le of the canvas the first shot. The first was
Vibert's realistic picture so well known to you. The other was an
example of the modern French school or what was then known as advanced
impressionists.

I shall not go into an analysis of the technic of the two painters. I
refer to them and their brush work here because of the undue value set
upon the way a thing is done rather than its value after it is done.

Speaking for myself, I must admit that the value of technic has never
impressed me as have the other and greater qualities in a
picture--namely, its expression of truth and the message it carries of
beauty and often tenderness. I have always held that it is of no
moment to the world at large by what means and methods an artist
expresses himself; that the world is only concerned as to whether he
has expressed himself at all; and if so, to what end and extent.

If the artist says to us, "I scumbled in the background solid, using
bitumen as an undertone, then I dragged over my high lights and
painted my cool color right into it," it is as meaningless to most of
us as if another bread-winner had said, "I use a Singer with a
straight shuttle and No. 60 cotton." What we want to know is whether
she made the shirt.

Art terms are, however, synonymous with other terms and in this
connection may be of assistance. To make my purpose clear we will
suppose that "technic" in art is handwriting. "Composition," the
arrangement of sentences. "Details," the choice of words. "Drawing,"
good grammar. "Mass, or light and shade," contrasting expressions
giving value each to the other. I hold, however, that there is
something more. The author may write a good hand, spell correctly,
and have a proper respect for Lindley Murray, but what does he say?
What idea does he convey? Has he told us anything of human life, of
human love, of human suffering or joy, or uncovered for us any fresh
hiding-place of nature and taught us to love it? Or is it only words?

It really matters very little to any of us what the handwriting of an
author may be, and so it should matter very little how an artist
touches the canvas.

It is true that a picture containing and expressing an idea the most
elevated can be painted either in mass or detail, at the pleasure of
the painter. He may write in the Munich style, or after the manner of
the Duesseldorf ready writers, or the modern French pothook and hanger,
or the antiquated Dutch. He can use the English of C