San Antonio Express. (San Antonio, Tex.), Vol. 48, No. 103, Ed. 1 Sunday, April 13, 1913 Page: 33 of 76
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StfN ANTONIO EXPRESS: SUNDAY MORNING, APRIL 13, 1013,
I
The American Studies "Sublime Klementalism" in
the Presence of No Less Lofty a Post-impres-
sionist Than Picasso, Follower of Matisse,
Forerunner of Heaven Alone Knows
What in Field of' 'Advanced Art."
(By Kale Carew.)
Paris, March 29.
COME a little nearer and look very Intelligent and soulful, dear oiies,
lor we are going to talk soinewiiat of the return to "Sublime l-,le-
inentalism."
Rolls out rather well, doesn't It?
By this time you are busy discussing It among yourselves, Anyhow, 1
imagine, and you're having heated arguments as to whether It is really the
"heart of painting" or an "insult to the intelligence," because, of course,
They are in your midst now, or, rather, They have sent over expressions of
Themselves for you to see and judge en masse.
Still, in case you don't follow me, I'll tell you at once what I mean by
It and They.
It is Post-impressionism and They are the Post-Impressionists!
In Paris we are saturated with it!
Vulgarly speaking, we lap It up everywhere. We talk of it in the sa-
lons, we laugh at it oil the boulevards and we quarrel over it in the cafes.
Yes, it's everywhere; in everything.
It's insidious. It's stealthy!
It is influencing ideas, clothes, literature and house decoration. If it
continues we'll all be talking in words of one syllable, and goodness knows
what we will look like. Certainly, brand new ideals of beauty will come
Into vogue.
It has wakened the "Boule Miche" to a conversational era, like to that
historic time when Verlaine and his followers used to hold frequenters of
the cafes spellbound with their wild Ideas arid wilder talk of them.
Now it is eager-eyed young men who have their favorite tables, and
who hold forth for and against the New Movement In Art.
They are awfully emphatic, awfully tn
earnest and crazy to flint out words,
words, words!
In fact, I don't aee how tliay have time
for anything else In the way of painting
or writing, for they're so busy chatting
and orattnf.
I've studied the Post-Impressionists, the
Cubists and the Futurists. I've been as
painstaking as an eager child In groping
for point of view, but I'm still In the
(»rk. I can't get Into the spirit of It.
Maybe I'm old-fashioned, behind the
times and all that, but there It Is. You
know the worst.
And yet I am not quite so hopelessly
ineue about It all as 1 was, for I've met
t Post-Impressionist, one of the leading
Sties, and from a casual study of him I
bave advanced a step or two—In knowl-
edge.
PAINTING SOUL'OF TANGIER.
I yearned to encounter Matisse, but
that was out of the question, for he has
left Paris and Is down lu Tangier, paint-
ing the soul of it tn red and yellow, I
expect.
The next was Picasso.
Picasso, who paints In cubes from
choice, who sees souls In rubes, who
used to picture normal men and women
and then suddenly took to the cubic sys-
tem as a means of expression.
Picasso, the follower of Matisse, the
forerunner of hoaven only knows what
In art.
Picasso could be seen, said those who
knew him, but it was difficult He was
»hy, retiring and mute, especially on the
»ubjcct of his pictures. "Don't" they
added, "don't speak of Ills pictures,
Whatever else you say!"
"Why. what will happen T Will be sim-
ply turn and tear me limb from limb, or
will he flee my baneful presence?" I
asked, with a perfectly natural curiosity.
"Oil, no." they said In chorus, "nothing
Ilko that; but It Irritates him."
Now does that seem a natural trait?
But, of course, I crossed my heart and
swore three times that I would be on my
best nouintervlewlng bohavior. I would
have a simple chat with tho timid, ner-
vous one, and, like the walrus, I would
talk of many tilings, but never a Picasso
painting.
I'd merely study the type of man who
paints Buffalo Bill In blocks which look
like slate roofs or any old odds and ends
and puts Kubellk in lsoscles triangles or
whatever It pleases you to call them.
