DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0054
38
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
was deep blue sky, which heightened the effect wonderfully.
It was a study for Etty. She looked like a wonderful bird
with a strange, brilliant orange breast.
Having crossed this same little wooden bridge, we come
to a quaint little baker’s shop, in which, half filling it and
surrounded with heaps of pretty-looking bread, and in an
atmosphere oppressive with aniseed, sits a very fat old
woman, from whom we buy a pennyworth of bread,—
enough and to spare for our drawing, and for ourselves.
And so, crossing another bridge, a stone-mason’s yard,
and another busy mill, we reach the gate close to the house
where live the people who look after the studio. Here
we are already recognised by the old dog as belonging to the
place. If we are early we ascend the steps and ask for the
keys of the studio, or perhaps a little brown-eyed girl, with
her hair in a net, runs to meet us with them.
Two minutes more, and we unlock the heavy door and
stand in our art-temple. The high priest as yet is not
there, and we have a quiet, earnest studying of his pictures,
endeavouring through them to discover how he looks at
nature—endeavouring to see only the beautiful, the strong
and tender. This union of the strong and the tender
seems to me the great characteristic of his mind. But is
not that the great and difficult union which we are all
striving after, whether in life or in art ? Is it not that
glorious union, in its perfection, which we adore in Christ ?
Is it not this in our noblest poets—in the In Memoricim,
for instance, which so touches and ennobles us ?
******
We drew last week, as a refreshment when weary with
harder work, a lovely branch of white lily, and became so
enamoured of our work that we determined to make another
study of plants. We resolved to make a drawing of
the most beautiful flowers growing in the beloved wilder-
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
was deep blue sky, which heightened the effect wonderfully.
It was a study for Etty. She looked like a wonderful bird
with a strange, brilliant orange breast.
Having crossed this same little wooden bridge, we come
to a quaint little baker’s shop, in which, half filling it and
surrounded with heaps of pretty-looking bread, and in an
atmosphere oppressive with aniseed, sits a very fat old
woman, from whom we buy a pennyworth of bread,—
enough and to spare for our drawing, and for ourselves.
And so, crossing another bridge, a stone-mason’s yard,
and another busy mill, we reach the gate close to the house
where live the people who look after the studio. Here
we are already recognised by the old dog as belonging to the
place. If we are early we ascend the steps and ask for the
keys of the studio, or perhaps a little brown-eyed girl, with
her hair in a net, runs to meet us with them.
Two minutes more, and we unlock the heavy door and
stand in our art-temple. The high priest as yet is not
there, and we have a quiet, earnest studying of his pictures,
endeavouring through them to discover how he looks at
nature—endeavouring to see only the beautiful, the strong
and tender. This union of the strong and the tender
seems to me the great characteristic of his mind. But is
not that the great and difficult union which we are all
striving after, whether in life or in art ? Is it not that
glorious union, in its perfection, which we adore in Christ ?
Is it not this in our noblest poets—in the In Memoricim,
for instance, which so touches and ennobles us ?
******
We drew last week, as a refreshment when weary with
harder work, a lovely branch of white lily, and became so
enamoured of our work that we determined to make another
study of plants. We resolved to make a drawing of
the most beautiful flowers growing in the beloved wilder-