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MIRROR OF FINE ARTS.

SOCIETY OF BRITISH ARTISTS.

"It is easy to find fault" is an accepted axiom: not so in art; at least, not logically, critically so. It is much easier to praise, and a much more pleasant duty. Praise is accepted mostly without the reasons which induce it; the exercise of fault-finding necessarily calls forth the why and the wherefore. The critic, therefore, were he to select the less onerous side of his task, would choose that which would involve the least burdensome consequences. To dash off a report of an exhibition of art with a lavish distribution of encomiums, like sugared comfits amidst a mob upon an Italian jubilee, with here and there an indiscriminate buffet or two by way of cayenne, or balance to the sweet, may be one way of getting rid of a task as important to the public as it is to art and artists, and equally of serious consideration to the honour and efficiency of those who are entrusted with the obligation. "Praise undeserved" being " Censure in disguise,” never told with greater force than in art. Praise undeserved may be seen to be such by all but the one most interested in the expression of truth. Truth to an artist, whether he be young or matured in his profession, involves advice,-the conviction of others that he be in the right path-the warning monition that he is pursuing a wrong one. Praise, to a tyro, is called encouragement; to the matured, approval. How cautiously, then, ought it to be dealt! Encouragement in a doubtful course may lead to disappointment-approval of error to its continuance, and its endless perpetuation in those that confidently follow. In this we trace the first cause of the wide-spread mischief that is abroad. Suchand-such an one's pictures were highly reported upon last year; they were selected as prizes (by whom ?) of the Art Union: "He uses bitumen and brown pink in his shadows, paints his sky with turpentine, leaves his figures just indicated and sketchy, shows here and there the mark of the tool, rubs in his glazings with his thumb, and scrapes the higher lights with his palette-knife." Here, then, is an amount of knowledge for the would-be successful candidates for market-honours; and, lo! the following season vers the walls of the exhibition-room with acres of canvass, all vying with each other which shall be the nearest-in imaginative expression, in a close adherence to nature? No-in the nearest proximity to Mr. - -'s style. Perhaps not one of these copiers of another's peculiarities meets with the desired goal. Some one else obtains the laurels. His pictures are singular for their prismatic effects-" Turneresque”—all form is merged into colour :-"See, I can hang it upside down, and it looks as well one way as the other." "His ground is covered with perennial snow throughout the seasons-his skies are the gorgeous hues reflected from a prism-his foliage Lot browns, balanced by the coldest greens: harmony is attempted by extremes, and the picture is not complete until every colour of the palette has found a place-somewhere." Here again is food for imitative art. Painting in and in, until the web of chaotic error becomes so entangled that not a thread of originality remains to relieve the mass of servile imitation from its inextricable worthlessness. We sorely regret that these observations are directed with purposed force to the landscape portion of an exhibition having the high prestige of a royal charter, and numbering amongst the initiative those whom we must, in impartial justice, class as the most zealous adherents to "copyism."

CO

Commencing with the large room, we find Count D'Orsay exhibiting the head of Our Saviour, which has been painted with great care, but in character or treatment of subject evinces nothing but what has been done often before.

The Prison Door (No. 7), by Mrs. J. Macleod, presented an opportunity for making a picture of interest, which has been marred by the neglect in having a fitting model from which to draw the drapery, which is crude in colour, and does not fall in natural folds. There is merit in the face and an earnestness of expression which is suggestive of far better things.

No. 9, R. Nightingale, from Wordsworth's "White Doe of Rylston,” is noticeable for its strange effect. It appears as though it had been painted thinly on a dark slate, and that the hue of the slate was making itself manifest throughout.

No. 10, Two Children, by Mr. Bowness, should have been kept at home. Mr. Tennant's pictures are at all times deserving notice, although we fear he is not altogether free from the 'phobia we have alluded to. His English River Scene (11) is well chosen and nicely treated; here and there a little too washy and laboured. The art of knowing when and where to leave off has to be learned by others besides Mr. Tennant. 128, On the Wye, is far better and picturesque. Again, 248, Monmouth and Chepstow, is a pleasing specimen of the artist's power: and 349, 366, 546, 578, The Ferry Boat, more especially will give a very fair notion of his varied excellencies. The latter is a delicious bit of nature, and the figures are introduced with a kindred feeling for the beauties with which they are surrounded. There is a quiet ease about everything in this frame that wins attention, and causes one to turn again after quitting it.

