Some of you can no more paint with a
square brush than you can with a knife. Some of you could not paint though
your palettes were set with Nature's own sunset colors. And others of you,
if you had a rabbit's scut at the end of a hop-pole and the gray mud from a
rain puddle, would produce work worth considering. You are a community of
painters--some clever, some hopeless--but you are not a school, and you may
thank God for it."
John Barron was rough tonic, but the fearless little man generally found an
audience at the end of the day in this studio or that. The truth of much
that he said appealed to the lofty-minded and serious; his dry cynicism,
savage dislike of civilization, and frank affection for Nature, attracted
others. He hit hard, but he never resented rough knocks in return, and no
man had seen him out of temper with anything but mysticism and the art bred
therefrom. Upon the whole, however, his materialism annoyed more than his
wit amused.
Upon the evening which followed his insult to the Newlyn gulls, Barron,
with Edmund Murdoch and some other men, was talking in the studio of one
Brady, known to fame as the "Wrecker," from his love for the artistic
representation of maritime disaster. Barron liked this man, for he was
outspoken and held vigorous views, but the two quarreled freely.
"Fate was a fool when she chucked her presents into the lap of a lazy
beggar like you," said Brady, addressing the visitor.
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