Chapter II: Part 2

Any thing intercepting the line of light upon an object, will render its shadows soft, and its lights beautifully blended.

Accidental shadows are those occasioned by objects interposed between the light and the surface reflected on. Natural shadows, those which the light connects with every opaque body. (_Plate 4, consists of natural and accidental shadows._)

The outline of the shadow should partake of the forms, at its edges, of the character of the surface receiving, as well as the one giving it.

In many, otherwise, excellent pictures of Claude's, the sun is placed at, or near the point of sight: so that all the shadows, running from that point, almost mechanically carry the eye into the picture. Whatever of good may proceed from this arrangement, its purpose is too easily detected; and it has an artificial effect.

Da Vinci says, 'The appearance of _motion_ is lessened, according to the distance, in the same proportion as objects diminish in size.'

Open the side of a book against the light, and observe the gradations of shadow on the leaf.

If you turn half a sheet of paper up against the light (in the manner of the book), it will explain, by its shadows on the parallel part, the phenomena of half or demi-tint.

In any body that has many indentures, there will be many shadows and their grades: that body will have a greenish hue over its superfice, where the light falls on it. To keep the colour of that light pure, in this instance, requires great management; as the markings of the masses of foliage, &c., receiving the light. And yet, without these markings, or as it were carrying the shadow into the light, it would look _bald_. As this is done cleverly, so it will have the effect of subduing the harshness of the lights; which not being in compact masses, lose their force.

I often rumple a piece of paper, to observe the infinite variety of its shadows. And place a ball against the light, on a white surface, and observe its gradations. So, if you roll up a sheet of white paper, and lay it on a white surface, against the light, or make it stand up, it will describe the gradations of a column.

It is a very excellent method to keep a solid square, a solid sphere, a cylinder or tube, a cone (make a paper one), a cup, &c., by you, and place them in various directions in the light, making various memoranda of their lights, shadows, and reflexes, in one colour. By this means, light and shade will soon become familiar, and the task get easier at every trial.

A piece of white paper _folded several ways_, and laid on a table against the light, will reveal all the different degrees of shade. Then, observe the highest light and the deepest shade, with their gradations.

Observe, in a room with one window, having chairs, tables, sofas, &c. in it, where and how their shadows fall. This will assuredly lead the mind into the mysteries of light and shade, which must end in knowledge. At the very least, the power to see things as they are!

To render bodies in sunshine, the shadows must be dark, and marked strongly and _distinctly_, and the lights extended and broad. So, _in-door_ objects have equally strong shadows, with the lights and shades _distinctly_ divided and precise. All should, as a peremptory rule, receive the light from above. The light should come in from a sufficient height to give a shadow on the ground the same length as the object is high.

If any projection occurs on a plain on which a shadow is thrown, the shadow takes the _form_ of the projection, as it _passes_ it; but, if it ends _upon it_, the shadow will be shaped by the _object_ that flung it, still qualified by the section of the projection. The rough surfaces of many things would describe the same in a lesser degree.

Light objects, as they retire, become darker; and dark ones, lighter; but light ones are seen at a greater distance than dark.

The darkest opposing object brought up against the most retiring, should not extend itself to the edges of the picture, but let the half tints creep in, to bring the light down with more effect--diffusing it more extensively.

The shadow on the ground on which it is thrown, should be darker than the object projecting it; and, if the object be round, a reflected light will be found on the edge where it joins the shadow, as in a column.

I placed a chair in the shade, and the sun's _reflection_ threw a _shadow_ from it!

The light of every body is qualified by the ground that surrounds it.

Breadth is acquired by blending the light parts of the figures with the light of the ground; and the same rule will apply to the shadows.

When the ground of the picture is mostly dark, the lights, in my opinion, should take some one or other good decided _form_ in composition, in their developement, as their meaning is only to be explained by themselves. (_Plate 4._)

If a single light or luminous mass be surrounded on all sides by a dark ground, one or more of its edges should be strong and cutting; and if a dark centre be placed on a light ground, if the same management be not observed, it will look like a hole.

Leonardo says 'The ground which surrounds the figures in any painting, ought to be _darker_ than the light part of those figures, and lighter than the shadowed part.'

Great beauty is obtained by laying the shadowed part of an object against a darker ground; the light receiving increased brightness from this arrangement, and the softness of the shadow on the light side being nearly imperceptible, gives great relief and beauty. This mode is much resorted to in the management of portraits, while it equally applies to landscape.

