Chapter VI: Part 6

In my opinion a colored sketch or water-color drawing gains brilliancy by being mounted on a white ground, whereas, according to theory, the dazzling whiteness of the mount ought to make the drawing look dingy.

In the same way, supposing you have painted a series of figures for the decoration of a pediment or frieze, and you find that your figures are dull and heavy in color, how are you to remedy this without repainting them? My answer would be, Give them a gold or light bright-colored background. It is not only that this bright background enlivens the whole work, but it has the effect of making each individual figure appear less dull in color.

Although experience has taught me that these apparently anomalous effects are produced with color, yet, of course, where black and white alone are concerned, the law of contrast follows its natural course; that is, if you want to give brilliancy to a white spot, surround it with black; and if you want to give darkness to a black spot, surround it with white.

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In a composition of several figures, it is almost always desirable to assist the effect by selecting white or light-colored draperies for the figures in the light, and dark colors for the figures in the shade.

This principle may, of course, be carried too far, but as a general rule it may be depended on.

A good deal has been said by Sir J. Reynolds and others in praise of a simple palette, and with much of this I cordially agree; still I think that in the ordinary practice of figure-painting nine or ten colors are indispensable.

If I give you my own palette, it is not that I wish to dictate to you what colors to employ, but simply as a foundation for the remarks I am going to make about the colors generally used. First, with regard to white.

White lead is the pigment all but universally used in oil-painting. Many years ago I tried zinc-white. It was strongly recommended, on the ground that it did not turn yellow or black with age like white lead. I believe it has this good quality, but it wants opacity and body; and although I think it might be used with great advantage in skies, or for scumbling, I don’t think it can ever replace white lead for flesh-painting.

We next come to Naples yellow. I am no chemist, and do not profess to tell you what Naples yellow is made of, any more than I could inform you of what London butter is made. There are a great many shades of this useful color, but I think that the pale greenish variety is the most serviceable. The French have _jaune de Naples ordinaire_, _jaune brilliant_, and three shades of _jaune Pinard_. Our colormen have pale and deep Naples yellow, of various shades, and lemon yellow besides. Of all these varieties, I prefer the light-colored _jaune Pinard_. In painting flesh it will be found useful, especially in the reflected light of the shadows, where white lead would probably create heaviness and opacity; but it is in light-colored draperies, in gold-embroidered brocades, and in glowing sunsets that Naples yellow of some kind becomes indispensable. Yellow ochre ought to be a simple earth, tinted yellow in nature’s laboratory; but, like the aforesaid Naples yellow, you cannot tell what the contents of the tube you purchase as yellow ochre really are.

The _terra chiara_, which, in Italian fresco, replaces our yellow ochre, is perfectly durable, but no yellow ochre that I ever bought in London would resist the action of the lime.

Hence I conclude that the yellow ochre of the trade is not a genuine earth. However that may be, it is quite indispensable on the palette, and in oil-paintings seems perfectly durable. Roman ochre, golden ochre, and other varieties are quite unnecessary if you have yellow ochre on your palette; but brown ochre is capital for one particular purpose, and for nothing else that I know of. The purpose of which I am speaking is for painting a dead white luminous bit of wall or pavement. If you mellow your white lead with a very little brown ochre, you will get a luminous compound which is neither yellow nor red, and is totally dissimilar to your flesh tint.

Of raw sienna I would speak with great respect, as it is perfectly durable in fresco-work, where yellow ochre drops off the wall and disintegrates every thing it is mixed with. Nevertheless, raw sienna wants body; when ground in oil, and except perhaps for landscape-painting, I hardly ever use it.

Before exhausting the yellows, I may mention that the only violent yellow you ought ever to admit on your palette is cadmium. Chromes of all kinds are rank poison, and cadmium, though quite safe, is a difficult color to manage with discretion.

Light red is burnt ochre, and is one of the most useful colors of the palette for painting flesh. Mixed with white and a very little yellow it is the foundation of all flesh-painting. The French light red, or “_brun rouge_,” as it is called, is much better than ours. It is a little more pink in color, and is generally pleasanter to work with.

We now come to vermilion. Of this color there are two kinds in common use, the Chinese and the so-called extract of vermilion. I should think it hardly necessary to have both kinds on the palette, but some artists, who are much better colorists than I can pretend to be, think otherwise; and although they omit altogether umbers and browns of all sorts, yet never lay their palette without both sorts of vermilion.

Burnt sienna is the next color on our palette, and is of universal use. It is the best color to use for giving warmth to shades, and for preparing draperies or stuffs which are ultimately to be blue or green. Of course, one may use it too much, but it never gives opacity and heaviness, which any other red would do if employed for a similar purpose.

There are many other reds. Venetian red is hardly to be distinguished from light red. Indian red is a deep laky red, and very opaque. I don’t think it is much used now, but formerly it was in great request for painting flesh. Etty was very fond of it.

