GEORGE FREDERICK WATTS, R.A. (1817-1904).
THE CREATION OF EVE. (Collection of Sir Edmund Davis)
are made) there is nothing to be said against free copies of Old Masters, but doing transformations entirely in our own way only leads to absurd parody. Copying nature without a knowledge of the art leads to the incompetent style—a style which makes a system of error, so that blemishes are mistaken for beauties, and the negative aspects of a picture are confused and finally substituted for positive achievements. In some instances this may be merely a mistake of criticism and not of taste; a student may feel a picture is good but make a wrong diagnosis of its merits.
The difficulties of the argument, tradition versus originality, turn on the meaning of the word origi
nal. “An Original may be said to be of a vegetable nature; it rises spontaneously from the vital root of genius; it grows, it is not made. Imitations are often a sort of manufacture.” I quote that from the most formidable critic of tradition—Edward Young.
sent century of the “common man”, Young’s voice would have been inaudible in a chorus of approval. For what can genius do when everyone claims genius and everyone is untaught! He would have been sub
merged by that mass suburban mind which stretches, one vast unrippled shallow, from Cork Street to Montparnasse, confusing taste with fashion and aspiring to be conventionally original; that is, to enjoy the cowardly comfort of the herd with the pride of the chosen few.
Had I been born in 1756,1 have no doubt I would have agreed with Young. “An original,” he says, “has the ambition of no less than Caesar, who would rather be first in a village than second at Rome.” It is the argument of a provincial, not a suburban, mind. A sound argument, but one notices that Young steals his epigrams. He could attack or use tradition because he was aware of it and understood it, and if he were living to-day I believe he would still be in the minority—but on the other side.
The common man is not very concerned with this argument and never has been, but I believe Young would have preferred that tradition which is the common sense of mankind to a Gallup Poll of contemporary opinion among intellectuals.
In conclusion I will quote an art critic with whom I am not always in agreement. Speaking of painting since the middle of the nineteenth century, he writes:—
“The greatest art of the period has been the art of revolt, and it bears the trace of its origins in its extravagant individualism, its feverish and quickly exhausted energy, its waste of power in fruitless experiment, and its small actual accomplishment. We have tried, in fact every alternative; denied, in turn, every principle that governed the art of
THE CREATION OF EVE. (Collection of Sir Edmund Davis)
are made) there is nothing to be said against free copies of Old Masters, but doing transformations entirely in our own way only leads to absurd parody. Copying nature without a knowledge of the art leads to the incompetent style—a style which makes a system of error, so that blemishes are mistaken for beauties, and the negative aspects of a picture are confused and finally substituted for positive achievements. In some instances this may be merely a mistake of criticism and not of taste; a student may feel a picture is good but make a wrong diagnosis of its merits.
The difficulties of the argument, tradition versus originality, turn on the meaning of the word origi
nal. “An Original may be said to be of a vegetable nature; it rises spontaneously from the vital root of genius; it grows, it is not made. Imitations are often a sort of manufacture.” I quote that from the most formidable critic of tradition—Edward Young.
Born in 1756 when the Romantics were fighting for recognition against the pedantry of classical scholars, Young defended the original school which we now so often see decadent and unconsciously parodied. Then, they were a handful of innovators. In the pre
sent century of the “common man”, Young’s voice would have been inaudible in a chorus of approval. For what can genius do when everyone claims genius and everyone is untaught! He would have been sub
merged by that mass suburban mind which stretches, one vast unrippled shallow, from Cork Street to Montparnasse, confusing taste with fashion and aspiring to be conventionally original; that is, to enjoy the cowardly comfort of the herd with the pride of the chosen few.
Had I been born in 1756,1 have no doubt I would have agreed with Young. “An original,” he says, “has the ambition of no less than Caesar, who would rather be first in a village than second at Rome.” It is the argument of a provincial, not a suburban, mind. A sound argument, but one notices that Young steals his epigrams. He could attack or use tradition because he was aware of it and understood it, and if he were living to-day I believe he would still be in the minority—but on the other side.
The common man is not very concerned with this argument and never has been, but I believe Young would have preferred that tradition which is the common sense of mankind to a Gallup Poll of contemporary opinion among intellectuals.
In conclusion I will quote an art critic with whom I am not always in agreement. Speaking of painting since the middle of the nineteenth century, he writes:—
“The greatest art of the period has been the art of revolt, and it bears the trace of its origins in its extravagant individualism, its feverish and quickly exhausted energy, its waste of power in fruitless experiment, and its small actual accomplishment. We have tried, in fact every alternative; denied, in turn, every principle that governed the art of