Evening star., 1938-05-29


twinges of the gout; Capt Anthony
Eden-just too handsome-locking on
with amused complacency and an l.
told-you-so air, and members OF the
cabinet running hither and yon over
the continent, and a large part OF
Europe saying to Mr.. Hitler: Il double
dare you. Do not take one step fur
ther." What England needed was
those Kennedys, because here in
Washington one has the British Am
bassador, Sir Ronald Lindsay. the
scion of a hundred earls-really only
26-who goes about his diplomatic
business with well-bred serenity CIV
ing one feeling of security and that
all will be for the best,
New York's Outdoor
Art and Poetry Show.
Washington Square was having its
18th semi-annual outdoor art eX-
f1ibit while we were in New York.
and the iron fences and old red brick
buildings surrounding two sides OF
tine square were hung with water COL
ors. oils, ck-and-WhiteS, etchlngs
and pieces of sculpture. The show
trickled through into the side streets
leading off the square, through Wash
ington place and MacDougal alley, the
latter charming, unique with It's two
original gas lamps OF the gay gus,
always lighted as twilight drew near.
The only two gas lamps left in New
all l,;e o11or 1innS
with artists studios which were once
the stables for the spanking pairs and
carriages of the great houses on the
adjoining streets when down around
Washington Square was the scene OF
fashion, and the Presidents mother
and Mrs. Roosevelts grandparents
went to parties there.
Realism and Surrealism
Displayed on MacDougal Alley.
Cords and racks we're placed on the
facades of the studios. and there-as
in all the exhibition-one found va
riety in style and subject matter, as
we'll as in media Realism and sur
realism, tiny etchings, large oils, with
one symbolic mural some II feet
long-carrying honors for size. Here.
as in the streets bordering the square,
were some charming, fresh seascapes;
two and three masted schooners with
billoving sails and the tang of the
salt as a gentle breeze stirred the un-
framed canvases: deep sylvan shades
which melted into the surrounding
green of the park were notable can
vases in oil. and water color: tiny pic
lures of different media for those who
had a dollar to spend. No very good
portraits or figure pieces were seem
except one in oil which was attached
to the wall of grimy old brick build
ing on one of the side streets. We
fingered there, for the flesh tints, the
glow of youth, the light in the eyes
of the girl intrigued us. If We had
had the 5000 there would have been
a sale.
2S7 Artists Exhibit and
Show Open to All.
We were staying in delightful old
mansion on Washington place, once
the home of some nabob and now
roomy apartment house. 1t was near,
in fact right in the midst of the ex-
hibition. so we could run out when
We liked and absorb the picturesque
ness and SWagger a little as we be-
came intoxicated with the Bohemian
atmosphere. Our hat became a bit
more rakish on one side of the head
as we saluted the besmocked artists,
and if thirst overlook us Nine. -
was just around the corner presiding
personally over juicy bar.
But what We want to say is: There
were 287 artists exhibiting The show
open to any one, regardless of his
talent or training-some pictures bore
small resemblance to art and distance
was desirable Something like 5000
in prizes offered was not to be sneezed
at, for pictures were not going fast.
Vladimir Didur. whose etching of
Washington Square, had previously
been awarded the j. Frederick Tai
colt prize for 1888 by the Society of
American Etchers. and had been in
cluded in a showing of the 100 best
prints, won an award for lovely
scene. Lazy Afternoon picturing
boats and young bathers. There were
bizarre looking oils-modernism with
a capital M" and darling pictures
of dogs.
The Poetry Show Is in
Minor Chord.
On Sunday last. when the out
door art show began to wane, poetry
in all its variations from blank verse
to sonnets made its appearance on
the fence at the corner of Washing
ton Square and Thompson street. and
the members of the Raven Poetry
Circle of Greenwich Village, opened
their annual spring poetry exhibition.
The poets had limited space on the
walls and fences about the square,
but hoped for more when the artists
show was over. It was very interest,"
ing and while there were no famous
names visible We were told that there
would be later on.
Perhaps it was due to the park
benches being crowded to the limit
with disconsolate, down-and-out look
ing men-there were never more than
two women seen there-that the few
poems we stopped to read were sombre
in the extreme, with a lugubrious
feeling that reminded one of Hol-
bein picture-especially The Dance
Of Death" Here Is one we bought:
THE Lonesome Pool"
I'm forest depths where shade is cool
I found the hidden Lonesome Pool.
Where ghosts impaired doleful lore;
As gloom and Death reigned evermore.
One twilight sitting there alone.
I heard q mournful wailing moan;
A weeping maiden's ghastly face :.
rT-,,.r hroka the vater'S Still embrace"