On Being an Art Critic
By M. H. MIDDLETON THIS week, in a Dublin busy whistling the tunes from two recent films by Mr. Chaplin and Mr. Huston, some 120 ' art critics from as far apart as Turkey and Cuba are forming the Fifth General ASsembly of the International Association of Art Critics, which, under the wing of Unesco, is composed of twenty-five national sections. Among those present are Raymond Cogniat, Paul Fierens, Mme Giedion- \Wicker, Eric Newton, Rudolfo Palluchini, Sir Herbert Read, W. J. H. B. Sandberg, James Johnson Sweeney and Lionello Venturi. Among the subjects they have been discussing, between cocktail parties and charabanc trips to Glendalough, are such topics as ' the relations between science and art " and " art criticism through the film medium." This annual beano, which takes place in a different country every year, is a welcome moral pick-me-up for the critics. It is the one occasion when Presidents, and Ministers of Fine Arts and Lord Mayors can be persuaded to put on their regalia and, speaking for society, tell us what invaluable people we are and of what inestimable value our work is. Whereas, for the rest of the year, it is made all too clear what society really thinks. The critic, like the painter and sculptor, is an anachronism, and it is as hard to become a serious critic without a private income as it is a serious painter or sculptor. First, definitions. ' Art criticism " is used so loosely as almost to defy definition. It covers everything between the finnicking quibbles of the historian (who may base his argu- ments entirely on documentary research without reference to the work of art itself) and the rhapsodic prose-poem that seeks to interpret some aspect of contemporary abstraction. Art critics happen. There is neither training for, nor recognised method of entry into the profession, if such it can be called. Sometimes critics are themselves painters (I cannot think of any sculptors): Sickert, John Piper and Michael Ayrton are three distinguished predecessors on the Spectator who come o mind. More often the critic is a painter manque, who failed at some point, for one reason or another, to make the grade. Some are journalists who began by reporting Private View Day at Burlington House; some are poet-philosophers; some are civil servants attached to museums; some are wealthy collectors or " amateurs "—the Sir George Beaumonts of to- day. I would hazard a guess that fewer than ten in this country earn their living by art criticism alone and that of these only four earn more than £1,000 a year. Springing as it does from such varied origins, it is scarcely stirprising that criticism is sotnewhat uncertain about its func- tions. Mr. A. (who is a painter) is really taking his readers on a personally conducted tour of the thought-processes behind his own painting; Mr. B., under a banner emblazoned " Academic Accuracy," swivels the machine-gun of his malice through 360 degrees; Mr. C. is a sort of political scoutmaster who is always busy keeping art healthily exercised and check- ing its unruly tendency to play truant; Mr. D. is rather conscious That he is oft-times out of his depth and spends most of his time polishing his paragraphs so that the gloss may deflect any too searching examination. Some write for the artist whose work they are reviewing; some believe the important thing is to write in a manner sufficiently lively to persuade a few more of their readers every month.to go to the current exhibitions; some seek conscientiously to interpret to a wider public an art that has become specialised and " difficult." For all of them there are three main outlets : the daily newspaper; the weekly newspaper or journal, with which may be included the monthly and the quarterly review and the radio talk (when you can find it); and the book.
To the daily newspaper art is news (a) when old master paintings with a value of four figures or more are stolen, destroyed by fire or flood, or forged; (b) when the centenary of the birth or death of a more s-zandalous artist is being celebrated; (c) when a contemporary work with a value of four figures or' more is slashed or stamped on; (d) when a contem- porary artist, having been criticised, answers back. The Daily Mail and the News-Chronicle still pay lip-service to honor- able traditions; The Times and the Manchester Guardian not only cover current' exhibitions, but occasionally print articles discussing general principles (though much shorter than in years gone by). Otherwise the column-inches printed in the National Press in any normal week can be counted on the fingers of one hand. It is desirable that the writer on art matters in daily journalism should be someone of taste and knowledge (if only to dissuade the News Editor from such adolescent japes as sending the Sports Editor or the Agricul- tural Correspondent to report.the new Epstein exhibition), but he is no longer normally to be looked to for serious criticism. There are, I should say, three writers who earn their liv,ing entirely by this kind of journalism. The weekly is mostly interested in current exhibitions, but also reviews books. Here the standard is expected to be higher. A greater knowledge is expected of the reader and reviews are not infrequently specialised to the point of unin- telligibility. The two " cultural " Sunday newspapers are believed to pay their critics between £700 and £1,000 a year (and are inclined to frown upon " extra-mural " activities). The weekly reviews pay from two to about eight guineas for an article (one, the exception, pays fifteen guineas). The B.B.C. pays a guinea a minute (which is about eight and a half guineas a thousand words), but has only broadcast twenty- seven talks on the visual arts in all its home services since the beginning of the year (the Critics programme apart) and a number of these were news talks of only a few minutes duration. Quarterlies pay whatever happens to be in the petty-cash box that week. None- of these periodicals normally pays any additional expenses. That is to say, if there is an exhibition of European importance in Paris or Rome or Ziirich or Amsterdam, the critic must pay his own way if he wishes to see it. The only real outlet for writing on the general principles of art is the book. A serious book about a contemporary artist with an international reputation may, over the years, sell 5,000-6,000 copies, but this is exceptional. A more usual print order is of the order of 1,500-2,000. One such book was quoted to me as having earned' its author between £250 and £300, but the odds are that a writer (who may have worked upon his book for any period between one and fifteen or more years) may expect to receive £70-£100 for his labours. I do not know of any author of books on art who can exist on his royalties. In these circumstances of acute shortage of space and con- sequent limitation of incomes, it is clearly impossible for the critic to develop his experience and knowledge as he should if he is to tackle his very difficult task properly. Except for three or four free-lances, he is probably tied by an office-hour job. He works in an advertising agency, or as a designer, or in an administrative capacity in the B.B.C., or in a public or dealer's gallery. Only in the latter case can he expect to live with painting and sculpture throughout the working day, learning, comparing, taking in the better to give out. He cannot afford the time for, or expense of, travelling to museums in other countries, to special exhibitions which will never be repeated, to the studios of foreign artists. He has not the time for reading, for research, above all, for contemplation and thought. He rushes round giving lectures to girls' schools, writing paragraphs for anyone nice enough to ask him. He becomes a man in a hurry, who knows what he likes.
This surely is at the root of the philosophic nihilism of art criticism today—its inability to achieve continuity of standards, to relate itself to basic principles. Each artist, each exhibition, is commented upon at its own level or too often judged by some personal and too narrow standard. It is less easy in many ways to interpret the meaning of art now than it was in the days when Pater was writing about the " Mona Lisa," but it remains a necessary function. Too many errors of judgement have been made by critics in the past for the present-day writer to approach his task with anything but humility. Nevertheless, whether he likes it or not, he is the first-filter of the historical process that is going to destroy ninety-nine hundredths of all the art now being pro- duced in the world. He is also one of the important channels through which the remaining hundredth, expressing the highest aspirations of the human spirit, is helped to ripple outwards through the whole social complex. Burckhardt, the Goncourts, Appollinaire, Ruskin—such, men lend us their insight still. But then Ruskin received an annual allowance of £1,500, apart from his earnings, at a time when the pound was worth more ,than today. And upon the death of his father he inherited £120,000, paintings worth £10,000, and other " solid Assets."
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