International studio (81.1925)

inceRHAoonAL

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interest, or at least a freedom from misleading
clues and false scents. So I discarded not only the
adjective which troubled him, but the noun as
well, and set out for adventure. The usual mas-
culine approach to a department store, or at least
to those parts of one which are not set apart for
strictly male attire, is one of trepidation. One
feels that at any moment any of the women who
go about with an air of general determination may
demand of him if "this wouldn't make a stunning
negligee for Edith." A man feels upon his back
the disapproving stares of a thousand women
whose domain he has invaded. Particularly if he
has been sent to some ten or fifteen story building,
covering a block of two, to match a piece of
quarter-inch ribbon, does he envy the woman who
can buy a spool of thread or a kolinsky coat with
equal assurance. One of his troubles is that he
cannot get over the habit of going, if he goes at
all, for a definite thing and closing his eyes to
everything else.

But I have made a discovery. The man who
visits a museum or an art gallery because he
enjoys doing it will, if he visits a great department
store in the same spirit, find the exhibition quite
as interesting as many of those in the galleries.

In the first place the term "art," of which
indiscriminate use is annoying, is not laid over
everything like a well-intentioned veil. Nor does
the fact that most of the things on display have a
strictly utilitarian value which even the masculine
mind can comprehend detract from the real beauty
which some of them possess. There is, of course, a
lack of synthetic rhythmecism, but that, too, is a
help.

Perhaps it was because I had just seen an
exhibition of paintings by a famous Spanish
painter that I was most interested in some
Spanish shawls displayed at Altman's. Between
the shawls in paint and these actual fabrics there
could be no choice. These, the Mudcjar version of
ancient'Chinese embroideries, told a much more
vivid tale of Spain and her people than the series
of illustrations in the Spanish manner by Zuloaga.

The comparison between the store and the
gallery naturally led to Macy's, where space has
been set apart for the exhibition and sale of paint-
ings. The gallery has begun modestly, in a small
space, with few pictures, and these by several of
the younger American painters. The prices are
low and, and this is a curiosity, marked in odd cents.
If there are no masterpieces among the paintings,
there are also none that will offend good taste.
But paintings were not the only thing at Macy's
to attract the eye of the explorer. Next to the
little gallery was a table on which old maps—

Dutch and Spanish, chiefly—were shown. Many
of them were colored, and all were finely engraved
and decorated. Some were folio size, others
double that; they had been taken from old books;
the paper was heavy and hand-made; they were
shown as "merchandise," but they did not suffer
by comparison with the "art" m the next room.

Many Philadelphians believe that the exact
centre of the universe is to be found in John
Wanamaker's store. Whether this be true or not
it is certain that a large part of the universe has
been packed into his New York establishment.
One could as well do the Louvre in a day as to
describe Wanamaker's in a paragraph. But the
fourth floor, where the old furniture of the world
is gathered together, while it may not be cata-
logued may be suggested. AH the usual types
of fine antiques—French, Spanish, English and
American—are there, but beside these Wana-
maker always contrives to place pieces of rare
beauty.

There is one "gallery" in New York which,
both for size and for variety of exhibitions, is
unique. Some of the finest paintings in the world
are shown there; rare furniture, rugs and tapes-
tries; Persia, India, China and Japan send to it
their richest treasures. There are books, textiles,
costumes, automobiles. It extends from Madison
Square north to Fifty-ninth Street and is called
Fifth Avenue. Even the "art detective" must
lose some of his gloom here. For again the things
which are labeled art are few, and among them he
may find an occasional work worthy of the adjec-
tive "great." And along the way there will be
many things in which he will delight.

Fifth Avenue is one of the few institutions in
which the New Yorker has an active pride. He
has a comfortable feeling about the Metropolitan
Museum; the Opera is part of a background he is
glad to be seen against; although Wall Street is as
much a mystery to him as to the man in Grand
Forks he finds it a handy club for country
cousins. But "The Avenue" is something else
again. He is proud of its glitter; of its air of cost-
liness; of its outward reserve; of the fact that
behind those gleaming windows are thousands of
persons waiting to give him service. The question,
" It's pretty, but is it art?" is a matter for Kipling
and the Devil to decide. But the Avenue has one
attraction which many of the other galleries lack;
it is so evident that a foreign visitor whose first
comment on America failed to include it would
probably be shipped back by the next boat. It is
an attraction which, though often a product of
art, defies it. "And that's," wrote Browning,
"your Venus, whence we turn to yonder girl. . . ."

seventy-t wo

APRIL 1925