THE ART CRITIC'S RESPONSIBILITIES Stu,—Not long ago someone called at
one of the fine houses in Roe- hampton, long disused and recently occupied, to inquire politely of the owner if a local artist might add to his record of buildings in the neigh- bourhood by making a drawing of her house. "The Queen says sartinly not! was John Brown's brusque announcement on an unforgettable occasion, and that in effect was the indignant reply of the lady of the house, horrified at the notion of an artist sitting unobtrusively in a corner of her grounds to make a study of the mellow brickwork of one of the facades, which incidentally is bound to disappear before long to make way for cheaper dwellings. Could this have happened in France? I think not, because in that pleasant land, where Philistinism is hardly known, artists are welcomed as necessary members of the community, and their presence, wherever they may happen to settle, evokes no surprise whatsoever.
In this respect art critics have a great responsibility in educating public opinion, and I am not sure that they succeed in convincing ordinary people of the relevance of art in their daily lives by writing of abstract art in largely unintelligible terms, and so widening the gulf between the intelligentsia and the unconverted. The Evening Standard has set a good example by allowing an intelligent critic a free hand to write about art in popular terms, and help to solve readers' problems, without feeling it necessary to maintain the pretence that he is a sort of high-priest in a temple in which the faithful may approach only with stockinged feet, and I wish this healthy practice would spread. The world of art exists out- side Bond Street, and if the London critics were jo discover some of the provincial galleries occasionally, or to make a pilgrimage to Ken Wood or Hampton Court and describe the pictures there with something of the infectious gusto that sends readers of the penny dailies hurrying to the sites of accidents and crimes, they would surely be more faithful to their calling than they are by preaching every week to the same small select congregation which knows all the sermon notes by heart. Perhaps in this way our London critics would discover that a number of artists of the first order exist in the provinces, of whom the public has hardly heard, and men like the East Anglian artist, Mr. Leonard Squirrel], might receive the recognition which is their due and even—who knows?—receive, like David Cox, some public testimony to their genius while they are still
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