The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-04-26
A SEA PICTURE CRITIC
He Knew All About Ships and the
 Wild Ocean.
ART COMMENTS OF A SAILOR

of How 'Arkness Come Off the Main
 Yard-The Blood Red Sky Without a | Cloud That ForeteIIs a Storm.
 l Crude perhaps and curious, the out come of a life apart sailormen have yet an appreciation of the arts. writes David W. Bone in the Manchester Guardian.
 Once in the Walter gallery I was looking at "The Death of Nelson" There was a man with the look of a seaman standing near. He had a slight smell of drink and was chewing tobac- co. He, too, was interested in the pie ture, and, recognizing me as seaman like, ne said something, and we got to talking about Nelson and his times, about ships and pictures. .'B'gad, mate, them fellers'' the painters he meanb ':k@ewed what they was a-tloin'. Lock at that ere gIim" Gan term. Looks as it's trimmin' was for got wen they brought tn admiral down. An them eyes," point ing to a wounded seaman in the near foreground, ''them's tn eyes O poor | 'Arl1ness wot come off tn main yard las voyage an struck tn fife rail full onr
 | He told me of the accident how it happened. and by his eyes and rude. simple speech saw it all. As plain be- fore me as the figure of the stricken seaman I saw 'Arkness come of the main yard, clutching wildly at the sheets and lifts as he fell. I heard him strike the rail with a sickening thud and lie stretched. I saw the running figures on the deck, and-"'e never larsted tn night We buried i'm out there. Taltal it was.' said my speaker, | involuntarily twisting a shoulder to an imaginary southwest
 ] There was a sea picture, a ship con- ing up to the Isle of Wight-clean curving sails, a good sense of move ment and a fine. breezy atmosphere. "Jest wot 1t is," said my friend, "'omeward bound. Let Ter go, boys! a burst of enthusiasm that made some ! visitor glance around, alarmed come | ward bound it isr' There were other fine pictures. but we did not feel that we had a right to do more than look at them and admire. With sea pictures it | was different. They were our world. and who had the right to criticise the way a sea was moving off the sky if we had not? Too often had we watch ed. anxious eyed, for a break in the clouds not to know the way of wind on the water, the ~scud of a cloud breaking free in a welcome shift. Well we knew the curve of standing sail and the relation it bore to the sense of movement.
 | For a city of the sea Liverpool has no great representation of her fore most industry on her chamber walls. | f1+, hN~ 0A traction for her chiefest citizens. There was little call for sea critics down i stairs, so we went to an exhibition of modern art in the upper galleries. Here we found ourselves properly con- fronted. Setting Sail After a Blow 1t was, a large canvas, a ship pitching heavily in the swell of a recent gale and the crew putting the canvas on i her. It held great message for my mate (black smoke and an ever throb- ping screw had not yet dulled his sea fancy). He was highly pleased. Them seas wot ye gets off tn Plate.' He wanted to show some word of cheer, to swing his right hand to the left shoul- der in seamanIike admiration, but the cold gray eye of a tall batted official was upon us-"Huh, sailorsr'-and | near by worshiping at the shrine of a corporation purchase, so he contented himself by nudging me furiously. ''That,s wot calls picture" he said. A sunset over water claimed our at tention. A Blood red sky with no clouds, only a slight, density near the horizon. I said it was remarkable, perhaps unreal. That's where ye ain't in it, mister! Look a here! If ye wos t take all tn colors in tn lock CT so's ye lad lots O red am yeller in, ye'd find a sky t match it. Ain't ye never 'eard O what them dagos calls blood O Chris'-them dagos wot loads i've ballest in tn Plate?' I had not heard. well, it's a sky like that, an it comes afore one of them 'pamperos.'
 "Min' wos lyin' in Monte Video Ioncet, an we lad a sky all blood red an never a cloud, an tn fishin' boats wos all conin' in; not rowin' shipshape, same s me an you 'ud do; them shovin' tn oars $ if they wos pushin' B barrer." He spat into a dark corner and said something more about dagos, then continued: 'Nex' day we 'ad a gale. 'Owlin', it was, am her drivin' into 1t same ,s we wos off tn Horn, an' a big German bark driv' down on us an took tn fore to'gaPn'mast out O 'er am tn boom an started all tn 'eadgear. Two ships wos driv' ashore, an that's wot comes out O them skies wot they calls tn blood O Chris"
 It was an impressionist picture that annoyed my mate-an impression of a scene in dock, with masts and tunnels and hulIs all mixed up. The coloring 1 was good, but the ships might have been ninepins or egg boxes or any thing. At first he was perplexed, then amused, then indignant. "Oh, -" he said. Whats this? Ships b'gad, or I'm Dutchmanr' He burst into fit of rude laughter. Ships it is. mister, an look at them tawps'l yards! Ships wi tawps'l yards below the main, an R hangman's gibbet fer tn mizzen gaff.