Since the death of Cézanne in 1906, there has been throughout the world of European art a general reawakening of a sense of the necessity for constructive qualities in painting. Whereas our fathers were content to speak of the “composition” of a picture, in our own day it is more usual to speak of its construction. Composition, after all, is a comparatively loose and elastic term implying a generally harmonious arrangement of the massed effect of light and dark, a juxtaposition of contrasting and balanced tones, sufficiently logical in their placing as to give a general sense of repose and unity to the work as a whole. Composition was generally understood to be dependent upon instinct and good taste on the part of the painter, and, as such, it was looked upon as a thing that could not be taught by rule of thumb. Like a sense of colour, a student either had it or he had not; and, beyond attempting to guard him from glaring error, there was little that a teacher of art could do for him in this department of his training. Perspective, which is governed by definite mathematical rules, could be taught in detail as an aid to composition, but the sense of composition itself must be allowed to develop in the student according to his talent for this side of his work. Composition classes were indeed a part of his curriculum, but the criticism which a student received at such classes amounted, in practice, to little more than general advice, given by the teacher, from his ripe experience and his developed sense oftherightandwrong in this matter, to the unmatured taste of the student. It was understood that composition could not exist without a general sense of order, but it was understood in a much looser sense than is implied by the comparatively modern use of the word “construction” that has replaced it. The artist of the modern school or schools of thought (for there is no one modern school) will have none of the old happy-golucky, loose thinking in the matter of construction.