ART AND ARTISTS.

Otago Witness, 14 December 1893, Page 49

ART AND ARTISTS.

An old Italian attist would have journeyed 100 miles to see "Fau's Aaatomy " ; we each have a copy and do nothing with it. — F. W. Moody. Prince Peter Troubet&koi, tbe Russian nobleman who is painting Mr Gladstone's portrait, is engaged to be married to a ycuog E lglish lady. He stands 6ft 4in in his stockings, and is an unusually handsome man. If the final cause of art is to add to a man's narrow stock of true delights, Scott's work is more precious than that of any other writer, proseman or poet, of the nineteenth century. — Athenfcum. IE an artist wishes to spend a happy married life he should pass it in single blessedness ; lest, like Dryden, Byron, Whitelocke, Ainsworth (the lexicographer), Moliere, Bulwer, Shelley, and others in the world of literature, his be the life-long regret that Adam did not die with his ribs in his body. — M. H. Spielmann. M. Cheret, the well-kaown artist, began his work when an exile in London. He designed pictorial show cards for a Regent street perfumer. Ibis therefore appropria 4e4 c that he should hold, as he proposes to do next year, an exhibition of his work in London. He proceeds on the theory that " Lhe most beautiful thing in the world is a bouquet of flowers." Millet's view of peasant life is earne3t and profound ; but what of these painted peasants of his with faces destitute of physiognomy, clad — or, rather, buried — in ronghly-hewn garments 7 His method is too often merely thick and muddy, although in time he learned to render atmosphere and become a master of low-toned harmonies. Theophile Gautier, who had begun by praising him, drew back before the dreiry sombreness of much of his later work — Magazine of Art. "The first page of Shakespeare that I read made me his for life ; and when I had finished a single play I stood like one born blind, on whom a miraculous hand bestows sight in a moment." " Shakespeare was not a theatre poet ; the stage was too narrow for his great intellect ; truly the whole visible world was too narrsw." Shakespaare is a being of a higher order than myself, to whom I must look up and pay due reverence." — Goethe. Among the crimes and follies of the age is the practice of buying works of art by way of " investment." The collector may perhaps be pardoned (by his own sex) who urges the specious plea of " investment " to his wife when she objects to a recent purchase. The lady may possibly be deluded, as American infants of tender years are beguiled, by a promise of " tße first dollar that comes floating down the river on a grindstone." The " investment " of the collector is likely to prove as unsatisfactory as the fabled grindstone. — Daily News. It is a poor trade catalogue nowadays that is not illustrated. The old sign of commercial standing used to be that a tradesman " kept a poet," and the latter-day s:gn is that he ke?p3 an artist. Tdke the furniture dealer's catalogue for example. Look at the glamour the artist throws even over the iron badstead, No. I, 14s Gel, carriage paid to any railway station ia the king ?oni. It looks a couch for a king. There is a springy look about the mattrrss, too, the one at 7s 9J, that speaks of paradisaic dreams, and the framework of the bed is so beautifully lacquered that you can see the gentle beams of tbe rising sun glintiDg off ifc. — Globe.