ing the
abstract spirit of movement of a wave, for example, rather than the
concrete details of its surface appearance, differs fundamentally
from the painting of the western world; it is none the less pregnant
with meaning for those who know the convention. To understand
language, therefore, we must understand the convention and accept
its terms. The value of language as a means of expression and
communication depends upon the knowledge, common to the user
and to the person addressed, of the signification of its terms. Its
effectiveness is determined by the way in which it is employed,
involving the choice of terms, as the true line for the false or
meaningless one, the right value or note of color out of many that
would almost do, the exact and specific word rather than the vague
and feeble; involving also the combination of terms into articulate
forms. These ways and methods in the use of language are the
concern of technique. Technique, therefore, plays an important part
in the creation and the ultimate fortunes of the artist's work.

Just here arises a problem for the layman in his approach to art. The
man who says, "I don't know anything about art, but I know what I
like," is a familiar figure in our midst; of such, for the most part, the
"public" of art is constituted. What he really means is, "I don't know
anything about technique, but art interests me. I read books, I go to
concerts and the theatre, I look at pictures; and in a way they have
something for me." If we make this distinction between art and
technique, the matter becomes simplified. The layman does not
himself paint pictures or write books or compose music; his contact
with art is with the purpose of appreciation. Life holds some
meaning for him, as he is engaged in living, and there his chief
interest lies. So art too has a message addressed to him, for art starts
with life and in the end comes back to it. If art is not the expression
of vital feeling, in its turn communicating the feeling to the
appreciator so that he makes it a real part of his experience of life,
then the thing called art is only an exercise in dexterity for the maker
and a pastime for the receiver; it is not art. But art is not quite the
same as life at first hand; it is rather the distillment of it. In order to
render the significance of life as he has perceived and felt it, the
artist selects and modifies his facts; and his work depends for its
expressiveness upon the materi