By Birtley Canfield
THE STONE AGE
By John J. Boyle
in which the figure would convey no hint to our imagination if it were not for the symbol introduced. And how far, I wonder, does the symbol succeed in leading us? We are apt to find it either trite or, as in the case of some of the mystically symbolic work of modern times, abstruse. With religious symbolism it is different. In old days, at least, the artist and the public had a common starting-ground of knowledge, and the symbol awoke a clear impression, invested by religious habit with a weighty import.
But what of the frequent statues, representing “Law,” “Truth,” “Justice” and the like by a draped model, alternately holding a tablet, serpent, mirror, scale and swords, or what not; or that countless family of undraped statues, clever studies merely of anatomy and academic composition? Their only suggestion to the cultivated imagination is one of weariness, yet they pass in the studios for “ideal.” Let us clear our minds of cant and see these things for what they really are—more or less skilful imitations of the model, but of creative imagination, of the faculty to give expression to an idea, possessing nothing.
On the other hand, some sculptors, in their avoidance of the trite, run to the opposite extreme of the abstruse—to that occult and mystic symbolism, which has been sporadic for half a century in Europe and has found at least two exponents in this country.
Here again, if the artist makes the figure the main source of expression, establishing a chord of communication between his own imagination and ours, and uses the symbolic object solely as an accessory, the latter may possibly help our act of appreciation, or, at least, will not hinder it. But, when it usurps the chief function in the composition and we find in the figure no clue to any line of imagination, having to turn to the symbol for assistance, it is then that our distress begins. We may or may not recognise the object, and, if we do, may be baffled in our attempt to discover its allusion in the present case; haunted meanwhile by a disagreeable doubt as to whether it was really intended to be allusive or only introduced for decorative effect. It is not by such little stepping-stones to understanding, slippery and insecure, that the truly creative imagination proceeds. It takes its leap into the air, clear of obstructions, relying upon its own power of flight. For, even if we comprehend the meaning of the symbol and its allusion, how far, I wonder, does it carry us? When from the mysteries of Egypt, for example, the modern artist borrows a symbol to garnish his modern thought, I wonder if we are much impressed? He uses, we will say, the device of the winged globe. We know that it once stood to people as a sign of immortality; we recognise that much, but does it touch our feeling—will it increase our belief in immortality or promise anything to our yearning after it? The statue itself must do that, and if it does, the symbol is likely to be felt intrusive.