The so-called Mars reds are perfectly durable, but all these colors are quite unnecessary.

Of the lakes the most useful for general purposes is madder lake. Some of them, such as yellow lake and scarlet lake, are very fugitive and not safe to use. Rose madder and purple madder are expensive, and, except for very rich stuffs, are seldom wanted. There are several varieties of brown and yellow madders, which may be used with advantage in landscape, but which are never really wanted for figure-painting.

Green is a color which is not absolutely necessary if you have blue on the palette, still it is sometimes very useful for the half tones. Oxide of chromium is the best of the decided greens, but I think that the French _vert de Cobalt_ is more generally useful. This is a bluish green, and a most excellent color for painting skies.

_Terra verte_ has no body in it, and I find it turns black very speedily. Malachite green is a sickly color that I cannot recommend; and what we used to call emerald green, but which the French call _vert veronese_, is rank poison on the palette.

Almost all the rich dark greens required for foliage and verdure in landscape-painting can be obtained by a judicious mixture of blues and yellows. French ultramarine, mixed with raw or burnt sienna, gives a strong dark green, which is not at all heavy, and every landscape-painter discovers new combinations of blues and blacks with yellows and reds, which enable him to give the infinite variety of nature.

As for blues, the only colors I can recommend are cobalt and French ultramarine. The colors known as ultramarine ash and mineral gray are sometimes useful, but they can very easily be imitated on the palette. I never use either Prussian, Antwerp, or any other cyaneous blue; and I think that, at any rate for figure-painting, they are unnecessary.

You will observe that I have not put any brown on the palette, not even umber.

I am quite aware that with many painters, especially English ones, raw umber is considered a _sine quâ non_, and I thought so myself a few years ago.

I took, however, a dislike to it from a conviction that it turned black, and I fancy that I have done better since I discarded it. It is very seldom seen on the palettes of foreign artists. Asphaltum and bitumen are very seductive colors, but, as every one knows, they have been the ruin of many excellent pictures, and it is well to steer clear of them. I think, however, that either color, when mixed with white lead, is tolerably safe, and nothing else that I know of gives so effectively and pleasantly the gray hair and fur of animals.

In blacks, you have ivory or blue black, both excellent colors, and there is also a charcoal black which is much more gray than either of the others, and has very little body. I think, when mixed with white, that it may be useful in painting clouds. It is generally gritty and badly ground, but for the purpose I mention, I don’t think this fault matters much.

Before taking leave of the palette, I may be expected to say something about brushes and mediums.

First, as to brushes:

As to the size of the brushes, this depends very much on the taste and habits of the artist.

I am fond of small ones myself, not necessarily sables, but small hog’s hair tools, and I should recommend them to beginners, who wish to express form as well as color in their work.

I never use flat brushes for painting flesh, and very seldom for any thing else, but this is merely an old habit.

Every one is perfectly right to use the tools which he finds the most convenient, only let them be good of their kind, and always kept in working order.

Now as to mediums:

This is a subject on which I speak with diffidence, as opinions vary greatly about these compounds. I think, however, that I may safely say that the less they are used by students the better. By mediums, I mean the various copal jellies which are sold in tubes, and placed on the palette like the colors.

I do not say that they are unsafe to use in moderation, but moderation is said by teetotalers to be a virtue more difficult to practise than total abstinence.

For a great many years I used them, and have only quite lately discarded them altogether in favor of clarified poppy oil. This oil is a very slow drier, and is, therefore, peculiarly suitable for Academy students’ work. It continually happens that a student prepares a larger portion of the figure than he can finish in one day. The next day it is too dry to continue the modelling, and yet not dry enough for glazing and repainting.

If he has painted it with poppy oil, he will find it in a very workable state for two or even three days.

Nothing can be safer, provided of course the picture is painted throughout with the same slow drier. The best and purest poppy oil is known by the name of _huile chromophile_. It has a strong smell of castor-oil, which to susceptible persons may be rather an objection.

I shall not attempt a criticism of the various oils and essences which are to be found at the color-man’s. What is one man’s meat is another man’s poison, and I even go farther and say, that the same man at one period of his career will swear by some compound which a few years afterward he will regard with special aversion. The only advice I give to young artists is to use the simplest materials they can, both for mediums and colors; and I may add, that the better the colorist, the simpler his palette generally is.

I have seen on some foreign artists’ palettes as many as six different kinds of lake, when one would have been quite sufficient, and I need hardly say that whatever other merit their pictures may have had, they were not distinguished for brilliant color.

After all, it is only natural that it should be so.

An artist who is not a good colorist must (unless he is blinded by conceit) have some suspicion of his deficiency, and would naturally endeavor by a more elaborate palette to remedy his shortcomings, just as some of our bad cooks endeavor to improve their cuisine by a liberal use of made sauces. With artists as with cooks, the remedy is unsuccessful; in both cases it is taste that is wanted, and not a multiplicity of ingredients.