I'd ouly seek for the soul of him and
see whether he is spooning us, or whether
he really expects us to find something
inspiring in his picture puulc*.
POSTIMPitKSSIONIOT STUDIO.
Our meeting, so pregnant with possibili-
ties, was in a studio, a postimpresslotilst
studio, owned by an American who buys
postlmpresslonlst paintings for Bheer love
of them.
It was a great, long, low room, with
windows high up toward the celling, de-
lightful bits of shabby, old-fashioned fur-
niture, carved chest's with handmade
locks, odd little tables and qtiuint high-
backed chairs.
And the walls were given over to Pi-
casso pictures.
No, that Is an exaggeration.
There were several of Matisse's efforts
as well, and there was a Cezanne and.
really, so rapidly has the movement
hopped along, the Cezanne, a nude, mis-
shapen woman, looked quite a simple and
old-fasbioned affair among these later
works.
I got there early, and the Picasso had
not yet come, so I had a chance to satu-
rate myself again tn his style.
A Pi'iiuuf' afi'
W Mu
The "Fiery" Young Spaniard Proves Shy and Re-
tiring, but Prolific of "Ohs!" and Irritable
Only When His Pictures Are Discussed —
His Visitor Proves Lucky in Guessing
Meaning of Certain Paintings.
con.DVT MKN I.OC ATK I III: SOI I. OF l&l I I Al.O DIM,.
i uo.vi' fcjsow wiwruft ncAlto wai mucin c aus jln wiu amd •ouuuul
There were some earlier things of his
to be soen-a pretty, slender, little girl
m the altogether, bearing a small bunch
of flowers, and a woman lying on a
couch. There were one or two portraits
and some studies.
Then commenced the cubic period.
1 cannot dwell on those, for I don't
know how to describe them, but one
huge canvas fascinated me. On it were
twp enormous red figures all divided into
sections.
I should so like to know what they
meant to him, but I never shall, for I
wasn't allowed to ask Picasso, and I
don't think anybody else could explain It
at all.
"Tell me," I said to the hostess, "do
you understand them?' And I gave a
comprehensive wa\e of my hand.
"Oh, yea."
KAK.\FST, UNAVAILING PLEA.
"Then do give me the key," 1 pleaded.
"I've got an open mind. I like new
movements. I believe they all make for
progress I may he.^me a disciple of the
school If only 1 can get sn Idea what It
all means."
Hut she simply said sweetly, and with
a slight superiority, methought:
"Sly tlosr girl, one ean't explain thes»
things. You must simply find them for
yourself."
"But don't you sometimes have to ask
hltn for tho first Inkling as to what lie is
striving after In his work?" 1 pursued,
feeling so Ignorant and uncouth.
"No," she replied, "dear me, no! I al-
ways understand, of conrsc."
I was out In the cold. That was sll
there was to It, and ma with suck an
eager, Inquiring, young mind, tool
I looked at tho biggest Matisse.
It showed e°ntlemen snd Indies old
enough to know better, very lightly clad
i f'.r the time of year, or any time of year.
They appeared to be eating fruit and
t turning.
"Anything tn do with the Garden of
I den y" I Inquired, tentatively.
It had.
My first step was 1n the fight direction.
I Was getting on, snd my bend swelled
a little.
Thus encouraged, I progressed still fur-
ther. I went and squinted at some pink
and blue and yellow chrysanthemum.Ilko
splotches.
"Do you know," t said dreamily, ■'!
seem to g«t s kind at Japanese fueling
here,'' and I put my head a trifle tu th«
side and gased.
"There you are?' exclaimed my hostess
triumphantly. "That's Just It. Tliat'i
what I mean. Ot,e enn't explain these
things -on* most feel. One must not
look for details, one must get an Impres-
sion. an emotion. That Is a portrait ot
Mstisse's wife In her Japanese kimono."
It soemed to hart been an excellent
guess. 1 wss in luck.
CAUGHT THB KIMONO, A NY WAT.
Now, between ourselves, I never did
find Mme. Matisse In tilt picture, bnt I
am practically sure that I traced the
kimono, I found that aaeng the chrjsau-
themom splashy
My stock Jumped up witn alacrity after
that brilliant effort, t was treated as an
equal.
