DOI Heft:
Nr. 168 (March 1907)
DOI Artikel:Macfall, Haldane: The paintings of John D. Fergusson, R.B.A.
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.20774#0231
J. D. Fergus son, R.B.A.
“THE JAPANESE STATUETTE” BY J. D. FERGUSSON
across the canvas in whatsoever mood he catches
her. In his hands the lightest moods of nature
become a significance—he
is a rare poet.
His achievement is en-
hanced and his domain
widened by his full-blooded
joy in, and large interest in,
every passing whim that the
light of the heavens reveals
to him. Nothing is too
exquisite, nothing too ex-
uberant for the inquisition
of his interest; and he has
mastered a direct technique
and a fearlessness of colour
which give him quick facility
to interpret what he sees.
His forceful brush sweeps
on to the canvas whatso-
ever emotion the world at
the moment arouses in the
mirror of his eyes and there-
by utters into his senses,
whether it be awakened by “etaples”
BY J. D. FERGUSSON
the haunted, subtle hour of dusk, the ghostly pass-
ing of the night, or the laughing moments when sun
and breeze run riot over the land, or the thunder-
laden heavens announce their lightning-loaded
tragedies. From each place he filches its essential
spirit, its fragrance, its savour; each of the twenty-
four hours yields to him its secret. The sun-
flecked waters set his brush skipping carol-wise;
the sombre twilight gives up its huge and sombre
stateliness.
The eventual recognition of a man of artistic
faculties such as this is as certain as the sun’s
uprising. When we realise that it is a man young
in years who wields this brush, that he is only at
the beginning of a career, that it is not the mature
work of an artist at the fulness of a newly com-
pleted activity, nay, not even at the height of his
achievement, we must needs be filled with wonder.
Every artist, whether poet or sculptor, painter or
musician, must be so facile a master of his tools
that the grammar of his art (what we call the
beauty of his craftsmanship, or his style) must
have become a confirmed habit before he is free
to state the poetry that is in him. Such mastery
over his craft rarely comes to a painter early in life.
But this man is already a finished stylist. The
grammar has become a habit. The brain and
hand are concerned only with the right utterance
of the mood of nature that is before him.
I know no living painter with a more profound
feeling for the music that is in colour. The joy in
209
“THE JAPANESE STATUETTE” BY J. D. FERGUSSON
across the canvas in whatsoever mood he catches
her. In his hands the lightest moods of nature
become a significance—he
is a rare poet.
His achievement is en-
hanced and his domain
widened by his full-blooded
joy in, and large interest in,
every passing whim that the
light of the heavens reveals
to him. Nothing is too
exquisite, nothing too ex-
uberant for the inquisition
of his interest; and he has
mastered a direct technique
and a fearlessness of colour
which give him quick facility
to interpret what he sees.
His forceful brush sweeps
on to the canvas whatso-
ever emotion the world at
the moment arouses in the
mirror of his eyes and there-
by utters into his senses,
whether it be awakened by “etaples”
BY J. D. FERGUSSON
the haunted, subtle hour of dusk, the ghostly pass-
ing of the night, or the laughing moments when sun
and breeze run riot over the land, or the thunder-
laden heavens announce their lightning-loaded
tragedies. From each place he filches its essential
spirit, its fragrance, its savour; each of the twenty-
four hours yields to him its secret. The sun-
flecked waters set his brush skipping carol-wise;
the sombre twilight gives up its huge and sombre
stateliness.
The eventual recognition of a man of artistic
faculties such as this is as certain as the sun’s
uprising. When we realise that it is a man young
in years who wields this brush, that he is only at
the beginning of a career, that it is not the mature
work of an artist at the fulness of a newly com-
pleted activity, nay, not even at the height of his
achievement, we must needs be filled with wonder.
Every artist, whether poet or sculptor, painter or
musician, must be so facile a master of his tools
that the grammar of his art (what we call the
beauty of his craftsmanship, or his style) must
have become a confirmed habit before he is free
to state the poetry that is in him. Such mastery
over his craft rarely comes to a painter early in life.
But this man is already a finished stylist. The
grammar has become a habit. The brain and
hand are concerned only with the right utterance
of the mood of nature that is before him.
I know no living painter with a more profound
feeling for the music that is in colour. The joy in
209