Frank Reynolds, R.I. | Page 8

artist of
Reynolds' peculiar temperament, and few men have depicted them with
such relish or--thanks to his rare gift of restraint--with such fidelity and
truth.
To a certain extent, Frank Reynolds has already recorded contemporary
manners in England, and especially in London, in his well-known
series of "Social Pests," though it would perhaps be more correct to say
that he has pilloried therein the more extravagant of our social freaks.
Probably the delighted recognition with which these ruthless analyses
of character were hailed was due to the satisfaction which attends the
exhibition of a proper object of satire meeting with its just deserts.
[Illustration: THE WARRENER. Exhibited at the Royal Institute of
Painters in Water Colours, 1907.]
No ridicule could be more serene, nor yet more biting, than that with

which the artist touches off the desperate efforts to attract attention of
the rowdy group of callow youths whom he names, with a flash of
inspiration, "The Dare-Devils" (page 10). Of "The Suburbanite," to the
writer's mind perhaps the most subtly accurate character-study of all,
the artist speaks in terms of apology. It is hardly fair, he contends, to
include in a gallery of pests the bulwark of the nation!
A particular aspect of London life which provides a rich fund of
material for humorous treatment was dealt with by Frank Reynolds in
his series of drawings entitled "The 'Halls' from the Stalls." As every
frequenter of the variety theatre is aware, the programme at such places
of entertainment is arranged on certain well-defined lines. The
music-hall performer may be divided into certain very distinct classes,
each with its orthodox methods and mannerisms; and it was on the little
peculiarities of these different branches of the profession that the artist
seized with characteristic glee.
[Illustration]
How little his efforts, unfortunately, were taken in the spirit in which
they were meant, may be gleaned from the annoyance expressed by one
gentleman who considered himself, quite erroneously, to have been
singled out for individual ridicule. A certain drawing in the series
depicts "The Equilibrist"--an individual with an anxious eye, who is
poised upon a slack wire above the head of an admiring assistant,
balancing sundry cigar-boxes and wine-glasses on one toe, while
supporting on his head a lighted lamp, and discoursing sweet music
from a mandoline. The publication of this skit drew from a wrathful
professional an indignant letter, in which he declared that insomuch as
he was the one and only exponent of the equilibristic art who could
balance a lighted lamp upon his head, the picture which illustrated this
piece of "business" must be intended as a portrait of himself, though he
considered it very badly done, and a libellous production. From one
point of view, it was surprising that the impression of the "Lion
Comique," as seen by Frank Reynolds, elicited no similar response
from the gentlemen of the boards, for indisputably the picture was a
portrait, and a perfect one, of each individually and of all combined. On

second thoughts, however, and upon consideration of the drawing in
question (which many readers will remember), it is, perhaps, not so
very surprising that no claim to identity with it was forthcoming!
Other drawings in the same series, depicting other examples of the
strange freaks of humanity by whom the British public delights to be
entertained, afford good examples of the innate humour of Frank
Reynolds' art. There is often little that is actually comic in the situations
depicted, yet each is instinct with humour. It is the triumph of
Reynolds' comic art that he can snare, on the wing as it were, humour
that is too elusive and nimble for one of slower perception and heavier
hand.
[Illustration: VIVE L'ARMÉE From "Paris and Some Parisians"]
"Art and the Man" was a series of drawings in the vein of farce rather
than of comedy. The intention was to depict various types of artists
rather as fancy might paint them than as they really are. The "Marine
Artist," for example, with his canvas slung from davits and the entire
furniture of his studio of extremely nautical design, was a purely
fanciful conception. The "Pot-Boiler," spending his days in painting
one solitary subject over and over again ad infinitum, comes nearer to
life, though his portrait again is an exaggerated fancy rather than a
study from life. One feels, nevertheless, that if there be indeed such an
individual as the pot-boiler in existence, this, and no other, must be his
outward guise.
The drawings entitled "Dinners with Shakespeare," to which allusion
has already been made, gave scope for a very varied range of character
studies. Meal-time is a happy moment at which to catch human nature
unawares, and the artist made the most of his opportunities. They add
to the debt which the historians