Most _repose_ is obtained by placing a light group or object on the light side of the picture, and dark objects on the dark side, as no interference of the one or the other then occurs to disturb the masses; but the effect will be less than when carried the one into the other, and the difficulty of uniting the two parts become greater.

In some of the best works of Ostade, and many of the Dutch school, a dark figure or group is brought out from a darker background, with great brilliance, and even force, when the colour of the one is cold, and the other warm.

Corregio's management of light and shade placed him in the highest sphere of this department of the art.

An object or figure, having a dark and a light side, the dark side being opposed to the light part of the ground, and the light side coming off the darker part, will have great effect.

When a dark body terminates on a light ground, it will detach itself. If a round object, it will not carry its light to the extremity of its outline, but finish in a half shade, darker than the ground.

A large mass of light in the middle of the picture, surrounded by shadow, is a rule; and, when reversed, has an equally imposing effect. (_Plate 2, fig. 5._)

The largest division of the light and the dark parts of a picture, so they differ in quantity, will of necessity produce the greatest breadth; but the extent and magnitude of that breadth will be entirely qualified by the judicious management employed in producing a union between them.

One greatly approved method of producing this effect is, by bringing the light up to a brilliant focus, and absorbing the shadows into the darkest obscurity; while the larger portion of the work is pervaded by the half light and the half dark, as well as their shadows by strong local colour; while those in the shadow should come out sharp and distinct. The vigour of the light will dissolve all chance of influence in the half tints; while the extreme depth of the shadow, carried perhaps to a little excess, will gather up and absorb all the subordinate shadows. (_Plate 1, figs. 5 and 6._)

Marking, with a stump and bit of black lead, when we are abroad, the principal points, in sketching from nature; and noticing in what manner those points refer to, and assist each other; tracing their effects, and ascertaining the laws that bring them harmoniously, or by contrast, together, is the best method to be pursued for the arrangement of our own ideas in composing. Sketches so obtained, should be preserved as models to exercise the invention by.

A more distinct idea of light and shade is best obtained by the use of one colour only, as many only tend to perplex the eye, and divert the attention from the great object that should be distinctly kept in view.

In laying on the tints (of one colour only), the method to be pursued is as follows:--Mix the separate shades in separate saucers, three, four, or five, as may be required; keep the board you have previously strained the paper on inclined at moderate elevation, that the colour may flow freely; lay in the sky first; the farthest distance next; then all those masses of shadow which principally influence the division and interest of the picture; working downwards to the foreground from the middle distance, using a large brush, filled with colour, to produce clearness and transparency. Then proceed to delicately touch upon the lights, in order to blend them with the shadows, that they may not appear too abrupt, as well as to break down their asperity, and prevent the work looking bald. Now a darker shade than any should be mixed up, to put in the markings of the foliage and foreground, rocks, or whatever the composition may consist of. Lay the whole on with freedom and boldness; and, if any parts require strength, they may be lightly floated over again, when quite dry.

Do not disturb the surface of the paper more than can be avoided; and endeavour to keep all the tints _even_, or flat, in the first instance, without attention to the details. Always mind to take up enough of the colour at once to cover down the space intended, without sweeping it contrary ways. Thick rough paper is the best.

The power of making large masses of flat tints, commonly comes of great practice; it is, therefore, necessary that this difficulty is conquered, before attempting to blend them.

The use of that important thing, in the hands of an artist, the sponge, must be taught and seen to be understood.

The most forcible arrangement in the composition of light and shade is, where it is spread and diffused, until reaching the strongest point; which point, opposed immediately to the most retiring part, and clothed in strong colour, will have the effect of balancing and combining the most complicated forms, that, but for this method, had been all confusion.

If a sketch be too outliny, it will want solidity; if too much filled in, it will be heavy.

Do not let the lights be too scattered, or too equal, lest the struggle for precedence be observed.

When clouds are interposed between the sun and the object, the shadows will be soft, and their terminations almost imperceptible.

C. Hullmandel's Patent.]

In conclusion, the concentration, the diffusion, or the contrast of light and shade, is best understood from a few blots made from the pictures of those great masters, who strike us as having excelled most in this department of the art, carefully preserving their arrangements, and applying them to our own compositions, until we feel and think like them. And a very little practice, in pursuing this method, will place the student in as quick a habit of effecting it, as of writing down his thoughts, together with the immeasurable advantage of snatching from Nature her faultless effects of chiaroscuro--let them be as fleeting as they may--and the lights and shades of _our own minds_ will influence the effect they have on the minds of others.

