ART AND THE ARTIST

Dominion, Volume 29, Issue 264, 4 August 1936, Page 11

ART AND THE ARTIST

A Visit to the National Gallery DIFFERING OPINIONS (Ry S.G.) “Alas, what various tastes in food divide the human brotherhood,” .vans Hilaire Belloc. But the schisms gastronomic are as nothing to those that sunder peoples’ approvals and disapprovals in the realm of art. The opening of the new National Art, Gallery has concentrated Wellington’s attention on this subject, and one of the most striking aspects of a visit to the gallery has been the keenness with which local folk have ilocked to inspect the collections. No less extraordinary has been the surprising divergency of opinion evinced by the visitors—as well as by the exhibitors —about any particular work of art Topsy went on Sunday afternoon, In company with a real artist. You would never have guessed he was an artist, however, if he had not been wear ing spats. His appearance was otherwise normal. “1 expect we shall have the gallery to ourselves to-day,” said the artist. “The crowds that on opening day pre vented us from enjoying a good look at the pictures will certainly have lost interest by now. The public does not really care for art, and Wellington is notorious as a city of the Philistines. You wUI see, the gallery will be almost deserted.” “I hope not!” exclaimed the lady anxiously. She had been at some pains to be looking her best, and, herself an artist in this respect, did not want to find art altogether unappreciated. There was no cause for alarm. As if to repudiate the slur on her sensibility, Wellington appeared to have de elded to devote her full attention to inspecting her new possession. Not only artists but politicians, flappers, untidy, garrulous newspaper men, ■ solemn Maoris, respectable city men, suburban housewives and rowdy children marched, loitered, flirted, bustled or romped through the galleries, according to their several dispositions. A Clash With a Wallpaper.

“I particularly want you to see these.” said the artist, leading the way to a series of landscapes composed largely of white paper, on which a pattern of squiggles and dots of unexpected colours had been superimposed. . „ “Too, too spotty,” said Topsy. “Fancy having one of those in one’s best room. It would clash horribly with the wallpaper.” “You could repaper the room. But you must not allow such material consldeiTitioiisf to bias your judgment: that is not the way to criticise. I really think that only they who themselves paint can fully understand paintings.” “When I recall some of the latest efforts by Picasso and the moderns, I incline to agree with you. I seldom fully comprehend them.” They halted in front of a portrait of a lady whose face was green and puce. The sunshade she carried had evidently failed to save her complexion. “A New Year’s Day excursionist after a Cook Strait crossing?” asked Topsy. “That is the work of one of our leading New Zealand painters. He shows a great mastery of colour. Compare this with another of his works.” He led the way to another and more pleasing portrait, painted in fresh and lively tints, and representing a particularly attractive and natural young woman.

“You would hardly believe they were both by the same man,” was Topsy’s comment.

“That’s what I say. How an artist capable of producing that other piece could descend to anything as ordinary as this, I-cannot imagine,” said the artist, approaching the picture closely, and subjecting it to a searching scrutiny. “The technique is incomparably inferior.” The Ordinary Person.

“You arty people always seem more concerned with how- the paint is laid on, and how the space is divided up, than with the subject or the aspect of the picture as a whole, which is the thing the ordinary person is concerned, with.”

“The ignorance of the ordinary person is abysmal,” stated the artist sadly, making a minute examination of a nude lady stretched out on a luxurious divan. "It is only by perfect technique that the craftsman can do justice to his subject. Look at the texture of this flesh!”

"To comment on the replica of a lady unelad is to my mind as indelicate as to comment on the lady herself unfler similar circumstances,” replied Topsy haughtily. “Now I shall show you the pictures I like.” She took him to a small sketch of a row of little birds perched on a pine twig. “Good in its way,” remarked her companion, “but you are quite out of date.” They defiled past an apparent-

ly popular exhibit, depicting a smug, overfed, little girl, with piggy pink cheeks, gazing with an expression of ineffable joy while a number of kindred spirits broached a birthday cake. “Here we are,” said Topsy. “This is my pick.” It- was Maui hauling up the land from the realm of Tangaroa. The two cowardly brothers were crouched crying in the lurching canoe, while Maui, with a foot braced hard against the gunwale, heaved at the taut line. Tho rocky peaks and treetops of the land were just breaking through the wild sea. Overhead, the bright sun was bursting through the lowering black clouds. A dramatic scene of action that had caught the spirit of the Maori legend. . “The Christchurch school!” said the artist, crushingly. “I think you’re most unkind to sneer at everything I like!” burst out Topsy. “After all, it’s not the cleverness of art that matters, it’s just a question of whether one likes or dislikes a picture. All your talk can’t alter that. And this picture must be good, or it wouldn’t be here. Anyway, how many of your pictures have been hung?” “Hanging committees are as liable to err as the rest of mankind,” said the artist sadly. “They seem to have overlooked my work.”