er that mysterious and
majestic art that flourished in Central and South America before the
coming of the white men, in every case we observe three common
characteristics--absence of representation, absence of technical
swagger, sublimely impressive form. Nor is it hard to discover the
connection between these three. Formal significance loses itself in
preoccupation with exact representation and ostentatious cunning.[2]

Naturally, it is said that if there is little representation and less
saltimbancery in primitive art, that is because the primitives were
unable to catch a likeness or cut intellectual capers. The contention is
beside the point. There is truth in it, no doubt, though, were I a
critic whose reputation depended on a power of impressing the public
with a semblance of knowledge, I should be more cautious about urging it
than such people generally are. For to suppose that the Byzantine
masters wanted skill, or could not have created an illusion had they
wished to do so, seems to imply ignorance of the amazingly dexterous
realism of the notoriously bad works of that age. Very often, I fear,
the misrepresentation of the primitives must be attributed to what the
critics call, "wilful distortion." Be that as it may, the point is that,
either from want of skill or want of will, primitives neither create
illusions, nor make display of extravagant accomplishment, but
concentrate their energies on the one thing needful--the creation of
form. Thus have they created the finest works of art that we possess.

Let no one imagine that representation is bad in itself; a realistic
form may be as significant, in its place as part of the design, as an
abstract. But if a representative form has value, it is as form, not as
representation. The representative element in a work of art may or may
not be harmful; always it is irrelevant. For, to appreciate a work of
art we need bring with us nothing from life, no knowledge of its ideas
and affairs, no familiarity with its emotions. Art transports us from
the world of man's activity to a world of aesthetic exaltation. For a
moment we are shut off from human interests; our anticipations and
memories are arrested; we are lifted above the stream of life. The pure
mathematician rapt in his studies knows a state of mind which I take to
be similar, if not identical. He feels an emotion for his speculations
which arises from no perceived relation between them and the lives of
men, but spr