Mr. H. Lancaster has five subjects. The best, 115, A Sea View, which is fresh and vigorous, has the scarce quality of being like what it is intended to represent, and its painter has been content to use the colours, and the colours only, to be met with in the natural scene. A little more variety in the larger waves would have added to its merit. Boat on the Scheldt is not so fortunate. It lacks truth, mainly caused by the chalkiness of the lights. A River Scene (269), and On the French Coast (464), are average specimens of Mr. Lancaster's easel, in which there are parts which display no ordinary capabilities.

Whatever faults Mr. Woolmer may possess, it may be said they are at least his own. His overweening love of colour carries him headlong, at times, into strange vagaries, which are obviously intended to be poetical, but in most cases falling far short of their aim, leave but the notion of a large ambition thwarted by the withdrawal of the necessary supplies. His illustration of the Lake of Pergusa has evidently received much more of studious thought than he generally bestows, and his efforts have been waited on by a commensurate success. Still it is more redolent of "prettiness" than of poetry; yet it carries to some considerable distance the imagination, and we will be thankful for the lift. The First Appearance (205), a maiden startled by the appearance of Cupid on the bed quilt, will have its admirers. It's a quaint, artless little canvass, and is evidently destined for the burin. Evening in the Alps (241) is good, taken piecemeal, but, as a whole, sadly deficient in unity. This is caused by an apparently resistless desire to seize upon every object upon which to load the hues of the palette. Let us instance the coat of the pilgrim. Had this been grey, it would have become an eye to the picture and a restingplace for the observer, instead of which it adds to the endless fritter, like so many gadlike flies before the vision. A weary palmer might at least have been spared the weight of all the colours of the rainbow upon his back. Reading Dante (323), The Duenna (386), The Pilgrims at the Well (366), and The Futile Disguise, are additional instances of over, and consequently unnatural, colouring straining vainly after the poetical. More attention to the female faces of his subjects would render the works of Mr. Woolmer of additional value. A handsome face may cover a multitude of sins in nature—in art, it may not plead in vain for a few faults.

Mr. S. B. Pyne, who has many followers in the Society of British Artists' "School," and who is in part a follower himself of others out of it, has sent nine pictures. He has struck out for himself a style almost peculiarly his own (maugre a bite o' the hand of the "Turner" 'phobia), and which style, from its novelty and attractiveness, and its marketable qualities, has provoked countless imitators. "Pyneish" is a term already adopted in London modern art phraseology. Mr. Pyne's style is essentially a "manner," of which the mechanical elements are lime and treacle; but no man living can do more and better with lime and treacle than he. The power which in Mr. Pyne is in the greater extent original, and elicites admiration, in the hands of others, gives positive offence, if it does not provoke contempt. Making every allowance for these eccentricities, much that is poetic may be found in his works; and although they would scarcely bear the test of engraving, of being translated into black and white-a process which would have for its result plates apparently unfinished, and needing filling in-they almost ever have a high intrinsic value, and possess no mean claims as pictures. Entrance to the Menai Straits, Storm Clearing off, Opposite the Setting Sun-by-the-bye, what a number of setting suns there are in this exhibition!-(58) is an extremely clever production, and would go far to induce us to recal our remarks touching engraving. How tastefully is every part treated. We are almost induced to forget the treacle and the lime; but, truth to say, they are used but sparingly here, and where so, with consummate artistic judgment. Pallanza-Italy (108), is only remarkable for its close likeness to Turner's peculiarities, and the absence of any one of the artist's, saving the careless chalky dashes upon the water meant for "sunny forms," but being white-lead (our familiar veritable lime), unmistakable. Mill at Plass y Nant, North Wales (240), very, very beautiful. Shore at Littlehampton, Sussex (359), another gem. Thames Recollections-The New Custom House (480). Wherefore

