Art—Kelliher

Once again that old bone of contention, the Kelliher art competition, has been laid hold of by ungodly hands and tossed from mouth to mouth. Before it is finally buried until 1962 let us have one last serious gamble with it.

The expressed aims of H. J. Kelliher are "to encourage artists to paint the visible aspects of New Zealand's coastal and landscape scenes and may include panoramic scenes of lakes and towns." I would make one suggestion to Kelliher and it is this: that "paint" be struck out and "photograph" be inserted. As the competition stands, there is presented the insoluble problem of reconciling good painting—as a communication of the invisible, inner world of experience—with the expressed aims of the competition, providing as they do the criteria by which the entries are judged.

It is the job of the critic to assess any given painting in terms of its excellence as Art and not in terms of Kelliheresque criteria. The true test of any work of art is not merely the technical competence but the essential sincerity and integrity of purpose of the artist himself. It would appear to me that of the first element there was, in the exhibition, some quite satisfactory evidence, but of the second element very, very little. The fact is that far too many canvases put their authors in that "certain set of painters" referred to by that great English landscapist, John Constable, "who having substituted falsehood for truth and formed a style mean and mechanical, are termed mannerists." Both "manner" and the Kelliher Art competition are "the wonder of the ignorant world," and the intelluctual world also, I might add.

Rupert Brooke wrote in 1912 a finely-conceived little poem which reflects admirably my feeling for some of the affected mannerist entries seen at the exhibition:

There is an evil which that rare attaints Who represent God's world with oily paints

Who mock the universe so rare and sweet With spots of colour on a canvas shoot, Defile tho lovely and insult tho good By scrawling upon little bits of wood . . . Entrap an English evening's magic hush."

Time and time again one's sensibility was inflicted upon by the contrived, the sentimentally insipid, the mannerist, the puerile and the patently insincere, the frankly banal and the bluntly photographic: the collectively uniform and uninspired. Technically competent? Yes Individually perceptive and imaginative? Frankly,

There were, however, surprisingly, perhaps, in view of my caustic vein, a very few works un-feignedly appealing. Canvases like Stewart Maclennan's "Akatarawa" (receiving a merit award), Colin Wheeler's "All Day Bay, North Otago," and "Woolshed Lome" (the latter, though not as effective as the former, receiving a merit award), caused one to feel that the wearisome way to the academy gallery was worth the plodding.

Stewart Maclennan—the director, incidentally, of the National Art Gallery—Is a painter of unsurpassing sincerity. Pastoral in mood, but very individual, sensitively composed and delightfully atmosphered, "Akatarawa" is a canvas which "grows" on one, something which is, after all, as it should be.

Colin Wheeler's "All Day Bay. North Otago" was an exceedingly well executed bridge study. It showed up the highest level of draughtsmanship and technical skill. It is a compelling and effective presentation and one which would grace any home.

"Woolshed Lorne" was, no doubt, no less competently handled but it did not appear to have the attraction of Wheeler's first-mentioned work, for me at least. However, apparently William Dargie, the Australian judge, thought otherwise. I must admit that there was much room for improvement in the mode of hanging and juxtaposition of the paintings.

Wheeler's "Woolshed Lorne," a sensitive and delicately handled study, was offset by the harsh yellow of Ida Bale's "Thunder over Coromandel" ; a more ludicrous juxtaposition I have yet to see.

The work of this artist which won a merit prize was ably executed and showed some individuality. but I found the predominate yellow tone both harsh and grating.

Cedric Savage was. of course, this year's winner with "Summer. Hawke's Bay." Personally, I am happy in some ways to "see the prize go to Savage because of his tribulations, but aesthetically I cannot concur with Dargie. Conservative and scholarly, Savage's weak point to me Is found in the handling of his colours. I find them sugary, syrupy and treacle-like. His mid-Victorian hues are postive anathema.

D. R. Neilson—"Near Paekakariki"—earned the second prize and Peter McIntyre the third with page 5 "Canterbury Shearing Shed." Neither were particularly inspiring effort.

Altogether, I can only say that the true spirit of the great god Pan, which one would expect to make itself known at such an exhibition as this, was conspicuous by its absence. It is a singular fact I am afraid, that the muses seem to be on holiday at the very time when the seminal ideas for the spurious effusions we see hung each year are engendered in the minds of those responsible by the expressed alms of J. H. Kelliher, Esquire.

—G.L.E.