But, on the other hand, the Lady with the Mandolin appears to me as interesting as a typical Cézanne portrait, and it is a powerful and inventive variation on Cézanne. About the next step--fourth dimensional preoccupations and new syntheses added to the earlier ones (“Dame assise”) and the first Braque-like contrivances--you wonder if they are not more important as experiments, and important because of their daring and new nature, than as final works. But the whole character of these things: the noble structural and ascetic quality, the feeling that he must have had, and that he imparted to them, that he was doing something at last worth while, and in fitting relation to his superb painter’s gift--this makes them a more serious contribution to painting than anything else done by him. All the admiration that you feel for the really great artist in Picasso finds its most substantial footing in the extraordinary series of works beginning with the paintings of the time of the Miss Stein portrait, and finishing somewhere in the beginning of his Braque period. That, put as clearly and vividly as I am able, is my account of Picasso up to, I suppose, about 1913 or 1912. It must be remembered, however, that I have been analysing this work according to the highest standards that it is possible to apply to a painter. And in the light of the subsequent work, with which I entirely disagree, and for the purposes of combating the tendencies that must inevitably result from its influence, I have underlined those things in Picasso that would be liable to result in the mechanical eclecticism that I describe in the next section of this pamphlet (The Studio Game). It has been a critical, and, in intention, destructive analysis. PART IV _The Studio Game_ _Section_ 1. _Foreword._ ” 2. _Our Æsthetes and Plank-Art._ ” 3. _The Bawdy Critic._ ” 4. _“We Fell in Love with the Beautiful Tiles in the_ _South Kensington Museum Refreshment Room.”_ ” 5. _The Vengeance of Raphael._ ” 6. _General Nature and the Specialised Sense._ _Foreword to Part IV_ Two things have conspired to exalt indifference in the painter to the life around him, and the forms that life takes, to a virtue. For a specialized visual interest in the débris of your table, or the mandolin you have just bought, in copying the colours of the roofs seen from your garret-studio, is _not_ the creative interest required for art. It is a parasitic interest. Your interest in the forms around you should be one liable to transfigure and constantly renew them: to use the grand masses of life, in fact, as the painter uses the objects on his table. He does not paint those objects as though he were photographing them. He arranges, simplifies, and changes them in his picture. So it should be with the larger form-content of general and public life.