this title? There is nothing in the pourtrayal but what may be found there at any moment. Wherefore, then, Recollections ?-wherefore NEW Custom House? Because, forsooth! the Custom House must be painted white-the majesty of lime demands it-so the title must be made subservient to the picture. Or wherefore is the ancient hostelrie of Simpson's, famed for its fish dinners, painted white too?-that ever had a dingy exterior. Which, then, is the master here, lime or Pyne? Pallanza on the Lago Maggiore (634), a water-colour painting. Like his oils but in one respect, the white paper left for lights being far more warm and agreeable than those in oil pigment.

Mr. Alfred Montague is one of the most rapidly rising young artists of the day. His productions here testify to his talent and industry. They all have allusion to Holland or its immediate vicinity, and most of them are characterised by great faithfulness of detail, conveyed to the canvass with a fine, firm, unerring touch, both broad and rich. His smaller pictures are the best. He is great in little, less in greater, and little or nothing in the greatest. Take A Dutch Milk Boat (71) as the first (saving a tinge of the Bright school); and Dort, from the Ferry (176), as the last. Can anything be more sweet than the one-more inane than the other? The lesser works, of which there are several here, all bear witness to this fact, and point, with direct intention, to where his greatest talents lie. Ours are not picture-purchasing times, or we should have found the ticket "sold" to more of those of cabinet size.

In the notice to artists which prefaces the catalogue appears this sentence-" No unfinished work can be admitted into the exhibition, unless as a sketch, to be so described in the Catalogue;" and yet we find, in contravention of such law, one of its members, Mr. Hassell, hanging The Village of Aldershot, Hants (66), upon its walls. The cart, the figures in it, and part of the landscape itself, are merely denoted. The same remark cannot be made upon all the rest of his productions; but a far less excusable one of premeditated copyism of Mr. Pyne is painfully apparent in The Old Tile-Kilns at Aldershot (167). Cæsar's Camp on Brickbury Hill (408) is another unfinished picture by Mr. Hassell. If considered otherwise by him, he clearly mistakes the time and place to leave off. Mr. Hassell has no ordinary powers of pleasing, and his judgment of selection is, moreover, that of an accomplished artist; it is a pity, therefore, that he should coquette with his own, or make free with the styles of others. Why cannot he always take the independent course he has adopted in Stonehenge (60), simple to an extreme, winning to an excess? Did he think the subject unworthy to wear the mantle of another, and thus left it to appeal in its naked, natural, lovely loneliness?

No. 20 is a clever sketch of A Gleaner, obviously taken from the life. The handling is broad and pure, and Mr. D. W. Dean, if he be but a young artist, has the elements from which may arise a great one. A Market Girl (56) is another from the living model, equally good, and An Irish Girl (597) a third, with similar recommendatory claims.

The Hay Cart-showery weather (27), H. M. Anthony, is a glaring combination of the manner of Turner, Bright, Müller, and Pyne-so defined, indeed, that the canvass might be mapped out and allotted to their several prototypes. A large picture, by the same artist, Landscape and Figures, makes as free with Mulready in the objects of its middle distance. The trees take great liberties with Turner, and in one respect leave the author of the "Pleasures of Hope" far behind; they have two distinct foliages upon the same stem. 222 and 585 are but little less free from these offences; but in 533, A Mountain Stream, he seizes upon Pyne with a nervous and determined clutch, as though in the fixed intent to stick by his colours until the last.

Mr. J. A. Puller has three little paintings, all worthy of remark, but far from equal to what he can do.

Mr. Zeitter's works all bear the same stamp; but it is his own die, and if he is too profuse, it is not with another man's coin, 'tis with his own. Comparatively, no little virtue here-he, too, rollicks in colour and throws it about with no unsparing hand. The rags of his gipsies are always clean, and of a material which a good housewife would prize for their fast-colour properties. Mr. Zeitter has to learn that the human eye, however black it may be upon a near approach, becomes grey by distance and the intervention of atmosphere, which tones down and softens all things. His best picture here is A Dutch Ferry Boat (263).

