,,the ,,profanity ,,of ,,paint ,,the ,,profanity ,,of ,,paint4 ,,by ,,william ,,kiddier ,,london3 ,a4 ,c4 ,,fifield1 #ac1 ,,clifford',s ,,inn1 ,e4,c41 #aiaf ,,printed ,,by ,,william ,,brendon ,,and ,,son1 ,,ltd41 ,,plymouth1 ,,england ,,to ,,lovers ,,of ,,colour ,contents ,,page #a4 ,my ,book is ,true #aa #b4 ,my ,friends the ,trees #ac #c4 ,the ,profanity of ,paint #ag #d4 ,the ,miserable ,pursuit of ,knowledge #ba #e4 ,the ,gift of ,silence #bc #f4 ,the ,magic of ,words #bg #g4 ,the ,personal ,note #bi #h4 ,colour #ca #i4 ,extravagance #cc #aj4 ,relation #ce #aa4 ,tragedy #ci #ab4 ,the ,tonic of ,genius #da #ac4 ,critics #dc #ad4 ,the ,closed ,ear #de #ae4 ,the ,painter's ,cigarette #dg #af4 ,the ,people's ,caf #ea #ag4 ,the ,middle-class #ec #ah4 ,the ,masterpiece #eg #ai4 ,mission #fa #a4 ,my ,book is ,true ,my view-point is the painter's1 the poet's2 ah1 ,i am a romanticist6 ,but my book is true4 ,the romanticist finds truth without seeking it2 it is before him1 around him1 and he gathers it all with the joy of the child that plucks the flowers in the fields4 ,truth is not knowledge3 it belongs to temperament2 it is vision6 ,the child and the romanticist love the beautiful1 that is all3 truth is there6 #b4 ,my ,friends the ,trees ,i have loved trees all my life2 they were the friends of my baby years4 ,though the land of the trees seemed far away from the close-built houses1 ,i wandered thither with great joy and never knew that my little feet were tired4 ,the tall aspens were the most wonderful things in the world3 they are still4 ,i shed tears on being told that the ,cross was made from one of them4 ,i have wept since at the sight of their trembling leaves4 ,they trembled for the tragedy of ,golgotha4 ,i know they will tremble to the end of the world4 ,melancholy trees6 ,o but they are beautiful--beautiful and gentle like a nun with a prayer quivering upon her lips1 with her white fingers and her rosary sparkling from under her robe3 and1 lo1 the aspens are all alike1 as she and her holy sisters must needs be for the sake of their holiness4 ,sensitive to all the changes of the sky1 the aspen reflects wondrous colour2 the leaves1 like a million little mirrors1 draw the blue and the purple from above and drink the orange from departing suns4 ,and all the colour and the light blend in subtle harmonies like the precious pearls on the neck of a goddess4 ,ah6 do they not pulsate like the strings of beads on a maiden's breast8 ,the vision is fleeting as it is beautiful2 the colour upon the leaves1 like that in the dews around1 is surely spiritual4 #c4 ,the ,profanity of ,paint ,as a painter1 out-of-doors1 the aspens are my despair1 for they are surely beyond the limitations of paint4 ,i once set my palette with bright colours with a grove of aspens in front of me3 ,o1 but when ,i looked up into all the mass of shimmering leaves1 spread out like a garment inwoven with gems1 flowing upon the breezes and toying with the rich dyes of heaven1 ,i shut down my box1 threw myself upon the grass and sat there in idle adoration1 like a heathen before his god4 ,if all ,i beheld was meant for a revelation it was surely as beautiful as the burning bush4 ,to ,moses ,i am more than grateful3 it is through him that ,god's voice rings out against the bad artist3 ,thou shalt not make 444 any likeness of any thing4 ,when ,god said the same thing to the ,chinese three thousand years ago they understood and have painted colour ever since4 ,why is the western world in the dark8 ,o let my eyes be baptized with the sun that ,i may behold colour like the heathen6 ,how long ,i stayed in the temple of the trees ,i do not know2 time did not count because ,i was not at work3 all was like a dream4 ,if ,i had been a ,florentine of the olden days ,i would have seen here the robes of a saint1 perhaps the shining garment of the ,blessed ,virgin4 ,i did well to close my box and keep my eyes unspoiled by the profanity of paint1 leaving the pure impression to some happy occasion when the memory of it all will be sufficient for my picture4 #d4 ,the ,miserable ,pursuit of ,knowledge ,the trend of this book shows clearly that ,i am no realist4 ,although1 in my solitude1 years ago1 ,i made many careful drawings of various things and gained some knowledge of their mechanism1 my labours brought me no pleasure save the small satisfaction of having done a self-inflicted task after reading miserable books on art4 ,in those days ,i pitied myself2 but now ,i pity the miserable authors4 ,the education of the painter is a mistake3 educate the man6 ,the painter will find himself1 sooner or later4 ,if there is no painter in him his case is hopeless4 ,art education1 so called1 which is the training of the eye and the hand1 gives one a facility for recording facts3 truth never4 ,truth is felt4 ,to the painter1 the poet1 the