represent in colour bits of nature--animals in sunlight or
shadow, drinking, standing in water, lying on the grass; near to,
a Crucifixion by a painter who does not believe in Christ;
flowers; human figures sitting, standing, walking; often they are
naked; many naked women, seen foreshortened from behind; apples
and silver dishes; portrait of Councillor So and So; sunset; lady
in red; flying duck; portrait of Lady X; flying geese; lady in
white; calves in shadow flecked with brilliant yellow sunlight;
portrait of Prince Y; lady in green. All this is carefully
printed in a book--name of artist--name of picture. People with
these books in their hands go from wall to wall, turning over
pages, reading the names. Then they go away, neither richer nor
poorer than when they came, and are absorbed at once in their
business, which has nothing to do with art. Why did they come? In
each picture is a whole lifetime imprisoned, a whole lifetime of
fears, doubts, hopes, and joys.

Whither is this lifetime tending? What is the message of the
competent artist? "To send light into the darkness of men's
hearts--such is the duty of the artist," said Schumann. "An
artist is a man who can draw and paint everything," said Tolstoi.

Of these two definitions of the artist's activity we must choose
the second, if we think of the exhibition just described. On one
canvas is a huddle of objects painted with varying degrees of
skill, virtuosity and vigour, harshly or smoothly. To harmonize
the whole is the task of art. With cold eyes and indifferent mind
the spectators regard the work. Connoisseurs admire the "skill"
(as one admires a tightrope walker), enjoy the "quality of
painting" (as one enjoys a pasty). But hungry souls go hungry