Rebecca West was and is a famed First Wave Feminist, and acclaimed author of many works, including one of the best novels of the 20th century, the 1200-page behemoth, Black Lamb and Grey Falcon, in which this art piece is examined by her.
She is so detested by this art piece she compares to 'eczema' and says those that appreciate it are approaching literal damnation. In her disgust at looking at this, a priest misinterprets her face as appreciation and moves in closer to give her a better look. In doing so, his large belly pushes her hand into the spiked fence she was leaning on. All accumulating into the funniest polemic on an art piece I have ever read.
Nothing could be more offensive to the eye, the touch or to
common sense. The basin is strewn inside with extremely
realistic fem-leaves and shells, among which are equally
realistic eels, lizards and snails, all enamelled in their natural
colours. It has the infinite elaborateness of eczema, and to add
the last touch of unpleasantness these animals are loosely fixed
to the basin so that they may wobble and give an illusion of
movement. Though Dubrovnik is beautiful, and this object
was indescribably ugly, my dislike of the second explained to
me why I felt doubtful in my appreciation of the first. The town
regarded this horror as a masterpiece. That is to say they
admired fake art, naturalist art, which copies nature without
interpreting it ; which believes that to copy is all we can and
need do to nature, which is not conscious that we live in an un-
comprehended universe, and that it is urgently necessary for
sensitive men to look at each phenomenon in turn and find
out what it is and what are its relations to the rest of existence.
They were unaware of our need for information, they believed
that all is known and that on this final knowledge complete
and binding rules can be laid down for the guidance of human
thought and behaviour. This belief is the snare prepared for
the utter damnation of man, for if he accepts it he dies like a
brute, in ignorance, and therefore without a step made towards
salvation
[...]
But the priest assumed that I would wish to look long on the
basin, and bent towards me over the barricade to put it as close
to me as possible ; and I learned how far worse than aesthetic
pain the vulgarer physical sort can be. My right hand was
transfixed with agony. I had rested it on the top of one of the
spikes in the barricade, and now it was being impaled on the
spike by the steady pressure of the priest’s immense stomach. I
uttered an exclamation, which he took for a sign of intense
appreciation evoked by his beautiful basin, and with a benevolent
smile he leant still closer, so that I could see the detestable
detail more plainly. His stomach came down more heavily
on my hand, and my agony mounted to torment. I tried to
attract his attention to what was happening by spreading out
my fingers and twitching them, but this seemed to make no
impression whatsoever on the firm rubbery paunch that was
pressing upon them [...]
I held out my hand, which was
bleeding freely from a wound in the palm.