MR JACOB EPSTEIN.

Evening Star, Issue 21992, 30 March 1935, Page 26

MR JACOB EPSTEIN.

TO THE EDITOR. Sir, —Whenever I read criticisms of the works of Jacob Epstein, and more especially when 1 have an example, or reproduction, of his “creations ” before me, 1 a’.y reminded forcefully of a tale told by Hans Anderson. The tale is very briefly as follows Some dishonest weavers arrived at the court of a certain Emperor and undertook to weave that monarch some very exclusive cloth. This material was to ■ have the extraordinary quality of being invisible to anyone who was unworthy _or unfit to hold the position he occupied. The Emperor thought the idea an excellent one, and provided the weavers with bales of silk to be turned into this wonderful cloth. After a few' hours the Emperor thought he would test his Secretary of State, so he sent him to see how the weai era were progressing. When the Secretary of State entered the room of industry he found to his amazement the weavers busy manipulating spinning wheels and looms, but he could see no cloth. The dishonest weavers knew something of human nature, and were stacking the raw silk into their own hampers and producing an entirely imaginary cloth. For what man would say he Could not see the fabric, and thus declare himself unworthy of his position? And the Secretary of State, being a very human man, returned to the King and told him of the beauties of the cloth. He spoke of the sheen, the blend, and the quiet dignity of the material. He made doubly certain that no one would know the worst—that he was unworthy of his position. As the next inspector, the King sent the Prime Minister. He, too, was taken aback when-he saw those busy looms producing nothing but thin air. But never let it bo • said that the Prime Minister was not human. He returned happily to the Emperor and reported upon, the strength and lightness of the marvellous cloth. After this the entire Cabinet were requested to report on the cloth, and as may be expected, none could extoll the works of the genius weavers sufficiently high. They all saw it! They all admired it! And each one believed that no one except himself could not see the cloth at all; that he was unworthy of his position. At last the'King himself paid a visit to the weaving room. Imagine his horror when before him he saw working looms producing invisible cloth. But no one must know bis secret, and so his verdict contained all the superlatives known to the language of his court.. Fearing that others might suspect his unfitness, he decided to dress in this magic cloth and hold a parade through the town with his courtiers. The word was conveyed to the citizens, and everyone knew that if lie was unworthy of his position he would be unable to see the King’s raiment.

At last the clothes of the Emperor were completed and the great day arrived. The procession left the palace and proceeded down the thronged streets. On every side a murmur of approval rose to greet the King’s ears. “ Gorgeous, handsome, magnilicient,” cried the loyal citizens. And each one down in his heart knew the truth—he was unworthy of his position. Yet. why show the naked truth to his neighbour? So down the long lines of streets, these very human, liars kept up their hyprocritical cry of praise. And the tailors of the town cried loudest, for they could not let it be known that they did not understand the art of tailoring. At last the spell was broken. A. little child, sitting on its mother’s shoulders, cried out, ‘‘ The Emperor has no clothes on-at all.”

That is the story, and I feel sure that hundreds of people who have seen some ol Epstein’s monstrosities will immediately see the parallel .1 am endeavouring to draw. If you really face the question of art criticism, you will find that the majority of critics are honest liars. They know that those higher up have praised, and loudly so, and accordingly they would be admitting their lack of knowledge if they did not follow the same lines with, of course, variations.. It is clever and smart, indeed it is cultured to be able to stand . before an ugly mess of . a sculpture, or oil painting, and “ catch the spirit” of it. However, I am not ashamed to be honest in my criticism of Jacob Epstein. It may be presumption on my part, but I doubt it. The works of Jacob Epstein which 1 have seen, are, in my opinion, abominations and a disgrace to this century’s intelligence. Of course, it is admittedly modern, if that means anything else than being different and startling. His latest creation, ‘ Christ, Bound and Crowned with Thorns,’ is just the most obnoxious thing I have ever seen. I do not decry modernism in commercial art and architecture—in fact I admire it—but the artist and sculptor is the man whose task it is to perpetuate the spirit of his age. In this it may be argued that Epstein is faithfully fulfilling his task, for it cannot be denied that in certain cases modern art, literature, and music is most horribly distorted. Even people’s outlook on life, in certain ultra-modern sections, has become distorted. Against all this. I argue that the artist, sculptor, and musician should capture the spirit of the age, not from the out-of-joint and diseased atmosphere created by neurotic modernists, but from the greatest and yet the most humble of artists—the most skilful sculptor and the sweetest musician of all time—Nature. Then shall the spirit of our age be truly captured. True, Nature is always the same, changing little, if any, in a million years. Rut the_ artists of each age must see and depict it differently—that is my idea of the noble task of the artist. God forbid that Epstein’s disgusting outlook on Nature is the outlook of the people of our age.—l am. etc.. . Ivan A. Miichell. March 29.