Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1925-01-08
The North Window
BY LEILA MECHLIN.

view in the Corcoran Gallery of Art,
is described in the foreword of the
little catalogue of this exhibition as
a painter who has consecrated mis-
gifts solely to the service OF beauty.
Beauty" says Walter Jack Duncan,
who pays him this tribute, occupies
the whole of his attention. Palette In
hand, he is concerned with nothing
else. Whilst others dispute or vex
their minds with idle torment he
paints. Revolutions in art may come
or revolutions may go; still he paints.
His composure in the face of prevail
ing confusion is truly remarkable.
Through all the weller of movements
and conflicting ideas which mark the
history of our times he has moved Sc
cure and unperturbed, apparently
without perceiving anything amiss-
superior to freaks and to frenzy" A
high tribute, but to what have we
come that such an attitude on the
part of a painter should be occasion
for remark, should set him aside as
one holding special distinction? Is it
true, as Mr.. Duncan suggests, that the
majority of the painters who have at
tanned eminence today are merely
voices struggling in the dark; mutes
signing to be heard, sufferers and
stammerers, their medium not so
much means of expression, after all,
as an impeachment of speech-an OBJ
struction that rather spoils their ut
terance than renders it articulate?"
There is much good painting today,
In fact, perhaps at no time have there
been more skillful technicians in this
art, but it is true, too, alas, that not
a great many seem to have dedicated
themselves to the Interpretation of
beauty, and very many do not seem to
take sufficient time to find articulate
expression. In all walks of life 1t is
not merely what a man does, but the
way he does it that counts. Until an
artist commands his medium he is not
free, but technical fiuencey signifies
nothing unless he has something to
say.
Willard Metcalf paints beautifully.
There is nothing fumbling about his
method, nothing which suggests I'M
certainty or hap-hazard. 1t Is skill
full almost beyond belief, and his man
ner perfectly suits the kind or
themes he chooses to interpret It is
the gentle loneliness in nature which
has appealed to him and which he in
variably makes manifest to all be-
holders. Locking out over a fair bit
of country last summer, a fellow ar
list said with a wave of his hand,
There you have a Metcalf," as one
passing in France a clump of willows
might say, Here is a Corot." To no
painter can greater compliment be
paid, for the Specification is that he
has so truly interpreted some phase of
nature that he has made obvious to
all it's latent beauty. 1t is as if he
were the discoverer of a continent,
the inventor of an inestimably valu-
able mechanical device. Furthermore,
certain painters have found lure in
certain subjects. Inness, for example,
loved the luscious warmth and color
of open fields stepped in midsummer
sunshine; Winslow Homer delighted
in the rugged splendors of the rock
bound coast.
1t is an interesting point that Mr..
Duncan makes when he says that Mr..
Metcalf has been undisturbed by the
confusion in the world of art to-
day, that whilst others dispute or
yex their minds with idle torment,
he paints" This detachment and
placidity of mind is distinctly reflect
ed in Mr.. Metcalf's paintings, and it
is a rare quality in the world today.
Elizabeth Luther Cary, art critic of
the New York Times, writing recently
of Joseph PennelFs Brooklyn etch-
ings, ventures the suggestion that
the craze for colonial furniture and
architectural design, for the things
of our great grandmothers day, which
prevails at present is nothing more
than a search for tranquility and
peace, a yearning for quietness among
those who are compelled to live in
the midst of turmoil, scurrying along
with bated breath, with no time for
anything. Perhaps this Is true. Ger
tainly few painters today bring their
works, as does Mr.. Metcalf. to real
completion. They have no. the time,
they do not count it worth the while,
nor, for that matter, do the writers;
the main object seems to be, in the
language Of the day, to get the idea
over without waste.
A we'll known newspaper editor
warned a young writer some years
ago against pinning the clothes care
lessly on the stories she was writing.
Today not only are many ideas pre-
sented with clothes pinned carelessly
around them, but stark naked. No
wonder they make unfavorable i'm
preston upon the world. A beauti-
full theme is undoubtedly worthy of
fine clothing, not ruffles and frills
which will hide its character obscure
It's identity, but such clothing as
the sensitive, trained artist is capable
of giving.
Much Of our painting today is frag-
mentary. For this, in a measure, the
impressfonists are to blame, for
though they laugh us much, they en-
couraged us in the expectation of en-
comprising a work of art in a glance.
~ ct fctc hor
farther along this road and have en-
deavored to present in these lightning
flashes crudely set down feelings,
emotions as we'll as that which is
visible to the eye. To an extent hard
as it is to believe 1t, the modernist
movement is a revolt against this, a
demand for substance rather than
superf1ciality.
Almost every picture in Mr.. Met
calf'S exhibition holds its own as a
unified composition. They are pic
lures the loneliness of which one
may realize in a glance. but the full
meaning of which is only unfolded
through longer acquaintance and
study. To paint such landscapes Mr..
Metcalf must not only see with sur
prising accuracy, but must have ex-
ceptional knowledge of the funda-
mental principles of art and complete
command of his medium.
Nature is many sided. Beauty in
nature appeals almost invariably to
all. Crossing the Susquehanna on
the Pennsylvania railroad bridge two
men, strangers, glanced up simulta-
neously from their newspapers and at
the glorious view out of the window.
AS it passed from sight, the train NOV
ing onward, the one caught the
others eye; there was flash of COM
mon sympathy, and as he said Pretty
SWELL" the other one mutely nodded. 1t
is such views of appealing beauty,
though Of a more intimate character,
that Mr.. Metcalf has painted, and he