Studio: international art — 37.1906

Page: 203
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Alexander Roche, R.S.A.

this without hesitation ; there was a certain absolute
knowledge and botanical triumph on which the
older flower-painters, having regard, of course, to
beauty, claimed recognition. They were trying,
more or less, to paint actual flowers, to create
with carefully numbered petals an exact imita-
tion. The modern desires the imitation of
the appearance of flowers, he does not number
the petals, but dissolves them in tone, losing
them willingly to a shadow there, hinting at their
character here, as they emerge into the light. The
effect of atmosphere on the flower presents as large
a part of the problem of their flower-painting as the

flower itself. The lighting of their subject is
studied with the elaborateness of a stage manager
lighting a play. This is the great difference
between the old style and the new: the old was
concerned with the thing itself, the modern with its
appearance. We know how clearly separated are
the two. The latter becomes the vehicle of emo-
tion, where the former was contented with the
statement of a fact. This is why, in whatever else
modern painting has failed, this remains to us—in
an age perhaps of little things — that we have
painted flowers as if they were our companions.
We have painted them, not only with a regard for
the character of their growth, but also
with a reverence for the character of their
legend; and rightly the art of flower-
painting remains for the most part with
the cut flowers, which we have im-
prisoned with ourselves in the service
of our civilisation.

T. Martin Wood.


The busy hive of the great city has
ever been the cradle of art. It is a
somewhat strange fact, but so it is, that
in the seething city, not in the pure air
of the country, art is by habit born, and
has always most splendidly thriven.
Sport, which would almost seem by its
very nature to bring to birth the accents
of the lover of nature, has scarcely
produced artists even of second-rate
powers ; whilst out of the frantic tur-
moil of the crowded centres of feverish
life has arisen the maker of the master-
piece. Amsterdam, Madrid, and Venice,
London and Paris, the strenuous
heart's hubbub of the greatness and
feverish ambitions of their vital day,
these have given of their rich plenty to
the arts ; and, in like manner, it is not
to the picturesque villages or pretty
rural townships of the North to which
you shall go for the artistic achievement
of our day, but to the grimy, teeming
cities, to find, amidst their bustle, the
vigorous schools of painters flourishing
and the arts receiving encouragement.
And of all the noisy, dingy, grimy cities

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