any reason for granting the claims of production, only, and teaching art in all our schools as though all children were to be nothing but producers? Is it not as important to use wisely as to make well? In art, should not children be taught to appreciate, independently of the use of tools? Certainly, no one will maintain that appreciation depends upon ability to do, but on the capacity to understand. One may enjoy the beauty of a house although one lack the skill to drive a nail; great pleasure may be had from the splendors of a gothic cathedral without knowing how to build one; and even the primrose may fill one with esthetic delight.
Here, then, we have two educational ideals. While I do not wish to minimize the great value of technical training in handicrafts as a means of developing character, I wish to insist that learning to do and learning to enjoy are independent and totally different functions. Every writer on economics dwells upon the important distinctions between makers and users, and the common experience of every-day life teaches that it is possible for man to make what he detests and thoroughly enjoy what he can not do.
There is no doubt of our ability as producers, and this vast power has been obtained by sacrificing our artistic instincts on the altar of production. Our modern society, like some great oak, has put forth all its vitality to extend one mighty branch, but to do this, it has sacrificed its symmetry and beauty.
The pleasure derived from an object of art—as from any object of enjoyment—does not depend upon an external standard, for, though a work of art may be pronounced perfect by competent judges, I may derive no pleasure, whatever, from it. In order to enjoy, I must be able to join hands with the artist and partake of his feelings. Every artistic conception is surrounded by an atmosphere of pleasurable emotion, and the art consists in giving expression to this. To be infected with this feeling, the mind of the spectator, like the sensitive plate in a camera, must be prepared to receive it, that is, it must possess the requisite capacity. Let us keep clearly before us that our goal, now, is not the acquisition of facts and opinions; it is not learning esthetic rules, nor relying upon some authority; these may assist, but no amount of such collateral truths can add aught to one's standard of appreciation—this can be done only by the action of the mind itself. The power to enjoy art, like the strength of the blacksmith's arm, is developed only through use. As a meteor entering the earth's atmosphere is set on fire by friction, so the feelings are enkindled by vital contact with art. Now this does not come alone from visiting picture galleries; attending grand operas, or reading the poets. These are favorable conditions, but in order to increase the power of appreciation, one's esthetic sense must find a place to rest its foot—where it may pause with delight.
