umble in the canvas caused by the painter casting aside the chief
prerogative of an artist, the faculty of selection, or, rather, as
Walter Pater puts it, the "tact of omission."

There is the motion of moonlight in one canvas and in No. 24, by
Russolo, entitled Rebellion, there is an effort to delineate--better
say express, as the art of delineation is here in abeyance--the
collision of two forces, that of the revolutionary element made up of
enthusiasm and red lyricism against the force of inertia and
reactionary resistance of tradition. The angles are the vibratory
waves of the former force in motion. The perspective of the houses is
destroyed just as a boxer is bent double by receiving a blow in the
wind (refined image!). As this picture is purely symbolical, it is not
open to objections; but isn't it rather amusing?

Memory of a Night, by Russolo (No. 23), is "a fantastic impression
produced not by line but by colour." An elongated insect or snail--is
it a man or a grasshopper?--is in the first plane; back of him is a
girl's face with pleading eyes; an explosion of light in the
background is evidently intended for an electric lamp; the rest is
chaos.

The Milliner (No. 32) by Severini, the painter calls: "An arabesque of
the movement produced by the twinkling colours and iridescence of the
frills and furbelows on show; the electric light divides the scene
into defined zones. A study of simultaneous penetration." The deathly
grin of the modiste is about the only "simultaneous penetration" that
I could see in the canvas.

As confused as is No. 27, The Pan-Pan Dance at the Monico, by
Severini, there are some vital bits, excellent modelling, striking
detail, though as a whole, it is hard to unravel; the point d'appui is
missing; the interest is nowhere focussed, though the dancer woman
soon catches the eye. No doubt a crowded supper room in a Continental
cafe, the white napery, variegated colours of the women's attire, the
movement and blinding glare of the lights are a chaotic blur when you
first open your eyes upon them; but the human eye with its almost
infinite capacity for adaptation soon resolves disorder into order,
formlessness into form. The trouble with the Futurist is that he
catches the full force of the primal impression, then later loads it
with his own subjective fancies. The outcome is bound to be a riddle.

I confess without hesitation there are several pictures in the
exhibition which impressed