One or two others shotted Into the
studio, for it is a delightful, Informal
meeting place fur those who have Ideas,
You Just lift the l it. h and walk In ami
ycu find yourself aiming congenial if ar
gnmentatlve spirits.
If you haven't got ideas, you never dis-
cover the way there, for no one ever tells
you about It.
Well, the last time lite latch lifted It
was Picasso who entered and stood tn
the doorway blinking at us in the glare
of the electric light.
PICASSO A.Vli HIS COMRADE.
A short. Stock, boyish figure with one
hand on the besd of a huge snow-white
dog.
Amid i chorus of welcome he came tor-
ward lulo I he room, nodded smlsbly to
everyone and was presented to me, the
ouly outsider.
He looks very young. He Is 11, really,
but he does not seem anywhere near
that. He Is built like an athlete, with
his unusually broad shoulders and mas-
culine frsme, and bis hands snd feet
are a contradiction, as they are very
small snd dslicately formed. Ills hands
look older than his face, for they are
veined and knotted like the hands of the
aged; yet they are artistic, with long,
pointed fingers and sensitive finger tips.
His face is another contradiction.
it Is the face of a Spauish troubadour.
Yon Instinctively long to see him with
a sombrero and a cioal and a red rose
bitween his lips, twanging a guitar.
He has a smooth, olive skin, guiltless of
hair on cheek ^>r chin or mouth. His
features are perfect. A Grecian nose,
beaWlfully formed mouth, eves set rather
wide apart under well-arched brows, snd
thick black hair cue short except for one
took which win come straggling down
over Ids forehead.
It Isn't the faca of a fanatle or a
dreamer.
It lsn t the face of a practical business
man, who sees possible sales In sensa-
tionalism
It isn't the f;tio if n humorist who
would enjoy spoofing n guiltless nubile.
No: it Is the very handsome race of ■
simple, sincere artist, without much sense
of humor, perhaps, but with couvlctlou
and strength
How he can ever paint such ugly fig
ttrss as he does, wheu he hat only to
look lu a mirror, copy what he sees, aud
turn out somellilng wonh the trouble, I
can't understand.
Ills clothes «ere still another coutradlc
tlon I'liey were well built aud quite
American In cut- that Is. they were sort
of loose and baggy aud squsrt lu the
shoulders.
He worn s sack cost suit of a warm
brown, that goldeu blown lint the leaves
taks on In autumn, a black crnvst most
cnrefully tied, and a quite Irreproachable
collar.
Not a touch of the Bohemian here
Those clothes inlgllt have Just come from
the Stock Kxclmuge or au afternuou at
the Country Club.
I cased .from this nice, neat, llttl* man
to those conceptions of his brain snd
worts of his hands which hong all iroana
me, and 1 couldnt maki things fit at all.
A BKTRATAL OF" CONFTDfcNCK.
T consider that post-Impressionists
ought ti> live tip to their ploturei. it in
not fair that they should go around look-
ing quite normal aud natural »heo they
are trying to make us see things In ab-
normal fashion.
Oh, how I wanted to tell him all this—
and here was I on my word of honor and
my best behavior!
The dog wulked right along with his
master, and when the artist ensconced
himself In a high-back chair and tucked
Ills feat up on one of the rungs, doggie
stretched out in front and gazed up at
him In canine adoration.
Will he ever have the heart to paint
that faithful dog soul lu cubes and
squares?
I didn't find Picasso an easy man to en-
gage in conversation possibly because I
was so limited in what 1 was to be al-
lowed to say to him. I suppose I stared
rattier hard at hltn for a few seconds,
but he didn't seem to mind a bit, he just
returned the look with a direct glance
from bis bright, brown eyes,
A TRIFLING MISTAKE.
"What a lovely dog!" I gushed, for a
beginning. "What kind Is he?"
lit put me right at once.
"I don't really know what kind," he
responded, "but he' Happens to be a
female."
