ART.
[SECOND NOTICE.]
As a rale, our readers will agree with us that babies do not form, perhaps, the moat interesting subject for pictures, but Mr. Gregory's baby, in a red dress and red velvet cloak, is one of the strongest works in the present exhibition ; and, technically, as good as anything which the artist has done for several years. An original and unconventional mind perhaps never shows its peculiar quality to better advantage than when it takes a conventional subject and strips it of all common- place. This is what Mr. Gregory has done in the picture before us. A fat child of two, clad in a very ugly and exaggerated manner, standing plump in front of the spectator, like an imperfectly balanced doll,—such are the facts with which the artist has had to deal. But by his power of painting on the one hand, and his grip of the character and expression of the child on the other, he has succeeded in producing a picture which is not only a portrait of the baby in question, but which seems typical of all babyhood. The picture is delightful, because it shows how superior humanity is to clothes, even when humanity is only two years old. It is absolutely impossible, after having looked a moment at this baby's face, to think of his cloak and frock and shoes, or anything but what a funny little determined fellow the real child must be.
We spoke in an article a few weeks ago of the decline of English landscape-painting,—notably in the Manchester Exhi- bition. There are, however, in the present Gallery two or three pictures of the old kind, such as might well make us hesitate in affirming the above proposition. Look, for an instance of this, at Mr. Jamse Webb's " Salisbury, after the Floods," in which we see the town, with the spires of its churches and cathedral over- hung by a great, grey, misty cloud from which the rain has only just ceased to fall. A gleam of sunlight strikes through the mist on the barges and sailors and the muddy shore in the foreground of the picture ; whilst in the distance, the soft haze in which the town seems bathed, melts imperceptibly into the sky above. A fine work this, though perhaps it could never have existed if Turner had not previously painted; not an imitation ; it is the composition of an artist who is working on the same lines as his great predecessor, and who succeeds in achieving somewhat similar results.
For a contrast to this, take a little picture by Mr. Charles H. Shannon, entitled " When Man was Chased by Beast." This represents four pm-historic men running as hard as they can down a rocky path towards the spectators, while in the distance a mammoth with an unmistakable hunter tendency in his eye, is pursuing them. The work, small and slight as it is, has distinct and admirable qualities. In the first place, it is
natural and genuine, painted because the artist wanted to paint it, full of freshness and full of life. The figures might be better drawn, we will allow ; but their movements and their expression could scarcely be improved. Besides this, the subject has been gripped hard, and the story is told, without aid of the title, with perfect plainness. Add to these merits that though the composition is full of fun, it is also most pleasant to look upon, prettily as well as ingeniously composed, and with delicate hints of colour in every detail. Mr. Shannon has another little composition here of " Cincinnatus being called from the plong h to be Dictator," a subject which lends itself, no doubt, to the heroic artistic treatment. Mr. Shannon, however, has conceived his work from another point of view. We might almost suspect him of poking fun at the Patres Conscripti, who look very cold and uncomfortable in their togas, as they stand thrusting out a scroll which announces the decision of the Republic, towards Cincinnatus, who seems by no means eager to accept office. There is a comical contrast between the realism of the ploughed field in rainy weather and the historic draperies, which the artist has felt keenly, and which gives to his little sketch the same element of originality of which we have spoken as being noticeable in the first com- position. If artists only knew what a relief it is to find pictures in which there is even a gleam of a fresh idea, we should have more work of this kind, work which dares to be imperfect, for the sake of saying something which could hardly be otherwise said. The flavour of both the works we have mentioned would have entirely evaporated if they had been wrought out into large and important compositions. The facts were just worth saying in the manner in which they were said, and it was a great treat, to the present writer at least, on the "varnishing-day," to notice one artist after another going up and chuckling over Mr. Shannon's delicate and amusing fancies.
Two of the most important portraits in the exhibition are by a namesake of this artist (Mr. J. J. Shannon). Of these—the most attractive represents a young lady in a pink dress, of whom our first thought is of her perfect cleanliness. She has evidently just been turned out by her maid, scientifically turned out, as from the most perfect bandbox. From the crown of her head to the tip of her shoe, everything is as it ought to be, fresh and new and spotless, and in the latest possible fashion. And yet the picture does escape conventionality, and is not a mere reproduction of millinery. It gives the impression that, after all, an English girl is a very first-rate article, and that, as Calverley said:—
"A maiden's heart is as champagne, ever aspiring and struggling upward, And it needeth that its motions be checked with the silvered cork of propriety ; He that can afford the price, his be the precious treasure, Let him drink deeply of its sweetness, nor grumble if it tasteth of the cork."
