By Richard King.

It is not often that an artist evolves a new type—more especially a new comic type. But this is the proud achievement of the artist whose work adorns this little book. “Eve” has now become a clearly recognised figure of modern life, as clearly recognised as are the figures of George Belcher, Dana Gibson, and Bateman, and that very small band of clever artists who have characteristics peculiar to themselves.

Few artists, however, have more quickly sprung into world-wide popularity than “Eve.” How great this popularity is may be judged by the numerous imitators which, while they copy many of Eve’s mannerisms, lose all that humour and spirit which make of Eve’s art such a fascinating and irresistible thing. For Eve possesses a gift which cannot be imitated, no matter how clever the artist who imitates her may be. Each person’s sense of humour—or lack of it—belongs to them alone. And it is Eve’s humour which make her delightful drawings so appealing. She has that sense of the “absurd” which is one of the rarest senses in all black-and-white art. And yet, while her irresistible humour makes one laugh, while her drawings fascinate us by their quaintness, she is never so far removed from reality as to be merely a painter of the human grotesque. Therein lies so much of her genius. She paints humanity with the eye of one who can see the comic in everyday people and things, and yet she never lets her feeling for the ridiculous obliterate her feeling for Truth. It is to be regretted that the clever letters which these drawings originally illustrated in “The Tatler” cannot be reproduced on account of their topicality.

But in judging these fascinating drawings merely from the point of view of their humour and charm, one is apt to overlook the fact that Eve—while possessing a style which is unique—is also, and at the same time, a designer of remarkable gifts. It is, perhaps, as a designer that she will appeal most greatly to an artist. Each of her drawings is an exquisite example of this gift for design. Their line, their “proportion,” as it were, and the clever use she makes of black—big splashes of black—all help to make her drawings exquisite little pictures—“pictures” in the popular sense—as well as wonderful examples of technique and imagination. Another thing about all her drawings is their feminine daintiness. Each design is as dainty as the heroine who appears in nearly all of them. With a few strokes, a dot here and there, a line, she can suddenly bring before our eyes a perfectly-recognisable type. In this way her gifts are superior even to Phil May, who surely, more than many artists, obtained his effects with the least number of unessentials.

Moreover, Eve never draws what I must call a “dead” figure. Everyone—everything, almost—is alive. Her animals—burlesques of animals though they be—are full of character and fun. Even such things as motor-cars, ships, and carriages—which, from the point of view of an artist painting nothing but the truth, are out of all proportion—possess a quaintness which somehow accords better with the picture than if they were perfect models of technical knowledge and drawing.

Eve gives a comic twist to men and women of this world, but in that comic “twist” we seem to see and know them better, and to know them better is to love them more. That is one of the reasons, perhaps, why these fascinating drawings are so popular and so adored.