is true that no life is
+isolated; as every atom throughout the universe is bound to every
+other atom by subtlest filaments of influence, so each human life
+stands related to all other lives. But the man best pays his debt of
+service to others who makes the most of that which is given him to
+work with; and that is his own personality. We must begin at the
+centre and work outwards. My concern is with my own justice. If I
+worry because my friend or another is not just, I not only do not
+make him more just, but I also fail of the highest justice I can
+achieve, which is my own. We must be true to ourselves. We help
+one another not by precept but by _being;_ and what we are
+communicates itself. As physical life propagates and thus continues
+itself, so personality is transmitted in unconscious innumerable ways.
+The step and carriage of the body, the glance of the eye, the work of
+our hands, our silences no less than our speech, all express what we
+are. As everything follows upon what we are, so our responsibility is
+to _be,_ to be ourselves completely, perfectly.
+
+A tender shoot pushes its way out of the soil into light and air, and
+with the years it grows into a tree. The tree bears fruit, which
+contains the seed of new manifestations of itself. The fruit falls to
+the ground and rots, providing thus the aliment for the seed out of
+which other trees are to spring. From seed to seed the life of the tree
+is a cycle, without beginning and without end. At no one point in the
+cycle can we say, Here is the purpose of the tree. Incidentally the
+tree may minister to the needs and comfort and pleasure of man. The
+tree delights him to look upon it; its branches shade him from the
+noonday sun; its trunk and limbs can be hewn down and turned to
+heat and shelter; its fruit is good to eat. The primary purpose of the
+fruit, however, is not to furnish food to man, but to provide the
+envelope for the transmission of its seed and the continuance of its
+own life. Seen in its cosmic bearing and scope, the purpose of the
+tree is to be a tree, as fit, as strong, as beautiful, as complete, as
+tree-like, as it can be. The leaf precedes the flower and may be thought
+on that account to be inferior to it in the scale of development. If a
+leaf pines and withers in regret that it is not a flower, it not only
+does not become a flower, but it fails of being a good leaf.
+Everything in its place and after its own kind. In so far as it is
+perfectly itself, a leaf, a blossom, a tree, a man, does it contribute to
+the well-being of others. Man has subdued all things under his feet
+and turned them to his own uses. By force of mind he is the
+strongest creature, but it is not to be inferred that he is therefore the
+aim and end of all creation. Like everything else, he has his place;
+like everything else he has the right to live his own life, triumphing
+over the weaker and in his turn going down before a mightier when
+the mightier shall come; like everything else he is but a part in the
+universal whole. Only a part; but as we recognize our relation to
+other parts and through them our connection with the whole, our
+sense of the value of the individual life becomes infinitely extended.
+We must get into the rhythm, keeping step with the beat of the
+universal life and finding there our place, our destiny, the meaning
+of our being here, and joy. The goods which men set before
+themselves as an end are but by-products after all. If we pursue
+happiness we overtake it not. If we do what our hands find to do,
+devotedly and with our might, then, some day, if we happen to stop
+and make question of it, we discover that happiness is already there,
+in us, with us, and around us. The aim of a man's life in the world, as
+it would seem, is to be perfectly a man, and his end is to fulfill
+himself; as part of this fulfillment of himself, he provides for the
+continuance of his life in other lives, and transmitting his character
+and influence, he enriches other lives because of what he is. The
+purpose of seeing is that we may see more, and the eye is ever
+striving to increase its power; the health of the eye is growth. The
+purpose of life is more life, individual in the measure that it lies
+within a man's power to develop it, but cosmic in its sources and its
+influence.
