Studio: international art — 63.1914/​15

Page: 35
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Sketching in Morocco

SKETCHING IN MOROCCO : A between the mountains are hung in rosy veils.

LETTER FROM MISS HILDA ^e s^ on tne horizon's edge melts upwards into

j^j^. a lemon blue—then on to warmer blue in the

hollow of the " inverted bowl," and down again in

[Miss Hilda Rix is a young Australian artist who a powder-blue mist to the sea. Above the sea in

like many other artists reared under the Southern the sky opposite the sunset is a great hand of pink

Cross has come to Europe to perfect her art. clouds stretching forth and reflecting the happy glow.

Some examples of her work have already appeared Below me, beyond the big garden of this hotel,

in the pages of this magazine, and our readers will with its huge palms, bamboos, roses and mimosa

be interested to see the more recent examples we all abloom, there is a ceaseless passing up and

now give and to read the account of her experiences down of my beloved fairy-tale people. To-day

during a visit to Morocco, of which she has brought there has been a European fete, and a mad rollicking

back many interesting impressions in coloured car full of carnival revellers has hurried up the

chalks. Miss Rix had arranged to hold an exhibi- hill below me, laughing and scattering before it to

tion of her work at the Ryder Gallery in St. James's all sides donkeys, Arab men and women.

Street, London, this October, and the exhibition A party of Arab women have just mounted the

was to have included the drawings executed by hill bearing enormous loads of faggots on their

her in Morocco as well as a series done more backs; they look like huge snails bent forward to

recently in France, but just before going to press their toil, but nearly all are cheerful and many

we learned that there was some doubt about the pretty, beneath dirt and charcoal-dust. Their

exhibition being held at the appointed time.] tired donkeys, also heavily laden, trail slowly behind

them. Beyond and below in the twilight of the

Dear Mr. Editor, Moorish cemetery quiet forms are hovering over

I've come right up on to the roof of the hotel the graves, tending them noiselessly,
to write to you. It seems
like a strange dream to be
in Morocco again. I am
high up near the sky and

at all this crowded town jf~

backs, or the backs of their Jf . V\kkBBb

weary little donkeys. And ^ ^ ^*6||^|^^^^

left, leaving the sky a ^

pinky gold—and the dips "an arab boy." fkom a drawing in coloured chalks by e. hilda rix

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