The Tupelo journal., 1906-03-30
(Copyrightedl

Dear uncle" said little Dilly with
an anxious look, tell me, what is
Art?"
"Art, my lear nephew" replied
Uncle George, vigorously busting the
ashes from his n~ickelodeon off his
waistcoat. sis all that makes life worth
living, and art is also the bane of u
existence. It gives employment to
many deserving men and women, and
causes the treasury department untold
anguish. AS handled by V~elasquez or
Rubens it is ethereal and taken care
of by Mike Clancy and Pete Fogarty
it is dipthereal, the difference being
that the first two are not in a posi-
tion to reap any reward for their work,
and the latter are clamoring hungrily
for more work at $3.50 a day. Done
by a man who needs the money, art is
worthless, but if produced by some
'gilded imbecile who has more than is
good for him, it becomes at once Of
extreme value-tO some persons.
Turned out by a printing press the
picture is not art, handled by a long
haired gazabo attired in a soiled vel
vet coat and a vandyke beard, who
slaps wads of color on good canvass
with an air brush or a whitewash i'm
pfement it becomes an impressionistic
symphony. There is a line of de-
narration somewhere, Dilly, but you
get three guesses. and no n puts it
in the same place"
do all artists paint, dear uncle?"
asked billy.
mo, my dear boy" replied Uncle
George. Some of them merely touch.
Others, again, fuss about on a pine
board with a piece of hot metal; still
others are to be found upon the stage,
and others, again, are in Jail; but all
are artists. Augustine DAILY once re-
marked that an artist without temper
ament was of no value, and that if he
had temperament he was crazy, SO that
the patron was stung either way he
played it. Yet there are many wise
men in the art game, and it is these
who make the coin trip merrtly in
their direction. To many OF us art
is a game; a sort of catch-as-catch-can-
I-saw-it-frst proceeding. Good Master
Pierpont Morgan goes abroad and pur-
chases largely of works Of art n
pays enormous sums to have them
brought here. Then some rude per-
son points out delicately that Mr.. Nor
gan has been stung, for his object OF
art was turned out in Jersey City or
Mayayunk by a garlic eating artist
with some plaster of paris and a fine
sense of humor.
"To a great extent art depends upon
its antiquity. What would be the
SOU of art if done by Michael Ange-
10 would be but a paltry effort when
turned out by your friend, Algernon
st. Leger Dubbe, down the street, that
is If the public knew it. but if Alger-
non was foxy enough to break the leg
of his statue or crack the varnlsh OF
his picture and let some n discover
ii in an excavation or an attic as the
case might be, it would become real
art. To the mind Of many thinking
persons, Dilly, the old masters were
the bunco men of their day. To many
others IQey were dill Tie SouuS. Iou
lever can tell. Much art comes from
abroad, and the native artists are
slathering considerably over the Ques-
ton of duty upon art. If they are to
be put in competition with the pauper
art labor of Europe they can see their
dinner pals d%windling, but if we are
to have a high protective tariff on art,
they think perhaps they will be able
to buy enough coal to heave at the
wolf that is rubbing the paint from
the door post. 1t is a sad thing, my
dear boy, to think that the foreign
trade is driving our artists to the
wall"
"Does all art come from abroad, dear
uncle?" asked Oily.
eyes. Dilly," said Uncle George.
"Art is always distant from where we
live. To the resident of Oskaloosa, the
only artists live in Paris. To the
American in Paris all art comes from
Rome, and If you can get far enough
east you will find that the only true
art has its habitat somewhere between
Tarrytown and C~oshohocton. We
have just discovered, my boy. that the