Is there not practical wisdom in commencing every day with the steady effort to make as much of it as if it were to be our whole existence? If we have duties to perform, in themselves severe and laborious, we may enquire if there be not some way by which to invest them with pleasant associations? How many men find their pleasure in what would be the positive horror and torment of the indolent, whose inefficient and shrinking spirit recoils from these tasks as insupportable burdens?

In exact proportion as you have cultivated your taste and education in this, as in all other things, will be your happiness and enjoyment in your productions.

In a work of this nature, tautology is not altogether unavoidable, as that which occurs in one division of it, equally applies to another.

I shall revert to the subject of light and shade again, under the head of its application to Colour.

ON COLOUR.

COLOUR, perhaps, is one of the most expressive languages we possess--the easiest understood by all.

'Style in painting,' says Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'is, the same as in writing, a power over materials, whether words or colours, by which conceptions or sentiments are conveyed.

'When an opportunity offers, _paint_ your studies, instead of drawing them. This will give you such a facility in using colours, that in time they will arrange themselves under the pencil.

'If painting comprises both drawing and colouring, and if, by a short struggle of resolute industry, the same expedition is attainable in painting as in drawing on paper, I cannot see what objection can justly be made to the practice, or why that should be done in parts which may be done altogether.

'Of all branches of the Art, Colouring is the least mechanical.' We cannot measure colour by lines as we can drawing.

Art is not a thing merely to be admired, and with which the spectator has nothing to do, however much he may suppose it: he has perhaps, unconsciously, as much to do with it as it may have to do with him. A man, wholly regardless of art, will remember having seen a picture twenty years ago, when shown him again: its influence on his memory, his taste, or his passions, could alone effect this.

'Colouring,' says Mr. Burnet, 'must either add to, or diminish the effect of any work upon the imagination; it must add to it by increasing, or diminish it by destroying the deception.' And he farther quotes this passage from Addison: 'We cannot, indeed, have a single image in the fancy that did not make its first entrance through the sight; but we have the power of retaining, altering, and compounding those images, which we have once received, into all the varieties of picture and vision that are most agreeable to the imagination.'

'We can form no idea of colouring beyond what has an existence in nature. From this source all our materials must be drawn.' And again:--'The artist must never forget that the mind is composed of ideas received from early impressions, from perceptions frequently occurring, and from reflections founded on such perceptions. Painting can reach the mind only through the medium of the eye, which must be gratified sufficiently to interest it in the communication.'

There should always exist a corresponding feeling between the subject and the manner of treating it.

The student should at least make himself acquainted with the leading principles of every variety of art; because, 'that which would be applicable to one style, would, in some measure, be destructive to another.' It matters nothing how _low_ the branch or particular walk he has chosen; for it will acquire quite another accent from his acquaintance with the higher, whose powers of fascination will in time imperceptibly infuse something of their own dignity into his works.

Something of this infusion has come down from the greatness, the grandeur, and severity of the Roman and Florentine schools, through all varieties they have passed, to the modern. To reach this, however, the mind must habituate itself to become quite 'disdainful of vulgar criticism,' before it can well feel a congenial sympathy with these high latitudes, as well as having to unlearn much it has acquired.

There are many excellencies in painting not at all compatible with each other, and that should never occur together--not even to gratify that fastidious disposition that is dissatisfied with every thing short of perfection: lightness would seem to want solidity, while precision will have dryness and hardness. The excellencies of others frequently corrupt ourselves: just as one coat, however well made, will not adapt itself to two persons, any more than their talents will blend with and lessen our defects.

There is no particular style or branch of art, that the student may be in pursuit of, that does not possess some excellence or other--that is not alone, or at all, perhaps, to be found in the great manner of the Roman or Florentine schools of colour: in composition, breadth and arrangement (particularly of light and shade), and masterly treatment of colour, the Flemish and Dutch, as will our own school, furnish sufficient instances.

Light and shade, colour, novelty, variety, contrast, and even simplicity, all become defects in their excess!--the spirit of the rules by which they are regulated is to be more observed than their literal sense. It will generally be found sufficient to preserve this spirit of their laws alone, to which our ideas may be proportioned and accommodated.