+
+As the harmony which a work of art presents finds a place in that
+harmony of experience and outward-reaching desire which
+constitutes our personality, art becomes for us an entrance into more
+life. In the large, art is a means of development. But as any work
+embraces diverse elements and is capable of a various appeal, it may
+be asked in what sense the appreciation of art is related to education
+and culture. Before we can answer the question intelligently, we
+must know what we mean by our terms. By many people education
+is regarded as they regard any material possession, to be classed
+with fashionable clothes, a fine house, a carriage and pair, or
+touring-car, or steam yacht, as the credential and card of entree to
+what is called good society. Culture is a kind of ornamental furniture,
+maintained to impress visitors. Of course we ourselves do not think
+so, but we know people who do. Nor do we believe--as some
+believe--that education is simply a means of gaining a more
+considerable livelihood. It is pathetic to see young men in college
+struggling in desperate, uncomplaining sacrifice to obtain an
+education, and all the while mistaking the end of their effort. Not all
+the deeds of daring in a university course are enacted on the athletic
+field; the men I am thinking of do not have their pictures published
+in the newspapers,--the unrecorded heroisms of college life are very
+moving to those who know. But the tragedy I have in mind is this--for
+tragedy consists not in sacrifice itself but in needless and futile
+sacrifice--that some of these young men suppose _there_ is a magic
+virtue in education for its own sake, that it is the open-sesame to all
+the wealth and beauty of life. With insufficient ability to start with,
+they are preparing to be unfit professional men, when they might be
+excellent artisans. The knowledge of books is in no sense the whole
+story nor the only means of education. In devotion to some craft or
+in the intelligent conduct of some business they might find the true
+education, which is the conscious discipline of one's powers. The
+man who can do things, whether with his hands or with his brain,
+provided intelligence govern the exercise of hand and brain, and
+who finds happiness in his work because it is the expression of
+himself, is an educated man. The end of education is the building of
+personality, the making of human power, and its fruit is wisdom.
+
+Wisdom, however, does not consist in the most extensive knowledge
+of facts. Oftentimes information overweights a man and snuffs out
+what personal force there might otherwise have been. On the futility
+of mere learning there is abundant testimony. Walt Whitman, as we
+might expect from his passion for the vital and the human, has said:
+"You must not know too much and be too precise and scientific
+about birds and trees and flowers and watercraft. A certain free
+margin, perhaps ignorance, credulity, helps your enjoyment of these
+things and of the sentiment of feather'd, wooded, river or marine
+nature generally. I repeat it--don't want to know too exactly or the
+reasons why." Even Ruskin, whose learning was extensive and
+various, bears witness to the same effect. He notes "the diminution
+which my knowledge of the Alps had made in my impression of
+them, and the way in which investigation of strata and structure
+reduces all mountain sublimity to mere debris and wall-building." In
+the same spirit he planned an essay on the Uses of Ignorance. From
+the midst of his labors in Venice he wrote: "I am sure that people
+who work out subjects thoroughly are disagreeable wretches. One
+only feels as one should when one doesn't know much about the
+matter." In other words, we are not to let our knowledge come
+between us and our power to feel. In thus seeming to assail
+education I am not seeking to subvert or destroy; I want simply to
+adjust the emphasis. The really wise man is he who knows how to
+make life yield him its utmost of true satisfaction and furnish him
+the largest scope for the use of his powers and the expression of
+himself. In this sense a newsboy in the streets may be wiser than a
+university professor, in that one may be the master of his life and the
+other may be the servant of his information. Education should have
+for its end the training of capacities and powers, the discipline and
+control of the intelligence, the quickening of the sympathies, the
+development of the ability to live. No man is superior to his fellows
+because of the fact of his education. His education profits him only
+in so far as it makes him more of a man, more responsive because
+his own emotions have been more deeply stirred, more tolerant
+because his wider range has revealed more that is good, more
+generous to give of his own life and service because he has more
+generously received. It is not what we know nor what we have that
+marks our worth, but what we are. No man, however fortunate and
+well-circumstanced he may be, can afford to thank God that he is
+not as other men are. In so far as his education tends to withdraw
+him from life and from contact with his fellows of whatever station,
+in so far as it fosters in him the consciousness of class, so far it is an
+evil. Education should lead us not to judge lives different from our
+own, but to try to understand and, to appreciate. The educated man,
+above all others, should thank God that there are diversity of gifts
+and so many kinds of good.
+
+Art is a means of culture, but art rightly understood and received.
