Then there is a picture my teachers, Chase and Henri, were never weary of praising, the Girl with the Parrot, by Manet.  Here continence in nervous force, expressed by low relief and restraint in tone, is carried to its ultimate point.  I should call this an imagist painting, made before there were such people as imagist poets.  It is a perpetual sermon to those that would thresh around to no avail, be they orators, melodramatists, or makers of photoplays with an alleged heart-interest.

Let us consider Gilbert Stuart’s portrait of Washington.  This painter’s notion of personal dignity has far more of the intellectual quality than Van Dyck.  He loves to give us stately, able, fairly conscientious gentry, rather than overdone royalty.  His work represents a certain mood in design that in architecture is called colonial.  Such portraits go with houses like Mount Vernon.  Let the photographer study the flat blacks in the garments.  Let him note the transparent impression of the laces and flesh-tints that seem to be painted on glass, observing especially the crystalline whiteness of the wigs.  Let him inspect also the silhouette-like outlines, noting the courtly self-possession they convey.  Then let the photographer, the producer, and the author, be they one man or six men, stick to this type of picturization through one entire production, till any artist in the audience will say, “This photoplay was painted by a pupil of Gilbert Stuart”; and the layman will say, “It looks like those stately days.”  And let us not have battle, but a Mount Vernon fireside tale.

Both the Chicago and New York museums contain many phases of one same family group, painted by George de Forest Brush.  There is a touch of the hearthstone priestess about the woman.  The force of sex has turned to the austere comforting passion of motherhood.  From the children, under the wings of this spirit, come special delicate powers of life.  There is nothing tense or restless about them, yet they embody action, the beating of the inner fire, without which all outer action is mockery.  Hearthstone tales keyed to the mood and using the brush stroke that delineates this especial circle would be unmistakable in their distinction.

Charles W. Hawthorne has pictures in Chicago and New York that imply the Intimate-and-friendly Photoplay.  The Trousseau in the Metropolitan Museum shows a gentle girl, an unfashionable home-body with a sweetly sheltered air.  Behind her glimmers the patient mother’s face.  The older woman is busy about fitting the dress.  The picture is a tribute to the qualities of many unknown gentlewomen.  Such an illumination as this, on faces so innocently eloquent, is the light that should shine on the countenance of the photoplay actress who really desires greatness in the field of the Intimate Motion Picture.  There is in Chicago, Hawthorne’s painting of Sylvia:  a little girl standing with her back to a mirror, a few blossoms in one hand and a vase of flowers on the mirror shelf.