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

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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

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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

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your head,” or in stentorian tones, “What was I saying before I so rudely interrupted myself?” But if those brave souls who invade the sanctum sanctorum need the courage of Theseus or the magic word of Gawaine the dragon slayer, there is recompense. Years of experience, vast stores of knowledge, — these the initiate of the spotlight, the laven- der gauze, and the rich brocades may take for themselves as largess. There are little tips about using one’s imagination intelligently, nuances of color in musical terms, and looking for beauty of shapes and values. We learn that the work must be “professional,” for “a good painting is finished from the start,” and as, with “fasting and prayer,” each student works beyond his power to excel the beauty and the brilliance, he knows that it must be “amusing.” Days, weeks, months, later, a seemingly offside remark becomes a thing of substance, something to build on as we perceive the meaning. “Go to it, Sal, I’ll hold your bonnet,” or “Whoop it up! Whoop it up!” startles us out of our lethargy. Then,“make it, make the shapes.” And again, as though inspired, “Why do you suppose an oasis is so beautiful? Isn’t it because it is surrounded by a desert?” Or else a touch on the arm and he says, “Step back here . . . .” Motioning toward your drawing, “Did you ever see such a gorgeous thing, so transcendentally beautiful? In the nature, I mean.” We’ve all been told that “you can’t get something for nothing,” and that “no man can serve two masters.” These and a hundred others mean “Notre VIeux” to us. FLORENCE WHITMORE