This experience being so disappointing, I was always loath to join any group of artists. It seemed to me that it was impossible to have it work out successfully, as the purpose on the surface of things was never the real underlying one, and it was impossible to mix democracy and the fine arts. The Ten American Painters was started quite by accident, and when the too-human elements began to enter, it died a natural death. We never called ourselves the “Ten”; in fact, we never called ourselves anything and it was our purpose, at first, to have twelve. We were just a group who wanted to make a showing and left the society as a protest against big exhibits. At our first exhibition at the Durand Ruel’s Gallery, we merely put out the sign—“Show of Ten American Painters”—and it was the reporters and critics speaking of us who gave us the name. In the original group were Twachtman, Dewing, Metcalf, Reid, Hassam, Weir, Benson, De Camp, Tarbell, and myself. After the death of Twachtman, Chase was voted in to take his place. We had asked both Winslow Homer and Abbot Thayer to join us. Homer replied that he would have been mighty glad to be a member, but that he never meant to paint again, that he was tired of it all; and as far as I know he never did. Thayer accepted with enthusiasm, but later wrote: “Tell the boys I must decline. The poor society needs me too much.” The first few years we divided the wall into equal spaces and drew lots for them, each man having the right to use it as he saw fit, hanging one picture or a number of pictures. As long as we adhered to that idea all went well. But then objections came in. I, being a mural decorator, had large work, and those members with small canvases naturally did not want them hung next to mine. This, of course, restricted me in my showing. At last, to save controversy, we left the hanging to the dealer, and he placed those which sold the best in the choice parts of the room and the others elsewhere. We left the society as a protest, not believing that an art show should be like a child’s bouquet—all higgledy-piggledy with all the flowers that can be picked. We were accused of starting as an advertisement, and, indeed, it proved a big one, but there was no such idea in the mind of any one of us. Many others took it up, and a group followed us, calling themselves “The Eight” in an attempt to boil the egg over again. When the wives of our members “butted in” and made the proposals of sandwiches and tea and finally wanted us to have music at our openings (music with painting is like sugar on oysters), we struck. The “pep” and enthusiasm of youth started the Ten American Painters and age has finished it. Peace to its ashes! It is years since I have acted on a jury for the choice of pictures for an exhibit. I do not understand the politics of the affairs and always get myself much disliked, for one reason or another, so I gave it up long ago.