MEN I HAVE PAINTED
has everything to do with the formation of character. It is, of course, unnecessary to remark that men are born golfers, and, like poets, they cannot help themselves.
As for the portrait of Mr. Balfour, I cannot say whether I have painted him or not. He appeared to sit reluctantly, almost unwillingly. His manner, attitude, and expression changed from that of ease and charm, which so conspicuously distinguish him in society, to one of abandoned resignation to an unpleasant operation. While admitting that sitting for one's portrait is not so pleasant as many other things, it can be made an opportunity for rest, and even of entertainment, by the exercise of a little goodwill, and particularly by a more considerate disposition towards the painter. Men are too prone to assume that the artist holds an ambiguous position among citizens. When I write "citizens" I wish it distinctly to be understood that the word is not used as the Socialists use it.
Politicians, soldiers, lawyers, and priests consider themselves to be the mainstay of civilization, whereas it will be found, if history be correctly examined, that they are often the instruments of destruction, while artists have ever been the builders of civilization. Lawyers and priests deal with the accidents of life. Art is concerned with realities. History makes too much of the soldier and the statesman, and too little of the artist. A great tapestry is a record of real achievement in the realm of beauty that surpasses the most eloquent tribute of words to the deeds of kings.
I tried hard to paint Mr. Balfour, but somehow he managed to elude me. And a strange thing happened. All painters are conscious of the phases of a portrait as it grows on the canvas, how it resembles in turn each and every member of the family of the person painted. I once
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