If a student has a germ of feeling for color, he may develop it into a plant of respectable growth. He will probably never become a great colorist, but he may at any rate learn to attain a certain degree of harmony and propriety, qualities which are not always found in the works of noted colorists.

I would strongly deprecate the habit of painting pictures up to exhibition pitch. Paint them up to the pitch you see in nature, and you will have quite enough to do. Exasperation is not force, and although a soberly-colored work may be eclipsed on the exhibition walls by a dazzling neighbor, yet it will more than hold its own when removed from the glare and glitter of its surroundings.

Color, as understood by many people, means violent contrasts of reds, blues, and yellows. Now, I am far from saying that strong contrasts and positive colors are always inharmonious. We have (even in our climate) plenty of wild flowers to prove the contrary. The scarlet poppy, the blue corn flower, the common yellow buttercup, are all as positive in color as red, blue, and yellow well can be, but the green stalk and leaves of each plant harmonize perfectly with the flower, and the contrast, though strong, is never offensive. The kind of contrasts I am deprecating are perhaps best known by the epithet “vulgar.” Look at the cheap colored glass windows which abound in our country churches, and which are generally much admired by the congregation. As a rule, the more crude the colors, the more grateful are the farmers and their wives to the donors of these windows for giving them something cheerful to look at during the service. We need not go into the country for specimens of vulgar taste in color. I never pass a London pillar letter-box without an uncomfortable feeling, particularly after it has been newly painted.

The post-office authorities are certainly not bound to educate the eye of the British public, and their object in painting these post-boxes vermilion was of course to make them more conspicuous, just as a red flag is used to indicate danger. But the daily press, and particularly that sheet which claims the largest circulation in the world, praised the authorities for “giving us a bit of color” to refresh the eye. Had these letter-boxes been painted of a laky Indian red, or of a bronze color, they would have been unobjectionable, but no one would have thought of commending them as “bits of color.”

Again, if we consider the scheme of clothing the volunteer regiments in scarlet, and try to account for the enthusiasm with which certain corps have hailed the innovation, we shall find that the “bit of color” is at the bottom of it. It can hardly be supposed that the gallant East-end volunteers wish to be mistaken for militiamen; it must be that the scarlet cloth is thought becoming, both by themselves and their female relatives. If I am not mistaken, the West-end corps, such as the Queen’s, the Inns of Court, and especially the artists, will be very loth to give up their gray uniforms and don the national red.

I am afraid that the average Englishman’s taste in color (though much improved of late years) is still but little more refined than the West African’s. If he no longer buys hideous wall-papers and vulgar carpets, it is not that he dislikes them, but that he does not know where to get them, so great has been the improvement in our manufactures. If we turn from the English Philistine to the English artist, we find ourselves at the opposite pole. He has often such a horror of loud, vulgar tints, that he is apt to fall into the affectation of painting on too subdued a scale, and I would caution you against this affectation. Truth is not necessarily dull, nor is simplicity monochromatic. There is no danger of the general public, which delights in the red coats of our soldiers, and thinks the crudest colored dyes the prettiest, encouraging you to paint sad olive pictures. The danger comes from the select few who are gifted with æsthetic tastes, and who, having recently awakened to the fact that crude contrasts do not constitute color, fall into the opposite extreme, and praise whatever is negative and colorless.

The dismal view of nature seems to me an unhealthy view; and although it may be commended as a reaction against vulgar, tawdry color, the art which it tends to foster is morbid and unsound.

Beauty of color is a much more subtle and indefinable quality than beauty of form. We are all pretty well agreed that the antique is the nearest approach to perfection of form which has ever been made, but we are by no means agreed about color. Some will think that Titian was the greatest colorist that ever lived, some Velasquez, some Paul Veronese, and some Rembrandt; and it is not only individual opinions that differ, but the collective opinion of the age. We all are familiar with instances of pictures which are now highly prized for their color, but which within the present century failed to gain admission to any exhibition.

Delacroix’s pictures used to be regularly rejected, or very badly hung, and these same pictures are now considered the gems of the gallery at Versailles. On our side of the Channel we used to turn out Muller’s, and, I believe, Constable’s pictures. These acts of what we should call injustice were not committed from any Academic spite or jealousy. They were simply the expression of the general public opinion at that time.

It may be noted that our predecessors in this country were by no means indifferent to color. On the contrary, they prided themselves on being the _crème de la crème_ of colorists, and any one who expressed admiration for the color of Gros and Géricault would be looked upon as a kind of traitor to the English school.

It was a generally accepted article of belief in England, that the French could draw, but knew nothing about color, and that for fine coloring you must look at home.