+Art does not aim to teach. It may teach incidentally, tangentially to
+its circle, but instruction, either intellectual or ethical, is not its
+purpose. It fulfills itself in the spirit of the appreciator as it enables
+him in its presence to become something that otherwise he had not
+been. It is not enough to be told things; we must make trial of them
+and live them out in our own experience before they become true for
+us. As appreciation is not knowledge but feeling, so we must live
+our art. It is well to have near us some work that we want to be
+_like._ We get its fullest message only as we identify ourselves with
+it. If we are willing to be thought ignorant and to live our lives as
+seems good to us, I believe it is better to go the whole way with a
+few things that can minister to us abundantly and so come to the end
+of them, than to touch in superficial contact a great many lesser
+works. The lesser works have their place; and so far as they can
+carry us beyond the point where we are, they can serve us. In a
+hurried touch-and-go, however, there is danger of scattering;
+whereas true appreciation takes time, for it is less an act than a
+whole attitude of mind. This is an age of handbooks and short cuts.
+But there is no substitute for life. If for one reason or another the
+opportunity to realize art in terms of life is not accorded us, it is
+better to accept the situation quite frankly and happily, and not try to
+cheat ourselves with the semblance. But if it is indeed the reality,
+then we maybe content with the minutes of experience, though we
+are denied the hours or the years. "The messages of great poems,"
+says Whitman, "to each man and woman are, Come to us on equal
+terms; only then can you understand us." The power of response
+must be in us, and that power is the fruit of experience. The only
+mystery of art is the mystery of all life itself. In nature the artist
+finds the manifestation of a larger self toward which he aspires, and
+this is what his work expresses. Alone with his spirit, he cries to us
+for that intimate mystic companionship which is appreciation, and
+our response gives back the echo of his cry. He reaches out across
+the distance to touch other and kindred spirits and draw them to
+himself. Says the poet,--
+
+     "Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I,
+     Therefore for thee the following chants."
+
+We appreciate the artist's work as in it we live again and doubly.
+
+Thus art links itself with life. The message of art to the individual
+defines itself according to his individual needs. Life rises with each
+man, to him a new opportunity and a new destiny. We create our
+own world; and life means to us what we are in ourselves. In art we
+are seeking to find ourselves expressed more fully. The works that
+we care for, if we consider it a moment, are the works we
+understand; and we understand them because they phrase for us our
+own experience. Life and the truth of life are relative. Truth is not in
+the object but in our relation to it. What is true for me may or may
+not be true for another. This much is true for me, namely, whatever
+tallies with my experience and reveals to me more of the underlying
+purpose of the universe. We are all, each in his own way, seeking
+the meaning of life; and that meaning is special and personal to the
+individual, each man deciding for himself. By selection here, by
+rejection there, we are trying to work toward harmony. The details
+of life become increasingly complex with the years, but living grows
+simpler because we gradually fix a selecting and unifying principle.
+When we have truly found ourselves, we come to feel that the
+external incidents do not signify; which chance happens, whether
+this or that, is indifferent. It is the spirit in which the life is lived
+that determines its quality and value. The perception of purpose in the
+parts brings them into order and gives them meaning. A man's life is
+an expanding circle, the circumference of which is drawn around an
+order or interplay and adjustment of part with part. Whatever lies
+without the circle does not pertain to the individual--as yet. So soon
+as any experience reveals its meaning to us and we feel that it takes
+its place in our life, then it belongs to us. Whatever serves to bring
+details, before scattering and unrelated, into order, is for that
+moment true. Art has a message for us as it tallies with what we
+already know about life; and, quickening our perceptions, disclosing
+depths of feeling, it carries us into new ranges of experience.
+
+In this attitude toward life lies the justice of the personal estimate.
+The individual is finally his own authority. To find truth we return
+upon our own consciousness, and we seek thus to define our
+"original relation" to the universal order. So as one stands before the
+works of the Italian painters and sculptors, for example, in the
+endeavor rightly to appreciate what they have achieved, one may ask:
+How much of life has this artist to express to me, of life as I know it
+or can know it? Has the painter through these forms, however crude
+or however accomplished, uttered what he genuinely and for himself
+thought and felt? The measure of these pictures for me is the degree
+of reality, of vital feeling, which they transmit. Whether it be spring
+or divine maternity or the beauty of a pagan idea, which Botticelli
+renders, the same power is there, the same sense of gracious life.
