In the Land of Temples
NOTES—ON MY LITHOGRAPHS IN THE LAND OF TEMPLES
I WENT to Greece for two reasons. First, because I wanted to see Greece and what remained of her glory—to see if the greatest work of the past impressed me as much as the greatest work of the present—and to try to find out which was the greater—the more inspiring. And second, I went because I was told by a Boston authority that I was nothing but a ragtime sketcher, couldn’t see Greek art and couldn’t draw it if I did.
I have been there—and did what I saw in my own way. To me Greece was wonderful and was beautiful, but anyone can see that—and can rave over it with appropriate quotations from appropriate authors. I know no Greek and have scarce read a translation. I say this regretfully—I wish I had—I should have seen more. I know, however, if I had not before seen the greatest art of the rest of Europe, I could not have been so moved as I was by what I saw in the Land of Temples, the land whence we have derived most of our ideas, ideals, and inspirations.
I drew the things that interested me—and it was, and is, a great delight to me to be told by those who have, some of them, spent their lives studying Greeks and Greece, that I have given the character of the country. What impressed me most was the great feeling of the Greeks for site in placing their temples and shrines in the landscape—so that they not only became a part of it, but it leads up to them. And though the same architectural forms were used, each temple was so placed that it told from afar by sea or land, a goal for pilgrims—a shrine for worshippers to draw near to—yet each had a character of its own—always the same, yet ever differing. I know, I am sorry to say, little of proportion, of scale, of heights, of lengths, but what I saw, with my own eyes, was the way these monuments were part of the country—never stuck about anyhow—always composed—always different—and they were built with grand ideas of composition, impressiveness, and arrangement. Has there been any change in the black forest before Aegina—the “wine dark sea” at Sunium—the “shining rocks” at Delphi—the grim cliffs of the Acropolis?—these prove in their various ways that the Greeks were great artists.
These were the things I saw. Had I known more I might have seen less—for it seems to me that most artists who have gone to Greece have been so impressed with what they have been told to see, that—there are, of course, great exceptions—they have looked at the land with a foot-rule, a translation, and a dictionary, and they have often been interfered with by these aids. I went ignorant of where to go—or what to see. When I got to Athens I fell among friends, who answered my only question that “I wanted to see temples that stood up.” They told me where they were—and there they were. And for this information, which resulted in my seeing these sites and making these lithographs, I want to thank many people, but above all Mr. R. M. Dawkins, late Director of the British School at Athens, who, now that he has seen the work, agrees with others that it has something of the character and romance of the country. If it has those qualities, they are what I went out to see—and having seen them—and I have tried to express them—I know I can see more, if I have the chance in the future in the Wonder of Work of my time, for in our great works to-day we are only carrying on the tradition of the great works of the past. I have seen both, and it is so.
JOSEPH PENNELL.
1112676211
I WENT to Greece for two reasons. First, because I wanted to see Greece and what remained of her glory—to see if the greatest work of the past impressed me as much as the greatest work of the present—and to try to find out which was the greater—the more inspiring. And second, I went because I was told by a Boston authority that I was nothing but a ragtime sketcher, couldn’t see Greek art and couldn’t draw it if I did.
I have been there—and did what I saw in my own way. To me Greece was wonderful and was beautiful, but anyone can see that—and can rave over it with appropriate quotations from appropriate authors. I know no Greek and have scarce read a translation. I say this regretfully—I wish I had—I should have seen more. I know, however, if I had not before seen the greatest art of the rest of Europe, I could not have been so moved as I was by what I saw in the Land of Temples, the land whence we have derived most of our ideas, ideals, and inspirations.
I drew the things that interested me—and it was, and is, a great delight to me to be told by those who have, some of them, spent their lives studying Greeks and Greece, that I have given the character of the country. What impressed me most was the great feeling of the Greeks for site in placing their temples and shrines in the landscape—so that they not only became a part of it, but it leads up to them. And though the same architectural forms were used, each temple was so placed that it told from afar by sea or land, a goal for pilgrims—a shrine for worshippers to draw near to—yet each had a character of its own—always the same, yet ever differing. I know, I am sorry to say, little of proportion, of scale, of heights, of lengths, but what I saw, with my own eyes, was the way these monuments were part of the country—never stuck about anyhow—always composed—always different—and they were built with grand ideas of composition, impressiveness, and arrangement. Has there been any change in the black forest before Aegina—the “wine dark sea” at Sunium—the “shining rocks” at Delphi—the grim cliffs of the Acropolis?—these prove in their various ways that the Greeks were great artists.
These were the things I saw. Had I known more I might have seen less—for it seems to me that most artists who have gone to Greece have been so impressed with what they have been told to see, that—there are, of course, great exceptions—they have looked at the land with a foot-rule, a translation, and a dictionary, and they have often been interfered with by these aids. I went ignorant of where to go—or what to see. When I got to Athens I fell among friends, who answered my only question that “I wanted to see temples that stood up.” They told me where they were—and there they were. And for this information, which resulted in my seeing these sites and making these lithographs, I want to thank many people, but above all Mr. R. M. Dawkins, late Director of the British School at Athens, who, now that he has seen the work, agrees with others that it has something of the character and romance of the country. If it has those qualities, they are what I went out to see—and having seen them—and I have tried to express them—I know I can see more, if I have the chance in the future in the Wonder of Work of my time, for in our great works to-day we are only carrying on the tradition of the great works of the past. I have seen both, and it is so.
JOSEPH PENNELL.
