The problem was brought home to me as long ago as 1935-6 on the occasion of the great exhibition
of Chinese Art held in London. This exhibition aroused wide interest among art lovers, and experts
from all over the world delivered lectures designed to enlighten the general public. As a member of
the committee in charge of the exhibition I stayed in London and contributed to this lecture series.
Two good friends approached me with their doubts. Sir Gerald Kelly, then a Member and later
President of the Royal Academy which sponsored the exhibition, remarked how interesting he found
the exhibition and how scholarly the lectures and articles on it. Yet he could not help feeling that the
impressions the exhibits made on him often differed very strongly from the views expressed by the
scholars. For example, many of the pictures which the scholars were at great pains to explain and
praise seemed to him dull by comparison with some of the less-noticed works. He had discussed this
problem with some of his painter friends and they felt that, as painters preoccupied with the search for
beauty, they had the right to express an opinion. He wondered whether he should trust to his own
immediate reaction or submit meekly to the opinions of the orientalists. The doubts which he voiced
were of significance in view of his eminence as a practising artist and in view of the fact that he was
very interested in eastern art and had considerable experience of it gained in the east itself. I told
Sir Gerald that in my opinion, although learned explanations threw light on the subject-matter of a
painting or on the life of the artist and his cultural background, the intrinsic merit of a work of art
depended entirely on the aesthetic taste of the spectator and that a mind open to beauty would immedi-
ately understand whatever deep and lasting values it might contain. I felt that a scholar deeply
immersed in the biographical details of Rembrandt's life might not necessarily be the best to appreciate
his work and that, by the same token, scholarly research does not automatically ensure for the scholar
an undisputed position of being the best judge of the artistic qualities of an eastern work of art. I told
him that, as artists, they might well learn from the experts but that they should not hesitate to trust
their own impressions and judgments. I felt that the western world would be the richer if they frankly
and fearlessly stated their opinions.

At about the same time, another old friend, Sir Kenneth Clark, then Director of the National
Gallery, approached me with similar doubts. He, too, found that his own immediate impressions
differed radically from those of the experts. He was interested in their findings but found it difficult to
agree with their aesthetic judgments. In view of Sir Kenneth's long interest in oriental art and his
undisputed position as a critic and historian I felt that his opinion was of some significance. I replied
that his lack of background knowledge of the arts of the east might well be for the good. The funda-
mental criterion of eastern as of western art is beauty, and if his opinions on this aspect of eastern art
differed from those of the orientalists so much the better. I hoped that he, too, would frankly state his
reactions to the objects shown at the exhibition and I told him that it was his duty as a critic to
approach the works of eastern art directly, to find beauty in them where he could, regardless of the
knowledge contributed by the experts. I assured him that his conclusions would not only both greatly
interest me and help in the cause of rescuing oriental art from the grip of the orientalists, but that they
would also encourage the public to understand it in its rightful role as art, pure and simple. When
Sir Kenneth broadcast his impressions of the exhibition he did just this. He described the paintings
he most enjoyed and his opinions were all the fresher and more interesting for their freedom from the
usual mass of obscuring learned comment.

Many years have passed since the great London exhibition but the arts of the east still remain for
the most part in the hands of orientalists. They have still not become the concern of legitimate art
criticism. I wish to make it clear that I do not intend in any way to imply that all specialist scholars
are insensitive to beauty; one must merely admit that the difficulties of oriental scholarship do not tend
to foster a sense of beauty in those who pursue them. Among the many outstanding scholars produced
in this century, few approach the arts of the east with that same open heart and unsophisticated readiness
to appreciate beauty that they would employ when faced with the works of Botticelli, Rembrandt,
Cézanne or Renoir. In such conditions it is difficult to reach a clear understanding of the aesthetic

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