Massachusetts College of Art and Design - Palette and Pen Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 15 text:

WHITHER AMERICAN ART? Yesterday Americans fled to Paris to be injected with the “spirit of art.” Their famous Latin Quarter reeked with second-rate Frenchmen and Americans alike, who donned conspicuous bow ties, assumed a blase attitude, and then named themselves artists. Instead of sifting out only the good and authentic offered by recognized artists at that time, Americans, permeated with Parisienne parfume, returned to America with only borrowed mannerisms. Today, in this year nineteen hundred forty-one, because of the constantly changing conditions abroad, Americans must remain at home. Necessity affords here a compelling opportunity to create an art that is truly American. So far as we are Informed, art in Europe lies dormant. Master- pieces of painting, prose, and architecture have been destroyed. Be- cause of the assumption that only Europe was capable of producing fine art, the interim in its progress gives America its occasion for con- tributing to the world stream of art by developing its natural abundance of esthetic material. Art depicts America not only in its landscapes — western farms. Southern colonial houses, or California peach-trees, which have been the cliches of American art — but in its democratic functions. As de- mocracy is the expression of free people, so art in a democracy ex- presses their forces, environments, and situations. In this political, social, and educational upheaval, everyone must cooperate to con- struct a social order democratic in the operating of its ideals. IRENE ANDELMAN

Page 14 text:

She wove humanity’s thoughts and emotions into words, and spoke them with her tongue. When the people heard of the miracle of the three sisters they disbelieved. It was fantastic to hear bewitching sounds flow from reeds by the river, to see color on the flat leaves and connected lines upon the walls, and to listen to tales of people who did not exist, of things that had not happened, or places never seen. But soon even the most incredulous came to marvel at these three and their magic. Word traveled quickly by mouth, and many people from n earby lands came to witness the sight. Thus it was that even the gods in the heaven above came to know of this earthly miracle and sent a messenger to search out the truth, for they were amazed and delighted with these mortals who had dis- covered some wondrous secret out of their suffering. Thereupon the king of the gods descended to earth to visit the three sisters. When he saw that they were holy and wise, he decreed that they should become immortal and walk the earth forever, choosing to divulge their secret to those few mortals created to receive them. And he named the first sister Music. And he named the second sister Art. And the third sister was called Literature. DOROTHY ISAACS

Page 16 text:

NOTRE VIEUX n the dim light of late afternoon, the warm glow from Beth Israel vies with a brilliant spotlight and, as if in defiance, a familiar chant fills the room: Rise, shine, give God his glory, glory.” Thus begins the awakening of the mentally dormant, as the grand old man transforms somnolence into alertness with a variety of inimitable gestures and bombastic explosions. Mercilessly our transgressions are unveiled before all. The shy and retiring, as well as the fearless, learn to weather the tempest of disapproval, the shock of unexpected approbation, or a silence as ominous as it is gratifying. A man-to-man talk invites clarity at times, more often quandary, but not without humor, for the room fills with laughter as words twist glibly to meet each personal situation, and the arts are explained by correlation. Here Gilbert and Sullivan may find appreciation in company with Charlie McCarthy and the Marx Brothers. Or in a different mood, for Notre Vieux” is at all times attuned to the mood of his class, there is the moment for poetry: ’Twas a midnight charm Impossible to melt as iced stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam: Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies.” A period of meditation broken by, Turn a cartwheel and stand on