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Page 7
These two possible resemblances between the art forms of today
and those of the past will be at once recognized as diametrically
opposed to one another. The first, being purely external, has no
future. The second, being internal, contains the seed of the
future within itself. After the period of materialist effort,
which held the soul in check until it was shaken off as evil, the
soul is emerging, purged by trials and sufferings. Shapeless
emotions such as fear, joy, grief, etc., which belonged to this
time of effort, will no longer greatly attract the artist. He
will endeavour to awake subtler emotions, as yet unnamed. Living
himself a complicated and comparatively subtle life, his work
will give to those observers capable of feeling them lofty
emotions beyond the reach of words.
The observer of today, however, is seldom capable of feeling such
emotions. He seeks in a work of art a mere imitation of nature
which can serve some definite purpose (for example a portrait in
the ordinary sense) or a presentment of nature according to a
certain convention ("impressionist" painting), or some inner
feeling expressed in terms of natural form (as we say--a picture
with Stimmung) [Footnote: Stimmung is almost untranslateable. It
is almost "sentiment" in the best sense, and almost "feeling."
Many of Corot's twilight landscapes are full of a beautiful
"Stimmung." Kandinsky uses the word later on to mean the
"essential spirit" of nature.--M.T.H.S.] All those varieties of
picture, when they are really art, fulfil their purpose and feed
the spirit. Though this applies to the first case, it applies
more strongly to the third, where the spectator does feel a
corresponding thrill in himself. Such harmony or even contrast of
emotion cannot be superficial or worthless; indeed the Stimmung
of a picture can deepen and purify that of the spectator. Such
works of art at least preserve the soul from coarseness; they
"key it up," so to speak, to a certain height, as a tuning-key
the strings of a musical instrument. But purification, and
extension in duration and size of this sympathy of soul, remain
one-sided, and the possibilities of the influence of art are not
exerted to their utmost.
Imagine a building divided into many rooms. The building may be
large or small. Every wall of every room is covered with pictures
of various sizes; perhaps they number many thousands. They
represent in colour bits of nature--animals in sunlight or
shadow, drinking, standing in water, lying on the grass; near to,
a Crucifixion by a painter who does not believe in Christ;
flowers; human figures sitting, standing, walking; often they are
naked; many naked women, seen foreshortened from behind; apples
and silver dishes; portrait of Councillor So and So; sunset; lady
in red; flying duck; portrait of Lady X; flying geese; lady in
white; calves in shadow flecked with brilliant yellow sunlight;
portrait of Prince Y; lady in green. All this is carefully
printed in a book--name of artist--name of picture. People with
these books in their hands go from wall to wall, turning over
pages, reading the names. Then they go away, neither richer nor
poorer than when they came, and are absorbed at once in their
business, which has nothing to do with art. Why did they come? In
each picture is a whole lifetime imprisoned, a whole lifetime of
fears, doubts, hopes, and joys.
Whither is this lifetime tending? What is the message of the
competent artist? "To send light into the darkness of men's
hearts--such is the duty of the artist," said Schumann. "An
artist is a man who can draw and paint everything," said Tolstoi.
Of these two definitions of the artist's activity we must choose
the second, if we think of the exhibition just described. On one
canvas is a huddle of objects painted with varying degrees of
skill, virtuosity and vigour, harshly or smoothly. To harmonize
the whole is the task of art. With cold eyes and indifferent mind
the spectators regard the work. Connoisseurs admire the "skill"
(as one admires a tightrope walker), enjoy the "quality of
painting" (as one enjoys a pasty). But hungry souls go hungry
away.
The vulgar herd stroll through the rooms and pronounce the
pictures "nice" or "splendid." Those who could speak have said
nothing, those who could hear have heard nothing. This condition
of art is called "art for art's sake." This neglect of inner
meanings, which is the life of colours, this vain squandering of
artistic power is called "art for art's sake."
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