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Updated: May 17, 2025


Don't speak of it any more, will you? ... How sunburned you are! What have you been about since I've kept to my room?" "I've painted Miller's kids in the open; I suppose the terrific influence of Sorolla has me in bondage for the moment." He laughed easily: "But don't worry; it will leave nothing except clean inspiration behind it.

He is in love with light, and by his treatment of relative values creates the illusion of sun-flooded landscapes. He does not cry for the "sun," as did Oswald Alving; it comes to him at the beckoning of his brush. His many limitations are but the defects of his good qualities. Sorolla is sympathetic. He adores babies and delights in dancing. His babies are irresistible.

He relates that in Paris Bastien-Lepage and Menzel affected him profoundly. This statement is not to be contradicted; nevertheless Sorolla is the master of those two masters in his proper province of the portrayal of outdoor life. Degas was too cruel when he called Bastien the "Bouguereau of the modern movement"; Bastien academicised Manet and other moderns. He said nothing new.

The fire and fury of Sorolla are not his, but he selects, weighs, analyses, reconstructs in a word, he composes and does not improvise. He is, nevertheless, a realist a verist, as he prefers to be called. He is not cosmopolitan, and Sorolla is: the types of boys and girls racing along the beaches of watering places which Sorolla paints are cosmopolitan.

"Well, well, Sir Chaps! I saw Sorolla in his new style; very different from the academics of the young Sorolla. He has found his mission and let himself go. No wonder people flocked to his exhibitions on misty days! The trouble with our artists is that they are afraid to let themselves go, afraid to be popular. They think technique is the thing, when it is only the tool.

On wall D are two Spanish works of Lopez-Mezquita, that are worthy of attention but nothing of Zuloaga or Sorolla. The Holland Section, occupying galleries 113-116, contains a display that is well balanced but without outstanding features. There are echoes of many departed glories, of Rembrandt, of Hals, and even of the French Barbizon men, and a few typical beautifully lighted Dutch interiors.

Sorolla is a painting temperament, and the freshening breezes and sunshine that emanate from his canvases should drive away the odours of the various chemical cook-shops which are called studios in our "world of art." One cannot speak too much of the large-minded and cultivated spirit of Archer Milton Huntington, who is the projector and patron of the exhibitions at the Hispanic Society Museum.

We are no longer with Sorolla and his vibrating sunshine on Valencian sands, or under the hard blue dome of San Sebastian; the two-score canvases on view in 1909 at the Hispanic Museum were painted by a man of profounder intellect, of equally sensual but more restrained temperament than Sorolla; above all, by an artist with different ideals a realist, not an impressionist, Ignacio Zuloaga.

This picture is better than Sorolla it is better than almost any one. It is perhaps the most astonishing realization of the modern ideal, the most accomplished transcript of the actual appearance of nature, that has yet been produced.

To Cairns and Bedient there was something deep and heady to the picture, as they followed the eyes of Healy and then his yell that filled the gorges for miles: "Come down here you scenery-lovin' son of " That was just the vorspiel. Mother Nature must have fed color to Healy. He did not paint, play nor write, but the rest of that curse dropped with raw pigment, like a painting of Sorolla.

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