THE OLD WATER-COLOUR SOCIETY.
We expressed last week, in distinct terms, the points of weakness and sluggishness which canker our existing water-colour school in the bulk ; we therefore spare ourselves now the repetition of unpleasant truths. Allowing for those general drawbacks, and for an absence of extraordi- nary works, the present exhibition of the Old Water-Colour Society is a very good one, displaying a large amount of professional attainment, telling selection, and sure practice. The position of the Old Society at the head of their art has never been seriously shaken, and confirms itself year by year.
Yet what is an Old Water-Colour exhibition without its John Lewis, and what a water-colour art which descends from his presidency to that of such a flimsy dabbler as Mr. Frederick Taylor? We are aware that this gentleman is naturally possessed of quickness and cleverness amply enough to have made him a good painter' hail he but deigned to use the means ; but these he has long contemned, and it is absolutely pitiful to find the name of the Presidenrof the distinctively British branch of art to such rubbish as the "Return from the Cattle-market, Scotland," or the "Highland Sport." There are good indications of canine expres- sion, but no more, in "Otter-hunting in the Highlands" : the least poor of the lot—still very far from good—is perhaps the "Summer's Day in the Highlands—Cattle in the Water." From Mr. Tayler we pass to another of the very few exhibitors who treat anything but land- scape—Mr. Alfred Fripp. As for the last three or four years, during which he has painted Italian subjects with a great superiority to con- vention in many respects, Mr. Fripp is in force. The goal of his am- bition is the white-heat light of the south, mapping out a scene or a group in great blocks of unaltered, unsubdued colour, so dazzling as al- most to baffle visual definition. This Mr. Fripp has set himself to realize on a simply but clearly conceived system; rightly using the purest and brightest colours, with much opaque white in the high lights, and al- ways in solid spaces without outline, but with thread-like delicacy for minute forms. Thus, in "The Maddolina, and Church of San Rocco, Olevano, Mid-day," the brow of the mounted peasant, and the hand with which he shades it from the glare, are, as they should be for the effect, one unvaried space of bright orange brown. The failing point of the System is that it results in flatness, and what artists call chalkiness ; but it is only such a man as Turner who can combine all the truths of efect, and Mr. Fripp is right as far as he goes. The "Italian Cottage-door" is a very exquisite specimen, with the comely mother brimming over into laughter as she fondles her child, and the withered joylessness of the grandmother completing the destined cycle of human life. That Mr. Fripp does not mechanize his effects -with monotonous thoughtlessness is Proved by the way he modifies them according to circumstances, as when he aims to represent the harmonies of sunset. The "Evening on the Abruzzi Mountains," for -instance, changes to a soft and beautiful glow, with the rosy visionary mountain-distance, and the blue hol- lows of the hills. The quiet sheep-dog even feels the mild in- fluence, lolling his tongue in gentle pants ; and the whole would be exceedingly lovely, but for Mr. Fripp'S having too much attempted to make it so by receipt in the most important point—the commonplace idealism of the shepherd-boy's face. Throughout his works this blank& —which he doubtless mistakes for a charm—is but too apparent. Mr. Haag undertakes another form of national peasant-life—the Tyrolese; and treats it with uncommon resources of the technical kind, but with out the supreme resource, the one thing needful—true feeling. Where the aim goes no farther than mere portrait-like representation—as in the " Biirgermeisters Tochter of Salzburg "—he almost reaches the end of the tether of execution ; the pulpiness and depth of the flesh-painting rivalling that of oil. Miss Gillies has a gift of expression, though her intensity is all of one standard : " News at Last," where the Scotch family of some soldier or sailor long out of ken gloat and thank Heaven over the letter received at length as from another world, is probably the best work she has produced in this respect ; as " Reading an Old Re-, mance " may be the best in point of execution. Mr. Gilbert throws him- self away when he swamps his genius for design in such a slovenly affair as " Speed reading Launce's Letter," which only shows that he has never cared to acquire even the rudiments of painting; and it is an offence in Mr. Topham to translate human nature into nothing but leering and open-mouthed idiocy, as in " The Fountain, Basses Pyrenees." Glorious old David Cox is still himself : the stories of his falling power which one has heard annually retailed these several years pad were mere nonsense or spite. We will believe the retailers whenthey produce to us the meridian power which can match the " failing power" of that central pyramid of mountain-blue, " Snowdon from Capel Curig"; that huddle of horns and hard bovine skulls in the oxen crossing the bridge " Pont-gyfyng," and the dashing of the crania about the air ; the wonderfulness of " Penmaen Bach,'—a fine piece of colour concocted out of the most neutral of browns and greys, with the swirls of cloud and mist tumbled across the rocks ; that dog in the unsurpassable " Going to Market," which has gone with a run down the steep bank to the brookside to drink—you can see his haste and satisfaction even to the very tip of his tail ; or the sands and bathing- machines of the two sketches from " Rhyl." Marvellous indeed and unaccountable is the operation of genius ; which blots and blurs its de- fiant way like this, by some blind instinct, to a result of power, so- lemnity, and truth, such as all the most educated painters of Europe never shall so much as approach, even though they work their brushes and their fingers to the stump, in flawless accuracy of disciplined production, if unprompted by the same dmmon. So far from discovering failure in David Cox, (of lawlessness there is as much as you please ) seldom do we meet with his works of many years ago, without feeling surprise that a genius now so lavishly expended should have left there comparatively slender traces. Our other laurelled veteran, William Hunt, is not quite so fully up to his own mark. In still life he distances all com- petitors ; yet there is only one at most of his present examples, the crimson "Fungi," amid moss and fallen ivy-leaves, which ranks with his absolute masterpieces. The little landscape, "The Thames from Richmond Hill," is curious and pretty, especially the sweet grey distance, but is rather a small matter from so cunning a hand. We inquired unhopefully, apropos to the New Society last week, who is to succeed to these men; and these walls furnish us with no adequate response. There are four painters, however, who stand out conspicuously from among their fellows. Mr. William Evans, the associate exhibitor, has done admirable things for some years, and is capable, we conceive, of almost any amount of excellence. He has greatness of style, grand space and colour, and extreme individuality. The profound sea-blue in "Near Sorrento, Morning," is immediately recognized as beautiful ; and its beauty is that of essential truth, seen with poetic feeling. Ie. the "Gates at the Villa Sommariva, on the Lake of Como," the depth of colour is still more remarkable; the water glancing purple as porphyry, and green as malachite. " Tv'astwater Lake, Cumberland," lies silent and solemn amid the brooding hills. The "Terrace at the Villa d'Este, Tivoli," has a quaintness and character in its human figures very note- worthy among the landscape-Works of our water-colourists. In ,the treatment of landscape-form, Mr. Evans is mannered, but broad and art- istic—never commonplace. Mr. Holland again is a most true artist. It may be feared that his time is past for doing anything altogether serious and complete ; but the sparkle and effervescent joyousness of his work are so great as to make it at least delightful. His largest Venetian view, "Santa Maria del Rosario," is singularly brilliant ; it would scarcely be possible to use blue and white more boldly upon the main masses of ar- chitedture, sky, and canal, yet there is nothing chilly in the effect. It is all air and sun ; the attempt having some affinity to that which we have noted in Mr. Fripp, and being more fully mastered on the whole. Of the smaller views, all most winningly picturesque, the two from " Inns- pruck," with the terrible background of Alps to the walls and roofs and the florid renaissance work of fountain and pillar, are perhaps the most capital. Mr. Palmer takes up quite a position apart in the gallery, with his small pictures of very strong effects and abundant landscape in combi- nation with some degree of human interest. We hate seen etchings of somewhat the same order by this gentleman, as beautiful and perfect as may well be ; but he is seldom or never entirely right in his paintings. He has solemn feeling, and a sense of the glory and pathos of nature, yet for all that appears to work chiefly out of his own head : he often attempts things which cannot be realized, falls into violence of colour, and this year addicted himself to that used-up and vulgar contrast— moonlight and fire or flame light. Against his largest and best work, however, "The Rising Moon, this objection does not lie ; the few cot- tage-fires are innocuous and even of assistance both to the feeling and the effect, and the essential contrast is between the still lingering hues of sunset and the mellow moon. The pastoral quality of this picture, the sheep quiet on the slopes, nature closing up in drowsiness—another day almost done—is very touching and beautiful. On the general ques- tion, we fancy that what Mr. Palmer wants most is a couple of
simple work direct from nature, with little or no seeking after
with his deep feeling, he would probably find such a charm in simplie that it would remain with him ever after, tempering his ambition. We are not quite certain whether we should name Mr. Newton as a fourth to this trio ; we do not recollect his name before. But his "Declining Day, View in Argyllshire," has certainly some high qualities—po luminous, sharply definite, yet with a glow which softens it into har- mony. The bad symptom in Mr. Newton is the slovenliness of his fore- ground; to which (hard measure as it may seem to say sco we ought perhaps to add the air of unqualified confidence displayed at so early stage of practice. This conjunction makes us misdoubt that he may de- generate into scene-painting; but we will hope better things of an evi- dently able man, and at any rate recognize that what he has done here is in the main well done.