romanticist facts are cold things belonging to the past--dead things that have nothing to do with intuition1 vision1 truth4 ,he must dream new dreams1 employ new methods1 create new things6 ,he is not a common creature and1 therefore1 should not be entrusted with any public responsibility3 but ,god grant that in all the economic medley1 called civilization1 he may have the right to live4 #e4 ,the ,gift of ,silence ,although ,i write just the things ,i feel1 my book is an effort3 but ,i am glad of this4 ,that ,i have no liking for any literary task and hate all correspondence ,i regard as a gift4 ,my mother has a rarer gift3 she does not talk4 ,she speaks when she has something to say and never utters empty words4 ,o but she is eloquent6 ,she clothes her thoughts with simple language and stops at the right moment2 it is a well-timed pause in which her face counts4 ,her intermittent silence is a master stroke2 it gives the same sense of space that ,i would have in my picture4 ,perhaps it is beyond art1 but it is all hers without an effort2 arising out of her good soul it belongs to her nature4 ,i see her too little2 her home is in a village on the coast and mine in an inland city4 ,that ,i shall miss her one day is the miserable thought ,i cannot get rid of without seeing her4 ,o but when ,i arrive my fears vanish in a moment1 for she lives for me4 ,she is dear to look upon3 but when she looks at me my sense of spiritual security is greater than can ever be described4 ,i feel the influence of her peace which brings mine back to me4 ,her eyes are aglow from silent thoughts of me1 and ,i stay with no other desire than to be with her and believe in immortality--believe all her belief6 #f4 ,the ,magic of ,words ,there is something in the art of the master that ,i can never find a word for4 ,i believe it is a sin to seek for one4 ,art in the finer sense is beyond the limitations of all words assigned by the philologists4 ,the master is a magician1 therefore it is only the poets that can speak with authority about his work3 and it requires all the magic of poetry to deal with the creation of things4 ,words must be arranged so as to lose all their etymological stiffness before they can ever express the things born of inspiration4 ,only inasmuch as the poet's song transcends the meaning of his words does he approach the spiritual sense of art4 #g4 ,the ,personal ,note ,in talking with brother painters ,i often find myself giving prominence to some particular word like rhythm1 vibration1 or colour3 but ,i must always forget the root-meaning1 or ,i would discard it at once4 ,i must employ my adopted word in a new way4 ,its special meaning1 though never explained1 is communicated by repeating the word freely in various relations1 pronouncing it with emphasis in an unexpected moment1 or1 again1 pausing before its utterance so that the appreciative ear may anticipate it and catch the spiritual sense intuitively and feel all ,i had attached to it from myself4 ,it is nonsense to talk upon art without a personal note of this kind6 #h4 ,colour ,very few understand how much colour means to the colourist1 or why1 in the higher sense1 like music it has no plural4 ,colours are the pigments1 the materials3 but colour is the soul of things6 ,i believe colour belongs to the fairies2 it never comes quite within our grasp4 ,it is borne upon the air1 its chariot is the morning dews1 and its paths the sunbeams4 ,i have come to regard colour as a spiritual thing changing for ever1 as all spiritual things do4 ,of a truth it is the beautiful emblem of change4 ,the idea of eternal change is fascinating beyond measure4 ,god never created a fixture intentionally4 ,we are immortal only inasmuch as we are eternally moving with the thought of ,god6 #i4 ,extravagance ,i love the word extravagance in its application to colour2 for is not the sense of colour an innocent extravagance of the mind1 which saves the possessor from discontent and death8 ,i know ,i shall not die while colour floods in upon my eyes3 it is the silent music of an eternal vision6 #aj4 ,relation ,the other day at coffee with a group of young painters ,i talked upon the importance of relation4 ,i went so far as to say that no picture could have any sense of dignity without the quality ,i have named4 ,everything in the work should1 in some special degree1 contribute to the first idea4 ,nothing should be introduced for the sake of variety4 ,no2 it is better to let sameness be the principle4 ,i have seen sheep grazing in a meadow with all their heads turned one way1 all quietly pursuing the same course1 as though led by a sympathetic spirit1 and ,i have felt that the peace of all the pastures was undisturbed by their presence4 ,i once saw a group of rustics with all their faces so nearly alike as to represent a distinct type2 all bent upon the