Just "Oh!" from Katie
Th-zn another heavy pause fell between
us, and 1 furtively gazed at the pictures
and ther at him.
Dared 1?
My dears, lie has the soul of a wizard,
that man. lie read my thoughts like an
open book and he straightened up and
frowned coldly upon me as he tossed
buck tht errant lock of hair.
Then up came the hostess lu the nick
of time, gracious and smiling
"I've seen the report of the exhibition
In New York," she Informed him
"Ah! ' murmured Picasso 111 bored ac-
cents exactly as If he hadn't anything In
the show at all. and > ou know he has.
"Yes," she continued, "but it was a
very short one, and there was no men-
tion of you."
"All!" said Picasso, and the subject
threatened to drop.
"I wonder whal America will say to the
pictures"1 I queried vivaciously, of no
one in particular.
"Oh, 1 think people will say very lit-
tle." volunteered the hostess. "They
wfon't dare. They'll be afraid of saying
the wrong thing, of criticising adversely,
lest they prove behind the times
"Ah!" said Picasso, and the conviction
reached me that he doesn't really care
a bit what wt say. ,
"I don't agree with you," I chimed In
quickly, turning to the hostess. Amer-
ica dares express opinions for herself
She Is not like England, who never dis-
covers, but walta to be told what she
must like and dislike. England was really
funny during htr first attack of post-
Impressionlsm.
'Yes," smiled the hostess "I remem-
ber that, aud 1 remember one daring soul
wanted to know why you had put a vio-
lin In the portrait of Kubellk.
Picasso smiled with evident enjoymtnt
of this Joke, and he showed two rows of
strong, even, white teeth.
■ low did you find England funny?"
he a'ked, turning Ids head toward nie
and 'King me with those steadfast eyes.
llo Is exactly like a straightforward
schoolboy when he asks a question.
WATCHTNQ THEIR NEIGHBORS.
"Oh, 1 mean the English didn't like to
commit themselves by criticism. They
walked round and round the rooms In
stolid silence, stealing furtive glances at
their neighbors to see how they were af-
fected."
"And you think Americans art differ-
ent?" pursued Picasso.
"Yee, very. I think you c»n count upon
them to give their opinions."
"Ah," said Plcaaso.
He had finished with the suhlect and
with me for the present, so he dismissed
ut snd leaned toward the licstess. ad-
drcBsl ig her In his low, deep voice:
"I didn't get any tickets for the fight
next WNk. *>t aaid. "The? wet* to*
dear. I will get some another time when
there Is a less expensive fight going on
I started In surprise. One doesn t think
of .artists regularly attending prix"-
flghts.
IIEH DESIltE EXPLAINED.
Tho hostess explained.
"I want Monsieur Picasso to take me
to a fight." she said. "I lave wished to
gee a real one ever Bincu I tnt
cinema pictures of the bi« Johnson fight.
PicttHMi- nodded solemnly,
"They were vei. pretty, th<»»e cinema
picture*,"
j looked at him .
lie nuant it, but, of course, yon must
remember the French often us.- ih, woul
pretty iri the sense that we use nice.
"They were good," agio*d tll'eJ' ,, ' •
"Oh, well, another time well suiely ar
range to go."
"Ah, yt'»." said Picasso ..
I glanced at the picture abo\e us i
was of a man, evidently an athlete o a
tighter He was clad In trunks and bad
^Md'ilki"^ have' said a word about
this In connection with fighting, but there
was tuv honor at stake; so I simply in
quire#discreetly whether the artist liked
boxing.
lie 'never dilates on any subject you
"iild you ever have any ambition to be
a professional boxer when y°u ™er0 *
small boy?" I continued as animatedly
as possible, considering the little en-
couragement I received.
He raised Ills eyebrows as If he won
deied what possible interest "jjs cijuld
have for me, but he answered In Ills i se
rlous way and In his Spanish-trench,
which is very sibilant and therefore a
little difficult for me to follow.
"Ah, no, I always wanted to be a
PHe"piit one ot those prematurely aged
little hands Into the pocket of his coat
and procured a long, slender pipe with a
small, round bowl. . ,
"May 1?" he said, giving It a graceful
wave.