A small circumstance will make this year an exceptional one for the Society : that honest and delicate painter William Turner has actually not bad a drawing of his hoisted up over the door. We would not wil- lingly spare any of his drawings from close inspection ; certainly not the pale brightness and fullness of the "View of Borrowdale," nor the im- portant "View in the Isle of Skye," with the crimson spread of ether over the mountain-peaks, which the sun has not yet surmounted,—still less the "highland Girls on their way to the Hill-side for Turf," richly tender in the grey emerald green of its mid distance, the more golden verdure of its foreground, and the violet pink of the blooming heather. Mr. Jackson fills Mr. Turner's accustomed eminence, and fills it only too well with a fine "Dead Calm far at Sea," full of fair repose. Mr. Cox junior comes nearer his father in style and excellence than we ever saw him before in "Mostyn Bands, Morning," intersected with bright pools of sea, and with the low horizon of billowy doudland. Mr. Richardson too has brought his cleverness unwontedly into subjection to truth in the pouring fall of his "Mountain Stream, Glen Falloch," and the dashing surf of his "Coast at St. Leonards." Of Mr. Duncan's nu- merous and simply pleasant drawings, the best are the "Study of Sheep in Penahurst Park," the swaying swell of pale grey transparent sea in "Oyster Dredgers off the Mumbles," and the fused tone of "Leigh Church, Kent." Another very nice sea view is" Leigh Boats—Shrimp- ing," by Mr. Andrews; fresh and true, especially in the thin look of the sails against the clear sky. Mr. Naftel has two very successful sub- jects: the stony white-sanded beach of " Libou Island, near Guern- sey," and the purple sunset clouds of " Portelet Harbour, West Coast of Guernsey," outspread like protecting wings over the gloomy sails of the boats upon the strand, lying by as if for their evening's rest. This is altogether grander than Mr. Naftel's usual work ; which comprises this year, as of old, many verdant nooks which would be pleasant but for a crudeness which he seems unable or indisposed to conquer. Mr. Dodg- son's sweetness of colour makes his translucent sunset, 'The Ferry," and his moonlit "Summer Night," very charming; and there is some genuine "religious light" sprinkling the gloom of his cathedral "In- terior." Another "Moonlight," limpid and inviting, is that by Mr. Finch; whose habit of painting " compositions " instead of facts cannot vitiate, though it stales, his freshness and serenity of feeling. In several careful and sunny eampagna views by Mr. Glennie we recognize an influence from Mr. Evans's style, beneficial as yet, but portending mannerism.
We must be brief in calling attention to the scenic cleverness of Mr. Callow's "Verona, the Piazza d'Erbe " ; to the steady in-coming tide of Mr. George Fripp's " Lulworth "—one amid a multitude of able drawings ; to Mr. Branwhite's vigorous dexterity, which sticks at neither difficulty nor untruth; to Mr. Gastineau's "Salzburg" as a kind of prose-reading of Turner, respectable nevertheless; to Mr. Bur- gess's talent for old buildings and street-scenes; Mr. Davidson's agree- able ruralism ; and Mr. E. A. Goodall's practised handling of Venetian and Crimean subjects.
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