“Cousin,” she said, “will you give me a plain exposition, in as few and clear words as possible, of your theory of art?”
“The portrayal of all things, animate and inanimate, as we really see them.”
“In passing?”
“Yes, in passing: the momentary impression conveyed to us.”
“Then, to appreciate these sketches properly, one should look at them only for a moment.”
“If you like.”
“No, but it is not as I like but as I must. The impression is gone if I pause—the trick, the mere accident of vision which produced them. I know that if I want to understand the true purple of a shadow, the true blue of water, the true gloom of trees, I must look direct at none of these things, but only somewhere near them, so that while not actually seeing them I never lose the sense that they are there and revealing their inner truth to me.”
“Aha! You are getting near it.”
“Yes, but then I oughtn’t to look at your pictures either in order to understand them; and I think you should say that.”
“Say what?”