FINE ARTS.
EXHIBITION OF THE SOCIETY OP BRITISH ARTISTS.
There is no foreboding the degree of badness to which, with well. directed effort, an English exhibition may be made to attain. We thought the British Institution poor enough this year, but it was beaten by the National; and now the British Artiste come to dispute the prize—not without solid claims. This would have been impossible last season; for then there was among them a man of genius, before whom all the paper- lanterns of the other galleries, however refulgent amid their surrounding gloom, went out with a snuff. But Mr. Anthony's name is unknown this year to the list of members ; and the " British Artists" find them- selves, on the instant, almost on hail-fellow-well-met terms with the " Proprietaries" of the National. Between the elite of the two bodies it might be possible to produce a creditable exhibition ; singly, each is in the feeblest stage of maundering imbecility. However, Billingsgate might be exhausted if we. went through the great majority of the works, calling them by their right names : so we will try to pick out a plum or two from the clammy pudding.
As with the loss of Mr. Anthony the gallery loses its character of an important landscape-exhibition, we commence' according to our usual practice, with the class of pictures in which the human form is stripped of its divinity. Mr. Hurlstone, the President, appears with one subject pro- per, and with his wonted efflux of Southern picturesquenesses and English respectabilities. The former represents "The first appearance of Columbus in Spain " ; and derives some dignity from the noble head of Columbuic while there is truth of expression in his travel-wearied young son, who quaffs water at the convent-door of La Rabida. The chief specimen of the second kind is "Descendants of Marius and the Gracchi" : some boys of the ragamuffin order, sprawling to play their marbles, or grinning and lifting the hat for halfpence, amid the relics of their ancestors' grandeur, One would think more of the picture, and refer it to a higher rank of sub- ject, had not the painter done so many studies of the sort before without any ulterior meaning ; but, at all events, it is one of his best. The "Shepherd Boy of the South" (220) may be placed next. Of the third class, the portraits, we prefer that of "Miss Auldjo,"—a pretty face, with a pretty expression, almost childlike in its girlishness, and with something of a nice quality of colour. For this we continue to give Mr. Hurlstone credit in his pictures generally, spite of his perhaps even increasingly dirty hues, ropy pencilling, and sickly flesh. His remaining contributions have nothing to distinguish them from numberless others of former years in the same style,—except the "Portrait of Mrs. Martin of Groby,' which has a hint of Mr. Baxter's manner. This gentleman sends his quantum of Bacchantes and so forth in that equally familiar manner—a galaxy of one and the same beauty " raised ' on milk and roses. His beat points are displayed to most advantage in "Lucy Lockit," which has a shade more of individuality than the rest ; and the half-shadow carnations of "Reflection" (293) are delicate,
Besides Mr. Hurlstone's, there are but three subject-pictures stopping short of the positively bad. Guarini's lines, ' Occhj, stelle mortali, Ministri de'miei mali,— Se ohiusi m'uccidete, Aperti, che farete ? "
are illustrated by Mr. J. Z.. Bell in a painting which may fairly be called pleasing, if not carried far enough to be exactly good. The sleeping lady is " simpatica," as the Italians call that kind of grace which appeals rather to the heart than to the eye ; and the light, though low, is true. The same artist's " Ariadne abandoned by Theseus" unfortunately coarse, and in other respects mismanaged. Mr. Madot and Mr. Wageman have both had recourse to Shakspere. The former treats a scene from the "Taming of the Shrew" in flagrant copyism from Mr. Hook, modified by Mr. Lear, but with a degree of chasteness which here makes the work al- most valuable. Mr. Wageman represents the sick chamber of Henry IV.; the old oak bench and floor, the painted windows, and deep-toned back- ground, with considerable success ; the Monarch himself pretty well. The figure is at any rate so far in accord with the fit sentiment as not to jar against it : and this is something. The king seems to have abdicated his right leg, however. In strictness, we ought perhaps to class with these three Mr. Fortt's "Rebekah at the Well"—for bad it is not; but it is that deadest of dead things, the dry bones of Germanism. The two best painted and most pleasing single figures —"The Pet Parrot," and "Eustatia,' by Mr. Deverell—are shabbily banished to the Water-colour Room. Of the first a small study appeared in