**Winslow Homer** - The Country School
Oil on canvas , 1871

‘Why did the Roman Republic ultimately fall, Mr Carroll?’

My venerable Tutor was a kindly soul, but she had a sharp mind and an intense gaze. I shifted nervously in my seat.

‘Well, I think it was fairly complicated. An ever expanding empire, cheap foreign labour, lack of land reform, increasing social inequality, restless veterans…Erm…’

‘Well, yes, all of those things, Mr Carroll. But what fundamentally was at the heart of the decline?’

‘There was also the in-fighting amongst the ruling elite, crime and corruption, opportunistic populists, private armies…’

With a sigh the Tutor reached for a dusty tome and opened it on a picture of an ancient Roman statue. It was of a rather portly, bald man in uniform, sitting on what I imagined was a resentful horse.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t recognize him,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t matter. He was a little known Consul in the late Republic, who went on to lead the Rhine army. What do you see?’

‘I don’t know. He does look quite plump. Not very military.’

‘Exactly. The Roman Republic and its ruling classes had grown flabby – physically, mentally, functionally, spiritually. They were rotten to the core.’

Of course, today we may regard the Tutor’s remark as somewhat lookist. Nonetheless, the point she was making stayed with me. I think I found it compelling because it was so simple and visual.

'The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts.’
Marcus Aurelius

I read recently (The Guardian, ‘Cool Leaf’, 14 November, 2022) that chimpanzees sometimes present each other with an object with no other reason than to share their interest in it.

Researchers at the University of York studying the Ngogo chimpanzee community in Uganda filmed an adult female grooming a leaf - plucking it, peering at it and stroking it - and then holding it out to her mother to inspect.

‘She’s not offering it for food. She doesn’t want her mum to do anything. She just wants them to look at it together, and be like ‘Oh, cool, nice!’’
Prof Katie Slocombe (co-author)

In another random perusal of the papers, I came across an article about children’s first words (The Times, ‘Baby’s First Words?’, 2 January, 2023). Researchers at Cornell University have established that, after ‘mama,’ babies’ first meaningful utterances across many different cultures tend to be ‘this’ and ‘that.’ (‘Dad’ comes further down the list.) Early use of such demonstratives indicates that they are eager to share attention. Look at this! Look at that!

To my mind these studies confirm that there is something primal and powerful in the age-old teaching method of Show and Tell: the practice of showing something to an audience and describing it to them. Typically this classroom activity is used to help young children develop presentational and storytelling abilities. The kids describe an item that means something to them. They explain why it’s important. And they thereby learn the fundamentals of communicating to a larger group.

So often in the world of work we present arguments in intricate detail and arcane language. So often we confuse and complicate.

We would do well to remember that one of the most effective forms of communication is also one of the most straightforward: a simple visual reference that illustrates a clear, comprehensible theme. Look at this. Look at that. Show and tell!

'He who laughs at himself never runs out of things to laugh at.’
Epictetus

It’s a good many years since I studied ancient history at university. Reflecting now on the demise of the Roman Republic, it’s reassuring to think that at least today we don’t have their problems…

'These are the hands that can't help reaching for you
If you're anywhere inside.
And these are the lips that can't help calling your name
In the middle of the night.
Oh, and here is the man who needs to know where you stand.
Don't you know I've done all I can, so decide.
Oh, show and tell.
It's just a game I play, when I want to say
I love you.’
Al Wilson, 'Show And Tell’ (J Fuller)

No. 404

'The sun will not rise or set without my notice and thanks.’
Winslow Homer

I recently attended an exhibition of the work of Winslow Homer, a great American artist rarely seen in Europe (National Gallery, London until 8 January).

Homer, who began his career as a commercial illustrator, developed a style of Realist painting that captured the drama of the Civil War and the underlying tensions of so-called Reconstruction. He depicted rural and coastal idylls, the daily struggle of fishing communities and the raw power of the sea. His pictures draw viewers into their story. And leave them asking questions.

'Look at nature, work independently and solve your own problems.'