Colour, in my opinion, is as useful in composition as lines: a few colours, scientifically woven together, will form agreeable composition of themselves.

Warm and cold colours, with their gradations and contrasts, lights and shadows with theirs, agreeing with and opposing each other, all struggling together (but that struggle _unseen_--the art _concealed_!) to the accomplishment of one object--the sweetness of harmony and union of the whole to one end.

OF THE THREE PRIMITIVE COLOURS.

THE Three Primitive Colours are the basis of a perfect system, and may be reduced, in order of degradation, into perfect black. Their communion comprehends all other colours; and their effects, under the influence of light and shade, make pictures.

Yellow is the light; Red, the medium; and Blue, darkness;--colours of themselves, that cannot be produced by the mixture of any other.

Hayter says, in his Compendium: 'Secondly--Yellow, red, and blue contain the sole properties of producing all other colours whatsoever, as to colour, by mixtures arising entirely among themselves, without the aid of a fourth.

'Thirdly--Because, by mixing proper portions of the Three Primitives together, black is obtained, providing for every possible degree of shadow.

'Fourthly--And every practical degree of light is obtained by diluting any of the colours, as above producible; or, in oil painting, by the mixture of white paint.

'Fifthly--All transient or prismatic effects can be imitated with such coloured materials as are of the Three Primitive Colours, but only in the same degree of comparison as white bears to light.

'Sixthly--There are no other materials, in which colour is found, that are possessed of any of the foregoing perfections.

YELLOW.
Yellow and Red make Orange,
ORANGE.
Orange and Green make Olive,
OLIVE.

RED.
Yellow and Blue make Green,
GREEN.
Orange and Purple make Brown,
BROWN.

BLUE.
Red and Blue make Purple,
PURPLE.
Green and Purple make Slate,
SLATE.

'These nine colours are all that are distinguished by integral names.

'Thus it will be seen, that Yellow, Red, and Blue produce--first, Orange, Green, and Purple; and these produce Olive, Brown, and Slate, making nine.

'Yellow, Red, and Blue, make Black.

'And this is the compendium and whole of the system of the degradation of colours into Black, or perfect darkness.

'WARM EFFECT is produced by
'White, Yellow, Orange, Red, Purple, Indigo, Black.
'COLD EFFECT is produced by
'Black, Indigo, Blue, Green, Yellow, Pale Yellow, White.'

* * * * *

The Three Primitive Colours, by the _endless_ varieties of their solvents, regulate, more or less, the whole economy of a picture; and the abundant stores of nature are faithfully imitated by their agency. Thus, the Primitives being red, blue, and yellow, the colours produced by their combination are purple, orange, and green; these, in their turn, may be extended to every tint that exists. The junction of the Three Primitives absorb _all_, and form neutral tint, which, by the addition of quantity, produces black.

All the contrasts are rendered from the same.

And here it may not be out of place to remark how men will devote themselves to many idle pursuits that return them nothing, while a little study of the noble theory of colour would enable them, without pushing the matter far, to bring to their firesides reminiscences of their travels, or, otherwise, spots endeared by circumstances, together with a thousand other agreeable associations. They would learn in time to look at nature through the medium of art, and find a delightful interest in it they never anticipated; while every hour so spent would more and more exercise and mature the judgment.

A knowledge of the natural chalks, or colours of black, white, and red, is indispensably necessary. So, a perfect acquaintance with the Three Primitives, blue, red, and yellow, is of equal consequence; that blue and yellow are brought together by red; and that all mixtures are the scientific result of the union of these three, no _two_ of which will produce the _third_. The result of the mixture of any _two_ gives the _contrast_ to the absent _one_:--as red and blue, producing purple, is the opposite to yellow; blue and yellow make green, the contrast to red; red and yellow, producing orange, contrasts blue; the three, blended together, gives us black: neutral tint is the result of the same mixture. A perfect knowledge of mixing tints, from this scale, will produce all the _compounds_ necessary to art, and their admixtures may be varied _ad infinitum_.

The neutral tint mentioned may be so varied, as to act in perfect union as the _shadow_ to any one of the colours composing it.

The modes or systems of obtaining these results of colour, as practised by the greatest schools, are exceedingly different. Sir Joshua Reynolds says: 'They may be reduced to three. The first may be called the Roman manner, where the colours are of a full and strong body, such as are found in the Transfiguration. The next is that harmony which is produced by what the ancients called the corruption of colours, by mixing and breaking them till there is a general union in the whole: this may be called the Bolognian style. The last manner belongs properly to the ornamental style, which we call the Venetian, being first practised at Venice; but it is perhaps better learned from Rubens. Here the brightest colours possible are admitted with the two extremes of warm and cold, and those reconciled by being dispersed over the picture, till the whole appears like a bunch of flowers.