Technically speaking, the picture is a fine one ; and the pose of the figure is natural and graceful. Mr. Shannon's second portrait is of Lady Maude-Hooper, and is a more ambitious attempt in its composition of light and shade. This, too, is an interesting work, though hardly likely to be so popular as the first.
Mr. Anmonier sends a good example in his usual quiet landscape style,—a picture which is especially admirable in its rendering of atmosphere, and in the various planes of distance shown in the composition. His is not painting which, as a rule, looks well in exhibitions; the motive is too purely artistic, the sentiment too unforced. People who will stay and gaze with rapture at the network of twigs against an orange sunset of Mr. Leader, or the blasted pine-tree hat in the mist of Mr. Macwhirter, are apt to pass without notice these renderings of everyday English scenes, in which there is nothing specially dramatic, or specially sentimental. But for this very reason, pictures of this sort are good to live with, and tell their quiet story in fuller detail as one's acquaintance with them grows more intimate and more pro- longed. Good pictures are like books and people; they do not yield much pleasure worth the having on a superficial acquaintanceship. One of the worst qualities of modern art is that, owing to the development of the " Exhibition," pictures are painted for the purpose of " bitting you in the eye " at first sight, and attracting your attention at any cost. The coat is, that when such pictures are bought and taken home, the dramatic insistence which was at first your satisfaction, becomes soon an intolerable nuisance; the thinness of sentiment is only too evident, and the more £0 from the shrill tone in which it is pro-
claimed. Many works of our modern painters are, as George- Eliot said, " both garrulous and eager, like talk delivered from a stool in the parrot-honse."
Mr. Edwin Hayes is one of the most old-fashioned of our sea-painters, and it is with a certain amount of pleasure that we can add to this, that he is still at his best. We will not speak in detail of his large work here, but draw the atten- tion of our readers to a small coast-picture, entitled "Low Tide,. Port Madoc." No finer piece of atmosphere, no pleasanter com- position, is to be found in the Gallery. The work is as refined as a Bonnington, and as natural as a David Cox. Higher praise- it would be diffioult to give.
The pre-Raphaelite painters in this Gallery do not shine. It would be hard to say when Miss Pickering has painted a worse picture than her " Hope in the Prison of Despair," a com- position of two figures, angular in drawing, and extremely awkward in composition. The actual brush-work is delicate enough, but there is an intentional archaism in the treatment of the subject, which is not atoned for by any special beauty. We- can see no admirable qualities in this picture; it is neither natural, beautiful, interesting, nor true. The actions of the figures are awkward, the background a mere series of harsh, straight lines, the draperies poor in arrangement and heavy in• execution, and the story told in a feeble and undecided manner. Why will not Miss Pickering leave off imitating Mr. Burns- Jones, and devote her industry and skill to doing some original work? How strange it is that the admirers of the last-named• artist cannot see that the very qualities which render his work admirable are the personal ones; that it is admirable in spite of his manner, rather than because of it. Supposing people who knew of a Shakespeare or a Plato troubled with a red nose or an impediment in his speech, and were to deliberately try to implant in themselves a similar defect, under the impression that they would therefore subsequently be able to write Hamlet or the "Republic,"—well, they would be doing much the same that Miss Pickering has done of late years ; for Mr. Byrne-Jones's red nose, is his hankering after the form of mediaavalism, and Miss Pickering echoes this hankering afar off.
A rather clever study of a female figure, with a somewhat affeoted title (" A Modern Sibyl "), is sent by Mr. Kennington. It is noticeable, among other qualities, for its attempt at rendering a shadowed face amid strongly lighted surroundings. Mr. Frith, the Royal Academician, sends a small, carefully finished picture of "Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Siddons," in which the Doctor is standing, kissing the actress's hand, at the head of a wide staircase. We do not think this a good example of Mr. Frith, though it is noticeable for his usual thoroughness of execution. M. Fantin sends several examples, of which the best are his flower-pieces ; but there is nothing new to say of M. Fantin'a still•life at this time of the day. Every one knows that, given the paint of view, these pictufes of flowers and fruit approach perfection.
There are many other interesting works here which we must omit for want of space, though a word must be said in con- clusion in favour of Mr. Frank Dada's timid host, presenting his supper-bill to a rather rough-looking traveller, who, we may suppose, is intended for a highwayman. This somewhat con- ventional subject is cleverly and freshly treated, the light-and- shade combination being specially good.
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