The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1896-05-16
AN ART LETTER FROM NEW YORK.
By an Artist Who Has Made Scranton
Her Home the Past Winter.

the New YORK atmosphere has been
peculiarly rich In an artistic way this
winter and has rivalled In exhibitions as
free as air. for members of 1.-The Trade"
are kind to these semi Bohemians. who
revl In the enjoyment Of a good picture
as the Lord Mayor of London does In
green turtle fat.
Many notable pictures have changed
hands and prices have proved that even
in hard times good pictures are not at
a discount.
Mons. Chartran has electrified us with
his brilliant Dotra!ts and condemned
US with faint praise In our own exhibit
tions.
But Mons Chartran is not absolute.
and Americans cannot but be proud of
the achievements of Americans. as
shown In the exhibitions of The Society
of American Artists now open to the
public in their own beautiful galleries
On Fifty seventh street.
This building is also occupied by the
Art Students League and was the gift
of Mr. George Vanderbilt to the artists
OF America. 1t has been said and with
truth that the American artist put no
thought in his work, and there Is no
doubt that he has in the past been sat
isfed to paint only the outside Of
things, to paint people with hearts and
u
simply things of form and color instead
of sentient mortals; but 1t can no longer
be said that we have no idealists. The
American artist certainly knows how to
paint with truth and vign, and now by
this exhibition we realize with thank
fullness that he is taking tine to think.
and to give us his thoughts In beautiful
creations of fancy. Here is
THE MOTH"
by Guy Rose. a small canvass rich in
color and excellent in drawing. The
poor frivolous creature of the night, at
tracted by the cheerful blaze of fire,
has strayed In at an open easement.
Dazzled and Paintings with bruised body
and scorched wings she lies PROSTATE
on the hearth-tirelight plays on the
slender limbs. bringing out their grace
full contour and half-revealing the hid
den depths of the room with it's sug-
gestion of domestic comfort.
Is there anyone OF us who cannot
carry out the analogy?
summer is u joyous beauty by
Frank Benson: she typifies warmth and
eXuberance, but there Is q dim mys-
ticism in her eyes which shows her not
unconscious of the future-of the serc
and yellow leaf and the chilling winds
Of November.
Edith Mitchell Prellwitz has a canvas
of great beauty which Is "sympatica'
in every square inch.
Lydia Field Emmett Is we'll represent
ed by charming canvas-a portrait of
u mother and child The babe illustrates
her peculiar gift in representing the fas-
cinating immaturity of infancy-it Is
the callow hedgeling, with the smile
that borders on the tear. Miss Emmet
has also one of her dignified portraits
full of life and perfect In characterize
tion and color. Such too are the por-
traits of Miss Leslie CottOn,a beautiful
young society woman-one of the fav-
orite pupils Of w. NJ. Chase. She Is
most popular In her work and paints
with a breadth and power worthy of her
master, adding thereto delicacy of
feeling which he does not possess. Two
landscapes by Bolton Jones will appeal
to every artistic eye.
Childe Hassam's brilliant interior is
an actual mosaic of paint which will
shock the well-regulated mind of the
average amateur, but cannot fail to
delight even him, when received at the
proper distance-not such great dis
lance either. Then the amazing kalei-
doscope of color resolves itself into its
proper element of form and one marvels
at the ingenuity and audacity of the ar
tist.
There are good portraits presented up
here as in all such exhibitions, and we
find that although most artists of great
repute treat with scorn the idea that
they are portrait painters. yet that all
do paint them. with a higher ideal
however. than merely to get like
ness" The highest ideal of the artist
is to paint u portrait which shall be a
picture. which will hold its own for ar
tistic merit apart from its value as a
likeness.
When we stray through the gallery
of old masters at the Metropolitan Art
Gallery and sees the portraits Of those
sturdy old burghers and their quaint
help-meets, when we gaze on the dainty
face of Creme, or study the unat-
tractive lineaments of Hillevon Robbie
-tish-wife and termagant--dead and
gone to dust these 400 years. but liv-
ing presentment today through the
wonderful art Of Franz Hals-we feel