the British Institution. In this finished sketch there is a certain severity in the young lady's face, and the Aubdued colour, harmonious enough as it is, is somewhat leaden : but the grace, feeling, and capacity, of a true artist, are visible at every point. The parrot, crimp- ing his eyes up in brooding enjoyment under his mistress's caressing hand, is capital. " Enstatia " is yet better : the aroh inviting beauty, the dress, all black, falling in long straight folds, and varied by a line of blue round the neck and by the white of the handkerchief; having just that peculi- arity and piquancy which prove an artist's vocation. The indication of background—a house-wall with window down to the ground, and a creeper trailed up it,--is also nice. A few other small subjects are to be distinguished from the herd— chiefly by their singularity. "Oh! so tired !" by. Mr. Fitzadrun, —a child falling asleep in his mother's lap,—is eccentric in the white glare of its colour, and has that kind of disproportion in drawing which charac- terizes a sun-picture taken from an ill-placed sitter; but there is some feeling here, and much softness of touch. "The Fan," by Mr. Crane, has the same quality of colour and a similar quaintness. Mrs. Hurlstone, in "One of the Friends of Italy," portrays a free-handed Englishman beset by a crowd of Roman beggars, in a style wherein a rather superior perception of character struggles through executive deficiency. Over-timid particularity and want of subject clog, but do not quite repress, quiet truthfulness in " Contentment and Regret" and "Grace after Meat,' by,
Mr. Itomilly. And among a variety of instances in which the Suffolk Street artists exercise, as was in the nature of things, their impotence on
"Uncle Tom," Mr. Whaite's really well-painted study of a Negro head- " Uncle Tom reading his Bible "—stands out in undisputed preeminence. Miss Boyce has a little bit of unadorned nature in "A Welsh Boy." Mr. Gale's " Study of a Head" resembles, but surpasses, Mr. Frost in his un- mythologic intervals. Mr. Earles is sufficiently straightforward in "A Spanish Lady" ; Mr. Holt PrseRapbaelitish—in a hopeless kind of way— in 44 The Flower-Girl." Mr. Crabb sends nothing to vindicate the slap- dash cleverness he really possesses. The habitues remain. Mr. Hill is at his usual level of pulp-fleshed rusticity : but he has a pretty subject in "May-Day," with its hawthorn shower. The kaleidoscopic Zeitter has more definiteness than usual, and quite as much costume matkriel in his" Interior of a Flour-Mill, with Ger- man Peasants " ; and there is truth, so far as it goes, in " Winter "—a sheep lying dead. Mr. Woolmer, who might once have come to some- thing, is least disappointing in " The Origin of Design "—a subject big with reproach to the artist, we should think. "The rest is silence "—inclu- ding Messrs. Pidding, Clater, Salter, and Noble. But Mr. Hawkins's pro- duction, "Nymphs, finding Cupid asleep, disarm him," cannot be quite passed over; as we think we are within bounds in calling it the worst picture we ever saw at any exhibition. His "Water-Cress Gatherers," ludicrously absurd as is the colour, seems almost good by comparison.
In portraiture, Mr. Dobson appears with "Mrs. Hubbard and Child." The artist has conferred a foolish gaping look on his sitters, in the attempt after Eastlakean mildness; but there is a really sweet combination and management of colour. Mr. Mogford's "Portrait of J. A. St. John, Esq." is a fair likeness, and true to the rather dreamy expression of the author of" Isis." The right arm is feebly drawn. Mr. Buckner is less effemi- nate than his wont; and Mr. Maguire's "Portrait of Alexander Semple, Esq." is of the respectable class.
The most remarkable landscape is " Corfe Castle—Twilight" by Mr. Pettitt. A deduction must be made, however, from its positive merit, on the score of its direct imitation of Anthony; and a further deduction— not strictly fair perhaps, but inevitable—in consequence of the comparison thus challenged. We need scarcely say that any such comparison cannot for a moment be sustained. Nevertheless, the point of view has been well chosen both for picturesque appearance and for impressing the sen- timent, which is that of solemn decay; and various minor points—the wheeling crows in the foreground, and the far-off wreaths of smoke and gleam of light from human dwellings—are well introduced. The execu- tion is expressive, though not powerful, in all parts except the sky : but this is inky and streaky—both poor and untrue. Whatever its deficien- cies, the picture is good enough, and, what is more, promising enough, to make us regret that Mr. Pettitt should exhibit so gross and dearly self- conscious an absurdity as "The Seventh Phial"—the very dregs of Mar- tinism.
