must be some arrangement. The expression must
be ordered, rhythmic, or whatever word most fitly conveys the idea of
those powers, conscious or unconscious, that select and arrange the
sensuous material of art, so as to make the most telling impression, by
bringing it into relation with our innate sense of harmony. If we can
find a rough definition that will include all the arts, it will help us
to see in what direction lie those things in painting that make it an
art. The not uncommon idea, that painting is "the production by means of
colours of more or less perfect representations of natural objects" will
not do. And it is devoutly to be hoped that science will perfect a
method of colour photography finally to dispel this illusion.

What, then, will serve as a working definition? There must be something
about feeling, the expression of that individuality the secret of which
everyone carries in himself; the expression of that ego that perceives
and is moved by the phenomena of life around us. And, on the other hand,
something about the ordering of its expression.

But who knows of words that can convey a just idea of such subtle
matter? If one says "Art is the rhythmic expression of Life, or
emotional consciousness, or feeling," all are inadequate. Perhaps the
"rhythmic expression of life" would be the more perfect definition. But
the word "life" is so much more associated with eating and drinking in
the popular mind, than with the spirit or force or whatever you care to
call it, that exists behind consciousness and is the animating factor
of our whole being, that it will hardly serve a useful purpose. So that,
perhaps, for a rough, practical definition that will at least point away
from the mechanical performances that so often pass for art, "#the
Rhythmic expression of Feeling#" will do: for by Rhythm is meant that
ordering of the materials of art (form and colour, in the case of
painting) so as to bring them into relationship with our innate sense of
harmony which gives them their expressive power. Without this
relationship we have no direct means of making the sensuous material of
art awaken an answering echo in others. The boy shouting at the top of
his voice, making a horrible noise, was not an artist because his
expression was inadequate--was not related to the underlying sense of
harmony that would have given it expressive power.

[Illustration: Plate III.

STUDY FOR "APRIL"

In red chalk on toned paper.]