t assuredly not beneficial to
the interests of art of any kind.

The fact of the matter is that the hurry-scurry of modern civilisation
is not conducive to artistic work of any description. The man in a
hurry is unlikely to accomplish anything of permanent value. Working
against time is utterly subversive of the realisation of artistic
ideals. The past, whether in the West or the East, when railways,
telegraphs, telephones, newspapers, and all the adjuncts of modern
progress were unknown, was the period when men did good and enduring
work. They could then concentrate their minds upon their art free from
those hundred-and-one discomposing and disconcerting influences which
are the concomitants of modern civilisation. The true artist thinks
only of his art; for him it is not merely a predominant, but his sole
interest. He brings to it all his mind, his ideas and ideals, his
energy, enthusiasm, pertinacity; in it is concentrated all his
ambition. Extraneous matters can only distract his mind from his art,
and accordingly are to be abjured. I fear this exclusiveness, this
aloofness, is rare nowadays in the West; it is perhaps less rare in
the East, but it is becoming rarer there as Western influences,
Western ideas, and Western modes of life and method of regarding life
make progress. The poet, the painter, the sculptor, the novelist, the
dramatist, if their work is to be other than ephemeral, need an
atmosphere of repose and quietude wherein the mind can work and
fashion those ideas which are to be given material expression free
from all distracting and disturbing influences. Where can the aspiring
artist, under modern conditions of life, find such a haven of rest?
And even if he find it I fear he too often has no desire to cast
anchor there. The distractions of life are frequently alluring, and
the embryonic artists of to-day assure us that they must, in modern
jargon, keep "in touch" with modern thought with a view of, in modern
slang, being "up-to-date." Ideas such as these--and they seem to me to
be not only largely prevalent but almost universal--are in my opinion
fatal, not only to the development but to the very existence of art.
We see in this country the effect upon every department thereof.
Poetry, painting, sculpture, literature, the drama, are by almost
general consent in a state of utter decadence. The great poet or
painter, the great artist in words, on canvas, in marble, or in
wood--where is he? Are there a