THE DIAL REVIEWS
From The Magazine of Art “Art in December”: Review of The Dial, Vol. 1
The Dial, edited by Charles H. Shannon and Charles Ricketts, and published by Charles H. Shannon, is the first number of the series “-that is all we know-” but whether it is to be published monthly or quarterly, or only when these two artists have got together material enough for another issue, we are not informed.
From The Athenæum “The Dial”: Review of The Dial, Vol. 1
The Dial, edited by C. H. Shannon and C. S. Ricketts, the First Number of the Series (The Vale, King’s Road, Chelsea), has assumed an honoured name; but notwithstanding the energy of its promoters, the real beauty, of a sort, of the leading illustration (the meaning of which we have not fathomed), and the cleverness of an initial letter or two, the “first number” is likely to be the last of the series.
From The Saturday Review “New Books and Reprints”: Review of The Dial, Vol. 1-2
To be insensible of the peril and darkness of their condition is the mark of the unregenerate, and there by many, we fear, who could realize some glimmering of the dark and distressful state of art in this country only from a conscientious study of The Dial, an occasional publication, edited by Messrs. C. Ricketts and C. H. Shannon.
From The Spectator “Daphnis and Chloe”: Review of The Dial, Vol. 1-2
The famous old pastoral which goes under the name of a perhaps mythical Longus, is safe to have its day from time to time as literature returns upon itself; and if it is not read for its own charms or its interest as a root of literature, it will always furnish to the idyllic-minded illustrator a wealth of situation.
From The Magazine of Art “At the Sign of the Dial. Mr. Ricketts as a Book-builder”: Review of The Dial, Vol. 1-4
The quality which has distinguished Mr. Ricketts’s work from the first is “personality.” In Art, personality is but another name for originality; and, as in life, there are two sorts. The one fostered by ignorance, whether of social amenities or precedent; the other restrained or fantastic, pedantically simple or complex and profound, is alike based upon sound knowledge, which is power.
From The Pall Mall Magazine “The Vale Press and the Modern Revival of Printing”: Review of The Dial, Vol. 1-5
H. C. Marillier
The publication of a new edition of Shakespeare’s works would, from a literary point of view, be at any time an event of some importance; much more is this the case when, besides scholastic qualities, the edition possesses distinct artistic interest, representing in fact the latest development and outcome of the modern revival of fine printing.
From The Academy “The Art Magazines”: Review of The Dial, Vol. 2
The Dial, that extremely occasional and still more eccentric periodical, has struck two, thereby falsifying the prophecy of the enemy. There is no doubt that Mr. C. Ricketts is a very clever artist, and cuts his own designs well upon the block; and there is a dreamy suggestiveness about Mr. Charles Shannon’s drawings which is very taking.
From The Spectator “The ‘Dial’: An Occasional Publication (Book Review)”: Review of The Dial, Vol. 4
From The Spectator “Book Review”: Review of The Dial, Vol. 5
Amid large expanses of fine paper are scattered woodcuts, lithographs, poems, and prose, all of which are both serious and affected. The best thing is the large circular lithograph by Mr. C. H. Shannon of the infancy of Bacchus. The breadth and largeness of the composition are decidedly impressive.
From The Academy “The Revival of Printing: A Bibliographical Catalogue of Works issued by the Chief Modern English Presses”: Review of The Dial
A. W. Pollard
Mr. Steele is well known as a diligent student of the many experiments in artistic book printing made during the last twenty years, and no one better qualified by knowledge and enthusiasm could have been found to edit this record of the exhibition organised last autumn by Mr.Lee Warner.
From The International Studio “Charles Ricketts: A Commentary On His Activities.“: Review of The Dial
From The Monthly Review “Art and the Printer”: Review of The Dial
Albert Louis Cotton
In an article which I contributed some years ago to one of the Reviews, I ventured to hazard the prediction that we were “on the eve of a great revolution in the art of typography and book-decoration”—a remark which, I remember, brought down upon me the comment of some critic that I was “a gentle dreamer.”
From The New York Times “The Vale Press: A History of it and of its Famous Publications”: Review of The Dial
R. F. R.
Since, In 1891, William Morris founded the Kelmscott Press, increased attention has been paid to the production of beautiful books. The earliest rival of the notable press established at Hammersmith was the Vale Press, conducted on a similar system or limited editions, printed with specially designed type.
From The Saturday Review “An Exhibition of Original Wood-Engravings”: Review of The Dial
From The Saturday Review “Mr. Ricketts’s New Books”: Review of The Dial
It is a matter of some strangeness that two men of such different temperaments as Mr. Whistler and Mr. William Morris should have produced the first two modern books endowed with an element of proportion and beauty—Mr. Whistler’s “The Gentle Art of Making Enemies” and Mr. William Morris’s “The Roots of the Mountain” both appearing almost simultaneously in 1890.
From The Sketch “The Vale Artists, I.— Charles Shannon“: Review of The Dial
From The Sketch “The Vale Artists, II.—Charles Ricketts“: Review of The Dial
From The Sketch “The Vale Artists, III.—Lucien Pissarro“: Review of The Dial
Lucien Pissarro is the eldest son of the famous French Impressionist, Camille Pissarro, who, though he was working in the time of Manet, and before the advent of Degas, still retains the exquisite skill as a colourist which has brought him to the front rank of contemporary art.
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From The Spectator “Mr. C.H. Shannon and Mr. Rothenstein (Book Review)”: Review of The Dial
D. S. M.
This is a small exhibition of drawings and lithographs at the Dutch Gallery, 14 Brook Street, New Bond Street. The name of Mr. Charles Shannon is probably unfamiliar to most readers, and there can be no greater pleasure for a critic than to commend to their attention so unmistakeable an artistic talent.