We have less national prejudice now, and I hope that we are in a better path toward forming a right judgment than our predecessors were. They almost always judged of the color of a picture by comparing it with similar works by the old masters, and if it reminded them of Titian, Correggio, Rubens, or some other acknowledged colorist, it was pronounced a fine thing. If it were unlike the work of any accepted master of color, it was thought nothing of, however true it might be to nature. Hence as Constable’s pictures resembled neither Claude, Cuyp, nor Ruysdael, they were disliked by the connoisseurs of the period, and were quite unsalable.

A remnant of this artificial way of judging pictures still lingers amongst us, but, speaking generally, the present generation has ceased to take this narrow view of color.

Mistakes in judgment are no doubt made, and posterity may pronounce a different verdict on some of our favorites; still the principle on which we decide whether a man is to be called a colorist or not, is sound.

The principle is briefly this:--That however unusual or novel the coloring of a picture may be, if it reminds one vividly of some harmony of nature, if there is space and air in it, and if the same atmosphere pervades the whole canvas, it is the work of a real colorist.

I have abstained in this lecture from giving you any of the old-fashioned recipes for coloring (such as keeping the shades warm and lights cool, and _vice versâ_), because I think that all such rules have a tendency to cramp and fetter the artist who follows them. Nothing can be more dissimilar than the works of the Florentine Ghirlandajo and the portraits of Rembrandt, and yet few will deny the right of both these painters to rank as colorists. I might bracket Titian with Rubens, or Correggio with Ostade, to show how broad is the path which leads to excellence in color.

An innate sense of the harmonious color in nature, and a steadfast determination, by hook or by crook, to reproduce an echo of this harmony on your canvas, must ultimately lead to a good result.

No original colorist could tell you by what process he arrives at the effects he obtains. His only secret (if secret it be) is that he observes more closely and intelligently than other men. It is not the colors he uses, nor the canvas, nor the medium, nor even the technical skill of his hand which cause his pictures to look like nature, whilst his neighbor’s look like paint. It is simply what phrenologists would call his bump of color, but what I (who do not believe in bumps) would term his keen appreciation of the harmony of nature, and his retentive memory which enables him to reproduce in his studio the fleeting effects he has seen.

I cannot promise you that by adopting the same method you will all become great colorists; but of this you may rest assured, that habits of observation and repeated attempts at rendering honestly and faithfully what you have seen, will tend to improve your color far more than all the rules that have ever been laid down, and all the lectures that have ever been delivered.

LECTURE VIII.

ON DECORATIVE PAINTING.

By decorative painting, I mean moral figure-painting. Ornamental designs are a very important factor in all decorative work, but as this branch of the art is out of my province, I shall say nothing about it.

The great mistake most artists make when they have a large wall-space to decorate with figures, is to proceed in the same way as they would for an easel picture. Elaborate finish, powerful light and shade, expression and individuality in the heads, are all excellent qualities in an easel picture, but they are by no means necessary in decorative work.

On the other hand, a well-balanced and harmonious composition, a pure and grand style of drawing, and great breadth and luminosity of coloring are absolutely essential for good decorative work.

These are all qualities which are never got by dexterity of hand, dodges about color, or chance, to which much of the fascination of oil-painting on canvas must be attributed. They are only attainable by patient and laborious work. I will endeavor to show you, step by step, what the nature of this work is.

It is always advisable for decorative work of any importance to make a cartoon of the size of the painting, and, if possible, after the completion of the cartoon, to have it put up _in situ_, so that the size of the figures, the arrangement of the groups, and the general effect may be judged of.

If the result is satisfactory, the work may be considered three parts done. Should there, however, be any alterations required, they should be carried out on the cartoon. Nothing which requires alteration should be left knowingly. There will always be plenty of unforeseen changes suggesting themselves during the progress of the painting, without complicating matters by having an imperfect cartoon.

For fresco-painting a cartoon is absolutely necessary.

In the course of this lecture I will describe the process of fresco-painting. Before, however, proceeding to speak of the different methods of painting, we will first consider the preliminary operations.

The first thing to be done, even before a stroke of charcoal sullies the spotless purity of our cartoon paper, is to get an idea of the kind of arrangement which it will be best to adopt. This pursuit of an idea for the general arrangement of our subject is of course entirely brain-work, but as soon as an idea is got, the hand comes into play; not, however, with charcoal on the big cartoon, but with pen and ink or pencil in the scrap-book.

I always think the clearest way of describing any process is to take an example. We will therefore take an example, and suppose that we are lucky enough to have the decoration of a town-hall or some similar building in a large seaport town entrusted to us, and that it has been suggested to us by our employers that groups of figures representing all countries would be appropriate.

Very well, we don’t at once seize a stick of charcoal and begin drawing promiscuously. We think first how we can best fit our subject into the space allotted to us.

How are we to arrange our personages? Shall we group them irrespective of their nationality, like the figures in Delaroche’s “Hemicycle”; or shall we adopt a kind of geographical arrangement? Shall we have a centre figure or group? Shall we introduce architecture into the background, as Raffaelle has done in the “School of Athens”?

