November 21, 1918 
LAND 6? WATER 
17 
The Sculpture of Albert Toft: By Haldane Macfall 
THE art of Toft as sculptor baffles me ; yet to-day, 
as the war comes near to its ending, and a strange 
sense as of stepping into a new world is in the air, 
I think I begin to understand why sculpture in 
England has ever been the Cinderella of the arts. 
Toft has in some fantastic fashion helped to give the clue — 
he is typical. 
For, what do we see ? Here is a head of the old actor 
Odell, to which, for its subtle and exquisite expression of 
the serenity of old age, words cannot do justice. The planes 
of the forms run in a rhythm that rouses a lyrical sense of 
the mystery of life fulfiiled — of life nearing the hour when 
it slips like a whisper of a sigh into the unknown. 
The flesh , thin over 
the bone, has lost 
its earthly vigour 
and takes on the 
ethereal habit that 
is the fragile cloak 
of him who has 
lived his years and 
but awaits the call 
to the mystic pil- 
grimage tlirough 
the void. The 
eyes, inward gaz- 
ing, have ceased 
to trouble over 
the eager pursuits 
of the young blood 
and the vigorous 
endeavour oi man- 
hood — they gaze 
into the dream. 
And the rarified 
essenceoftheman, 
thus rhj'thmically 
uttered by the 
subtle impression- 
ism of the skilful 
hands that 
wrought thisthing, 
is consistently sug- 
gested throughout 
the whole design, 
to the very beard 
— the impression- 
ism envelops it, 
bathes it in light 
and revelation. 
The resulting dig- 
nity of it all is 
exquisite. One 
realises that to 
this old poet the 
eager struggle for 
ribbons and de- 
corations and 
wealth is a fantas- 
tic farce bawled 
into deaf ears. 
Hard by we come upon a figure as uninspired as this thing 
is inspired — one sees the same skilful hand at work on the 
conventional thing, giving forth no music — but fulfilling a 
task that it has set itself. Set itself — why ? 
Sculpture amongst us has cut itself aloof from the life of 
the people and the spirit of the age so long that it has become 
a studio habit. The sculptor is in some way expected to be 
a great sculptor in the measure in which he'sets up a studio 
piece unrelated to life, modelled and wrought in precision 
with some academic teaching of rivalry with works of art of 
the past. But any art that mimics the dead is born dead. 
The mere aim of producing chunks of decoration which 
bear no relation to the homes of the people — this ideal of 
turning out figures or groups for the museum atmosphere of 
an exhibition — is further vitiated by the collectors and pro- 
fessors who write on art or are made keepers of national 
collections. It is all dealing in antiques — or modern repro- 
ductions. 
But a new age is bugling across the face of the earth — and 
the first necessity of this new world is a living education — ' 
and the first need of that education is the encouragement of 
the arts if the peoples are to rise to a higher destiny. And 
THE PDDDLER 
On view at the Leicester Galleries, Leicester Square, W 
in the revolution of the world-policy which is before us, the 
manufacturers should lose no time in harnessing their wagons 
to the arts. Design has never been more urgently needed 
than to-day. And it is exactly b\- bringing the skill of 
sculptors like Toft to the ennobling of the furnishments and 
accessories of the home — and by that alone — that the manu- 
facturers can rid their workmanship of the vile forms whereby 
the factories debauch public taste. If, say, the potteries 
and the metal-foundries attached a sculptor to their works 
so that the candlesticks, electric standards, and the hundred 
and one needs of the home were to take on the decorative 
significance and inspiring forms which the sculptor alone 
can give them, which, indeed, without the sculptor are bound 
to be the barren 
and hideous pro- 
du6t of the com- 
mercial hack, the 
arts would receive 
an impetus, as the 
works of the fac- 
tories would re- 
ceive an impetus, 
such as other 
manufacturers 
know only too 
well that the 
skilled chemist 
alone can give to 
their products. 
At once the sculp- 
tor would have a 
field for hi^ genius. 
He would have the 
bracing satisfac- 
tion that goes with 
the knowledge 
that the art which 
he has created is 
being spread 
throughout the 
lives and the 
homes of the 
people instead of 
being the futile 
thing that has 
builtitself a pomp- 
ous and empty 
gratideur as "the 
limited edition " 
on a pedestal in 
a museum. Bronze 
and porcelain give 
the capacity for 
wide reproduc- 
tion. 
The hour of the 
conquest of the 
world by democ- 
racy has struck. 
The sole validity 
of art is to reveal 
life to man — art has no other value, for art is nothing but that ; 
but it is all that. When Toft, impelled by the inspiration to 
reveal the impression that serene old age has made upon him, 
put forth all his hand's skill to create that impression by the 
wizardry of sculpture, he achieved the masterpiece. When 
he says to himself in an uninspired moment that he thinks 
that a sculpture representing "Grief" ought to do well at 
an exhibition, he fails to create the masterpiece. 
To test that truth, one has only to walk into the next 
room and glance at the astounding success in giving the 
impression of grief aroused by the rude sculpture of Gaudier- 
Brzeska. Gaudier was feeling his way to the utterance, of 
the impressions of life without a thought of exhibitions or 
critics or precedents. He fell, with a Hun bullet through 
his brain, the down scarce grown upon his lip — and he 
fell little more than three short years after I found 
him, a mere youth, living in a London attic, unknown, 
and in poverty, and we bought the clay for him 
that he might utter the music that was in him. He 
fell, to fulfil one of the supreme tragedies in art in this 
hideous war — for in him died the rare thing that is called 
genius. 