'As it is from the Dutch school the art of breaking colour may be learned, so we may recommend here an attention to the works of Watteau, for excellence in the florid style of painting.

'To all these manners there are some _general_ rules, that never must be neglected. First, that the same colour which makes the largest mass be _diffused_, and appear to revive in different parts of the picture; for a single colour will make a spot or blot. Even the dispersed flesh-colour, which the faces and hands occasion, requires a principal mass, which is best produced by a naked figure. But where the subject will not allow of this, a drapery, approaching to flesh colour, will answer the purpose; as in the Transfiguration, where a woman is clothed in drapery of this colour, which makes a principal to all the heads and hands of the picture. And for the sake of harmony, the colours, however distinguished in their light, should be nearly of the _same_ simple unity in their shadows; and to give the utmost force, strength, and solidity to the work, some part of the picture should be as _light_, and some as _dark_ as possible. These two extremes are, then, to be _harmonized_ and reconciled to each other. Pure black, in these instances, is opposed to the contrary extreme of brightness.

'If to these different manners we add one more, that in which a _silvery grey_, or pearly tint, is predominant, I believe every kind of harmony that can be produced by colours will be comprehended. To see this style in perfection we must again have recourse to the Dutch school, particularly to the works of the younger Vandervelde, and the younger Teniers, whose pictures are valued by connoisseurs in proportion as they possess this excellence of a silver tint.

'Which of these different styles ought to be preferred, so as to meet every man's ideas, would be difficult to determine, from the predilection which every man has to the mode which is practised by the school in which _he_ has been educated; but, if any pre-eminence is to be given, it must be to that manner which stands in the highest estimation with mankind in general, and that is the Venetian style, or rather the manner of Titian, which simply considered as producing an effect of colours, will certainly eclipse, with its splendour, whatever is brought in competition with it.'

In landscape painting, the routine of placing one colour by the side of another according to any known or understood systems, is not so imperative as when applied to historical painting, and where the manner and effect of any particular school is to be produced.

To institute a comparison between all who have excelled in colouring, would be useless here, differing so entirely. But of _Tone_:--The rich, and the mellow, and the silvery grey, are cared most for, as regards this expression. It involves all colours in its meaning, as well as the depth and power of the light and shade, when divested of colour. It is frequently produced after the picture is painted, by glazing or toning over it until the required depth and expression of colour is obtained, and mostly adding richness, splendour and variety. In water colour it is highly and essentially prized.

A beautiful quality of tone is obtained from drawing on grey or coloured paper, with black, white, and red chalks, the colour of the paper supplying the middle tint, (which should always pervade the largest space). It is likewise an admirable principle to adopt in water colour, as it qualifies the whole appearance of the work, and the student will proceed with greater certainty.

Of the situations in which a colour appears most beautiful, Leonardo says, 'Black is the most so in the shade; white, in the strongest light; blue and green in the half tint; yellow and red in the principal light; gold in the reflexes, and lake in the half tint:' and 'the lighter a colour is in its nature, the more so it will appear when removed to some distance; but with dark colours it is quite the reverse.'

Some colours are rather unsociable, and, not mixing well with others, are best used by themselves, producing the required tint by glazing one over the other.

When any transparent colour is laid over an opaque one, or another of its own quality, it produces a mixture different to either of those that compose it; as lake over blue gives purple; yellow on blue produces green, and so on. In many cases this is a superior method to that of mixing them at once to the colour desired.

White is the receiver of all colours; black of none.

Any single colour appears most beautiful and brilliant when near the same colour, but not having so much density in it. Observe how colours are blended or contrasted in the plumage of birds, the wings of butterflies, &c.

The shifting, blending, and comparing a number of coloured cards, has always been found a useful and amusing way of instructing children in a knowledge of colours.

Different coloured pieces of glass held up against a landscape, will serve to show, through their medium, the varieties of hot and cold effects.

Certain colours impart value to others, principally by contrast; thus, the brilliant and rich glow of an autumnal evening is rendered most intense when the dark brown and neutral masses of foliage are brought up against it: it is only to their relative situations that they owe their power.

