DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.51520#0025
without courage there cannot be art. We
have all heard the phrase, “I should not like
to think like that,” and whosoever feels that
he would not like to think out to its end every
thought that may happen to come into his
mind I would dissuade from art if I could.
Manet’s art is the most courageous ever seen.
One looks in vain for those subterfuges that
we find in every other painter. What he saw
he stated candidly, almost innocently, and
what he did not see he passed over. Never in
his life did he stop to worry over a piece of
drawing that did not interest him because it
was possible that somebody might notice the
omission. It was part of his genius to omit
what did not interest him. I remember a
young man whom Manet thought well of—
a frequent visitor to the studio—and one
day he brought his sister with him—not an
ill-looking girl, no better and no worse than
another, a little commonplace, that was all.
Manet was affable, and charming; he showed
his pictures, he talked volubly, but next day
when the young man arrived and asked Manet
what he thought of his sister, Manet said,
extending his arm (the gesture was habitual to
him) : “ The last girl in the world I should
have thought was your sister.” The young
man protested, saying Manet had seen his
sister dressed to her disadvantage—she was
wearing a thick woollen dress, for there was
snow on the ground. Manet shook his head.
“ I have not to look twice ; I am in the habit
i 5
have all heard the phrase, “I should not like
to think like that,” and whosoever feels that
he would not like to think out to its end every
thought that may happen to come into his
mind I would dissuade from art if I could.
Manet’s art is the most courageous ever seen.
One looks in vain for those subterfuges that
we find in every other painter. What he saw
he stated candidly, almost innocently, and
what he did not see he passed over. Never in
his life did he stop to worry over a piece of
drawing that did not interest him because it
was possible that somebody might notice the
omission. It was part of his genius to omit
what did not interest him. I remember a
young man whom Manet thought well of—
a frequent visitor to the studio—and one
day he brought his sister with him—not an
ill-looking girl, no better and no worse than
another, a little commonplace, that was all.
Manet was affable, and charming; he showed
his pictures, he talked volubly, but next day
when the young man arrived and asked Manet
what he thought of his sister, Manet said,
extending his arm (the gesture was habitual to
him) : “ The last girl in the world I should
have thought was your sister.” The young
man protested, saying Manet had seen his
sister dressed to her disadvantage—she was
wearing a thick woollen dress, for there was
snow on the ground. Manet shook his head.
“ I have not to look twice ; I am in the habit
i 5