“I observe this evening in the current number of the ‘Critic,’ an art reference which calls for a slight correction. In a review of ‘Nature’s Serial Story,’ by E. P. Roe, after paying a delicate compliment to the illustrations of the volume the reviewer goes on to say that, ‘without detracting from the artist’s meed of praise, the most remarkable thing about these illustrations is the extraordinary skill displayed by the engravers.... Mr. Henry Marsh, whose delicacy and precision of touch are marvelous, shows the still rarer power of taking up the theme submitted to him by the artist and adding increment after increment of meaning to it until it becomes almost wholly his own. His engraving of “A Winter Thunder-Storm” is the finest thing in the book. We give the credit to him because we know that Mr. Gibson’s forte is not in landscape.’
“I yield to no one in my admiration of Mr. Marsh not only as a master and a poet in his art, but equally as an esteemed personal friend. Indeed I love him too well, and have too great a respect for his interpretative genius to see attributed to him a piece of work which I am sure he would not care to claim, although it is ‘the finest thing in the book’ and fraught with ‘increment after increment of meaning’ and which is nevertheless nothing but a photo-engraved plate, by a purely mechanical process. Of course the ‘Critic’ (?) will hasten to make all due acknowledgments and place the credit where it righteously belongs, i. e., to the Ives Photo-Engraving Company, Phila., Pa., whose admirable process has reproduced not only this, but several others of the illustrations in which the aforesaid alleged marvelous ‘increment’ was discovered. Such is fame!
“Shade of Albrecht Dürer! Who are our critics?”
Mr. Roe wrote under date of Dec. 29, 1884: “You did indeed win a victory over the ‘incrementitious’ critic. I should think he would wish to crawl into a small hole, and pull the hole in after him. I enjoyed your triumph as much as if it had been my own. It was the neatest thrust under the fifth rib I ever saw, and I fear I shall never have enough of Christian meekness not to enjoy seeing a fellow receive his congé when so well deserved. Dr. Abbott and I took part in the ‘wake’ up here.”
Another instance of his trapping the friendly critic is preserved in his correspondence. Colonel Gibson had objected to the “Old Barnyard” as pictured in “Pastoral Days.” “The sloppy slush through which the man is splashing” he wrote, “is almost too faithful. But, my dear fellow,—an apple-tree in a cow-yard!—and loose fence-posts leaning on it!... And do you ever see trees or shrubs on the pond side of a mill?” (referring to the skating scene in the same paper). To which Gibson the artist made answer as follows:
“I have had considerable amusement over my large and most important work at the last display, viz.: ‘Autumn at Knoll Farm,’ bought first day by Henry Ward Beecher, who says that ‘the Colmans, the Giffords, or the Smiths can’t beat it.’ He tells all his friends so, and in his appreciation of it only sounds the universal praise which it met with; but, mark you! Our most high-toned and modern art publication, ‘The Art Review,’ which employs the finest staff of contributors the country affords, contained in its last issue a criticism that ‘did me proud’ and at the same time gave me a jolly laugh at the way I had ‘fooled’ one of our most noted art critics. He went on at the beginning of his ‘critique’ to condemn lightly the body-color school, claimed that it took away from the atmosphere, ‘made mud,’ was always likely to hurt rather than improve a painting. He hedged himself however in the statement that ‘a skilful hand could obtain a finer effect with ‘body color’ than an unskilled hand with wash.’ But he did not see the necessity of using it at all.’ ‘Not even for the most bold subjects is it necessary.’ ... ‘Take for instance Swain Gifford’s (I forget title, but it was a very strong bit of color), rich and full of strength, or even W. H. Gibson’s very strong “Autumn,” all rocks and tree trunks and weeds and admirable sky, all done with pure blots.’ Mark you! Those rocks and tree trunks and weeds were all put in thick with body color, painted over. The result was a rich full texture, that could not have been got in wash without at least much more labor and I doubt even then. Others are deceived in the same way, and I repeat that the result sanctifies the means, and I will guarantee to deceive any critic in the country on the question of body color. I sold
Late October
From a Painting