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Updated: June 12, 2025
Nick was kindly confusing and shaming Miss Ingate with a short history and catechism of modern art, including such names as Vuillard, Bonnard, Picasso, Signac, and Matisse all very eagerly poured out and all very unnerving for Miss Ingate, whose directory of painting was practically limited to the names of Raphael, Sir Joshua, Rembrandt, Rubens, Gainsborough, Turner, Leighton, Millais, Gustave Doré and Frank Dicksee.
But this adventure he quickly, and wisely, abandoned; the problems of Cubism could have helped him nothing to materialize his peculiar sensibility. And this sensibility this peculiar emotional reaction to what he sees is his great gift. No one ever felt for the visible universe just what Matisse feels; or, if one did, he could not create an equivalent.
They were so ignorant of the new arts that even Mary Pickford meant hardly more to them than Picasso or Matisse. Jim brought out a photograph of Kedzie, a small one that he carried in his pocket-book for company. The problem of what she looked like distracted attention for the moment from the problem of what she did and was. Mrs. Dyckman took the picture and perused it anxiously.
Would-be painters, sculptors, poets, dramatists, novelists, rich and poor, tragic ones and comic ones, with the meanest pettiest jealousies, the most bumptious self-conceits, the blindest worship of masters, the most profound humility, ambition so savage it made men inhuman. Many were starving themselves to death. There was a little Hungarian Jew, an ardent follower of Matisse.
Nothing could be more obtuse than to represent one as all feeling and the other all thought. The art of Picasso, as a matter of fact, is perhaps more personal even than that of Matisse, just because his sensibility is perhaps even more curious. Look at a Cubist picture by him amongst other Cubists.
Each creates and inhabits a world of his own, which, by the way, he is apt to mistake for the world of everyone who is not maliciously prejudiced against him. And Friesz, whose character and intelligence are utterly unlike those of his compeers, is now, naturally enough, producing work which has little in common with that even of Matisse
"Matisse the guy you just spoke about and these artists here tonight in bobtail dress-suits I wouldn't know when to wear one of them things, and when a swallow-tail if I had one, even or when a Prince Albert or " "Oh, not a Prince Albert, Mouse dear. Say, a frock-coat." "Sure. That's what I mean. It's like that Matisse guy. I don't know about none of the things you're interested in.
Often we would find three together close around one candle, scowling and squinting at their easels, gaunt, silent, eager. Matisse Matisse! "Most of them," said my guide, "are just mad. They cannot paint. All think they are going to do great things, but all they are going to do is to die." It was through this little Hungarian that I made my first study of female life. Why delay any longer?
It was true enough, as Lansing had not failed to note, that the Princess Mother adored prehistoric art, and Russian music, and the paintings of Gauguin and Matisse; but she also, and with a beaming unconsciousness of perspective, adored large pearls and powerful motors, caravan tea and modern plumbing, perfumed cigarettes and society scandals; and her son, while apparently less sensible to these forms of luxury, adored his mother, and was charmed to gratify her inclinations without cost to himself "Since poor Mamma," as he observed, "is so courageous when we are roughing it in the desert."
The universal and essential quality of art, significant form, was missing, or rather had dwindled to a shallow stream, overlaid and hidden beneath weeds, so the universal response, aesthetic emotion, was not evoked. It was not till he came on to Henri Matisse that he again found himself in the familiar world of pure art.
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