Editorials and Announcements
Wanted: Some Imaginative Reason
“Nietzsche was an individualist, a hater of the State and of the Prussians, a sick man, a great artist in words to be read with delight and—your tongue in your cheek.” This is from John Galsworthy’s “Second Thoughts on this War” in the January Scribner’s. And so it goes on: he identifies Nietzsche with the new German philosophy (which the poor man would have hated as he did Prussianism), he talks of the Will to Power and the Will to Love as two forces at opposite poles (quite in the manner of the Chestertons), and he derides Shaw’s clear-headed understanding that there is no real struggle of ideals involved in the war as the statement of a brilliant intellect with “no flair, no feelers, none of that instinctive perception of the essence and atmosphere of things which is a so much surer guide than reason.” These things are heart-breaking. If the artists can not understand the prophets of their time why should we expect the masses to do so?
“Homo Sapiens” Is Obscene!
Anthony Comstock’s successor, John Sumner, has arrested Alfred Knopf for publishing Przybyszewski’s Homo Sapiens. It was suggested that magistrate Simms read the book before passing judgment. The assistant district attorney protested that “no such cruel punishment be imposed on the court”; but Mr. Simms promised to try it.
P. S. Since writing the above something has happened which my brain still refuses to believe. I have just been told that Mr. Knopf has pleaded “guilty” to this asinine charge, in order to avoid the expense and the publicity, and that Homo Sapiens will no longer be circulated in this country. If it is true it is the most inexcusably ridiculous thing that has happened for many months. It is incredible!
“The World’s Worst Failure”
Read Rebecca West’s brilliant articles in The New Republic.
Margaret Sanger and the Issue of Birth Control
Nothing makes me so positively ill as the average radical. The average conservative is a ghastly figure, but at least he is true to type. The average radical is a person who professes to believe something that he does not believe. If he did, he would be in trouble. No one gets into more involuntary trouble than the splendid fools who think they can do quite simply what they believe in, and who proceed to do it.
Margaret Sanger’s trial is set for the twenty-fourth of this month. She is under three indictments, based on twelve articles, eleven of which are for printing the words—“prevention of conception.” It is these words which are regarded as “lewd, lascivious, and obscene.”
Many “radicals” have advised Mrs. Sanger that the wisest thing to do is to plead guilty to this “obscenity” charge and to throw herself upon the mercy of the court—which would mean that she could get off with a light sentence or a small fine. And what would become of her object, which has been to remove the term “prevention of conception” from this section of the penal code, where it has been labelled as filthy, vile, and obscene? No revolution has ever been started by evasion. No one wants Margaret Sanger to be a martyr. The point is that every one must see to it that she is not made a martyr. There is no other way out of these issues. You can’t really believe in a thing without knowing that some time you will have to fight for it. Margaret Sanger is taking the stand that her type always takes—just because it is the type that insists on believing hard. We should do all the rest. If you will wire your protest to the District Attorney, office of U. S. Marshal, Post Office Building, New York City, it will help. You may write Margaret Sanger, or send contributions to her, care of Ethel Byrne, 26 Post Avenue, New York City. Please, please do it!
The Russian Literature Group
The introductory lecture, which took place January 14 and was rather well attended, will be followed by a series of talks on characteristic features in Russian literature. The pivots of the discussion will be Pushkin, Lermontov, Gogol, Turgenev, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and the moderns. Mr. Kaun presents the point of view of a Russian, not that of a foreign student.
The next lecture will be Friday, February 11, at 8:30 P. M., in room 612, Fine Arts Building.
American Art
(An Indefinite Comment)
I report, without regret, my inability to present a definite article about the Annual Exhibit of American Painters and Sculptors. Not that the exhibit is vague—American art is a definite thing: travelling collections, annual exhibits, “friends” and organizations have made it so. But visit after visit left me without words. The feelings I did have were alternately those of amusement, anger, disgust, indifference, mild excitement, and most of the time: “Oh well, what’s the use?”
In this exhibit the only thrills or “artiste emotions”—such as one demands of art—were very minor notes and immediately they were felt—thump! (Register amazement and then anger.) You come across something good: its neighbors and surroundings deaden its appeal. Thus, Massonovich’s Moon-Dark—poet’s magic! But alas! it is the only landscape in the exhibit. Next to it is Oliver D. Grover’s Italian platitude, near it a Redfield—“blast” his “school” of landscapes, please, someone! Peyraud, Stacey, Butler—oh, what emptiness! The Inness Room cuts into the exhibit separating two rooms from the rest of the galleries. Passing through it one is reminded of the Inness tradition—how it has been ignored! Or at least how his spirit has been ignored. Monet, Renoir, Manet, and some other modern French are hanging elsewhere in the Institute; and then there is Whistler; and again recall Inness; Massonovich, on you rests the perpetuation, not of “American Landscape” but of that spirit we shall always be searching for in landscapes, if landscapes we must have. One parting remark about landscapes. Hayley Lever comes in for some praise and much scolding. He has a good color sense, but strength and virility in composition seem to be lacking. Recall what Jerome Blum has done and you will understand why this half-way person ought to be jolted.
And the portraits. One of Katherine Dudley’s decorative-German-poster-“Every Week” cover-design-women, is now the property of the “Friends”—“American Art as it was in the early part of the twentieth century”. Yes, indeed, to represent it clearly to posterity you must include at least one of the numerous society dilettantes. However, Gordon Stevenson, Blows, Henri, and Davey as portrait painters are worth watching.
And the rest of the show? Most of the exhibitors have been represented for years. Their pictures are all so familiar. Many of the paintings have appeared year after year. Birge Harrison has a rather atmospheric beach scene; Beal, Albright, Dougherty, Hassam, Sargent, Mary Cassatt, Symons, Ballin, Weir, Schofield. All are familiar and recognised in the Market Place. These people are standing still. I imagine they are old: grey without magnificence. And being haunted by the truth of that lingering statement that there is no such thing as an old artist—why, dare we say that they are not artists?
Sculptor? There is none.
American Art?—To the Annual Exhibit, Ladies and Gentlemen, for a definite demonstration!
“The Critic.”