by Merriam Bliss from The Black Book Vol 1, 1895
EARLY every night it is the custom of Papa Quotation Mark to take his son little Query Mark on his knee and expound the wonders of the universe and the stern necessity of keeping abreast of the times. It was during one of these harmless seances that the following conversation anent the so-called "new art" took place:
Little Query Mark: "Papa, who is the funny artist that makes black pictures with white spots in them, for the English magazines?"
Mr. Mark "Oh, you mean Aubrey Beardsley, do you not, my son?"
Little Query Mark: "Yes, I guess so. Does he live in an insane asylum, Papa?"
Mr. Mark: "Oh, no my son. He lives in a comfortable flat and has a fat bank account and a fine studio."
Little Query Mark: "Does he really mean to do such queer things or are they accidents?"
Mr. Mark: "He takes himself very seriously my son and so do a lot of other odd people. His pictures are made intentionally queer."
Little Q. M. "But papa, why does he make funny ladies with thick lips and draw them with black spider waists and big feet? Does he see folks in that way?"
Mr. M. "Nay, nay, my son he sees people just as you and I see them."
Little Q. M. "Then why does he draw nightmares in black and white if he knows better."
Mr. M. "Because my son he has found out that people are very gullible and will think a thing is great if it is too silly to have any meaning. Besides it is much more easy to throw a brush filled with ink at a piece of white paper and call it an 'art poster' than to carefully draw
a design that means something."
Little Q. M. "Papa, does anybody really, truly like Mr. Beardsley's work?"
Mr. M. "They pretend to, my son. It's the proper thing to take sides with a popular fad."
Little Q. M. "Is Mr. Beardsley a popular fad, papa?"
Mr. M. "Yes, my son, and so are his-his-his~were you going to ask another question my son?"
Little Q. M. "Yes papa. Does any other artist imitate Mr. Beardsley's stuff?"
Mr. M. "Only a million other artists imitate Mr. Beardsley's work my boy."
Little Q. M. "Is it wrong to copy Mr. Beardsley's style, papa."
Mr. M. "Decidedly wrong my son. It is a crime, and ought to be punishable with death."
Little Q. M. "Why is it a crime to imitate Mr. Beardsley's work papa?"
Mr. M. "Because the crazy things of the wretched copyists drives good artists to drink my child."
Little Q. M. "What sort of art do they call Mr. Beardsley's work papa?"
Mr. M. "They don't call it art my son; they call it rubbish."
Little Q. M. "Can anybody do the kind of work that Mr. Beardsley does papa?"
Mr. M. "Oh, no, my son. Only a very ill or weak minded person who has never learned to draw can do the real thing."
Little Q. M. "Mr. Beardsley and his million imitators will be very rich next year won't they papa."
Mr. M. "Not on your silhouette my son. They will be at the bottom of the tureen of popular contempt."
Little Q. M. "How long can a queer artist fool the public, papa?"
Mr. M. "Until the public takes a tumble to itself, my son."
Little Q. M. "Papa what do the critics say about the Beardsley things?"
Mr. M. "One critic says:
You can bet your bottom dollar
We're on to the Beardsley caper,
A little brush, a pot of ink
And lots of empty paper."
Little Q. M. "Papa when does..."
Mr. M. "It's time to go to bed my son."
Beardsley is the chief apostle of the grotesque. He lives by his affectation and to his posing, personally and in his art, there is no end. A shining example of his verbal posturing was displayed in a recent interview. "In what spirit do you receive the criticisms lavished upon your work?" queried the scribe. "I suffer my critics gladly," he replied, a touch of hardness coming over his face; "their inconsistencies and futile hypocrisies fill me with amusement. The British public, or rather, those who make their laws in the press or the platform, will forgive anything to a French artist, nothing to his English comrade. Thus they go into raptures over a most brutally realistic, though admirable, work by Lautrec, and hide their faces before more innocent art contributions to the English periodicals. They alone have discovered the Unmentionable. The critic desires to produce not criticism but copy and abuse trips glibly off his pen."
Then came a theatrical pause while this too clever youth eyed the Interviewer to see the effect of his Indirect Insult.
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