"Of course." , , .,
He proceeded to fill It and light
with great deliberation.
" Did you begin to paint when you were
very young'.''" 1 pursued, ruthlessly.
"Oh, ves, and always 1 was among
painters' My father waij one, and was
connected with the Beaux-Arts in Barce-
lona, as well.'' , .
Then he took mo over and showed me
A picture. He dldn t really a«k me to go.
He got up and I followed him and he
pointed out a small palming with the
stem of his pipe and explained that he
did It when he was 1« or 17 years of age.
OP HIS EARLIER 1 ype.
Tt wbh an effective little study of
figures and was full of grace and skill,
and he stood looking at it a moment
with a sort of amused tolerance.
It belonged to a remote period In the
history of ills development.
Personally, 1 think it is a pity-but, of
course, as I said, this is not an art crltl-
I couldn't pursue tHe subject further
without straining a point of honor, so we
went back to our chairs. I sat down, but
he stood leaning over the tall back or hw
chair and puffed away at his iripe, while
the dog, taking it as a signal, rose, shook
herself, waited a moment, then settled
down on the floor again.
1 dun't know whether Picasso was see-
ing me In cubes and squares, but he was
certainly placing me as a type.
"What part of America Is your homer'
he asked suddenly.
"New York."
THAT 8UFFRAGE "HIKB."
"Some of your women are walking to
Vaahington to ask for a vote," he In-
formed he, solemnly. "For me I find that
rather ridiculous. How many hours will
It take them to get to Vashlngton?''
"Hours!" I exclaimed. "Why, It will
take them days. I don't know how many,
but several, certainly."
"Ah." and he puffed away at his P'P®;
"Perhaps you also are a suffragette,"
he suggested.
'•] am," I acknowledged, with pride, 'or
rather, I am a suffragist."
"And the difference?" he queried like
a puzzled hoy.
I explained It to the best of my abll-
ity.
• You do not break windows then, eh?'
he questioned gravely.
"Not many," I assured him cheerfully.
"Have you any suffragettes In Spain, or
don't you ha\e any votes there, any-
how?"
THINKS SPAIN HAS NONK.
"Oh, yes, we have votes there," and
he seemed shocked at my lack of knowl-
edge of sunny Spain; "but 1 think there
are no suffragettes, and 1 think 1 am
glad."
Well, there are places where women
| have the vote In America, you know," I
told/him.
"Ves, yes." lie nodded. "California and
Sydnev, anyhow.'
Sydney! Why, Sydney isn't In Amer-
ica!" said I, much more shocked at his
lack of knowhdge of my country than lie
had been at mine.
"Ah," came through a thick haze of
smoke.
%
but
"No, eertalnly not," I said almost s*
verely; "Sydney is tn Australia." i
"Wall, Heno Is In America," he rat
marked, diving me a conciliating smile.
"And. Ml me, do you know this Kngllst
suffragette family, this mother and hei
three daughters, chrlstabel and Chrvsallg
and l.'hrysntiyin?"
tie laughed at tn Is little Joke on Pnnk<
hurst nomenclature.
I told him I did. and I painted them I*
po.-tlmp't s.'ioned style for him, heciusJ
i '» thai the woman of today Is ni
e.i'. 't a in. it'-ry to Ills Spanish niale mlni|
lit [lietiires are to the world. J
\ou haw one of the rarikhursts M
Pails now," I said. "Chrlstabel. Whf
don't you h ive a portrait of her?"
He took this quite seriously
"I do not even know her." he repltnl
a nd lie s..-inert to be considering how t<
i t'inedy this; so If you ever sea Chrlstah*_
i la I'osr-lmpresslonlste you will knoi^'
«l"i first mothered the Idea.
"A Frenchwoman, Mine. Severing
wanted to lie President of France," eoiv»
tinned Plcusso, with his delicious aoleuW
nity_and th'- pipe clutched In one hand. I
"No. not Mme. Se\erlne," I correct'^
bin, kindly. "A curtain Mme. Denl<«
something or other, but she did not r»«
calve much encouragement."
