eans of prevailing theories
or by departure from them. The public will thus have no choice but to
rely upon what he produces seriously as coming clearly from himself,
from his own desire and labor. He will realize that it is not a
trick, not a habit, not a trade--this modernity--and that with
fashions it has nothing to do; that it is explicitly a part of our
modern urge toward expression quite as much as the art of Corot and
Millet were of Barbizon, as the art of Titian, Giorgione and
Michelangelo were of Italy; that he and his time bear the strictest
relationship to one another and that through this relationship he can
best build up his own original power. Unable to depend therefore upon
the confessedly untutored lay writer or even the better class essayist
to tell him his place, he will establish himself, and his place will
be determined in the regime of his day by precisely those qualities
which he contributes to it. He will not rely too insistently upon
idiosyncrasy; the failure of this we have already seen, in the
post-impressionists.

The truth is that painters must sooner or later learn to express
themselves in terms of pure language, they must learn that creation is
the thing most expected of them, and, if possible, invention as well.
Oddity in execution or idea is of the least importance. Artists have a
more respectable service to perform than this dilettantist notion of
beauty implies. Since the utter annihilation of sentimentality, of
legend, of what we call poetry has taken place, a richer substance for
expression has come to us by means of which the artist may express a
larger, newer variety of matter, more relevant to our special need,
our modernity.

The war disintegrated the _art habit_ and in this fact lies the hope
of art. Fads have lost what slight interest they possessed, the folly
of imitation has been exposed. As a result of this, I like to think
that we shall have a finer type of expression, a richer kind of
personal quality. Every artist is his own maker, his own liberator; he
it is that should be the first to criticise, destroy and reconstruct
himself, he should find no mood convenient, no attitude comfortable.
What the lay-writer says of him in praise or blame will not matter so
much in the future; he will respect first and last only those who have
found the time to share his theme, at least in mind, if not in
experience, and the discerning public will free itself from the
temporary influenc