Mr. T. Clater's subjects are not altogether happily chosen. His finish is, however, unexceptionable, and plainly tells us that he has been looking well into the best masters of the Dutch school. Every morsel of his studies are painted from the objects themselves; and although he does not draw largely upon his own imagination, he seizes with considerable judgment each adjunct, whether accidental or otherwise, that may prove of use to the general design.

E. J. Niemann has but one picture, Scene at Brill (118), a clear half of which is ex

tremely well painted, the other of more than average ability. The portion we admire is to the right of the spectator, the distance, old cottages in the middle distance, and the broken foreground. The distance is especially fine-indeed most of this artist's works excel in this particular, a most difficult one, and so seldom well treated by the landscape painter, many of whom appear to avoid subjects which involve the task. Niemann, on the contrary, seems to know that he wields this rare power, and he positively revels in the far off. Giving to a limited canvass the deceptive effect of space is amongst the highest attainments to which the painter of art can aspire, and when this is combined with a classic perception of the beauties of form-of what to select, and of what to lay aside, it needs but one thing to perfect the master. That little one thing is unflinching devotion to nature's self, to paint almost at all times out of doors-morning, noon, and night; spring, summer, autumn-ay, and winter too. Nature is a bride that will well repay the wooing. But she must be wooed at her own home, not in the chamber or studio of the artist. Neglect her for a day, and she has quitted you for a dayneglect her for a year, and the portraits are not her portraits; they are of a school or clique, and Nature disowns them.

Somewhat of the success of Mr. Niemann's clear atmospheric effects are attributed to the use of silica colours, but like Isaak Walton's fiddle and fiddle-stick, it must be the knowledge and methods of using them after all.

The Trial of Socrates (142), W. Salter, could not have been a greater one to the philosopher than its representation has been to ourselves. We dismiss the picture; but must find the artist guilty of elaborating a piece of worsted work, and framing it.

Waterfall at Haeg (124), W. West, is a charming nook in nature; if there be any.. thing to criticise it is the shadows, which are not sufficiently transparent.

We have, we believe, now touched upon nearly all that courts remark. There are a vast number of others too far removed from criticism to occupy our space; did they not occupy that of the society 'twould be better for themselves and for that body. J. W. Allen's works are amongst the few that may be excepted from this apparent sweeping observation, and so are both the Wilsons, and W. Fowler, and Boddington, by whom is 500, The Path to the Church, redolent in beautiful passages; and a little Landscape by T. Dingle (43); another by W. Oakes; and The Victim of Sin and Death (197), by Latilla, may be enumerated amongst the honourable exceptions.

We have now said enough, and trusting that the lecture we have read at the commencement of this article will have its due weight with the several members of the society, we take leave of Suffolk-street for this year, in the fervent hope of better fruits at the next season.

THE FREE EXHIBITION OF MODERN ART.

Consi

THIS exhibition has arisen from the exigency of the period. The exclusiveness of the Royal Academy as a corporation and the limited space at its disposal have contributed to throw the greater proportion of the British Artists upon their own resources. dering that this is but the second year, and that the spirited band have been compelled to evacuate the comparatively small rooms of the Egyptian Hall for the more ample quarters of the Chinese Exhibition, the promoters of the movement may be fairly congratulated upon their having attained the broad and direct road that leads to a successful issue. We must acknowledge that we recognise those elements which mainly contribute to so desirable a consummation, not so much from the talents as a painter possessed by each individual member composing the initiative, but from the fact that such gift is grafted upon, and fused with, business notions not inconsistent with the noblest pursuits, and the clearly-apparent firm determination to afford the project an uninterrupted trial of some few years. Taken in the aggregate, our artists are characterised by a highly sensitive and cautious, not to add suspicious, turn of mind. They are to an immeasurable extent, beyond all other communities, jealous of being associated with failure or in any wise compromised or committed to any one thing or part of a thing which has not a certainty, or next to a certainty, as its elementary basis. This sensitiveness, not necessarily the attribute of a refined mind, is peculiarly such in reference to artists, who have ever been tacitly recognised by their fellow-men as endowed by nature with the fullest share of enlightenment and honour. In corroboration of this, mark the astonishment which society gives expression to at any dereliction from the strict line of probity by any one of its members! Long may art thus be united with truth; the cautious feeling of the way while thus in company cannot be otherwise than complimentary to her companion.

