The Confessions of a Caricaturist, Vol 2 | Page 4

obvious, and I told my friend so.
I told him that the effect was now so lifelike that the figure seemed to
be moving; but when he in turn gazed into the glass he explained
somewhat testily that I was not looking at his wife's portrait at all, but
at the white parrot in the cage hard by. The moral of this incident is that
if patrons of art in their pursuit of eccentricities will pay large sums to
an artist for placing a poor portrait in a massive frame with drapery
hanging round it in the most approved modern style, and be satisfied
with such a result, they must not be surprised if a parrot should be
mistaken for a framed type of beauty. I was, however, not satisfied until
I had examined the picture in question closely and honestly in the full
light of day, when I saw that Mr. Slapdash, R.A., had sold his
autograph and a soiled canvas in lieu of a portrait to my rich but too
easily pleased friend.
As I walked back into the drawing-room, one of the musical humorists

of the day was cleverly taking off the weak points of his brother
musicians, and bringing out into strong light their peculiarities and
faults of style. The entertainment, however, did not tend to raise my
drooping spirits, for I was sad to think how low our modern art had
sunk, and with a heavy heart and a sigh for the profession I pursue, I
went sadly home. Of course my pent-up feelings had to find relief, so
my poor wife had to listen to an extempore lecture which I then and
there delivered to her on portraiture past and present--a lecture which I
fear would hardly commend itself to the Association for the
Advancement of British Art. Further, I asked myself why should I not
take a leaf out of the musical humorist's book and like him expose the
tricks and eccentricities of British art in the present day?
The following morning, being a man of action as well as of word, I
started my "Artistic Joke." I was determined to keep the matter secret,
so I worked with my studio doors closed, and as each picture was
finished it was placed behind some heavy curtains, secure from
observation, and I kept my secret for three years, until the work was
complete.
I soon found that I had set myself a task of no little magnitude. Before I
could really make a start I had to examine each artist's work thoroughly.
I studied specimens of the work of each at various periods of his or her
career. I had to discover their mannerisms, their idiosyncrasies and
ideas, if they had any, their tricks of brushwork, and all the
technicalities of their art. Then I designed a picture myself in imitation
of each artist. In a very few instances only did I parody an actual work.
This fact was generally lost sight of by those who visited the Exhibition.
The public imagined that I simply took a certain picture of a particular
artist and burlesqued it. I did this certainly in the case of Millais'
"Cinderella" and one or two others; but in the vast majority of the
works exhibited, even in Marcus Stone's "Rejected Addresses," which
appeared to so many as if it must have been a direct copy of some
picture of his, the idea was entirely evolved out of my own imagination.
In thinking out the various pictures I devoted the greatest care to
accuracy of detail. I was particular as to the shape of each, and even
went so far as to obtain frames in keeping with those used by the

different artists. Of course it was out of the question for me to do the
pictures in colour, which would have required a lifetime, and probably
tempted me to break faith with my idea; not to mention the fact that I
should in that case most likely have sent the collection to the Academy,
of which obtuse body, if there is any justice in it, I must then naturally
have been elected a full-blown member.
[Illustration: THROWING MYSELF INTO IT.]
In order to get the Exhibition finished in time, I often had to work far
into the night, and on one occasion when I was thus secretly engaged in
my studio upon these large pictures until the small hours, I remember a
catastrophe very nearly happened which would have put a finishing
touch of a very different kind to that which I intended, not only to the
picture, but to the artist himself. It happened thus. About three o'clock
in the morning, long after the household had retired to rest, I became
conscious of a smell of burning. I made a