MR. G. F. WATTS: HIS NEW PICTURE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 11950, 26 April 1902, Page 5 (Supplement)

MR. G. F. WATTS: HIS NEW PICTURE.

I can think of no figure that emerges from the nineteenth century with steadier radiance of great achievement than the venerable figure of G. F. Watts. .

The universal artist is eighty-five, and,' covered with fame, he stands on the threshold of a new era with vigour unabated, heart undaunted, and with his gaze set keenly on the future of humanity.

He is the waking companion of Apollo, rising from slumber, winter and summer, with rosy-tingered dawn; he is in his studio when most of us ore snoring unmusically to the roof-tree; and—thanks to abstemious living—there is a dancing laughter in his eyes which might be the envy of many a drawing-room belle. THE SECRET OK HAPPINESS. You know the figure. A frail man of middle height, with a countenance like Titian, wearing a ruby skull-cap, a white, close-buttoned coat reaching to the knees: white hair, white moustache and pointed beard, a complexion of ivory, tine dark eyes, with heavy overhanging black eyebrows, and a stateliness of demeanour that renders him " the Signor" to all the world.

" Tell me,'' said 1, as we sat lately in the low-roofed hall which Mr. Watts has decorated to such good purpose, " tell me the secret of happiness." The Signor smiled. " One is happy when one has few wants,' he answered. " Personally, I may say that no Pontiff or Emperor could bestow upon me anything that would make me happier. I am not a rich man—far from it; but I do not desire, wealth. I have physical infirmities, but I can still work. So, as regards myself, lam happy. " But I am far from happy when I consider a much more important matter than myself —I mean my country.

"In spite of Tolstoi, I believe that patriotism is a fine thing. I love my country; and when I reflect upon her present position and her present frame of mind 1 am filled with disquiet. There is too much talk of efficiency; too little action. LABOUR DISPUTES AND EDUCATION. '* Take these labour disputes. Is it a healthy sign I hat a man should be prevented from working by a. body of strikers? Or, is it a line thing, is it a noble thing, is it a. dignified thing, that a man should do only the actual work required of him, without pride or joy in it? There are too many of these labour disputes; the clashing of interests is too loud. "Then a more important matter still— education. This is a subject 1 feel strongly upon, very strongly; but what does the Government do? We all know that stuffing a child's head full of grammar rules and dates is merely to stifle originality and to dull observation. Why persist in it? Why does not our educational system encourage and develop the powers of observation? "Apply the navy system of education to the national schools of the country; as the sailor is taught the work of a ship so let the child be taught the work of the toiling world. Make them handy, make them serviceable, make them keen-edged tools in the workshop of life. Surely this isn't a vain dream —anything fanciful, anything Utopian !" WASTAGE IN' CITIZENSHIP. He paused, and bent upon me keen eyes. Do you. know how many thousands of people go to prison every year?" he asked, slowly. " Thousands, thousands, thousands ! Add to these the tramps, the vagrants, the ne'er-do-wells who evade the clutches of the law; and think that almost all these thousands of people have children. What becomes of them? How do they grow up in the citizenship of a great Empire? Would it not be wise, would it not be an act of far-sighted statesmanship, to take these children and educate them in a practical, serviceable fashion? Surely, wastage in citizenship is something to be avoided by men who profess to serve not the present but the destinies of a nation."

I told the great artist how pleasant a thing it was to find his heart beating so closely with the march of the nation. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. " People make too much of Art nowadays," said he. " [ love my Art—always have, always shall; but f have known from the first that there is something greater—humanity. That is why most of my pictures have an ethical meaning: 1 strive to serve humanity. And that is where one gets one's reward ; sometimes one succeeds. People are good enough to write to me from many parts of the world to cheer me with the knowledge that 1 have done them service." THE STORY OF A PICTURE. And then he told me, with a pleasure so beautiful that it beggars the term of modesty, the story of a woman and his great picture "Hope." This woman wrote to say that, despairing of employment, she was once wandering through the streets of Glasgow with her mind full of dark thoughts when her eye was caught by a photograph of this haunting picture in a shop window. She spent her dwindling all upon its acquisition. -Its constant companionship nerved her for the struggle. A new light broke upon her gathering gloom, and, bracing her soul, she made the great effort that finally resulted in happiness, peace, and contentment. We went into the studio, and the Signor showed me his last great picture, which will go in a few days from the Surrey Hills to the museum that looks across muddy Thames to hideous Lambeth. I shall not easily forget that moment. Side by side with the venerable artist I stood and looked at the gigantic canvas, while he pointed out to me its meaning. " You see," he said, gently, " my object is to make death beautiful. People shrink from it, or represent it by skull and crossbones. Horrible, horrible! Death is not abominable. Death is the fate of ail of us, but it is not the end; wo cannot think that it is the end.

" Behind my figure of Death a Queen seated upon a ruined throne breaks the fuller radiance; and here in front of her is grouped the world in its typical degrees. The soldier occupies the chief place because — well, are we not all soldiers? There is the noble bringing his wealth and state, powerless to carry it beyond. The cripple falling stricken even before he quite reaches the throne. There the invalid—a girl leaning against Death as upon the bosom of a friend. And here in the corner a rosy child sporting with the very garments of Death— not knowing." MR. WATTS' NEW PICTURE. "And in the lap of Death," said I. "an unborn child." " Yes." answered tl»e Signor, "the germ of Life." " It is a great picture." I said; "perhaps your greatest." " You think so? You really like it? He was pleased because 1 had understood his meaning. The Kignor was once asked bow- long he should continue to paint. "So long as I have ideas," he answered. " Ideas keep coming into my head," he continued, "and I can't help mentioning them." That "mentioning thorn" is the painter's attitude towards his work. As was said of another great painter—" Other pictures we see; Hogarth's we read." One can scarcely direct the attention of the twentieth century to a more encouraging personality than that of this veteran artist. His life teaches. I think, that great work brings great peace. He has never had a penny but that it was earned by his craft. And he has never been a mere " seller" of pictures.

His first object in his art has been to serve humanity, and it is fitting that one of the many unfinished canvases in his studio should represent Love steering the barque of the world, sturdily collecting the clumsy oarsmanship of wilful Humanity. This is the Signor's creed. He cries out in his pictures that the sumnium boi.um of life is Love. And in the workmanship of bis pictures he proclaims the splendour of labour, the dignity of thoroughness, and the glory of service for humanity.—By Harold Begbie, in Daily Mail.

"My father is «. broker," said one little girl; "what's yours - ' "He's one of the people who get broke," answered the other. A new edition ot Scott's- "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," to be edited by Mr. T. F. Henderson, in four volumes, is announced by i.l essrs. Blackwood. No revised or critical edition has appeared since Lockhart's, some seventy years ago.