So when I say that I should like to see a completely transfigured world, it is not because I want to _look_ at it. It is _you_ who would look at it. It would be your spirit that would benefit by this exhilarating spectacle. _I_ should merely benefit, I and other painters like me, by no longer finding ourselves in the position of freaks, the queer wild men of cubes, the terrible futurists, or any other rubbish that the Yellow Press invents to amuse the nerves of its readers. (Do you suppose that the art-man who reports on the French Show in Tottenham Court Road and describes the “horror” of these pictures, really _thinks_ that they are in any way blood-curdling? No. He knows for every extra curdle he makes an extra quid.) It naturally does not please me, or any other painter who paints pictures that appear extravagant according to the pretty and facetious standard of this time, to be described as a wild man, or a bolshevik in paint. No pleasurable thrill accompanies these words when used about one’s own very normal proceedings, since they appear to the painter the _only_ normal proceedings in the midst of the detestable capers of the usual mild lunatic asylum we have to inhabit. _The Public Chosen_ The Public I should like for this pamphlet is a rather different one than that to which painters usually consider it worth while to address themselves. In the first place, any individual belonging to the rank and file of the Royal Academy is fond of regarding himself as “a Craftsman”; as a specialist of the most prodigious, horny, paint-and-dust-grimed, mediæval sort. The more furibundly ignoble his paintings, the further he retires into the technical mysteries of his craft. And so lay opinion he scorns. Then another pale exists, an even funnier one, beyond which stand those multitudes who have not been taught a delightful faintness, a cheap catch of the voice, and the few dozen snobbish tricks of thought and hand coined in each decade for the lucky young rich. A board school master, an excise clerk, a douanier, for that matter, are usually approached if at all with every nuance of amused condescension that a disgusting stereotyped education can breed. How sick such men must be with the wearisome and endless trifling that they have come to associate with the word Artist! I write in these notes for a socially wider and not necessarily specialist public. _Architecture_