Mr. Pyne has only one work, and that altogether nameless. We infer that it is a fancy landscape; but the general character of the scenery is of the Swiss kind,—heaven-cleaving snow-peaks, firs rigid-armed, and an atmosphere of luminous white haze. It is almost as if the sun had be- come snow, and the snow light. The picture thus possesses, when seen at a little distance, a certain poetry ; yet it cannot be termed either very truthful or very finely done. Mr. Boddington exhibits a regiment of works—all skilful, pretty, with passages of well-felt nature and superior faculty, but not satisfactory. He is an artist who does not go below the surface—does not seem aware of anything below it ; a onesidalness which is sure to make his rendering even of the surface, agreeable as it un- doubtedly is, superficial. "The Lake of Tal-y-llyn, N. Wales," has more design than usual in the mountain forms, and some truth of light in the foreground water; but the colour is unreal. The choice among Mr. Boddington's works lies between this picture and No. 101, "On the River Mawddach, at Tan-y-groes," which possesses plenty of subject and good sweep of lines. "A Golden Morning" is superior for depth of tone to most specimens of the painter's talent either of this year or of its pre- cursors : but the aspect rather suggests sunset. Mr. Boddington's other large landscapes are less approvable. The small "Peep from the Rushes, on the Banks of the Thames," is very sweet in its glimmering sheen. Mr. West contributes several of his Norwegian views; but the only one of more than average merit is the "Mountain-torrent, Romsdal,"—the water falling not precipitously but in a gradual slope, the light well sub- dued, and the whole capably painted. However, the artist shows best on the present occasion in an English subject—" Recollections of the Devon- shire Coast, near Lynmouth." The rocky ledges of the sea-shore, the receding storm at the horizon, with a clear sky above, and the reflected lights, are expressed with much judgment. Mr. Clint, who has been sketching on the Hastings coast, is exceedingly sloppy this year.
The less prominent landscapes include a truthful though hasty little " Study" of the trunk of an old oak, by Mr. Steedman ; a "Sketch from Windsor," by Mr. W. I. Webb, thoroughly uninteresting, but well lighted, and with fidelity of a literal kind ; two more of Mr. Dell's small bits, sweet in colour, and free in a uniform treatment of the sky ; and a quiet view by Mr. G. Foggo--" A Cool Retreat, near Muswell Hill "— which shows that he might do better than perpetrate historical mon- strosities. "Heidelberg," by Mr. T. C. Johnson, and "The Haunted House," by Mr. Shirley, have more effectiveness, of the "poetical" sort, than reality : but each owns its good points. In the Water-colour Room hang two very nice designs by Mr. Boyce. "Royal Oak, Bettws-y-Coed" —(why so called we hardly understand)—is solidly painted, with a real feeling of nature ; while the brown hills densely verdure-dad and the stream that flows at their feet make up an attractive scene. "Beeches," albeit somewhat opaque with body colour, is capitally true to the light that comes showered through loose foliage.
Mr. Earl represents animal-life among the oil-painters. He has an amusing subject in "N'y touches pas "—(wherefore this French, Mr. Earl ?)--a brace of shaggy terriers recoiling from a hedgehog intrenched ball-shaped in his bristles. The perplexed resourcdess dog standing on his hind legs and drooping his fore-paws has the right comic spirit. "Contentment," by Mr. Traies,—a study of a cow,—is done in a work- manlike style : and Mr. J. Hardy junior's "Dead Poultry" is a fair still- life piece. Thanks to Mrs. Withers, the bipeds in water-colours fully Vie with the quadrupeds in oils. "Bantam Hen and Chickens" is one of the lady's happiest efforts. The mother-bird is pretty well ; but the chicks peeping out of odd corners under her wing or breast, or skurrying about in the vicinity of the water-pan, are admirably quaint. "A. Study
from Nature" of a couple of red-breasts ensconced amid ivy is also very nicely designed, with a rather decorative look, which may be partly due to the over-flatness of painting. The "Dead Bird and Nest" of Miss A. H. Holt has a solemnity befitting the little ornithologic tragedy it conjures up. In fruits and flowers, Miss J. Childs has selected her " Grapes " with a discriminating eye for form, and has painted them with extreme softness ; Mr. Holland's "Study of Fuehni e, dm." is tasteful, though flat; and Mrs. Duffield and Miss J. Bouvier are com- mendably successful Miss Scott's "Sketch" of a little sister and brother shows quiet feeling; and Mr. Cahusac's "Still Life," a black bottle and its natural allies, is artistically touched.
Previous page
