WHILE STUDYING ART, ONE SHOULD WORK INCESSANTLY.
“In all this work, observe one rule: Never mind about drawing a thing as you may possibly have been told to do in the course of instruction. Draw it the way it looks to you. You will see it differently as you go back to it again and again. If you do not see it differently, you cannot see your own mistakes, and that is positive proof that for you fame is waiting at some other door,—or, at any rate, that it will not come to you from art.
“How much ought one to work? All the time. Draw all the time. Look all the time for something to draw. In the beginning, never pass anything without wresting from it its blessing, so to speak. Before you pass, be sure you can draw it; and the only way to be sure of that is to draw it several times. The objects in a room are a little simpler than figures, at first, but figures are the most interesting, and you must draw whatever interests you. If you would rather draw crawfish and bootjacks than men and women, draw crawfish and bootjacks. It really doesn’t so much matter what you draw; the point is that you draw. But it is important to you that you develop a taste for drawing something special,—and of that you need have no fear if you are a born artist. If you are not, as I said, it doesn’t matter.
“I always feel that any general talk about the way to succeed, in any art one selects, is rather unnecessary. I cannot repeat too often that I believe, if the student has it in him to draw, he will not need to be told to persevere, or to work hard, or to be careful of bad influences in his work, or to avoid imitation,—he will do all these as naturally as he will hold a pencil. Holding a pencil, by the way, is another example of what I just spoke of. Do you remember that they used to tell us just how our fingers must hold the pen, and how the whole arm ought to move? ‘What will they think of you,’ they said, ‘when you get out in the world, if you hold your pencil like that?’ As a matter of fact, nobody gives the matter a thought, and hardly one of us holds a pencil that way. It is so with many of the formulae of an art. But isn’t it curious that I never did get out of holding my pencil that prescribed way? I do happen to hold my pencil correctly.”
“Maybe you held some of the other formulae the same way,” I suggested, “and they are influencing you.”
“Oh, well,” said Mr. Gibson, “so far as the pencil goes, I fancy, perhaps, that I draw in spite of the way I hold it rather than because of it.”
Then he made a small retraction of his remark.
“There is one class of teachers,” he said, “that I count,—pictures. Pictures are always at hand,—and good work is the best teacher in the world. A pupil in New York ought to go to the art gallery often and often, and sit there and steep himself in what he sees. Let him go to study definite pictures, too,—but just to sit and absorb,—as one sits in a garden, or before an old tower, or by the sea,—without sketching, only just looking,—that is the best instruction you can pay for on either continent.”
The picture of the girl on the board was practically complete, with its high little chin and haughty mouth and fearless eyes, and it seemed so alive that getting to be a great illustrator appeared hopeless by the side of it.
“How long,” I asked, “does it take, normally, to find out if you’re a born artist or not?”
Mr. Gibson laughed and took it the other way.
“A very long time,” he said, regretfully, “and some of us even go down blind to our graves.”
“May it not be inferred from your idea that the born illustrator has little need of a teacher, that he also has little need of a sojourn in the art atmosphere of Paris?” I asked.
“It certainly may be,” replied Mr. Gibson quickly. “A young man or woman can now learn just as much art in some of our great cities, like New York or Philadelphia, as abroad. Our art schools are as good as those of Paris. In fact, they are superior in some respects, and I am very sure that the average American art student is, in general, better off in the United States.
“There are, of course, the magnificent galleries of Europe, with which every artist should be familiar, but there need be no special hurry to study these. It is much more advisable, I think, for the young artist to become imbued with the spirit of our own art, and to acquire a distinctively American style, before subjecting himself to the influence of the painters of the Old World.
“I have little patience with the American who, in his art, becomes a foreigner. If he does, he is not accepted as representative either abroad or in this country. The time has come when a man or woman may take much pride in being a true American artist. We are no longer mere imitators. We are forging ahead into leadership, and I venture to predict that this century will see New York the art center of the world.”
Transcriber’s Note:
Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.
Varied hyphenation was retained.
Many minor variations in capitalization, punctuation, etc., were noted between the table of Contents and the Chapter Headings themselves. These were retained as printed.
Page 53, “They” changed to “There” (There were no fine libraries)
Page 80, “Phenix” changed to “Phœnix” (Phœnix-like)
Page 168, “that” changed to “what” (I felt what Oliver Wendall)
Page 190, “catastropheis” changed to “catastrophes” (catastrophes of the war)
Page 196, “brillinacy” changed to “brilliancy” (Mr. Stanford’s brilliancy)
Page 213, repeated word “York” removed. Original read (counsel for the New York York)
Page 215, “neccessary” changed to “necessary” (made it necessary to)
Page 231, “you” changed to “your” (turn your attention to)
Page 275, “Reedemer” changed to “Redeemer” (a Redeemer, Son of God)
Page 308, “awhile” changed to “a while” (rest for a while)