In the Land of Temples
NOTES—ON MY LITHOGRAPHS IN THE LAND OF TEMPLES
I WENT to Greece for two reasons. First, because I wanted to see Greece and what remained of her glory—to see if the greatest work of the past impressed me as much as the greatest work of the present—and to try to find out which was the greater—the more inspiring. And second, I went because I was told by a Boston authority that I was nothing but a ragtime sketcher, couldn’t see Greek art and couldn’t draw it if I did.
I have been there—and did what I saw in my own way. To me Greece was wonderful and was beautiful, but anyone can see that—and can rave over it with appropriate quotations from appropriate authors. I know no Greek and have scarce read a translation. I say this regretfully—I wish I had—I should have seen more. I know, however, if I had not before seen the greatest art of the rest of Europe, I could not have been so moved as I was by what I saw in the Land of Temples, the land whence we have derived most of our ideas, ideals, and inspirations.
I drew the things that interested me—and it was, and is, a great delight to me to be told by those who have, some of them, spent their lives studying Greeks and Greece, that I have given the character of the country. What impressed me most was the great feeling of the Greeks for site in placing their temples and shrines in the landscape—so that they not only became a part of it, but it leads up to them. And though the same architectural forms were used, each temple was so placed that it told from afar by sea or land, a goal for pilgrims—a shrine for worshippers to draw near to—yet each had a character of its own—always the same, yet ever differing. I know, I am sorry to say, little of proportion, of scale, of heights, of lengths, but what I saw, with my own eyes, was the way these monuments were part of the country—never stuck about anyhow—always composed—always different—and they were built with grand ideas of composition, impressiveness, and arrangement. Has there been any change in the black forest before Aegina—the “wine dark sea” at Sunium—the “shining rocks” at Delphi—the grim cliffs of the Acropolis?—these prove in their various ways that the Greeks were great artists.
These were the things I saw. Had I known more I might have seen less—for it seems to me that most artists who have gone to Greece have been so impressed with what they have been told to see, that—there are, of course, great exceptions—they have looked at the land with a foot-rule, a translation, and a dictionary, and they have often been interfered with by these aids. I went ignorant of where to go—or what to see. When I got to Athens I fell among friends, who answered my only question that “I wanted to see temples that stood up.” They told me where they were—and there they were. And for this information, which resulted in my seeing these sites and making these lithographs, I want to thank many people, but above all Mr. R. M. Dawkins, late Director of the British School at Athens, who, now that he has seen the work, agrees with others that it has something of the character and romance of the country. If it has those qualities, they are what I went out to see—and having seen them—and I have tried to express them—I know I can see more, if I have the chance in the future in the Wonder of Work of my time, for in our great works to-day we are only carrying on the tradition of the great works of the past. I have seen both, and it is so.
JOSEPH PENNELL.
I WENT to Greece for two reasons. First, because I wanted to see Greece and what remained of her glory—to see if the greatest work of the past impressed me as much as the greatest work of the present—and to try to find out which was the greater—the more inspiring. And second, I went because I was told by a Boston authority that I was nothing but a ragtime sketcher, couldn’t see Greek art and couldn’t draw it if I did.
I have been there—and did what I saw in my own way. To me Greece was wonderful and was beautiful, but anyone can see that—and can rave over it with appropriate quotations from appropriate authors. I know no Greek and have scarce read a translation. I say this regretfully—I wish I had—I should have seen more. I know, however, if I had not before seen the greatest art of the rest of Europe, I could not have been so moved as I was by what I saw in the Land of Temples, the land whence we have derived most of our ideas, ideals, and inspirations.
I drew the things that interested me—and it was, and is, a great delight to me to be told by those who have, some of them, spent their lives studying Greeks and Greece, that I have given the character of the country. What impressed me most was the great feeling of the Greeks for site in placing their temples and shrines in the landscape—so that they not only became a part of it, but it leads up to them. And though the same architectural forms were used, each temple was so placed that it told from afar by sea or land, a goal for pilgrims—a shrine for worshippers to draw near to—yet each had a character of its own—always the same, yet ever differing. I know, I am sorry to say, little of proportion, of scale, of heights, of lengths, but what I saw, with my own eyes, was the way these monuments were part of the country—never stuck about anyhow—always composed—always different—and they were built with grand ideas of composition, impressiveness, and arrangement. Has there been any change in the black forest before Aegina—the “wine dark sea” at Sunium—the “shining rocks” at Delphi—the grim cliffs of the Acropolis?—these prove in their various ways that the Greeks were great artists.
These were the things I saw. Had I known more I might have seen less—for it seems to me that most artists who have gone to Greece have been so impressed with what they have been told to see, that—there are, of course, great exceptions—they have looked at the land with a foot-rule, a translation, and a dictionary, and they have often been interfered with by these aids. I went ignorant of where to go—or what to see. When I got to Athens I fell among friends, who answered my only question that “I wanted to see temples that stood up.” They told me where they were—and there they were. And for this information, which resulted in my seeing these sites and making these lithographs, I want to thank many people, but above all Mr. R. M. Dawkins, late Director of the British School at Athens, who, now that he has seen the work, agrees with others that it has something of the character and romance of the country. If it has those qualities, they are what I went out to see—and having seen them—and I have tried to express them—I know I can see more, if I have the chance in the future in the Wonder of Work of my time, for in our great works to-day we are only carrying on the tradition of the great works of the past. I have seen both, and it is so.
JOSEPH PENNELL.
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In the Land of Temples
In the Land of Temples
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940015132540 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | OGB |
| Publication date: | 08/31/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 3 MB |
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