Sir John Lavery was a very distinctive figure, and his
death will leave a gap in other milieux than the Royal Academy. He never allowed himself to paint really distinguished pictures, and did nothing to encourage real distinction in painting— probably he seldom realised its presence. He lacked the nice judgement of his early idol, Whistler, but was never misled by a too-brilliant talent, like Sargent. For even in his portraits he was never quite satisfied with any fashionable burnish or dazzle. This made him a respectable figure as an academic painter; he was already, on account of his personality, a jolly one. Notoriety for its own sake was not his line, nor was the fitful obscurity of the self-disciplinarian. He went all out for success, with the proviso that he would paint up to a standard and not down to a demand. His bent was for neither the story picture nor the form picture; he was a recorder. And what he liked best to record was the full sunlight on a country house terrace, or the transient sunlight in a marbled hall, each of them frequented by well-known figures with easily-recog- nisable faces. He was as honest and lively a recorder of rich sitters and ceremonial occasions as we have had in this century.
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