Camera Work: A Photographic Quarterly (1904 (Heft 5))

THROUGH GATES OF HORN.
¶AND, LO, I dreamed a dream. And among those present were a prim-
ordial protoplasmic cell, and an amoeba, and a pterodactyl, and a primitive
man, and an untutored savage, and a thoughtful citizen, and an art critic.
¶ And, behold, there spake a voice in my dream. And it said, “ What is
Art?”
¶ And the primordial protoplasmic cell answered, “Art is life." And
they all smiled.
¶ And the amoeba answered, “Art is motion." And they all smiled but
the cell. And the cell said, “What is motion?”
¶ And the pterodactyl answered, “Art is strength." And the cell and
the amoeba looked puzzled. But the rest smiled.
¶ And the primitive man answered, “Art is cunning." And, behold, I
looked, and the primordial protoplasmic cell and the amoeba had gone to
sleep. Aud the pterodactyl sneered. But the rest smiled.
¶ And the untutored savage answered, “Art is the consciousness of
mystery."
¶ And the thoughtful citizen answered, “Art is the interpretation of the
ideal."
¶ And the art critic, whose patience was nearly exhausted, answered,
“What shall I say? How convey to the vulgus that it is not in the nuances
of the plastic that virtuosity inheres? That neither the quality of surface
nor the tenderness of texture is all there is of symbolism? Nay, that the
mysticism of tonal juxtaposition, the alternating allegro and andante of
unchromatic color, the very contrasting masses of motif and technique them-
selves, neither singly nor in their sum, compose even the half-tone of feeling?
The mere statement is rococo. And yet, alas, the renaissance of chiaroscuro
is here the basic medium of the obvious. Can I hope, in fine, by posing an
esoteric impressionism against the background of this Philistine atmosphere,
to give perspective to my conception of the sensuous manifestation of that
synthesis of the ego and the non-ego which alone is Art?”
¶ And I awoke. And behold, I had dreamed a blasphemy!
J. B. Kerfoot.

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