The daily Gate City. [volume] (Keokuk, Iowa) 1855-1916, 1913-01-13
Love and Art

1t Was but short time after Lori
mer built his bungalow until his pop
ularity was established In our neigh
borhood Of orange groves and mag
nolia trees. His studio was a place for
sight-seers, as we'll as a pleasant re-
sort for friends and neighbors.
Others succumbed to Lorimer's In
fiuence because they found him re-
sponsipe and congenial, but imagined
that he attracted me because he was
my contrast. 1t was he, himself, who
discovered that our natures, beneath
the surface, we're positive and not neg
alive, and with that discovery he swept
away all imagined barriers between us.
placing me at once in the heart OF the
company that haunted his bungalow.
He said to me one day as ha topped
a Persian drapery behind his models
chair: "Tisdale. you have the depth
of artist-instinct, but you haven't the
gift Of expression. You don't even
! talk. These others, for instance
! waving his hand In the direction OF
the chatterers just gone these others
talk about everything they feel, and,
| dear boy, they have so little to tellI
| His tone to me was like velvet
touch, and his eyes held steel-blue
CLEAN that made me love to look at
him. I knew that he knew my inner
self. and that whatever that self might
/ be. it was valued by him.
/ shall never forget the kindly SYM
| pathy that shone from his eyes when
he realized one special day that /
/ needed him to understand me. ! had
1 gone to him, troubled about my moth
er's orphaned cousin Lucy, who had
come to us to live. having no other
place to go. wanted to befriend her,
to make her happy, and ! could not
even tell her that she was welcome.
She was little daisy maid, blossom
ing into womanhood almost in a day,
under our soft skies and in our south
ern California breezes.
AS / entered the studio, Lorimer's
clean shayen cheeks, his locks Of dark
hair thrown OF his forehead, the
}. friendly eyes under his heavy brows,
made a ft crown to his tall form
standing before the easel. / can see
the very dab of ochre on his thumb.
He was busy at one of his wonderful
wood interiors, touching In the sun
light by hints Of yellow on the lichen-
covered trunks.
Yes, Tisdale.. Lorimer said, after
had looked for long time over his
shoulder without speaking, Il feel the
joy OF utterance. Why, man. think
what relief to weep in grief! That
is what 1t is to paint, to sing, to be a
poet"
Il can do none OF these things" ]
answered slowly.
: NO. but after all, perhaps within
you may be artist or poet. Life has
an intensity. value, that this hasn't
r and Lorimer lightly struck his can
4 vas.
A woman--it is always woman
!, that intrudes upon mems friendships
i She Is sort Of earth, trespassing upon
t kind of heaven. This time, 1t was
J. of course, the daisy maid, and IL IL
/ difficult to know whether she made
!. earth heaven, or brought heaven tc
a earth.
Lorimer and suddenly awoke te
the knowledge OF mutual love fol
my modest cousin. Why could not be
have chosen one OF the beautiful won
8 en- that haunted his studio? From ths
i crowds met in cars and shops, whJ
q could not have taken another woman
l. and been satisfied?
u My very silence was confession afte
his avowal of love for Lucy. and theI
he admonished grayaly, "Tisdale, re
member we are her courtiers. and ths
(, courtiers stand aside when the queer
4 passes. choosing whom she WILL
. OH but 1t was hard to give anothe,
! man fair play; hard for us both. Lori
;. mer's face grew thin under the strain
). and river OF fire seemed to flow i,
: and out OF my heart.
: At last Lucy consented to sit TO
Z her portrait. One day, hidden In spor
behind some stadio trnmpery. W