To those who busy themselves about bringing art into the lives of the people, I would also say—­Do not dabble in revivals.  The very word smacks of the vault.  Revivals look back; art is concerned with the present.  People will not be tempted to create by being taught to imitate.  Except that they are charming, revivals of morris-dancing and folk-singing are little better than Arts and Crafts in the open.  The dust of the museum is upon them.  They may turn boys and girls into nimble virtuosi; they will not make them artists.  Because no two ages express their sense of form in precisely the same way all attempts to recreate the forms of another age must sacrifice emotional expression to imitative address.  Old-world merry-making can no more satisfy sharp spiritual hunger than careful craftsmanship or half hours with our “Art Treasures.”  Passionate creation and ecstatic contemplation, these alone will satisfy men in search of a religion.

I believe it is possible, though extremely difficult, to give people both—­if they really want them.  Only, I am sure that, for most, creation must precede contemplation.  In Monsieur Poiret’s Ecole Martine[28] scores of young French girls, picked up from the gutter or thereabouts, are at this moment creating forms of surprising charm and originality.  That they find delight in their work is not disputed.  They copy no master, they follow no tradition; what they owe to the past—­and it is much—­they have borrowed quite unconsciously with the quality of their bodies and their minds from the history and traditional culture of their race.  Their art differs from savage art as a French midinette differs from a squaw, but it is as original and vital as the work of savages.  It is not great art, it is not profoundly significant, it is often frankly third-rate, but it is genuine; and therefore I rate the artisans of the Ecole Martine with the best contemporary painters, not as artists, but as manifestations of the movement.

I am no devout lover of rag-time and turkey-trotting, but they too are manifestations.  In those queer exasperated rhythms I find greater promise of a popular art than in revivals of folk-song and morris-dancing.  At least they bear some relationship to the emotions of those who sing and dance them.  In so far as they are significant they are good, but they are of no great significance.  It is not in the souls of bunny-huggers that the new ferment is potent; they will not dance and sing the world out of its lethargy; not to them will the future owe that debt which I trust it will be quick to forget.  There is nothing very wonderful or very novel about rag-time or tango, but to overlook any live form of expression is a mistake, and to attack it is sheer silliness.  Tango and rag-time are kites sped by the breeze that fills the great sails of visual art.  Not every man can keep a cutter, but every boy can buy a kite.  In an age that is seeking new forms in which to express that emotion which can be expressed satisfactorily in form alone, the wise will look hopefully at any kind of dancing or singing that is at once unconventional and popular.