These and a dozen other questions of vital importance to our design have all to be settled before the cartoon is begun, and we must be guided in our settlement very much by the nature of the building, the shape of the panel, the height of the work from the ground, etc. The decorative painter ought always to bear in mind that his work is supplementary to that of the architect. Inattention to this self-evident truism has been the cause of many failures. In an easel picture we order the frame to suit the picture. We don’t paint the picture to suit the frame; but in mural painting the reverse ought always to be the rule. Of course, there are cases--as, for instance, in museums and picture galleries--where the works of art are the jewel and the building the setting; but these works of art are not decorative. The very word decorative implies subserviency to that which has to be decorated.

To return to our imaginary work; I will suppose we have decided that a central group of figures is desirable, and that England, as the greatest maritime power in the world, ought to occupy the place of honor. Moreover, not being of the “Perish India” school, we think that she ought to be supported by her colonies. We will, therefore, surround her with figures representing Canada, India, Australia, etc.

Having so far settled our scheme of composition, we must abandon our idea of a geographical arrangement. We find that it is more logical to arrange our figures according to the importance of the countries they represent, than according to their latitude and longitude. We will accordingly place in the immediate vicinity of our central group, representatives of France, the United States, Germany, Italy, etc. We then gradually descend to less civilized countries, until finally we reach the remote corners, which we reserve for barbarians like our late enemy King Coffee.

The next point for our consideration would be, ‘How are we to represent England?’ Certainly not as a pseudo-classical Minerva with a trident in her hand, and the British lion at her feet; still less as an obese, ill-tempered John Bull. We may leave this venerable joke to the comic press.

We must try and invent something new, which shall be characteristic of England, and yet neither commonplace nor grotesque.

We may, however, leave the costume and action of our Britannia for future consideration. We have made up our minds that Britannia must be typified by a female figure, but farther than this we need not go at present. Having got the key-note (as it may be called) of the composition, we shall have no difficulty in determining that all the other civilized countries must also be represented by female figures.

It will not probably be advisable to clothe these figures in their respective national costumes; such a mode of treatment would be incompatible with a grand style of decoration. It will, nevertheless, be quite allowable to vary their features and complexion according to the nationality they represent, and to give them something, either flowers, fruit, grain, or produce, which will help to identify them.

Having got thus far, we may begin to map out our groups on the cartoon.

We do not engage models until we have approximately decided on the various attitudes we wish our figures to assume.

Some must be standing, some sitting, and very possibly some kneeling or reclining. We try these various attitudes on the cartoon, sketching them in very lightly with soft charcoal. We transfer and shift them about until we get an harmonious and pleasant arrangement of line, not too symmetrical, and yet sufficiently so to give an air of grandeur and repose to the work. These figures need not, of course, be more than indicated, but they ought to be tolerably correct in proportion, and the attitudes should be natural, or at any rate possible.

It is here that a knowledge of anatomy is especially useful to the young artist. When a man has been drawing figures for forty years he ought to draw the human form very much as he forms the letters of the alphabet when writing; but until long experience has given him this kind of facility, he will find his studies of anatomy and proportion of the greatest benefit to him. He will save many a long and profitless morning’s work from a model, and save his pocket too.

It is when the cartoon is in this state of progress--that is, when the size of the figures, the general arrangement of the different groups, and their relative position have been settled approximately--that it is so desirable to hoist it up to its place on the wall. Any alteration can be made now much easier than later; certain figures or even whole groups may want to be shifted a few inches, certain actions modified, the line of heads may require revisal, and so on; and it is obvious that what can be done now with a few lines of charcoal, would at a later period involve a great amount of rubbing out and a great waste of labor.

Having at last decided on the proportions and positions of the various groups and single figures, we may now begin to work from the living model; and here it may perhaps not be out of place if I give you some advice about the selection of your models.

I would strongly advise you to engage those who are intelligent and apt, rather than those who may be better proportioned, but who are stiff and awkward. What you want in the present stage of your work is natural and graceful action, and with some models it is hopeless to struggle in this direction.

When I was a student in Paris, there were some three or four models who were so intelligent (and I may say so artistic) that they naturally put themselves into the attitudes wanted, and even suggested and assumed other positions which were often adopted by the artist.

In violent and spontaneous action suitable for battle pictures these models were invaluable, and the decline of many a great reputation in historical painting dates from the death of these humble assistants, some of whom could neither read nor write. I am afraid the race is extinct, but even in the present generations of models some are far superior in artistic feeling to others. In our present cartoon, however, we do not require any violent action; all we need is perfect ease and dignity.

As our personages are to be clothed, it will be unnecessary to make careful nude studies. Nevertheless, it will be well to get rough outline drawings from the nude of all the figures, just to correct and verify the proportions of our personages.

Two or three of these nude studies can be made in a day. If the artist is an experienced draughtsman, there may not be much to correct on the large cartoon; but let him be ever so experienced, there is always something wrong about the attitude of figures drawn without models, and occasionally very gross mistakes are made.

