this much is sure:
should anyone wish to infer from the art it produced the civility of an
age, he must be capable of distinguishing the work of that age from the
work of all other ages. He must be familiar with the characteristics of
the movement. It is my intention to indicate a few of the more obvious
characteristics of the contemporary movement.

But how comes it that the art of one age differs from that of another?
At first sight it seems odd that art, which is the expression of man's
sense of the significance of form, should vary even superficially from
age to age. Yet, deeply considered, it is as certain that superficially
art will always be changing as that essentially it cannot change. It
seems that the ape-instinct in man is so strong that unless he were
continually changing he would cease to create and merely imitate. It is
the old question of the artistic problem. Only by setting himself new
problems can the artist raise his powers to the white heat of creation.
The forms in which artists can express themselves are infinite, and
their desire to express themselves keeps up a constant change and
reaction in artistic form. Not only is there something of the ancestral
ape in man, there is something of the ancestral sheep; there are
fashions in forms and colours and the relations of forms and colours;
or, to put the matter more pleasantly, and more justly, there is
sufficient accord in the sensibilities of an age to induce a certain
similarity of forms. It seems as though there were strange powers in the
air from which no man can altogether escape; we call them by pet
names--"Movements," "Forces," "Tendencies," "Influences," "The Spirit of
the Age"--but we never understand them. They are neither to be
frightened nor cajoled by our airs of familiarity, which impress the
public only. They exist, however, and if they did not we should have to
invent them; for how else are we to explain the fact that not only do
the artists of a particular period affect particular kinds of form, but
that even the spectators of each new generation seem to be born with
sensibilities specially apt to be flattered by them. In this age it is
possible to take refuge under the magic word "Cezanne"; we can say that
Cezanne has imposed his forms on Georgian painters and public, just as
Wagner imposed his on Edwardian musicians and concert-goers. This
explanation seems to me inadequate; and in any case it will not account
for the predominance