will say, chosen from artists whose pictures lend themselves to
this kind of exposition. What about the art of the landscape painter?
Undeniably a form of art, where is the spirituality?

I am afraid my intellect is not equal to talking up every picture
that might be suggested and using it to illustrate my meaning,
though I do not think I would despair of finally discovering the
spiritual element in any picture I felt was art. However, I will
go further. We have all felt some element of art lacking in the
painter who goes to Killarney, Italy, or Switzerland, and brings
us back a faithful representation of undeniably beautiful places.
It is all there--the lofty mountains, the lakes, the local color;
but what enchanted us in nature does not touch us in the picture.
What we want is the spirit of the place evoked in us rather than
the place itself. Art is neither pictured botany or geology. A
great landscape is the expression of a mood of the human mind as
definitely as music or poetry is. The artist is communicating his
own emotions. There is some mystic significance in the color he
employs; and then the doorways are opened, and we pass from sense
into soul. We are looking into a soul when we are looking at a
Turner, a Carot, or a Whistler, as surely as when in dream we find
ourselves moving in strange countries which are yet within us,
contained for all their seeming infinitudes in the little hollow
of the brain. All this, I think, is undeniable; but perhaps not
many of you will follow me, though you may understand me, if I go
further and say, that in this, art is unconsciously also reaching
out to archetypes, is lifting itself up to walk in that garden of
the divine mind where, as the first Scripture says, it created
"flowers before they were in the field and every herb before it
grew." A man may sit in an armchair and travel farther than ever