same work1 pursuing the task with natural ease and unconscious order1 and ,i felt the nobility of their occupation1 the blessedness of labour4 ,and when ,i have seen such people kneel before the crucifix with their heads bowed towards the east and have noted from behind the simplicity in their manners1 the sameness in all their clothes1 ,i have felt the fervour of their religion1 the divinity of poverty that makes them all unconsciously relative6 ,but if ,i want humour ,i get into a motor-bus and watch the mixed types1 the short and the long1 the fat and the thin1 the hook nose and the snub2 and ,i get it4 ,but does not the motor-bus show the painter the confusion of ideas he must always avoid in his work8 ,i sometimes think there is humour in trees when cultivated by people who1 from an insatiate love of variety1 plant one of every kind around their lawns4 ,no artist1 unless he was mad1 would record such a confusion of things as this4 ,of a truth trees can only be painted by the sympathetic hand1 one that can make a simple group out of all around him1 selecting only those that1 by their forms1 shall contribute to the artistic sense relation6 ,in a word1 the painter must never aim for likeness2 the material sense should never be transferred to canvas3 more than anything else trees have superb rhythmic tendencies3 inspired by these1 he should paint a rhythmic picture4 #aa4 ,tragedy ,the sky was impressive by its change from sunlight to sudden darkness2 and the ethereal fabric hung like black velvet over all the woods4 ,all the colour that a moment ago clothed the trees was gone in an instant1 as a candle is blown out2 and the world was without form4 ,i stood under a tree4 ,the sense of my own presence was the only note of reality that disturbed the dream of pre-world void4 ,in a few minutes the heavens opened high above my head and a stream of light slanted down upon an old oak4 ,perhaps it was the searchlight of a war god1 for in a moment the oak was struck1 and the earth shook as it fell4 ,i was captivated as much by the greatness of the tree as by its fall2 it was torn up with its roots with a mountain of clay in its grip4 ,but more wondrous than all were the forewarned sheep that nestled under it to the last moment4 ,why did they all rise and leap forth into the open field8 ,what made them flee before the blast8444 ,there are sanctuaries which should never be unveiled3 there are questions you should not attempt to answer--this is one4 #ab4 ,the ,tonic of ,genius ,there never was a colourist without a keen sense of humour and never without a generous soul4 ,when ,i say humour ,i do not mean satire or anything that leaves a bitter taste4 ,satire is permissible with the community1 but should never be directed against a person4 ,humour must always be buoyant1 pleasant in every way1 and have no other meaning than that which makes the person who happens to be the sport of it laugh with the rest4 ,the one so honoured must1 of course1 be a genuine humorist1 or he would be unworthy of special attention4 ,humour is the tonic of genius4 ,it is the healthy reaction of prolonged serious thought1 the pleasant negative of stern reality1 the divine intoxicant for the over-productive brain4 ,i have always felt that the past should be either forgotten or turned to humour4 ,the only serious part of life is the present1 but this should have its lighter side4 ,when we have ceased to laugh we have done with all generous feeling1 and1 when this is dead1 it is the end of all creative thought4 #ac4 ,critics ,a book is not worth its paper if it cannot suffer by the process of critical mutilation2 writing1 and also painting1 must be viewed as a whole1 but never pigment by pigment or line by line4 ,every paragraph read separately must call forth some opposite view or else the book is poor stuff4 ,every inch of the picture closely viewed by itself must bewilder the observer2 otherwise1 it is a weak1 insipid1 belaboured canvas1 good for nothing4 ,i tell you for your own sake3 do not hold a microscope in front of genius6 #ad4 ,the ,closed ,ear ,if ,i listened attentively to the things that others say my work would lose character4 ,to pay attention to criticism is to pursue the process of laboured refinement which reduces all to the commonplace4 ,critics with much knowledge are people with retrospective minds2 they cannot be of use to the born painter whose work is creative4 ,knowledge is related to things already accomplished2 but the vast unexplored fields open to creative genius are beyond the range of all critical analysis4 ,the painter1 more than any other1 lives a life of spiritual change4 ,look at the sky6 ,the luminaries return1 return1 return6 ,to the scientist they move with regularity and precision2 but to the romanticist they shed new light every moment4 ,the astronomer knows the facts3 