That part of a white object which is nearest to a dark one, will appear the whitest, and the less so as it is removed from it. The same occurs by a dark one.

All colours will appear most perfect in themselves when contrasted with their _opposites_--a green against red; blue against yellow; black against white, &c.

Where one colour terminates on another, that is its contrast, there will be greater strength exhibited at the junction than in the middle.

Great darkness is only obtained by the opposition of bright light, and bright light by contrasting it with density of shadow.

Colours should recede in proportion to the _size_ of objects, as they retire from the eye.

Too frequent a repetition of the same colour will produce monotony; so will too much contrast.

Contrasts in colouring must be used with great caution, or the absence of all keeping will be the result. At the same time, the beauty of a colour is only fully developed by being placed by the side of its opposite, or the one from which it is farthest removed.

If the blacks in a picture are kept firm and decided, they _clear up_ the general effect, and give _lightness_ and buoyancy to the whole work.

A colour is often left single, and standing by itself, in some principal object; in which case, it is so contrived, by its density, or some other quality, to bring together and harmonize all the rest.

If colours are not placed in _harmony_ with each other, they must be in contact with such as give them value; as red against a cold, or green against a warm colour. In short, the grand principle, in all its constituent parts, simply amounts to this.

The strongest darks, brought in contact with the strongest lights, increase their brilliance, by giving to the lights the utmost force and clearness they can receive.

_Richness_ of colouring can only be adopted when the general tone of the picture is sufficiently _dark_ to support it.

All colours retire in proportion to their negative or neutral character; and as they develope themselves, gradually approaching to their brightest point, so they reach the prominent parts of the foreground.

Rich, warm, and deep shadows, will support the strongest colours; and if the browns are kept cool, the greys and cold colours retain their purity better. The colours that _unite_ the hot and cold parts of a picture require the nicest judgment: thus, white and black may be brought together by grey, (grey being _made of_ white and black); blue and red, by the interposition of purple, (purple being formed of blue and red.)

The larger the mass employed of neutral and _obscure_ colours, the greater will be the force and illumination in the _clear_ ones, which, being in their natures most attractive, should always be employed in parts intended to create the greatest sensation.

ON GENERAL NATURE.

THE magic of art does not consist in an exact resemblance of an object:--'An exact resemblance,' says Sir Joshua, 'may be even disagreeable. The effect of figures in wax-work, for instance, is disgusting to the eye accomplished to judge of Fine Art, yet it approaches reality. We are pleased, on the contrary, by seeing ends accomplished by seemingly inadequate means; but to express distances on a plain surface, softness by hard bodies, and particular colouring by materials which are not singly of that colour, produces that magic which is the prize and triumph of Art. The power of a few well-chosen strokes, which supersede labour by judgment and direction, produce a complete impression of all that the _mind_ demands in an object; we are charmed with such an unexpected happiness of execution, and begin to be tired with superfluous diligence, which, in vain solicits an appetite already satiated.'

We do not desire those who look on our pictures to suppose them real men and women, or that they are real landscapes; but to admire the art through the _means_ by which it is performed.

I have always observed the most exact imitations of nature to be peculiarly within the sphere of the illiterate and uninformed; and the more debased and vulgar the mind, the more will it admire such productions. On the other hand, Fine Art has its own peculiar modes of imitating Nature and of deviating from it, for the attainment of its own purpose--'Nature to advantage dressed:' the great end of Art is to make an impression on the imagination and the feelings. The imitation of nature frequently does this; sometimes it fails, and sometimes else succeeds. 'I think, therefore,' says Sir Joshua, 'the true test of all Art is not solely whether the production is a true copy of Nature, but whether it answers the end of Art, which is to produce a pleasing effect upon the mind.'

Of the contracted ideas of high-finishers, I think excessive labour is excessive weakness, and vigour can never come from such a source: making every brick of a house appear, has nothing to do with the harmony of the architecture; nothing is so monotonous as these detail and 'bit painters;' their works, taken collectively, are universally effectless and good for nothing; it is, at best, overwrought ingenuity--not Art. The combinations must be generalized; some object in the foreground may partake of this quality of finish, but if other parts of the composition be not proportionably slighted, there will be a want of general harmony. No separate part should possess any preponderance sufficient to absorb the interest of the rest. An analogous combination will alone invest the whole with the charm it conveys collectively, and infinite labour is saved. The high excellencies of painting belong invariably to harmonious combinations.

