International studio (25.1905)

GREY CRAG. BY WILLIAM T. RICHARDS

ber of artists, none perhaps displays it more directly
than Cecilia Beaux, whose portrait of Tarze
Aw&rjow in this exhibition, is a particularly charm-
ing example. Her ladies are always ladies, by no
means a too general characteristic of female por-
traits, but this has something more than attractive
femininity and obvious interest in the frivolities of
costume; it reveals a sympathy with the subject's
personality, something more than the interest of the
painter, and a woman painter at that. It is true
that one might like to have impressed upon one the
fact that the lady has a left arm, though for the
present out of commission, and may find the flesh
parts, especially in the bust, a little hard,—in which
respect it is interesting to compare this portrait
with Sargent's of fUlM CMrfM, hanging close beside
it—yet it is a gracious and alluring picture, instinct
with cleverness.
As a moment's relief from excessive modernity,
let us turn to George de Forest Brush's fAe
Gaf&w,* a portrait in oval mount of his wife, with a
little child in her arms, and an older one clinging to
her arm. It has something of the old Italian feeling;
not, however, in the way in which it is painted, for
its scheme of secondary colours owes nothing,
apparently, to glazing being most solidly painted,
but it has the quiet force that pertains to the
dignity of line and well-accepted principles of
composition. Still more it has the big seriousness

of intent, the rejection of localisms and accidentals
in favor of what is permanently good, that links it
with the great work of the past. And this without
the least affectation of external tricks of style; noth-
ing more sincere and more perennially true can be
imagined. It is an illustration of how a man, even
in this age of flux and change, and often futile
striving, can hold himself aloof from the maelstrom
and plant his feet firmly on ground that has been
proven solid by the experiences of the ages.
This faculty of self-content, in the highest aspect
of the word, is shared by Winslow Homer. We
know him for a man of solitude, conferring with
things of deep and large import; the ocean being
the instrument in which he gives expression to them.
Yetin this latest work, f/ie AfocM, he is
scarcely recognizable. The picture represents three
fishermen in a boat, setting their nets or lobster pots.
The boat itself is almost concealed by a wave in
front; it is in the trough beyond it, and immediately
beyond that rises another wave that flicks up to the
low-lying moon. It is, in fact, a most interesting
attempt to make us feel the sensation of being our-
selves in a boat, with a low and limited horizon
around us. Unfortunately, however, the illusion
has not been consummated; the wave in the fore-
ground is unrelated in value to the succeeding one, ^
so that the space between is not explained, and the
men instead of floating in the trough, rise sharply

II