ART
IMPERCEPTIBLY the great century of French painting begins to slip into perspective. No less splendid do the great peaks of high adven- ture seem in more objective retrospect, but very much more tired and passionless seem the unoriginal works of the valleys—the works conceived by the camp-followers in the shadow of the mountains. One can see this, I think, in the exhibition called " Bonnard and his French Contemporaries " at the Lefevre Gallery. On the one hand half-a-dozen superb pictures by Liana, by ,Modigtiani, Rouault, Picasso and 'Bonnard himself reassure us that the glory was not only a delusion induced by high-pressure publicists. On the other hand, the ineptitude of the back row of the Fautre and Cubist chorus seems to be rivalled only by that of the Sunday painters. The flashy Derains, a real stinker of a Chirico, the witty scarf-designs of Dufy, a shallow Matisse—are these more than dross which will in time be thrown out by the ever-passing moment? They are not their authors' best work, of course, and generalisations are therefore unfair, but it is more clear than ever that in painting for posterity, honesty is not merely the best, but the only, policy. Bonnard himself was supremely honest. No theoretician, he was intelligent enough to remain unswayed by movements he did not understand, and his integrity is transparently displayed in sixteen canvases ranging from 1896 to 1932. They are gracious and intimate, unselfconscious and kindly. The sweetness of their colour says that life is good after all. It is perhaps for this reason—as with the
Victorian novelists—that Bonnard's stock tcday is higher than ever. * * * * Several of the smaller galleries are trying to bridge the gap between the purchase of picture-books and the purchase of pictures. The Phoenix Gallery, for instance, is holding a second edition of its " Pictures for Short Pockets," while Messrs. Heal's—allowing themselves a top limit of £3o—have managed to produce a small show of very respectable quality. It is all to the good that work by Eileen Agar, Michael Ayrton, Prunella Clough, Humphrey Spender and others of equal talent should be seen ansi enjoyed by people who do not dare to brave the citadels of Bond Street.
M. H. MIDDLETON.
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