+Whether it be Credi's naive womanhood, or Titian's abounding,
+glorious women and calm and forceful men, or Delia Robbia's
+joyous children and Donatello's sprites, the same great meaning is
+expressed, the same appreciation of the goodness and beauty of all
+life. This beauty is for me, here, to-day. In the experience of a man
+who thinks and feels, there is a time when his imagination turns
+toward the past. At the moment, as the world closes in about him,
+his spirit, dulled by the attrition of daily use and wont, is unable to
+discern the beauty and significance of the present life around him.
+For a time his imagination finds abundant nourishment in the mighty
+past. Many spirits are content there to remain. But life is of the
+present. To live greatly is to live now, inspired by the past, corrected
+and encouraged by it, impelled by "forward-looking thoughts'" and
+providing for the future, but living in to-day. Life is neither
+remembrance nor anticipation, neither regret nor deferment, but
+present realization. Often one feels in a gallery that the people are
+more significant than the pictures. Two lovers furtively holding
+hands and stopping before a canvas to press closer together,
+shoulder to shoulder; a young girl erect and firm, conscious of her
+young womanhood and rejoicing in it, radiating youth and life; an
+old man, whose years are behind him yet whose interest reveals his
+eager welcome of new experience, unconsciously rebuking the jaded
+and indifferent: here is reality. Before it the pictures seem to recede
+and become dimmed. Our appreciation of these things makes the
+significance of it all. Only in so far as art can communicate this
+sensation, this same impression of the beauty and present reality of
+life, has it a meaning for us. The painter must have registered his
+appreciation of immediate reality and must impart that to us until it
+becomes, heightened and intensified, our own. The secret of
+successful living lies in compelling the details of our surroundings
+to our own ends. Michelangelo lived his life; Leonardo lived his;
+neither could be the other. A man must paint the life that he knows,
+the experience into which he enters. So we must live our lives
+immediately and newly. We have penetrated the ultimate mystery of
+art when we realize the inseparable oneness of art with life.
+
+Art is a call to fuller living. Its real service is to increase our
+capacity for experience. The pictures, the music, the books, which
+profit us are those which, when we have done with them, make us
+feel that we have lived by just so much. Often we purchase
+experience with enthusiasm; we become wise at the expense of our
+power to enjoy. What we need in relation to art is not more
+knowledge but greater capability of feeling, not the acquisition of
+more facts but the increased power to interpret facts and to apply
+them to life. In appreciation it is not what we know about a work of
+art, it is not even what we actually see before us, that constitutes its
+significance, but what in its presence we are able to feel. The
+paradox that nature imitates art has in it this much of truth, that art is
+the revelation of the possibilities of life, and we try to make these
+possibilities actual in our own experience. Art is not an escape from
+life and a refuge; it is a challenge and reenforcement. Its action is
+not to make us less conscious but more; in it we are not to lose
+ourselves but to find ourselves more truly and more fully. Its effect
+is to help us to a larger and juster appreciation of the beauty and
+worth of nature and of life.
+
+Art is within the range of every man who holds himself open to its
+appeal. But art is not the final thing. It is a means to an end; its end
+is personality. There are exalted moments in the experience of us all
+which we feel to be finer than any art. Then we do not need to turn
+to painting, music, literature, for our satisfaction. We are living. Art
+is aid and inspiration, but its fulfillment and end is life.
+
+"We live," says Wordsworth, "by admiration, hope, and love."
+Admiration is wonder and worship, a sense of the mystery and the
+beauty of life as we know it now, and thankfulness for it, and joy.
+Hope is the vision of things to be. And love is the supreme enfolding
+unity that makes all one. Art is life at its best, but life is the greatest
+of the arts,--life harmonious, deep in feeling, big in sympathy, the
+life that is appreciation, responsiveness, and love.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Gate of Appreciation, by Carleton Noyes
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GATE OF APPRECIATION ***
+
+***** This file should be named 27183.txt or 27183.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/1/8/27183/
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/27183.zip b/27183.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f4b543c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27183.zip
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06c8176
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #27183 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27183)