Euterpe; or, The future of art

by Lionel R. McColvin

(5) Furthermore, the low grade is more accessible, easier to experience, more frequently offered than the better thing.

(6) Therefore, since (especially the large numbers whose tastes are on the border line) we unconsciously tend to follow the easy way, unless we deliberately seek to improve or maintain our taste, it will degenerate. It is necessary to remember that art is usually regarded as a recreation and, in spite of the saying that we take our pleasures sadly, we do often take a short view, and are satisfied to find that artistic recreation for the day which is first to hand, without thought of the morrow.

(7) In art-matters we are mostly conservative. Neither do we readily set ourselves apart from our fellows. The history of any “best seller” will prove this. Up to a point it is read by those who have discovered that they might like it; after that it is read chiefly “because everybody else is reading it”. It is wrong to attribute this tendency to a mere desire to be “in the swim”; much more often it is because readers, unconsciously classing themselves as average, argue that the book which interests the average man will interest them. To a large extent this applies to all popular art. Few people care to “waste their time” experimenting when it is so much easier to fall in line with the crowd. The only wonder is how the popularity of the “best seller” and its kind begins: once that has happened the rest is a normal process.

(8) The average man, being thus willing to follow the dictates of the majority, is seldom likely to look elsewhere for his artistic experiences. And so the tastes of the majority are more firmly established—and the tastes of to-day form the tastes of to-morrow.

I would not describe this as a vicious circle. Rather is it a vicious spiral, the circumference of which ever increases. How can this state of affairs be altered?

Let us not be misunderstood. We are not asserting that this world with its many who appreciate the less valuable is worse than the world of the pre-mechanical era. Far from it. In every way it is better. The actual quantity of good artistic endeavour is much greater, and every increase in the numbers of those who appreciate the least worth-while is a distinct gain to the community and to the individual. Our anxiety is not so much for to-day as for to-morrow. There is no reason to doubt that before long practically the whole population will be interested in some form and grade of art. It is then that the trouble will begin to assume serious proportions. Let us take a biological parallel. It is agreed that if good stocks do not increase at the same rate as inferior stocks they will gradually die out. If, in a world full of artistic endeavour the good artistic stocks are not as sturdy as the remainder, they too will in time die out. So long as the commercial and mechanical factors are allowed full play, the good artistic stocks will be at a disadvantage, and so the future of the finest elements of art depends upon the success of efforts to counteract these factors. We must find means (1) to make the most desirable art more accessible than it is now, and (2) to increase the numbers of those who desire it. The latter will serve two purposes: (a) it will help us in the first aim; and (b) it will increase the aggregate quality and value of the artistic life.

VI

We will deal with the second aim first, and it may be termed roughly “Education”—the process of increasing a man’s ability to enjoy better art. The last phrase embodies our idea of the function of art-education. If education does that—improves the range and quality of his pleasure in the beautiful—it has performed its prime duty. Needless to say, we are not speaking now of that branch of education which concerns itself with the training of practitioners—creative or executive artists. That is quite a different matter, and one of our first quarrels with the present system is that these two types of education are not as clearly distinguished as they need to be.

There are two classes of people who will benefit by education—those who wish to enjoy and those who wish to practise. The needs of the two classes are quite distinct, yet he who would enjoy is often given the instruction provided (or which should be provided) for the others. The disadvantages of this are: (a) the enjoyer approaches the subject from quite a different angle, and practical instruction will sometimes depreciate his appreciative faculties. The outsider sees most of the game, and, moreover, one with knowledge of technical matters will tend to allow technical questions to come before purely aesthetic ones; (b) He will spend a great deal of time to no purpose, and will waste opportunities and leisure which could be more advantageously applied; (c) As he might be, and generally is, entirely devoid of sufficient creative or executive ability to practise to his own satisfaction a certain disappointment and disillusionment will colour his regard for the artistic; (d) It is useless and wasteful to give technical instruction to those who cannot and do not desire to apply it. Neither does the practitioner gain. There is a tendency to compromise, and so he does not always obtain the special purposive instruction he needs, and the personnel and institutions fitted to instruct the practitioner cannot devote all their energies to this essential work. Any increased love of art, be it remembered, will cause a much greater demand for professional creative and executive artists. And (e) he probably has neither the time nor the inclination for practical studies, and so, if there are no schemes specially for his benefit, he will receive no education at all.

Therefore there is a great need for systematic education in the appreciation of art. Many more attempts are being made to-day than there were a few years ago; yet the subject—a very difficult one—is still in its infancy. The methods and aims of such education have not yet been adequately formulated and must exercise educationists in the near future. Failing a well-defined plan, they have taken refuge in aspects of art-instruction which are not those best calculated to stimulate genuine enjoyment. This explains to some extent the confusion of practical and appreciative ends. It explains also our addiction to historical and theoretical studies. He who would study the graphic arts must try to draw and to paint; the music-lover must acquire some sort of executive ability, and so devotes enough time to the routine of “practice” to kill all his enthusiasm; and the student of literature must become versed in its history. The art-lover is probably not getting much harm; the music-lover is now often relieved by mechanical instruments from the necessity for technique; than the historical studies of the last-named, however, nothing more dreary and futile could be invented.