rreggio,
and Mozart trust their sensibility almost as a bird trusts its instinct.
It never entered the head of a swallow to criticize its own methods;
and if Mozart could not write a tune wrong, that was not because he had
first tested his idea at every point, but because he was Mozart. Yet
no one ever thought of going to a swallow for lessons in aviation; or,
rather, Daedalus did, and we all know what came of it.

That is my point. I do not presume to judge between one method of
creation and another; I shall not judge between Matisse and Picasso; but
I do say that, as a rule, it is the intellectual artist who becomes, in
spite of himself, schoolmaster to the rest. And there is a reason
for this. By expressing themselves intellectual artists appeal to us
aesthetically; but, in addition, by making, or seeming to make, some
statement about the nature of the artistic problem they set us thinking.
We feel sure they have something to say about the very stuff of art
which we, clumsily enough, can grasp intellectually. With purely
aesthetic qualities the intellect can do nothing: but here, it seems, is
something the brain can get hold of. Therefore we study them and they
become our leaders; which does not make them our greatest artists.
Matisse may yet be a better painter than Picasso.

Be that as it may, from Matisse there is little or nothing to be
learned, since Matisse relies on his peculiar sensibility to bring him
through. If you want to paint like him, feel what he feels, conduct it
to the tips of your fingers, thence on to your canvas, and there you
are. The counsel is not encouraging. These airy creatures try us too
high. Indeed, it sometimes strikes me that even to appreciate them
you must have a touch of their sensibility. A critic who is apt to
be sensible was complaining the other day that Matisse had only one
instrument in his orchestra. There are orchestras in which fifty
instruments sound as one. Only it takes a musician to appreciate them.
Also, one hears the others talking about "the pretty, tinkley stuff"
of Mozart. Those who call the art of Matisse slight must either be
insensitive or know little of it. Certainly Matisse is capable of
recording, with an exquisite gesture and not much more, just the smell
of something that looked as though it would be good to eat. These are
notes. Notes are often slight--I make the critics a present of that.
Also of this: it takes a more intense effort of the creative imagi