the poet feels the truth6 #ae4 ,the ,painter's ,cigarette ,there is a certain something in a cigarette that gives character to the painter's conversation4 ,the cigarette itself plays an important part in timing the frequent pauses to suit the wit of genius4 ,the curls of smoke punctuate a series of brilliant aphorisms which otherwise would be impossible4 ,the painter has the gift of making parables4 ,the fact is he talks from feeling rather than reason4 ,he never makes a speech3 he tells you something4 ,but is he not charming withal8 ,he has no self-restraint4 ,the cold1 placid surface1 the cultivated evenness that is counted a valuable asset in the man of business1 in the politician and the millionaire1 is not his1 thank ,god6 ,in his heart he is a child4 ,he will talk about himself and his own work so frankly that you will always be interested if not wholly charmed4 ,unselfish in every vein1 his grievance is never a personal one2 it has no bearings save for his art4 ,from this point the matter is soon beaten flat under his hammer of words4 ,if he had not the courage to say all he felt he would be no painter6 ,but do not be deceived3 his fearless tongue has a fine counterpart deep in his heart4 ,as a man in the right capable of strong denunciation1 he is the man you may safely approach and trust6 #af4 ,the ,people's ,caf ,i prefer the caf of the people1 and never visit any that has an exclusive atmosphere unless ,i am obliged4 ,i do not care to see many rich people at one time4 ,it was ordained that the percentage of rich should always be small1 therefore a crowd of them in one spot is bad form1 often bad colour1 and mostly confusion4 ,a group of artisans never gives me any unpleasant thoughts3 it is the natural order of things2 the poor were regarded by ,our ,lord as the multitude4 #ag4 ,the ,middle-class ,that ,i belong to the middle-class is my chief misfortune2 it is better to be born an aristocrat1 but better still an artisan4 ,to the middle-class belong all the money makers3 builders of monopolies1 political wire-pullers1 and all that spells greed4 ,these people buy everything and sell everybody4 ,with them lying is an art1 whereas for the poor it is only a pastime4 ,the aristocrat--the product of luxury and idleness--is as much above any mean action as he is at loss in managing his own affairs4 ,he must employ agents3 enter the middle-class6 ,to them he entrusts all his worldly belongings1 with an intuitive knowledge that he is robbed always and will be as long as he lives4 ,he knows they pursue his money with all the zest that he pursues sport4 ,but he always carries the same bright face1 the same kind heart2 and he would pay to the last penny4 ,o but how strange1 his agents save him from ruin6 and the people on the land contribute more to the miserable business than is known to my lord1 more than they themselves ever realise3 and so the middle-class remains the back-bone of the ,empire4 ,but what does this mean8 ,the truth is that ,god made the lord and the labourer3 the rest is mainly the work of the devil6 #ah4 ,the ,masterpiece ,i once told a young artist to attempt no masterpiece4 ,the thing cannot be done4 ,the moment you think of doing a masterpiece you are befooled4 ,providence does not allow you to arrange anything of that kind4 ,all you must do is paint with a generous heart--paint colour--and leave to the next generation the selection of your masterpiece4 ,the painter1 above all men1 must be himself1 without any regard for the world's judgment4 ,do not be deceived3 ,time will decide the masterpiece--,time will destroy it6 ,from out the ageless oceans in the west1 ,where lazily the gods of new worlds rise ,and stretch their mighty limbs across the skies-- ,insatiate giants roused from out long rest-- ,uprose a ,titan whose dark arms and breast ,blackened the sea and drew the gull's shrill cries2 ,in his dark head he rolled his gloating eyes ,and kept his cruel lips together pressed4 ,the sea that bore him was the eternal pit2 ,into its depths he threw the dreams of men-- ,threw with one stroke ten thousand tomes of rhyme1 ,as many works of art1 each once deemed fit ,to live4 ,one was a masterpiece6 ,ah1 then ,these words came forth3 ,i am the ,tomb of ,time6 #ai4 ,mission ,what is the painter's mission8 ,my dear sir1 he has no mission4 ,he may talk about anything and everything1 but this is his pastime4 ,his art should not be connected with any movement4 ,painting is a personal matter and1 therefore1 cannot be regulated by communities4 ,when the painter talks he throws light upon himself1 which is necessary sometimes2 it may help others to understand him4 ,the painter must be judged1 in the end1 from his own point of view3 it is the only moral judgment for an honest man6 ,,transcriber',s ,,note3 ,italicized text is surrounded by underscores3 italics4