Bavaria is remote in spirit, as yet unattached. Its
crucifixes are old and grey and abstract, small like the kernel of the
truth. Further into Austria they become new, they are painted white,
they are larger, more obtrusive. They are the expressions of a later,
newer phase, more introspective and self-conscious. But still they are
genuine expressions of the people's soul.
Often one can distinguish the work of a particular artist here and there
in a district. In the Zemm valley, in the heart of the Tyrol, behind
Innsbruck, there are five or six crucifixes by one sculptor. He is no
longer a peasant working out an idea, conveying a dogma. He is an
artist, trained and conscious, probably working in Vienna. He is
consciously trying to convey a _feeling_, he is no longer striving
awkwardly to render a truth, a religious fact.
The chief of his crucifixes stands deep in the Klamm, in the dank gorge
where it is always half-night. The road runs under the rock and the
trees, half-way up the one side of the pass. Below, the stream rushes
ceaselessly, embroiled among great stones, making an endless loud noise.
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