‘Painting succeeds in virtue of the things it omits, almost as much as by the assistance of the things it expresses.... In Egyptian art the figures might have been less stiffly uniform, in Crete they sometimes verge on caricature; in Byzantine work they assume too much the rigid character of architecture; with the Italians of the Irecento too much of the Byzantine temper may survive; in China forms may be contorted through the connection of painting with calligraphy. Yet with all their defects, these various phases of painting serve their destined purpose, and serve it much better than the painting of more sophisticated ages has succeeded in doing.... Contours may be as nobly drawn as human skill can draw them, but they must be firm and definite throughout. The colour may be as brilliant or as quiet as circumstances demand, but it must be applied in masses that are flat or nearly flat. Details, forcible suggestion of relief and strong shadows must be avoided. In our own day these limitations have been observed and respected only by a single painter—Puvis de Chavannes—but in virtue of that restraint he has taken his place among the great masters.’
And so the art of Mr. Holmes is a direct practice of his preaching. To the tradition of simplified vision he has brought a conception of his own—the conception of mountains, of their formation; and their rhythm.[15] Not Puvis de Chavannes, whom he has mentioned, nor Daumier, whom perhaps he should have mentioned, felt the character of landscape as deeply as Mr. Holmes has done. In his elimination he is not arbitrary, but natural and very just. His mountains remain synthetic, uncivilised, individual, as they are in nature.
But besides his debt to the centuries of European art, he is greatly helped by his knowledge and love of the art of China and Japan. Like so many modern Europeans, he has been profoundly moved by the marvellous achievements of Eastern painting, but, beyond an admission of general influence, no very clear artistic lineage can be made out.
Mr. Binyon has traced the influence of Hokusai in Mr. Holmes’ work,[16] and the suggestion seems justified. Mr. Holmes has an avowed admiration for the work of the Japanese artist, and apart from this, the folding lines of the hills and the flat, green washes of his water-colours show a distinct affinity.
‘In Japanese painting form and colour are represented without any attempt at relief, but in European methods relief and illusion are sought for.’
This is Hokusai himself, and Mr. Holmes has profited by the comparison to fuse both systems into one.
And so, while, in the matter of Eastern as well as of Western art, his great store of knowledge of the painting of the past is the foundation of his genius, the genius itself—the message and its expression—remains his own.
Before closing it would be well to mention one criticism which has been levelled at Mr. Holmes, and which, if it is true, constitutes a serious charge. He has been accused of being scientific to the point of having a formula on which he works. Perhaps the title of his book is partly responsible for the accusation, and it might certainly have been better chosen. But beyond this no trace of justification is visible. Order and inspiration are not necessarily incompatible. The extravagant lengths reached by the æsthetic movement proved the result of art ignoring science. Eccentricity had become a fetish, and Mr. Holmes is working with his fellow Fauves to restore reason and sanity. There is too much variety in his work to allow of a suspicion of any formula. A series of mountain studies naturally have some affinity, and this affinity has been exaggerated into a definite method. Such a charge cannot be further disproved than by assertion of its falsity. If that is insufficient, let the unsatisfied critic carefully study all Mr. Holmes’ work, and draw a new conclusion. Continued belief in the formula must stay uncombated; but even should the charge be generally accepted as true, the admiration of one at least for Mr. Holmes and his work will remain unshaken.