I knew a very clever draughtsman in Paris who made the mistake of giving one of his figures two right hands, and he did not find it out until he began to work from nature.

In an outstretched arm, the twist of the radius and ulna makes all the difference about the position of the thumb, and if the thumb be placed on the wrong side of the hand, you immediately make a right hand of what ought to be a left, and _vice versâ_.

I will assume now that we have corrected the drawing of our cartoon from our small nude studies.

We are fully aware that the drawing of every figure will have to be perfected from nature, that is, the head, neck, arms, hands, and feet; but we are satisfied that the attitudes are all possible, and that there is no great fault in the proportions. _Now_, therefore, we may look out for models for the heads, arms, feet, etc., and work with chalk or charcoal (if it can be fixed) on the cartoon itself.

And here let me caution you against ever working from a model whom you know to be unsuitable. If, as often happens, you engage a model, and find when you have got him into position that he won’t do, pay him his sitting and send him away. It is better to lose five shillings than to lose five shillings and your morning’s work into the bargain.

At this stage of progress we ought to be draping our figures as well as drawing the heads and hands.

Whatever may be said about small easel pictures, I am quite sure that for large mural work a lay figure is indispensable. In adjusting draperies on a lay figure a good deal of ingenuity, and, above all, a good deal of patience, are necessary.

Nothing is so stupid as a lay figure, and many artists prefer studying their draperies on the living model; but the studies thus done will very seldom have the precision and finish of those done from the lay figure. They are, therefore, less suitable for large cartoon-work.

I will now suppose that all our figures are draped, and the heads and hands finished. There still remains the selection of the different symbols or attributes which are to give nationality to our personages, and here we must endeavor to reconcile truth with pictorial fitness. We have the whole vegetable and animal kingdom to choose from, and it will go hard if we cannot fit each female figure with some flower, fruit, bird, or beast, which shall be typical of the country she represents and at the same time ornamental and graceful.

The cartoon is now at last finished, and the next thing to be done is to make a colored sketch. I need not go through this process at length. Every one knows that the scheme of color intended at first is often abandoned, and minor changes are innumerable. At last, however, we get what we think a good result, and all our preliminary work is over. Not quite, however, for we have to trace the cartoon on transparent paper, and prick the tracing.

Some artists omit the tedious process of pricking the tracing, but the labor that is thus saved is fully counterbalanced by the trouble of following all the lines of the tracing with a point before an impression can be got, whereas with a pricked tracing a bag of pounded charcoal does the work at once.

* * * * *

I will now give a short account of the different mediums principally in use for mural painting.

The first medium I shall notice is oil, or some modification of oil. The great objection to oil for mural work is the impossibility of seeing the painting when it faces the light. An absorbent ground will to a certain extent mitigate this evil. The use of spirits of turpentine, benzine, and other essences, will also contribute toward giving a flat surface; but do what we will, we can never get in an oil-painting the pure, clear qualities of water-color or fresco.

The compound known as Parris’ medium and sold by Roberson, is not a bad thing for diminishing the shine of oil-painting. It is made of white wax dissolved in spirits of lavender, but I am inclined to think that an absorbent ground prepared with parchment size and whiting is the best preventive of the greasy surface inseparable from oil-painting. The great desideratum in all mural and decorative oil-painting is that every part should have an equal amount of shine.

Take an ordinary oil-picture and place it opposite the light. The lighter parts will be tolerably well seen, but the oily or gummy darks will reflect the light of the sky and spoil the effect completely.

All we can aspire to, in decorative oil-painting, is to give to the dark parts as little shine as there is in the light ones, where white lead and opaque colors generally have been freely used.

I cannot say as much in favor of wax as a medium for grinding the colors in. It is neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring; that is, it has neither the richness of oil nor the luminosity of fresco. Most of the modern decorative pictures in the Paris churches are painted with this medium. The colors are much the same as for oil-painting, but the blacks, browns, and lakes have a very dull appearance. The fluid medium used for painting is a kind of essential oil of lavender, so that this method, if somewhat deficient in light, is at any rate overflowing with sweetness.

I have found that to use the ordinary oil-colors diluted with a medium composed of wax, mastic varnish and turpentine, is by far preferable to legitimate wax-painting. The colors are much more manageable and dry brighter, without having any more shine than when actually ground with wax.

What is called encaustic painting has also wax as a foundation, but is quite a different process to “_peinture à la cire_.” “Encaustic” implies burning, and in this method of painting the colors are laid on rather thick, and when the work or any portion of it has to be finished, a hot iron is applied to melt the wax and allow the brush to do its softening and finishing work.

The Pompeii paintings are mostly done in this way, but it is very unfitted for large figure-painting.

Distemper has many excellent qualities, but its want of durability will always prevent its being used for costly and important work.

It might, however, be made much more durable than it generally is, by a careful selection of materials.

