Cotmania. Vol. IX. 1933-4

{spectator article}

Among the water-colourists, Girtin, who died too early to exercise his full influence, is more calculating in his attitude than Cotman, who directed the English tradition. The latter neglected solidity for the changing patterns which nature provides and which he recorded with almost oriental sensitiveness in such works as The Devil's Elbow (725). With Constable and Turner the English landscape reaches its climax. Turner's capacity for the exact observation of natural effects was unlimited, but his idea of colour was so vulgar that he is at his best when restrained by the deliberate imitation of Poussin, as in the masterly Bonneville (648). Constable, om the other hand, was apt to lose the freshness of his first, observations when he tried to make a formal composition, and it is by the brilliance of his sketches and preliminary versions (687 and 585) that he leads up to Impressionism. It was he who made the revolutionary discoveries on which Monet and his contemporaries based their work, but, superficially, another English painter approaches Impressionism much more closely: namely David Cox, whose Rhyl Sands might almost be a carelessly composed Boudin, and whose interest in changing cloud effects puts him near Monet himself.
Anthony Blunt.

/

{Kitson annotation}

Spectator Jan: 26 1934

/

{Observer article}

In a company of travellers, the historian and the natural historian conflict a little. The direct object of very much travel is to see and hear about the wonders of art. Nature takes a second place. Who would look for flowers in scenes supremely eloquent of the fame and courage of the Knights of Jerusalem? Nevertheless, it may be reasonably argued that the battlements of Rhodes, certainly the most glorious island even in the Aegean, in its history, its architecture, its natural strength and beauty, that those glorious survivals of the mighty knights of Europe are more surely and fondly remembered for the discovery of a bee orchis among the antique stones. And I do not know that the glorious charge of the two wings of Miltiades' little army is less vividly realised because one of the memories of the level shore where the Persians beached and lost their ships is a little mauve and purple stock.

Now and again a flower or its discovery may be so exciting that more essential things are quite forgotten. What in the world is this strange plant? Mosque or battlement, siege or crusade, preacher or warrior must wait for a while. A superior interest has arisen. The plant's dark, coarse leaves spread horizontally over the ground like white- leaved thistles. In the midst of the circle are arranged as neatly as if a florist had been at work, a bunch of lilac flowers, almost stalk less. The thing is more queer perhaps than beautiful. It challenges curiosity, and against all the treasured canons of Flora's League is uprooted solely " for edification." The long root parted from the ground soil reluctantly, and, perhaps, if we had listened, with a scream; for the plant after prolonged investigation in a textbook (carried by Scottish traveller of charming zeal) proved to be a mandrake about which hang so many curious and inexplicable superstitions as the Barnacle tree. Though its leaves are a little coarse and its roots a little fleshy. it is free from the ill-omened appearance of such a plant as henbane, which expresses poison in every twist.

25-31 March

Those who come from the South in spring realise what a Northern island England is. They left the swallows and anemones behind on leaving Syria and, cut across the route of the migrant warblers between Africa and Italy, lion' hare are the boughs of the trees seen against a March sky: and still the exciting question is unanswered: will the trees we planted on the eve of winter break into early bud? Yet the first of spring is spring indeed. The first daffodils open in due succession to the sweet jonquils that were almost over on the plains of Marathon. Though the boughs are bare, the woods are not black, but purple, and the sap enlivens the complexion of both lawn and bush. We shall soon hear the first warbler.

/

{Kitson annotation}

Observer april 1st 1934