Part 1 (1/2)
Picture-Work.
by Walter L. (Walter Lowrie) Hervey.
I.
THE PROBLEM AND ONE OF ITS SOLUTIONS.
A friend of the writer, who has since attained to the dignity of a teacher of teachers, relates to the honor of his wise mother that when he was a boy she did not make him promise not to smoke or chew or play cards--probably compa.s.sing these ends in other ways--but she did exert her influence to lead him not to read Sunday-school books. For this warning, he says, he has never ceased to be thankful. In these days of supervising committees and selected lists, when standard literature, undiluted, has found its way into the Sunday-school library, such a course would not be warranted. But there are still thoughtful persons who do not feel that in the matter of Sunday-schools they are out of the woods yet.
”Do you know anything about Sunday-schools?” was asked of one of these, a representative woman.
”I'm sorry to say that I do,” was the reply.
And there are other signs that the number is increasing of those who believe that in the choice of a Sunday-school the greatest care must be exercised. Some there are, who, it may be through over-conscientiousness, are fain to give up the search in despair, preferring to teach their children at home.
There is probably no other Sunday-school that, in point of order, quiet seclusion of cla.s.ses, professional preparation of (paid) teachers, can compare with the ”Religious School” of Temple Emanuel in New York City.
But there is no intrinsic reason why the mechanical and pedagogical difficulties might not one day be as successfully removed everywhere as in this model school; and why they may not be removed in every grade.
In the infant cla.s.ses, through the beneficent influence of the kindergarten, there are already signs of promise. In the senior departments the problem is less complicated. But in the cla.s.ses where is found ”the restless, wide-awake, active, intense, ingenious, irrepressible boy,” or ”the girl who is just beyond girlhood and yet can scarcely be regarded as a woman,” and her awkward, self-conscious, misunderstood brother--here the problem remains, and no one denies that it is a hard one. Who cannot at this moment see with his mind's eye a picture of such a cla.s.s--on the one side a vision of inattention, insubordination, irreverence, on the other, incompetence, blindly, consecratedly, painfully doing his--or her--best?
In all things relating to the common schools there is a quickening of popular interest and of professional spirit. The time is at hand when none but trained experts will be allowed to teach. Is the instruction and guidance of young minds in matters pertaining to the Heavenly Father and the things of the unseen world a task less difficult, delicate, important, than the teaching of arithmetic and geography? The question answers itself. It follows that the religious and moral instruction of our children will one day be put on a firmer and more scientific basis.
In this reform there are three steps: the securing of proper external conditions for thought and feeling--in blunter words, the banishment of hubbub; the systematic training of the teacher; the enrichment of the lesson by giving to it reality, meaning, and life. The last of these ends is the only one here under consideration. To this end there are doubtless several ways. ”Picture-work” is one of these, and, it is believed, one of high importance. That it is neglected is beyond question. To point out its value and set forth its method are the aims of this little book.
II.
TYPES OF PICTURE-WORK.
In the Dresden Gallery, the writer once saw two children, brother and sister, one ten and the other twelve, looking at the Sistine Madonna.
They entered the room, and without heeding the crowd there gathered, almost instantly fixed their gaze upon the picture. For many minutes they seemed to be under a spell. They were drinking in something. The great picture was speaking to them--to their very souls. And they understood something of its message. At all events they felt its influence--which is much better than merely to understand.
More striking, because more unexpected, was the influence of a large copy of the same picture upon a little boy not two years and a half old. Although this child was pa.s.sionately fond of pictures, no other picture ever seemed to appeal to him as this one did. As soon as it was brought into the house he instantly began to examine it, and pa.s.s judgment upon it. He at once found the center of interest, the young child and his mother, then pointed to the angels, the ”grandfather,”
and lastly to the ”lady,” but returned always to the ”dear little baby Jesus.” From this time the story of the birth of Jesus was the one story most loved by the child. And a collection of thirty or more madonnas (”mother-pictures,” the child called them) by other great masters was a never-failing source of delight to him.
Even very young children appreciate the best pictures and the best stories. In fact the younger they are the better sometimes seems to be their taste. Are we doing all that we may to gratify, and at the same time to form, this taste?
But our term, ”picture-work,” includes more than pictures painted with the brush. Literature is full of pictures no less beautiful in theme and in execution, and even more important in meaning, than Raphael's masterpiece. The story of the good bishop, Monseigneur Bienvenu, as it is told for us in ”Les Miserables,” is a picture, and so are all such stories. Literature is full of them. The Bible is a treasure-house of masterpieces. More wonderful, too, are these story pictures, just as they are, if told so that they can be seen and felt, than they could ever be made with brush or pencil.
How may we gain the power to paint these pictures, helping when help is needed, standing aside when our bungling efforts would only destroy the interest and the charm--rub off, as it were, the delicate bloom?
To give help in finding the answer to these questions is the object of the chapters that follow. Meanwhile we return to our present theme.
What is picture-work?
There is the main story and the telling of it--a work of art as we shall see--and there are also the side-lights, without which no story-teller can capture and hold his audience.
The story to be told, let us say, is the healing of the paralytic. But before the story begins, the ground must be cleared. The oriental house and bed must be pictured. Get a real specimen of each, if you can, of course.[1] Provide yourself with pictures in any case, but first of all, make an eastern house and bed yourself. A square paper box--a hat box will do--with a hole cut in the top, ready to be torn up when the time comes; a stairway made of paper, leading up the outside of the house to the roof; a small piece of felt--an old bed-quilt will serve equally well--with strings tied in each end, for the bed, to show how a bed could be let down, rolled, and ”taken up”; with these accessories the teacher is ready to begin the work of sketching the real picture, the story of the miracle.