being, and
when I was asked to lecture, I thought that as I had no Irish Whistler
to fear, I might speak of art in relation to these universal ideas which
artists hold are for literature and not subject matter for art at all.

I must first say it was not my wish to speak. With a world of noble and
immortal forms all about us, it seemed to me as unfitting that words
without art or long labor in their making should be advertised as an
attraction; that any one should be expected to sit here for an hour to
listen to me or another upon a genius which speaks for itself. I was
overruled by Mr. Lane. But it is all wrong, this desire to hear and hold
opinions about art rather than to be moved by the art itself. I know
twenty charlatans who will talk about art, but never lift their eyes
to look at the pictures on the wall. I remember an Irish poet speaking
about art a whole evening in a room hung round with pictures by
Constable, Monet, and others, and he came into that room and went out
of it without looking at those pictures. His interest in art was in the
holding of opinions about it, and in hearing other opinions, which
he could again talk about. I hope I have made some of you feel
uncomfortable. This may, perhaps, seem malicious, but it is necessary to
release artists from the dogmas of critics who are not artists.

I would not venture to speak here tonight if I thought that anything
I said could be laid hold of and be turned into a formula, and used
afterwards to torment some unfortunate artist. An artist will take
with readiness advice or criticism from a fellow-artist, so far as
his natural vanity permits; but he writhes under opinions derived from
Ruskin or Tolstoi, the great theorists. You may ask indignantly, Can no
one, then, speak about paintings or statues except painters or
modelers? No; no one would condemn you to such painful silence and
self-suppression. Artists would wish you to talk unceasingly about
the emotions their pain of making pictures arouse in you; but, under
lifelong enemies, do not suggest to artists the theories under which
they should paint. That is hitting below the belt. The poor artist is as
God made him; and no one, not even a Tolstoi, is competent to undertake
his re-creation. His fellow-artists will pass on to him the tradition of
using the brush. He may use it well or ill; but when you ask him to use
his art to illustrate literary ideas, or ethical ideas, you are asking
him to become a li