"Ah, murmured Picasso.
"Have you ever been to England?" ]
asked him.
"Np," i)
"Would you like to go?"
"I <lon t imow; there Is everything 14
Paris."
Note thi> simplicity of that.
Why >" an.wh-re If you have every*
thing at home? ,
It Is sn Jir.-ct and easy, aud that la 1uH
the way with PI asso himself. i a nil!
ti'-ver believe that lie Is anything but, sin'!
cere, lie has an Idea. He works toward
It. He "annot help it If people do no)
follow him, lie says; he must pursue hU<
course, and he does.
frank and yet baffling.
He seems Interested in all things, an<
there Is an Inquiring note In Ills voice ani
a sympathy in Ills glance which maw
you want to tell him much. Than ba«ai
of alj the childlike directness and frank-
ness there is a tantalUing shade of »om«-|
thing you do not reach, a hint of Ideas )ia'
cannot or will not express, i desire to go
on alono, to keep the door of the Inner-
most chamber closed. All that plqusai
your curiosity to excess, and you long tu1
search deeper, but, of course, If you ara1
on your honor you can t.
Tha hostess felt she had left us alon*
long enough, so she came up and com-
menced talking books, and benold' Picas-
so knew IT (3. Weils and severaJ ot'ioi*
lOngllsh writers, and for a. Spaniard an.l
a. painter that 1b remarkable. I assmn
you the average Frenchman you meed
could not give you a name In English lit-
erature of today, but. as I tell you, Picas-
so Is a thinker and an lnqolier.
I.'.fe Is of Interest to him There If
nothing Jnded In his point of view, snd
the only thing which It rather bores htm
to discuss is art.
Possibly lie pretends It bore* him ?«
protect himself I am not sure abort
that, but I should think he is not eubtl*
enough to keep up the subterfuge.
A POflSIBLB SOLUTION.
I should be more inclined to suppoej
■In)
It was getting late in the evening mn
that It e nthralls lilm to paint hit »eti
Imaginings and tires him to dlscuai the!
the room was thick with smoke. Pleased
slicok back the lock of hair, knocked th4
ashee out of his pipe on the hearthstonw
In a nloe, neat fashion and murmured ta
the hostess:
"It is now time I went home to bed. I
am not a noctambula"-whlch mean* aa
all-ntghter. |
The dog role solemnly arid stood by hetf
master, following him to the chair wher«
he laid ills hat.
Picasso wrapped a scarf around htv
throat, put on a heavy coat and wa<>
ready to face the elements.
"I am glad you are careful," said th*
hostess "You have been 111 eo much tht*
winter."
"Ah. yes." agreed Picasso. 'That I*'
true—but now 1 am to ha much bettetki
Oood night, madams: good night, mee*,*!
anil he held out his hand to me.
"Oood night," and 1 patted that great
beautiful dor on the head, but »ha h(Ci
no eyee or Instinct for me or tor any*
body there, only tor the well-loved ma*.I
ter.
And the little painter and hi* big dogi
vanished into the night.
THB HOSTESS EXPLAIN*
'How could you put ma on my bi
not to talk to hltn about the
I protested, when the last
vanished and we were alone In tha
studio and nestling In front of tha
lng salamander. I wouldn't have
If he had been an ordinary personaIItyr
but he isn't, and a few skillful aueattoi
would have elucidated so much.
"No, leally," she assured ma.
would simply have spoiled tha
for Pi-, ".I would hfive become
anrl wouldn't have talked at all."
"Perhaps you're right." I agreed
bly.
Hut I wish to say here that When
meet a r»al live Post-1 tnpresslonlat I
not going to be put off my usual bent
am going to question him like a I
and find out a thing or two as to
he Is going and whither be le taking
(Copyright, 1913, New York Tribune.)
I
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San Antonio Express. (San Antonio, Tex.), Vol. 48, No. 103, Ed. 1 Sunday, April 13, 1913, newspaper, April 13, 1913; San Antonio, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth433163/m1/33/?rotate=90: accessed July 16, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Abilene Library Consortium.