Confidence once obtained, recruits are never wanting. This confidence, if we may

judge from the exhibition we have just left, is manifesting itself, and will grow and enlarge with every accession of co-operation and numbers.

The room of the late Chinese Exhibition is admirably adapted for the exposition of pictures, and is certainly the best, if not the largest, we know of in Britain-indeed, its light could not be better adjusted; falling from an angle of about 45 degrees from both sides of the roof, its rays are met and refracted upon the walls beneath with the mellowest influence. In this respect it is incomparably better than the Louvre, where the light descends but from one side, and its rays are necessarily intercepted by the spectator.

Some of the pictures have been exhibited before, and one or two at Westminster. But such portion is scarcely worthy of remark in respect to numbers, which in all amount to four hundred and forty. In this number there are many upon which praise would be abused, but the majority-and a very large majority-are of a class of merit, although not "high" as an order, quite equal to the average of the most flattering season of the Royal Academy. This is saying much for an institution but two years old, and in making the statement we may be probably and naturally suspected of "colouring,”'—a suspicion which will be dispelled by a visit to Hyde-park-corner.

We have only sufficient space in the present number to give a list of some of the names of the contributors. In our next we have promised ourselves the gratification of entering fully into their merits seriatim.

H. K. Browne (Phiz) begins the catalogue-why does he not paint more?—and is followed by Lucas, Passmore, Middleton, Niemann, Mclan, and Mrs. McIan, Dibdin, Gilbert, Robins, Fowler, Duvall, Davis, G. A. Williams, Hulme, Salter, Mrs. J. Robertson, Lander, R.S.A., J. E. Lander, Kidd, Marshall, Claxton, Lucy, McInnes, Bell, Browning, Wingfield, Peel, Sayers, Miss Ann Paulson, Stump, Bentley, C. Varley, Sidney, Percy, &c. The Art Union has intimated its intention to include this exhibition with the others from which prize-holders may select their pictures. It may be added that the term "Free" has been adopted with a future intent; on and after the 26th June it will be thrown gratuitously open to the public.

THE BOWYER BIBLE GRAND CLUB SUBSCRIPTION. THE history of the Bowyer Bible is the history of a life. Endowed with the purest love of art and directed by a faultless judgment, Mr. Bowyer in early years determined to bring together each and every illustration it was possible to discover of the sacred text. How his devotional zeal was rewarded the galleries of Mrs. Parkes, of Goldensquare, bear open and willing evidence. Setting aside for awhile the religious importance of this collection, in itself a theme for the most earnest pen, let us view it in a national light; for in such phrase do we feel ourselves imperatively called upon to do so. No one country throughout the globe has ever laid at the shrine of its religion such an art-offering as this. Composed of the graphic interpretations of Scripture according to the spirit which was in them, have thousands of master minds thus welled forth their fonts of genius to render fit homage to Him who can redeem. Each gushing evidence of heavenly love meeting here in one broad, deep, and mighty lake. The tribes who when earth was young ceaselessly piled huge and ponderous stone on stone until death alone summoned them from their religious toil were not more intent to raise a glorious and colossal structure for the admiration of after ages than were the builders of this gigantic work. Would that the gifted crowd of labourers-from Raffaelle,

"Whose thoughts towards heaven,-to which they were akin, Ennobling his whole being-touching chords

Of holiest sweetness-purifying sin

Raising a deathless moral that records

The Majesty of truth, in tints surpassing words!"—

from Michael Angelo

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