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Updated: May 20, 2025
The pictures were the work of French artists of the cubist school, but also on view was a portrait bust of Madame Vatrotski by Lovet Forbes. It was evidently the bust I had overheard Tenfield speak about that day in the Academy, and I discovered that his firm had bought it as a speculation.
Red placards under foot in cubist designs down the streets. The afternoon waned, the hundred thousands closed in. Darkness was coming and the pack was welding itself together. Rifles were beginning. Machine-guns were beginning. Holiday was over. Quieter streets. The orators become audible. Still faces, raised and listening.
As the last wrapping was stripped from it, on the table before them lay a small steel model, perhaps three feet high a weird-looking thing in the miniature shape of a man, designed along lines that only a cubist could have conceived jointed, mobile, truly a contrivance at which to marvel. Brent gazed incredulously at the strange thing. "An automaton!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, no! He has a perfectly good man's name, but I am blessed if I remember it. Everybody calls him Polly. He is a cubist painter, you know; does the weirdest things and now has taken up a kind of cubist effect in sculpture; but you will see his things for yourself. I'd like to give him a good shaking and stand him in the corner.
He said he had plastered his last Samoelon and, not being there to watch the Board and concentrate his wonderful Trading Instinct on every jiggle of the Dial, there was no telling what the Bone-Heads had done to him. You see, he had no recollection whatever of going Short, for he had been in a Walking Delirium at the time and crazy as a Cubist.
It is the critic's business to inquire not so much whether an artist is "advanced" or "Cubist" or "Jazz," as whether he is good, bad, or interesting; and that is what most critics fail to do. One's general opinion of a movement or school ought not to affect one's opinion of any particular work.
There are charming cottons to be had at as little as twenty cents a yard, printed from old patterns. There are linens hand-printed from old blocks that rival cut velvet in their lustrous color effect and cost almost as much. There are amazing fabrics that seem to have come from the land of the Arabian nights they really come from Austria and are dubbed "Futurist" and "Cubist" and such.
It is also significant that side by side with the present-day Feminist Movement we find the revival of Egyptian fashions; Egyptian architecture; Egyptian philosophies and religions. Even Cubist art, which in itself could make no possible appeal to recognition on its artistic merits, has been received with much publicity, if not with acclaim.
It moved like the creature of a bad dream slowly, sluggishly. It might have been a huge sloth it might have been a man, with so grotesque a brush does the moon paint master cubist.
Iva Payne, the hateful thing, sent a Cubist picture of an infant falling downstairs, but Warble couldn't make it out so its pre-natal influence didn't amount to much. Daisy Snow, innocent child, sent a beautiful edition of How to Tell Your Young, a treatise of the bird-and-bee-seed-and-pollen school, and Faith Loveman sent her own marked copy of Cooks that Have Helped Me.
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