l Academy of Art in Berlin,
and it is probable that the wholesome Rhenish energy of which his critic
speaks will save him from sinking into the formalism of the academic
tradition.

In his art, however, as in that of his compatriots, it is apparent that
the world of ideas is the world in which he lives, and he works to
express his mind rather than his soul, his thoughts rather than his
emotions, if we follow the indefinite and arbitrary division between
thought and feeling that does service as a symbol of a meaning difficult
to express clearly.

There were other interesting painters represented in the Berlin group at
the American Exhibition, Otto Engel, Fritz Berger, Hans Hartig--and of
all it is more or less true that the idea in their work is more
important than the feeling. It is true also that the tradition of the
peasant Leibl, a great painter, but invariably cold, rests upon most of
them. His wonderful manipulation of pigment is equaled by none of them,
but his accurate, detached observation, his balanced rendering, the
firmness of his method, have entered more or less into their scheme of
art. And it is to be noted that his ideas and theirs are ideas
appropriate to the painter's medium. Menzel's literary bent is not
shared by them, his predilection for a story to illustrate almost never
appears among the younger Berlin painters, and he cannot in any real
sense be considered their prototype.

When we turn to the older members of the modern Munich school we find
the influence of Boecklin dominant. Arnold Boecklin, a Swiss by birth,
and possessed of the Swiss ingenuity of mind, has been the subject of
endless discussion among the Germans of the present day. He exhausted
his very great talent in painting a symbolic world, and by his
appreciation of the value of coherence he made his paintings
impressive. They are each a perfectly coherent arrangement of parts,
making a whole which has the appearance of simplicity, however numerous
the elements composing it may be. By a combined generalization and
intensity he turned the actual world which he studied closely enough,
into his own unreality. Thus, in his Italian landscapes, he reveals the
architectonic structure of his scene stripped of all incidental
ornament, the upright and horizontal lines left severe and
uncompromised, and the blue of the heavens and the sea, and the dark
green of the cypresses, pushed to an almost incredible depth. Everything
is more significa