Born into a middle-class home in Boston in 1836, Homer was taught to paint by his mother, a gifted amateur watercolourist, and at 19 he was apprenticed as a commercial lithographer. Within a few years he was working as a freelance illustrator with his own studio in Boston, producing wood engravings of local town and country life for the booming magazine market.

**Winslow Homer- The Veteran in a New Field**

In 1859 Homer opened a studio in New York, and soon he was commissioned by Harper's Weekly to cover the Civil War, sending back compelling illustrations of battle scenes, military hospitals and camp life. He translated some of his wartime images into paintings and began exhibiting, selling and building his reputation as an artist.

Homer’s paintings display the immediacy, clarity and narrative power of a commercial illustrator. But, unaccompanied by explanatory copy, they ask us to imagine the next event, the subsequent outcome. They leave the viewer to complete the story.

'I regret very much that I have painted a picture that requires any description.'

A sharpshooter, precariously perched on a branch, takes aim through his scope. Surely imminent death awaits his unwitting target. A Union officer encounters three Confederate prisoners from the front. The captives express a combination of stubborn pride, humiliation and fear for the future. A veteran sets to work scything a field of wheat. The image calls to mind ‘beating swords into ploughshares’. But it also suggests the legions of war dead.

**Winslow Homer- A Visit from the Old Mistress**

With the ensuing peace Homer turned his attention to scenes of domestic innocence: kids playing in the fields and messing about in boats; women taking carefree walks on the beach. Perhaps he was nostalgic for simpler times. Perhaps he was optimistic for his country’s prospects.

But Homer also reflected on the enduring tension between the two communities in the South. Each of his paintings on this subject seems to ask pressing questions.

A former slaver meets four of her now freed slaves in their modest home. How do they address each other? How can they forget what has gone before? A Black family dress a man in carnival costume to celebrate Independence Day. Can they finally plan for better times? Two Black women carry harvested cotton in the morning light. Are they enjoying their new freedom, or realising that so little has changed?

Homer became something of a recluse, avoiding social engagements and refusing to meet journalists or potential clients.

'The most interesting part of my life is of no concern to the public.’

In the early 1880s the artist spent two years in the English coastal village of Cullercoats, Northumberland. Here he depicted the daily struggles of ordinary fishing folk; the constant threat posed by the cruel sea.

A woman with her child strapped to her back, braces herself against a gale. The Life Brigade regards the bleak weather from the shelter of their station as they contemplate the task in hand. A lone fisherman in a tiny rowing boat turns to look at the approaching fog and the distant ship on the horizon. He’s a long way from safety.

Critics often asked Homer to explain what was going on in his paintings. And he always resisted.

'Anything written or printed under a print or picture takes the attention from it and, if it is very black or white in any marked degree, will utterly destroy its beauty.’

The ocean came to dominate Homer’s later life and work. He set up home in coastal Massachussetts, lived for a brief time in a lighthouse and settled in Prouts Neck, Maine. He wintered in Florida, Cuba and the Bahamas. And all the time he painted wild seascapes, brooding clouds, perilous rocks; brave fishermen confronting nature’s fierce beauty.

Homer died in 1910 at the age of 74. He left a body of work that is bracing, dramatic, involving; that captures the spirit of a troubled age. He had an eye for the decisive moment, a gift for telling stories with ambiguous endings.

In the field of commercial communication we often employ narrative as a means of engagement; as a powerful tool for transmitting messages. But perhaps too often we join all the dots, clarify the conclusions, detail the denouement. Homer suggests that, if we sustain a certain amount of ambiguity; if we leave space for the audience or viewer to complete the story; if we pose questions and dilemmas, then we may achieve a more rewarding, more memorable effect.

Some messages are best suggested.

'Hark now, hear the sailors cry,
Smell the sea and feel the sky.
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic.
When that fog horn blows
I will be coming home.
Yeah, when that fog horn blows
I want to hear it,
I don't have to fear it.'
Van Morrison, ‘Into the Mystic’

No. 391

The Plump Roman General: Recognizing the Enduring Power of Show and Tell

Winslow Homer: Telling Stories with Ambiguous Endings