Distemper is generally associated with scene-painting or some temporary work, for which any rubbish can be used; but if care were taken about the size and the colors, and above all if some coating of silica were floated over the finished painting to protect it from damp and atmospheric changes, I see no reason why this very pleasant method should not be generally used.

The so-called silica method has been much used in Germany under the name of Wasserglas. I have no experience in this method, and therefore cannot enter into detail. Speaking generally, the process consists in painting on a dry surface with colors simply ground in water, and fixing the colors afterward by the spray of silicated water. I believe that after this silication the work can be retouched and even repainted; subject, however, to another fixing by silication.

We now come to the best and grandest style of decorative work; namely, legitimate fresco. People who don’t know much about painting are very apt to call any picture on a wall a fresco, but I suppose I need hardly tell you that oil-or wax-paintings on walls are no more frescoes than is an oil sketch on paper a water-color.

In all the methods of painting I have mentioned, some medium is used to fix the color. It is either oil, copal, wax, size, or silica, but in fresco no vehicle of any kind except water is used. How then is the color fixed? How have Michael Angelo’s and even Giotto’s frescoes lasted to the present day? We all know that if some powdered color is mixed with water and applied by a brush to a wall, it will stick as long as it is wet, but as soon as the water evaporates, the color returns to the powder it was before, and falls off, or brushes off with the slightest friction. The reason that frescoes can be dusted and washed without effacing the color, is that they were originally painted on _wet_ mortar, and the lime of which the mortar is composed has the property of retaining and fixing the color.

I will now describe the whole process of fresco-painting.

The first care ought to be the wall. A brick wall is the best, but stone will do very well, provided every precaution has been taken against damp. On this wall there ought to be a coating of strong rough mortar about half an inch thick. The surface ought not to be smoothed with the trowel, but left rather uneven. As soon as this mortar is thoroughly dry, the fresco may be begun. I have already told you that all real fresco is painted on wet mortar, but the mortar, or _intonaco_, as the Italians call it, is not the rough stuff which has already been used for coating the wall. The composition of this intonaco is all-important, and I am perfectly convinced that the rapid decay of our modern frescoes is due entirely to the bad quality of the intonaco.

The lime should be thoroughly slaked, so as to deprive it of its caustic properties, but it does not follow that it should be twenty or thirty years old. Lime can be kept in a slaked state and skimmed until it almost ceases to be lime at all, and this worn-out material is unfit for fresco. Then the sand should be gritty and hard to the touch. Clean river-sand collected in a granite country is very good; ground lava is used by modern Italian fresco-painters.

I do not know where the sand supplied to the fresco-painters of Westminster Palace came from, but it was a great deal too fine and soft to the touch.

The older and more worn-out the lime is, the sharper and more tenacious ought to be the sand.

Having got some well-slaked but not worn-out lime and some good hard sand, the mortar that is required for the day’s use should be made fresh every day, or at least as often as twice a week.

When I was painting some frescoes at Islington, I got my intonaco from a man who had had great experience. Instead, however, of sending me the lime and sand separate, he sent me about twenty small barrels of ready-made mortar. My work took me nearly two years, and every morning my plasterer had to go with a pick-axe and hack a piece of dry mortar out of the barrels.

This he beat up with water and spread it for my day’s work, smacking his lips as if he had got a most delicious compound on his trowel. I knew no better then, but now I am surprised, not that the frescoes should be decaying, but that the decay should not be more rapid. Improper colors and the omnipresent gas may have had something to do with the decay of all frescoes painted in London, but from experience I can assert with confidence that the main cause has been the weakness of the lime and sand.

We will suppose in our imaginary decoration that we don’t fall into this mistake, that we get lime of the proper strength and clean granite sand. We will also suppose that we don’t get a dozen barrels of mortar made up, but have our intonaco mixed fresh every other day.

The first thing to be painted is the sky or background, whatever it may be. We mark out on the wall with charcoal the extreme extent of this background. We don’t trace the outline of the heads, but make our black mark well beyond where this outline should be.

The plasterer ought to be an early riser, so that by nine or ten o’clock when we arrive we may find the mortar all ready for us, even in surface, and tolerably firm or “set” as it is called.

I never could get an English plasterer to _throw_ the mortar against the wall, as is done by Italian and French workmen. When spoken to about it he always seemed to think he ought to know his own trade best, or perhaps the Union forbids him to make the mortar stick too close.

His way of smearing or buttering the wall answers pretty well on a very rough surface, but on smooth stone or tiles it would not do at all. In Italy it is not at all uncommon to see marble columns coated with frescoes more than four hundred years old. The intonaco in these cases is very thin, not above one eighth of an inch in thickness.

As a rule the thinner the intonaco the better it will stick.

