only proves how commonplace I am. The great Rikiu dared
to love only those objects which personally appealed to him,
whereas I unconsciously cater to the taste of the majority.
Verily, Rikiu was one in a thousand among tea-masters."

It is much to be regretted that so much of the apparent
enthusiasm for art at the present day has no foundation in
real feeling. In this democratic age of ours men clamour
for what is popularly considered the best, regardless of their
feelings. They want the costly, not the refined; the fashionable,
not the beautiful. To the masses, contemplation of illustrated
periodicals, the worthy product of their own industrialism,
would give more digestible food for artistic enjoyment than
the early Italians or the Ashikaga masters, whom they pretend
to admire. The name of the artist is more important to them
than the quality of the work. As a Chinese critic complained
many centuries ago, "People criticise a picture by their ear."
It is this lack of genuine appreciation that is responsible for
the pseudo-classic horrors that to-day greet us wherever we
turn.

Another common mistake is that of confusing art with
archaeology. The veneration born of antiquity is one of the
best traits in the human character, and fain would we have
it cultivated to a greater extent. The old masters are rightly
to be honoured for opening the path to future enlightenment.
The mere fact that they have passed unscathed through
centuries of criticism and come down to us still covered
with glory commands our respect. But we should be foolish
indeed if we valued their achievement simply on the score of