AN HOUR IN THE GALLERY OF THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF DESIGN.
THIRTY-NINTH ANNUAL EXHIBITION.
Great is the variety in the different classes of men to be found in picture galleries. First in importance stand the artists, oftentimes oracular personages, dangerous of approach by outsiders having opinions (such must generally expect a direct snubbing, polite indifference, or silent scorn), knowing much but not everything, no single one infallible, highly honorable as members of a guild, secretive as doctors or lawyers, chary of talking shop to the uninitiated, hardworking, conscientious, half luring, half scoffing at the glorious visions of the creative imagination granted them chiefly of all men, wonder workers, world reformers, recorders of the past and prophets of the future, comforters of prose-ridden humanity, stewards of some of God's best gifts, openers of the gates of the beautiful, and hence ushers into the vestibule of the glorious 'Land of the Hereafter.' May they all remember their lofty calling, and never diminish their usefulness by unworthy contests among themselves, or by sacrificing their own better judgment to the exigencies of popular requirement!
Next in order come the connoisseurs. Unmistakably one is that young man with near-sighted eyeglass, with Dundreary whiskers and jaunty air, who talks of breadth, handling, foreshortening, perspective, etc.; who perhaps quotes Ruskin, has seen galleries abroad, is devoted to genre pictures, and, after rattling through an exhibition for a half hour, pronounces definitely upon the merits of the entire collection, singly and en masse.
Equally recognizable is the older picture-fancier. He talks, if possible, even more learnedly, discoursing of balance, tone, chiaroscuro; he despises innovations, judges in accordance with names; is of course convinced the present can bear no comparison with the past; will look through a whole gallery, and finally be captivated by some well-executed conceit—a sun shining through a hole—three different sorts of light, of fire, candle, and moon, mixed in with monstrous shadows and commonplace figures—some meaningless countenance surmounting a satin whose every shining thread is distinguishable, and the pattern of whose lace trimming could be copied for a fashion plate; he is, in short, a fussy, loud individual, with money to buy and some out-of-the-way place to hang pictures.
Then there is the man who knows but one, or at most two or three artists, and will look at the works of none other; who sees, as travellers generally do, not that which is, but that which he had made up his mind to see before he left his own threshold. There are those attracted by nothing except brilliant color, and others who have heard so much of the vulgarity of 'high lights' and gaudy hues, that they will tolerate nothing but brown trees, russet grass, gray skies, slate rocks, drab gowns, copper skins, and shadows so deep that the discovery of the objects represented becomes a real game of 'hide and go seek.' There are also the timidly modest, who, although aware of their own preferences, are yet afraid to admire any new name until some recognized authority has given permission. Another division of this class consists of those who, knowing their own inability to draw or to color the simplest object, hesitate to refuse admiration to any art production that is even barely tolerable. Let us concede to this class our respect, as humility is the only solid basis for any human acquirement.
We also find the pretty young lady, who says 'lovely,' 'charming,' or 'horrid,' 'abominable,' in a very attractive, but most indiscriminating manner;—the individual who cares only for the design (to whom real depth or pathos and affected prettiness are too often one and the same), and the other, who looks only at the technical execution. Rare, indeed, are the imaginative analysts who, while considering the design, can comprehend its philosophy, tell why it pleases or displeases, why they like or dislike; and still rarer are they who add to impartiality, observation, common sense, imaginative perception, and analytic power, a sufficiency of technical knowledge to render their criticism useful, not only to outsiders, but even to artists themselves. Such a guide would indeed be an invaluable companion in any gallery of art. In default of him, let us do the best we can, and come to a consideration of some of the works offered us in this, the thirty-ninth annual exhibition of the National Academy of Design.
Before we begin, however, let us make a passing remark upon a custom that seems lately to have come in vogue, namely, to publish in the daily papers damaging criticisms upon pictures offered for sale at auction, such criticisms generally appearing one, or at most two days before the sale. The want of good taste, or even of abstract justice, in such a proceeding, must be apparent to every one who will pause a moment to consider. To compare small things with great, for the sake of illustration, if our neighbor has made his purchase of spring drygoods, and spreads them upon the counter of his store, we may or may not admire his taste in the selection of patterns, but we surely should not think ourselves called upon to rush to the newspapers and blazon forth an opinion to his detriment, especially if our assertions were mere guesses, perhaps even untrue, or if we were ourselves concerned in the selling of similar wares. Among the public are many tastes to be gratified, and each man can judge for himself of that which pleases him. A case of impudent pretension or actual imposition will of course require honest people to give in their testimony, but the facts adduced in such a case must be susceptible of proof, and not mere matters of individual taste or opinion; neither must they be advanced at so late an hour as to render their refutation difficult, or indeed impossible. A regular exhibition, such as that of the Academy, offers fair ground for discussion, as all sides have a chance of obtaining a hearing; but even there, the scales of justice should be nicely poised, and great care taken that neither rashness, flippancy, nor prejudice be permitted any share in their adjustment, and 'good will toward men' be the only extra weight ever added to either side.
To begin with the landscapes, one of the most remarkable, and, to our individual taste, the most attractive in the whole collection, is No. 147, 'The Woods and Fields in Autumn,' by Jervis McEntee, N. A. The fine tree-drawing and the exquisite harmony of color in this poetic representation of autumn scenery are worthy of all praise. The clouds are gathering for dark winter days, a few pleasant hours are yet left to the dying year, the atmosphere is saturated with moist exhalations, with tender mists softening but not obscuring the beautiful forms of the leafless trees and shrubs. The springs are filling, the low grounds marshy, the leaves on the woodpaths crisp and of a golden brown. Far away in the west is a band of gray light, that tells of clearer skies and brighter seasons one day to come, of new hopes to dawn, when the earth, and the soul, shall have been purified by adverse blasts, by the baring of their nakedness to the unimpeded, searching light of heaven. No. 124, 'The Wanderer,' is a picture of similar character by the same skilful hand. Thoughtful, refined, and discriminating lovers of art cannot fail to find instruction and delight in these noble conceptions, and indeed it is chiefly in the possession of such persons that we find the truthful, conscientious, tenderly conceived, and poetical pictures of Jervis McEntee.