New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1920-01-04

The kind thst IL spelt with q capital
letter and turned into fetish is the
kind that medioority loves. Then theirs
is the modernism that amounts 70
nothing more or less than an honest
restlessness-a well-meant wandering
between two worlds. It has it's weak
ness--and its strength. MIR. Boris An
lsfeld is Russian who has turned his
back on convention and in the process
has allowed himself some rather spe-
cious crochets. He has, we imagine,
dipped into cubism little. He has
felt the vague, unsettling influence Of
C@zanne. But he has remained a man
Of talent, with an authentic gift, His
scenery for Maaterlinck's "Blue Bird
has made genuinely romantic appeal
at the Metropolitan Opera House. At
the Kingore gallery his original de-
signs for it may be seen and with them
a large number Of his paintings,
brought hero under the auspices of
the 1nterallied Art Association after q
tour Of the provincial museums in the
United States. he leaves an interest
ing impression, conveyed in terms OF
color.
The Blue Bird" designs are sup-
gestivs Of this painters natural milieu.
He was born to function in the theater.
there to evoke the atmosphere fitting
for this or that romantic pageant. He
has large, sumptuous way with him,
handling the hues Of the gorgeous East
as though, indeed, he held that East in
fee, ainging its riches on his canvases
with unbridled lavishness. His weak
moss develops in the rather Fictitious
nature Of tho illusion he creates. It
is an Illusion Of fancy rather than of
imagination; Of the decorator rather
than the creative artist. He tackles
heroic themes, 1.-THE Garden Of Eden. /"
The Garden Of the Hesperides," but
the emotion he excites has nothing to
do with legend, either Scriptural or
profans; It is only the emotion that is
reused BY some glowing tapestry. His
nudes and their luxuriant backgrounds.
his medleys Of LEAKAGE, cleaning fruits
and shimmering blue pools. are just so
many webs Of sensuously brilliant
color. He hasn't an atom Of the imae-
NATIVE power belonging to a painter,
say, like the French Gustave Moreau.
who could make his image Of "Saloma"
living. breathing thing-the flaming
heart OF q coruscating jewel. Mr.. Ants
fields figures have no individual per-
suasiveness. They are simply pegs on
which to hang arrangements Of color
His dreams are those of tho theater-
not Of tho poet. Yet he has his ties,
with . certain reality. Witness his
admirably drawn portraits, vivid stud
los in characterization, and his various
Impressions Of landscape and the sea.
The silvery calder Grove" is q beau
tiful picture. Sketches like the "Win-
ter" and the Melting Snow" contain,
paradoxically. both the vague breadth
Of C@zanne and the piercing truth of
Mr.. Sargent. Viewed as a whole, the
art Of this Russian painter seems some
what overweight, ovcrblown. The
blazing color filling it Is often re-
dundant, too hot. But, even while we
are repealed by the artists barbaric
emphasis, we are grateful for his en-
Iergy, his fervor, and, above all. his
originality. For there is something
very fresh and personal about these
pictures--hothouse growths though
they may be. The note Of decadent
extravaganza running through them
cannot invalidate their rich, sensuoua
vitality.