Studio: international art (52.1911)

Mrs. Sydney Bristowe

water-colours, as in the other rooms, done with drawing of the hair to the splash of violets that

a freedom, a spontaneity, an air of mastery rare listening, laughing mother wears.

indeed in an amateur, for Mrs. Bristowe, like "Where did you study?" I asked. "Who was

Brabazon, belongs to that dwindling class of gifted your master ? How did you dare to brave the

amateurs who paint because they love it, who frowns of the pedants, and to use water-colour, not

snatch glorious moments from a crowded life to according to the narrow limitations they impose,

express themselves with no other motive than the but as a vehicle of your own free will."

joy of self-expression. On the wall in front of me " I had six lessons from Claude Hayes," she

was a water-colour, six feet high I should think, of answered.

Mother and Daughter in sunshine, the flowers in " Claude Hayes," I echoed. " He must be proud
the lap of the girl just brightly indicated yet all- and a little astonished at his pupil. Tell me, what
sufficient, the textures and play of light and shade brushes do you use for those bold, broad sweeps,
on the dresses suggested with bold sweeps, no, and where do you find paper big enough ? "
not of a brush, the method baffled me, but done— " Sable brushes are too small so I make free use
achieved. On the facing wall over the fireplace of the sponge, very free use, and I often have to
was a smaller water-colour, Myself and Son, equally join three pieces of Whatman together. It's sad
accomplished and spontaneous, from the sensitive because the join sometimes shows."

" That doesn't matter," I said.
"What matters is that you never
fatigue your Whatman. You stay
your hand while the impression is
still frank and joyous."

"Most of them were painted in
the country at Weybridge or Book-
ham."

We wandered over the house, and
in every room I found something
personal and attractive. Here a
sketch, ten inches high, of The Village
Nurse* done in Scotland, one of the
artist's earliest attempts, direct, ner-
vously tense, as if half a lifetime of
work were behind it; there a tour de
force called The Grey Veil that was
one of the outstanding works at the
Woman's International Exhibition;
in the inner hall a group of three
figures, Mother and Two Children,
an upright, an amazingly clever and
spirited composition; in the billiard-
room, The Critics, which for searching
of textures, the arrested moment, and
air of elegance seemed to me to
reach high-water mark.
"What next?" I asked.
" I'm experimenting in oils. But
you must wait. I have so little time
for painting."

I wait in confidence. To few is
it given to do things instinctively,
and to stride to fulfilment by the
hidden ways of native talent.

C. Lewis Hind.
MRS. Sydney bristowe * Reproduced, on the nsxi$uge.

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