DOI issue:
Nr. 231 (May 1916)
DOI article:Springtime at the academy
DOI Page / Citation link: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.43461#0302
Springtime at the Academy
DUXBURY ONE HUNDRED
BY CHARLES BITTINGER, A.N.A.
In the light of recent exposures in print an
art writer must realise that he is taking desperate
chances when he presumes to raise his voice in
the disclaim of what he deems weak or actually
bad. It is certainly not the office of the critic to
run amock amongst the pictures, stabbing in all
directions for the sheer joy of being vitriolic,
neither should be content himself with the “safety
first” attitude which only permits him to eulogize
the prize winners (which may or may not justify
his euphemisms) and a few obviously good exam-
ples upon which superlatives may be showered
without special anxiety. It should be borne in
mind that his opinions are merely individual and
innocuous, they cannot possibly be a criterion for
thepublicoranypartof thepublic. Posterity alone
attends to reputations. The most that he can
achieve and where he can render service is in
animating people to do some thinking for them-
selves, and to call their attention at times to
things which they might otherwise have over-
looked or considered negligently. If he throws
bricks and his bricks be built of straw, they can
do no damage except to the launcher. Would
that immortal personage who disliked Dr. Fell
have incurred any odium had he formulated his
reasons? Let the art writer preserve the aurea
mediocritas and continue to call attention, his
critiques neither make nor mar the real artist.
After which digression let us plunge in medias
res, the Vanderbilt Gallery. A place of honour
was bestowed deservedly upon Emil Carlsen for
his majestic, if somewhat monotonous, moonlight
seascape, with movement and mystery of cloud
brilliantly recorded. If any objection be found
it might be said that the ocean is in inverse ratio
to the spacious sky and appears more like a pond.
An altered scale would have remedied that de-
fect. Nearby we pause in wonder at the work of
his son, Dines, whose Dutch jugs bespeak in tech-
nique, handling of lights and surfaces, that su-
preme knowledge which comes late in life to some
artists and not at all to others. What special
inspiration can it be that enables a mere lad of
LXXXVIII
DUXBURY ONE HUNDRED
BY CHARLES BITTINGER, A.N.A.
In the light of recent exposures in print an
art writer must realise that he is taking desperate
chances when he presumes to raise his voice in
the disclaim of what he deems weak or actually
bad. It is certainly not the office of the critic to
run amock amongst the pictures, stabbing in all
directions for the sheer joy of being vitriolic,
neither should be content himself with the “safety
first” attitude which only permits him to eulogize
the prize winners (which may or may not justify
his euphemisms) and a few obviously good exam-
ples upon which superlatives may be showered
without special anxiety. It should be borne in
mind that his opinions are merely individual and
innocuous, they cannot possibly be a criterion for
thepublicoranypartof thepublic. Posterity alone
attends to reputations. The most that he can
achieve and where he can render service is in
animating people to do some thinking for them-
selves, and to call their attention at times to
things which they might otherwise have over-
looked or considered negligently. If he throws
bricks and his bricks be built of straw, they can
do no damage except to the launcher. Would
that immortal personage who disliked Dr. Fell
have incurred any odium had he formulated his
reasons? Let the art writer preserve the aurea
mediocritas and continue to call attention, his
critiques neither make nor mar the real artist.
After which digression let us plunge in medias
res, the Vanderbilt Gallery. A place of honour
was bestowed deservedly upon Emil Carlsen for
his majestic, if somewhat monotonous, moonlight
seascape, with movement and mystery of cloud
brilliantly recorded. If any objection be found
it might be said that the ocean is in inverse ratio
to the spacious sky and appears more like a pond.
An altered scale would have remedied that de-
fect. Nearby we pause in wonder at the work of
his son, Dines, whose Dutch jugs bespeak in tech-
nique, handling of lights and surfaces, that su-
preme knowledge which comes late in life to some
artists and not at all to others. What special
inspiration can it be that enables a mere lad of
LXXXVIII