Life, 1927-12-15 · page 17 of 40
Life — December 15, 1927 — page 17: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The page contains a poem by John F. A. Weaver titled "Art Is Long," which laments how Bill—once an aspiring fiddler with artistic dreams—abandoned music for material success. He now owns a hardware store and lives a conventional life, having lost "the feelin'" for his art. The accompanying illustration, "She Knows Her Vegetables," depicts a woman reaching up to mistletoe while holding what appears to be produce. The satirical point criticizes how practical concerns and domesticity replace youthful artistic ambition. The contrast between artistic aspiration and bourgeois respectability—a common early-20th-century *Life* magazine theme—suggests that commercial success comes at the cost of creative passion and personal fulfillment.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Art Is Long ILL don’t play the fiddle no more; The feelin's gone away, He says, The feelin’s gone away. ILL was a damn good fiddler Fifteen years ago. He was young, and the world was young, And we didn’t have much dough, But he had pep and hopes instead, And a lot of dreams and tunes in his head. NE used to sit in his attic-room And jaw the hours away- All about life and what we'd do He wanted to make his pile, he'd say, Then quit, and practice day and night And learn his fiddlin’ right Oh, yes, Just learn his fiddlin’ right! GO then he'd tune his fiddle up, “" And start to play. And gece! Maybe he wasn’t so awful good, But it sounded great to me! Right inside of my heart it went, Sweet and mournful, or gay and quick— Now my eyes was wet with tears, And now T was dancin’, with a laugh and a kick! Felt like my blood was full of honey, And I was miles and miles away From the dirty’ little room, in a magic land Where the sun was warm, and the skies was blue, And there wasn't a thing on earth to do But laze around the livelong day, With plenty of pretty girls to love, And never a law, and never a rule— He was a fiddlin’ fool, He was, Bill was a fiddlin’ fool! CAN'T deny that Bill has made A real good job of life: Packard car, and a ten-room house, And a plump little smnilin’ wife; Boss of his own big hardware store, He weighs two hundred pounds and more. Look at his hands, all pink and soft— Where's the nights in the attic-loft? Lots too busy with banks and such To think of dreams and music much— Se Bill don't play the fiddle no more; ‘The feelin’s gone away, He says, The feclin’s gone away John V. A. Weaver. She Knows Her Vegetables comicbooks.com