Page:Frank Owen - Woman Without Love (1949 reprint).djvu/97

 figures anew. This was before he knew anything about perspective, harmony or design. Hence we see pictures of huge men standing beside trees that are no higher than their knees. Mountains which these colossal men could pick up and cast about as though they were stones. Or else we have paintings where one object is placed above another without any attempt at proper placement. One would imagine that men lived on shelves. Or else we see conceptions of landscapes that are such a hodge-podge of blurs and colors that they resemble a maniac's vision of a dish of soup. Nevertheless this swing back to the primitive is merely the working out of natural law. We live in cycles. The immorality in the world today is a swing back to the orgies of the Romans. All life is lived in circles. The universe is a massive wheel and at stated intervals the same spokes reappear. It is apparent in women's dress. And the system has many merits. This rotary history is vastly interesting. Man is learning to paint all over again. Now he is back to the ancient art of thousands of years ago but he will advance. He will progress. He will gain knowledge until eventually a new Rembrandt or a Rubens is born."

"I love to hear you talk like that," murmured Louella. "Such enthusiasm makes me feel young again. Perhaps man is also experimenting with the color of love."

"Exactly," agreed Ivan, "even as he is experimenting with the color of life. We all live our lives in different colors. The choice is our own. Some of us choose only drab shades. An artist knows that colors are much like the notes on a piano. He must get the proper tones, the proper rhythms. The colors must not clash. They must blend into a perfect symphony. There is perfume in color even as there is music in perfume. They are all modes of expression. Harmonies in different form but ofttimes interchangeable."

Thus Ivan would ramble on and Louella joyed to listen to him. He was a good friend though she had always scoffed at friendship. Only a very rich man, she once believed, could afford the luxury of friendship. An enemy was a far different matter; almost a necessity. If one was in only moderate circumstances, one should acquire an enemy. To spur one on to