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224
CONTEMPORARY ART
there is, of course, that odd little world sometimes
called Bohemia, about which very little
need be said. Every master, be he acade-
mician, New Englisher, or comic illustrator,
is followed by a tail of lads and lasses
whose business it is to sing the great man's
praises and keep up, in the face of disheartening
indifference, the pathetic tradition
of British
the critics
them.
immorality. They give tips to
sometimes, but no one else marks
Such being the public, not unnaturally the
more serious and independent painters endeavour
to set up small coteries of their own
as far from Mayfair and the Chelsea embankment
as possible. Thus arose the Camden
Town group under Mr. Sickert, thus arose the
Friday Club and the London group. And
here we may pause in our miserable and
comminatory progress to admit gladly that
in such societies are to be found plenty of
talent and of what is much rarer, sincerity.
Here are men who take art seriously ;
here are
men who have no prospective sitter, no rich
patron, no terrible drawing-master in mind ;
here are men to whom painting is the most
important thing in the world. Unfortunately,
in their isolation they are apt, like the rest,
to come on the parish. Theirs is no vulgar
provincialism ; but in its lack of receptivity,