LOOKING AT PICTURES 



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not all pictures are pictures of incident 

 and action. 



We sometimes make the mistake of as- 

 suming that the one purpose of a picture 

 is to imitate the appearance of people 

 and things — to show just "how they look." 

 This is indeed frankl}^ the chief purpose 

 of many pictures to which we are es- 

 pecially attached — ordinary photographic 

 portraits of our friends, ordinary photo- 

 graphic representations of houses where 

 we have lived or of other places with which 

 we have intimate, personal associations. 

 ■ In such cases the picture is usually simply 

 a substitute for the actual person or for 

 the actual place. We think of it as such, 

 and do not question whether the picture, 

 as a picture, is a thing of beauty or not. 

 Art does not, strictly speaking, enter into 

 the question at all. 



But in the fine art produced by a man 

 of real genius the picture's imitation of 

 the appearance of certain particular things 

 is only a part of its purpose. The best 

 pictures are a great deal more, in addition 

 to being reminders of how real things look. 

 J ust what is this "more" ? 



Let us consider. What is it that pleases 

 us so much in the old song, "Annie 

 Laurie"? It is, of course, not at all the 

 bare fact that the author of the familiar 

 words was fond of a nice girl over at the 

 other side of the Atlantic a great many 

 years ago. We never think of that particu- 

 lar Scotchman nor of the particular 

 Scotch woman to whom he was devoted. 

 What we do care for is the feeling of 

 loyalty, the sweetness of the sound of the 

 simple verses, and, above all, for the 

 haunting loveliness of the melody that is 

 wedded to the verses. It is just the ever- 

 lasting beauty of that old song which 

 gives it such a warm place in our hearts. 



Kow what is true of the arts of poetry 

 and music is true of the arts of drawing 

 and painting as well. The pictures that 

 take high rank as fine art are almost in- 

 variably beautiful in themselves, over and 

 above our interest in what they represent. 

 Just as poetry and music give keen de- 



light to the ear that knows how to Lear, 

 so lines and shapes and tones and color 

 can give keen delight to the eye that 

 knows how to see. The true artist sees 

 beauty which the rest of us pass by blindly. 

 It is his gift and privilege to show us his 

 complete way of seeing things. 



Let us look at one more picture. Le- 

 rolle is a French artist of today who always 

 sees beauty and knows how to put it into 

 everything he does. He seldom or never 

 cares to tell us any dramatic story. What 

 he does is to make us see with him the 

 loveliness that is in the lines and shapes 

 and colors of things, and in the infinite 

 variations of light and darkness. 



"In the Country" (sometimes called 

 "The Shepherdess") shows the sort of 

 thing for which he cares most. Its theme 

 is the simplest thing in the world: a bit 

 of pasture at the edge of a wood ; a broad 

 field open to the light and air; then low 

 hills stretching away in the hazy distance. 

 Why did the artist think it worth while 

 to put these everyday things into a pic- 

 ture? And why has the French govern- 

 ment thought it worth while to buy the 

 picture for the Luxembourg Gallery in 

 Paris ? 



For one thing, those dark tree trunks 

 pushing up out of the soil in response to 

 the call of air and sun, and growing up, 

 up, up, toward the over-arching sky, 

 seemed very beautiful to look at against 

 the hazy light beyond. See; they are not 

 simply so many broad, black lines; they 

 vary in the depth of their color; they are 

 darker and lighter and darker again just 

 as a sound is louder and fainter and 

 louder again. They are grouped in an 

 interesting way. If the trunks had been 

 represented all in one bunch so that they 

 could not be distinguished from one an- 

 other, they would be much less pleasant 

 to look at than they are now, where we 

 get little intervening lighter spaces of field 

 and sky to set them off by contrast. And 

 the irregularity of their grouping is pleas- 

 ant, too. If tley had been drawn at equal 

 distances from one another they would 



