A NEW ENGLAND ARTIST
One of Those Who Deserves a Greater Recognition
To the Editor of the Republican
Your admirable clipping of May 29, under the caption "American Art" contained a statement both stinging and pertinent: "The American people as a whole do not realize that their painters rank among the greatest in the world today." This statement was supported by a quotation from
Rodin: "There is now going on in America a renaissance more important than that of the 15th century in Europe, only the Americans do not know it."
We have frankness here to the point of brutality, but also a truth that it might be difficult to controvert. If we have an American culture that applies to America as a whole it obviously does not include a quick and sensitive appreciation of the creative arts. We have just had in Western Massachusetts an extraordinary exhibition of drawings and paintings by a master that has no equal in his own particular field--that of the New England landscape.
Pines at Hamamatsu by Hiroshige
Robert Strong Woodward has discovered and portrayed reality as revealed in the skies and hills and streams of New England; he has portrayed it with the profound integrity that one finds in
Hiroshige's "Pines at Hamamatsu." In that masterpiece the two pines not only dominate the scene but they appear to create it; their very speech and plaint vibrating from the thin wash of the Japanese print in touching cadence.
When Drifts Melt Fast - Editor's note: we believe the painting to which Flora White refers is actually "When Drifts Melt Fast," or the very similar "Gathering Sap," not "When Sap Runs." Both are paintings of sugaring time, but there are no horses in "When Sap Runs." MLP.
Woodward has a canvas called
"When Sap Runs" -- a brilliant work -- full of the vitality and rhythm of spring surgings, red buckets on gray trunks, horses in the distance dragging their load of gathered sap-- sunshine, promise, flickering through the leafless branches--but the inner meaning of the scene is conveyed in the deep irregular ruts of the foreground which the load has left in its trail. Two pictures could hardly be more dissimilar in their external markings then "Pines" of
Hiroshige and the "Sap Runs" of Robert Woodward who did not perceive that in essence they are one, and that neither could have been produced except by a great landscape painter.
Henri Matisse says: "An American should learn his metier and work in America"; Woodward has learned his metier and he works in New England--nowhere else. Perhaps that is the cause of his unequalled achievement. But why not face the European criticism with candor and ask ourselves to what extent such works of genius form an essential part of the lives of the majority of our educated people? Is it true, as is freely claimed abroad, that out culture consists of bath tubs and automobiles with only the movies for esthetic satisfactions? If there is a measure of extravagance in such comments one feels there may be also a measure of justification. Who can honestly deny that usually the well-to-do American feels a less imperative need to have life interpreted for him by great works of art than he does to possess more bathrooms and the latest model in motor car?
To return to the criticism first quoted, that we do not know that our great painters are great, one is reminded of a notable painting--perhaps one of the most significant of this century--the work of a young Concord artist, Henry Brooks. It was exhibited in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, without eliciting a word of comment from a single American critic, yet it was one of the first selected by a French connoisseur to reproduce for the art world of Paris, as exhibiting the high achievement being attained by American painters, and columns were devoted to it in a leading art journal there.
The situation seems a bit tragic and a bit anomalous. We can produce great art but we cannot produce sufficient sensitivity and appreciation for its maintenance. Perhaps the youth movement, of which we hear so much, will develop a higher type of desires until the fostering genius and the promotion of noble works of art becomes the passion of our people. When that time comes we may justly claim to possess an American culture.
FLORA WHITE
Heath, Mass., June 3, 1931