We will suppose now that we have painted our flat background and finished our first day’s work. We now get our pricked tracing, and holding it so as to fit the panel, we apply our charcoal bag to the outline of the heads. When we remove the tracing-paper we find a black dotted line which gives us the outline against the sky. With a knife or a sharp spatule we cut away the superfluous mortar. The cut should not be at right angles with the wall, or the outline will be sure to be injured next day when the fresh mortar is joined on to it.

It should be inclined at an angle of fifty or sixty degrees. I always make a point of doing this cutting job myself. The dotted line is sometimes indistinct, and I have to cast a glance at the cartoon. Where, therefore, there is any complication of outline or the least indistinctness, this operation ought to be done by the artist.

Before leaving, we make a charcoal mark as before, which will completely cover our next day’s work and leave us a remnant to cut away. Our plasterer fits in the new mortar up to the charcoal mark the next morning, and so we proceed bit by bit as if we were putting together a puzzle, until the whole is completed.

It is hardly necessary to say that it is very desirable that each cutting should correspond with some natural division of the work. Thus, in painting a female head, we might paint the hair and diadem the first day, and go on with the face and neck the next, stopping at the necklace. In real fresco nothing can be retouched. Every day’s work must be finished and complete in the minutest detail.

I will now say something about the colors and execution of fresco.

In fresco (as in distemper) the colors in drying become of a much lighter shade. It is, therefore, very desirable to have a piece of some very absorbent material at hand to try the tints on. There are two distinct modes of painting fresco. One is the solid body-color method, as practised by M. Angelo, Raffaelle, and all the other masters of that period. The other is the thin water-color method.

If we adopt the first mode, we get a porcelain or metal palette, and set the colors on it just as we do for oil-painting. Lime takes the place of white lead. The only yellow it is safe to use, at least in England, is raw sienna; probably, however, Mars yellow, which is derived from iron, might be used with safety. Light red of various kinds and burnt sienna are the principal reds. Oxide of chromium is the green. Raw and burnt umber are quite safe, as is also black. Blue is a very difficult color to manage in fresco.

It seems very antagonistic to lime, and it is almost impossible to paint a blue sky properly graduated. On the other hand, raw umber takes very kindly to fresco. Lakes and all vegetable colors are to be strictly avoided.

The brushes ought to be hog’s hair tools, but long and soft, so as not to disturb the surface of the wet mortar.

Painting fresco in this opaque, solid method is a very similar process to oil-painting. It is best to begin with the shades and work up to the lights, no scumbling is practicable, but at the end of the day, when the surface is becoming too dry for solid painting, thin washes of color may be used with great advantage.

The Italian terra rossa, burnt sienna, raw sienna, and even vermilion, may be of great service for these light glazings.

It will take three or four days (and often more, if the intonaco is thick and the weather cool) before the colors begin to lose their dark, wet tint.

The beginner must not be discouraged if the colors seem to be drying not as he intended. Some colors take a longer time than others, and it is well to have a little patience. The old masters generally retouched defective parts with what was called _fresco secco_ (dry fresco), but which was simply some compound of white of egg, vinegar, and garlic; but it is much better to cut the defective portions out, to have fresh intonaco laid on, and to repaint them. If once you begin to retouch, the whole work seems to require it, and you never know where to stop.

The second method of painting fresco is totally different. I very much prefer it, as the work is done more rapidly, and the colors hardly change at all in drying. Besides (as far as my experience goes), the result is more durable.

As soon as the fresh intonaco for the day’s work is sufficiently set, you mix some lime with water very fluid, something like milk (good milk, I mean, and not milk and water).

You float this over the intonaco, and in about ten minutes you may give it a second coating of lime-water. This ought to smooth the surface, and remove any little grains of sand.

You now trace your outline as before with the tracing paper and the bag of charcoal. You have no palette, but half-a-dozen small tumblers.

Into one of these you put a small lump of raw umber and about the same quantity of oxide of chromium. You add water, and mix them well together. The result is of course a brownish olive green.[3] You pour half the mixture into another tumbler, and add water, thus getting a weaker solution of the same mixture. You repeat the process into a third tumbler, and get a still weaker tint.

With these three or more tints you begin to model your head, beginning with the dark parts and working up to the light. You must bear in mind that no rubbing out is possible; you cannot wash or sponge out as in water-color drawing.

You must therefore be very careful in approaching the light parts, and copy the cartoon as carefully as possible.

You continue thus to draw and model with your green color until the head looks like a finished drawing. This operation will take from two to four hours, according to the nature of the head.

You now take three clean tumblers and put a small lump of light red or terra rossa into one of them, add water, and mix as before; you make weaker solutions, just as you did with the green. If the head is that of an old man or a bronzed warrior, you ought to add raw sienna to the light red, but for ordinary complexions the light red is quite sufficient. You apply this flesh tint in washes with a very broad and soft brush, using the stronger solution for the lips and cheeks, the medium for the intermediate parts, and the weakest for the high lights. No modelling is required; the modelling has already been done, and this tinting is very soon accomplished.