Selected Writings - Margaret Preston. Margaret Preston

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СКАЧАТЬ teach. The students would wait their turn for a lesson, but when he came it was generally only to hear that still more could be done. He gave nothing constructive. In spite of this, he was the best teacher she could have had, as it allowed her to feel that there was someone to help but not to influence. Life did not go on in this peaceful way all the time, for at intervals the new master would unexpectedly appear, Bernard Hall. Austere, biting, and immaculate, he generally left bowed spirits in his wake, also intense admiration.

      At various times in the year this new master demanded that victims of a certain standard in drawing should be laid on the altar of paint under his supervision. So, after a time spent in acquiring drawing prizes, the message came that our friend was ready for higher instruction. The teaching was magnificent; after the gentle little man in the drawing school it came as a revelation. He was certainly the finest teacher she ever had; every student respected and feared him. Slender, well built, with stiff cropped head and sallow face, always faultlessly groomed even to enter the teaching studios, this man set an example to young Australia that those who came under his influence at that time have never forgotten. But wasn’t he vitriolic! Nerves of iron and talent were necessary to stand his onslaughts, especially to one who could not appreciate his liking for hideous models.

      Fate intervened to help our little friend. It was necessary to draw numbers to get a place at the model, and as she always seemed to draw last, and therefore worst place, she was allowed, because of the crowded classes, to work quietly at still life in the adjoining studio. Here she would work day in and day out at her precious eggs, etc. Often many days would she spend painting at a small high light, such perfection of detail being demanded. Her fortune sometimes deserted her, and back she would have to go to the human figure - drawing for so long that she never seemed to have time to begin in colour.

      Again she wins a drawing prize, but the next year was a happy one, for the still life scholarship was hers. It would seem that a liking for the colour and form of inanimate objects was born in her.

      Then comes a domestic upset, and she finds it necessary to go with her family to Adelaide, there to teach for a year or so and then return to Melbourne for fresh instruction. This stay at the Melbourne Gallery was only a short one, as it was imperative that she should return to Adelaide to continue with her teaching.

      Her art work was really begun at this time. It shows a movement of thought which is continuous throughout. As a young girl, not yet in her twenties, she made up her mind to teach for her living and paint her pictures as she would, to choose her own subjects and do them in her own way, leaving all thought of selling out of her mind. From Monday morning until Saturday she taught. Fortunately, her pupils were pleasant, so that her nerves were not racked when she started on her own work at the weekends.

      Against all opposition of friends and relatives she painted eggs, dead rabbits, onions - just everything she liked. It was no use for her to explain to people that the standardised beauty for art of landscapes, sunsets and ladies did not interest her; that as she felt no pleasure in them, how could she possibly say anything in pencil or paint that would interest anybody else? So she simply didn’t try. Every weekend found her painting away at her eggs or rabbits; her ideal at this time was to paint them with such fidelity to nature that they could almost be used in the kitchen.

      As soon as she saw her hopes likely to be realised, her mind worried her. If she really painted as well as that, surely she would be the very best painter of still life in the world. The doing of it was so easy. It was this fact that raised a doubt in her mind about her possible fame; so being orphaned, she started to put by pence until they became pounds, to take a trip abroad to see really where she stood and also to get some ‘finishing’ lessons.

      A specimen of her work at this time is ‘Eggs’, now belonging to the Royal Art Society. It was bought from the annual Art Society’s Exhibition for five pounds, a price considered outrageously high for such common objects.

      The pence had now become sufficient pounds to take the wonderful trip abroad. She starts off with a friend intending to live in Munich for some two years. Paris was not chosen, as the French reputation did not come up to the desired standard of her friend’s parent, so they went Germany-wards. Her art tour began in Venice, but as nothing impresses the ignorant, Titian and his fellow artists roused little enthusiasm in her mind - in fact, her feeling was one of sympathy with an irate American lady whom she heard saying in a loud voice to her husband as they strode through a Belgian Gallery: ‘Rubbens - Rubbens; if I see any more of that man’s paint I’ll go mad’.

      It took Munich and the Secessionists to awaken her. In the beginning she hated the big Government Art School for Women; having her lessons translated to her drove her frantic. She simply couldn’t understand. There in that horrid country no one seemed to understand Australian German, or appreciate Australian art. They were all hopeless. It was even worse for her when she found herself understanding in German what apparently sane artists and students were saying about a certain picture at a Secessionist Exhibition - a picture that had a large pink dragon, with a lady victim clad in yellow, being rescued by a gentleman in black clothes, not armour - clothes! They were actually admiring it. It made her feel sick. She much preferred the good old art show then on at the same time, where lemons were fruit and dragons standardized lizards. In fact, the only art she really admired in Munich was Durer’s painting of two apostles, one having a whole landscape painted on the pupil of his eye. This to her was Art. Things were so bad that a decision had to be made; she couldn’t stay in a country going mad; so in spite of the possible upset to her friend’s morals, she would go to Paris.

      It was a freezing morning when she left Munich. Snow lay thick everywhere. It was a regular Napoleon’s march from Moscow, both having Paris for their objective. Once settled in Paris she started to feel the air, by visiting the exhibitions then open. Alas! for all her hopes. The Autumn Salon was just closing, but she found this show exceeded the outrageousness of the Secessionists. Under these distressing conditions there was only one thing to be done - to get a teacher who was a moderate and yet intelligent, to explain and teach what these people thought they were doing.

      The first thing that wise man did was to realise that our little Australian was really worried and wanted to learn. So he sent her to study Japanese art at the Guimet Musee, to let her learn slowly that there is more than one vision in art. That a picture could have more than eye realism. That there was such a thing as aesthetic feeling. That a picture that is meant to fill a certain space should decorate that space. That the time of Giotto had passed when he painted to teach. Nowadays, books and education were being given away. That each century should have some of the characteristics of itself in its art. All this and so much more that our poor little artist was obliged to become a very humble student indeed.

      She found she had been hopping about on one rung only of the ladder of art. Starting off again she tries to add another quality to her realism

      - that of decoration. Hunting the galleries of Spain, Holland and Italy, etc., she has learnt to appreciate the mighty qualities in the works in these countries. But it all costs so much money that she finds that her pounds have become pence, so it was necessary to return to Adelaide to teach and earn.

      Her work at this period shows a definite move from sheer realism - the ‘Onions’ in the National Gallery, Adelaide, and ‘Roses’ owned by the Broken Hill Gallery were painted at this time.

      On her return to Adelaide, she started teaching and working at her picture-making, trying to find her feet for her new movement - the addition of design in colour to realism. But now how difficult are friends and relatives, and so inconsistent. Only a few years ago they were grumbling because she would paint such horrid subjects as dead rabbits and fresh eggs. Now they were complaining because she is painting large gay flowers against gay backgrounds. ‘Oh, why will you do it,’ they say, ‘when you had begun to sell and were getting on so nicely with those dark mysterious backgrounds and quiet material?’

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