We frequently observe in the best works, the great effect produced by slightness, which, by a sort of magic, at a distance, assumes complete forms: this is scarcely ever the effect of chance or accident, however it may be made to appear so, but the result of deep and matured study, and a steady attention to the _general_ effect, produced, perhaps, by a few happy scratches, and is 'more laborious to the mind than the highest finishing would be,' accomplishing the purpose intended by a seemingly intuitive perception of what was required, and communicating a lively and vigorous impression to the minds of others by the energies of their own. Extreme labour seldom fails to produce heaviness, while that fascinating lightness of effect is universally occasioned by the absence of it. The slightest and most undetermined manner of treatment often succeeds in producing the best _general_ effect, which effect is as often wholly defeated in the attempt at _finishing_ and blending the colours and details. Some morsel or other is beautifully preserved, but the _whole_ is lost.

The _general_ effect of the stars is all order--all repose; but the _means_ by which this effect is produced is nowhere to be traced!

'The highest style has the least common nature in it:' 'Good sense is not always _common_ sense.'

'We may depart from Nature for a greater advantage. Nature is frequently narrow and confined in her principles, and must as frequently be departed from. Pictures should be painted to give pleasure, and every object which stands in the way of that pleasure _must_ be removed!'

Rubens thought the eye should be satisfied above all other considerations; he, therefore, painted his reflects stronger than Nature would warrant; thereby producing harmony from contrast and variety.

Reynolds, speaking of Claude Lorraine, says, 'Claude Lorraine was convinced that taking nature as he found it seldom produced beauty: his pictures are a composition of the various draughts which he had previously made from various beautiful scenes and prospects.'

The harmony proceeding from contrast and variety of colour is more conspicuous in the landscapes of Rubens, and the gorgeous colouring of the landscapes of Titian, than in Claude--'departing from Nature for a greater advantage!' As in the moonlights of Vanderneer, the pictures of Cuyp and Both, and our own glorious Wilson, Gainsborough, &c. In choosing from among these great manners, we must lean on the observation of Reynolds, when he says, 'An artist is obliged for ever to hold the balance in his hand, by which he must decide the value of different qualities; that when some fault must be committed, he may choose the least.'

There is, beyond all doubt, a grandeur in _general_ ideas, that the narrow conceptions of _individual_ nature can never attain to.

Any subject, however mean or degraded in itself, but painted on a great principle, will acquire splendour and dignity from association.

'Look at Nature! Nature is the true school of Art!' is the universal cry of the vulgar and uneducated. But before their perception is capable of _even seeing Nature_, as it is spread out before them, they will have much to acquire of _Art_: for although Nature is before their eyes, to them it is a closed book! This is no new position, for, says Sir Joshua, 'If our judgment is to be directed by narrow, vulgar, untaught, or rather ill-taught reason, we must prefer a portrait by Denner, or any other high finisher, to those of Titian or Vandyck; and a landscape by Vanderheyden to those of Titian or Rubens; for they are certainly more _exact_ representations of Nature. If we suppose a view of nature represented with all the truth of the camera obscura, and the same scene represented by a great artist, how _little and mean_ will the one appear in comparison of the other, when no superiority is supposed from the choice of the subject.'

And again,--'Amongst the painters, and writers on painting, there is one maxim universally admitted and continually inculcated. Imitate Nature is the invariable rule; but I know none who have explained in _what manner_ this rule is to be understood: the consequence of which is, that every one takes it in the most obvious sense, that objects are represented naturally when they have such relief that they seem _real_. It may appear strange perhaps to hear this rule disputed; but it must be considered that, if the excellence of a painter consisted only in this kind of imitation, painting must lose its rank, and be no longer considered as a liberal art, and sister to poetry--this imitation being merely _mechanical_, in which the slowest intellect is always sure to succeed best! for the painter of genius cannot stoop to drudgery, in which the understanding has no part;--and what pretence has the art to claim kindred with poetry, but its powers over the imagination? To this power the painter of genius directs _his_ aim; in this sense _he studies Nature_, and often arrives at the end, even by being unnatural, in the confined sense of the word. The grand style of painting requires this minute attention to be carefully avoided, and must be kept as separate from it as the style of poetry from that of history. Poetical ornaments destroy that air of truth and plainness which ought to characterize history; but the very being of poetry consists in departing from this _plain narration_, and adopting every ornament that will warm the imagination.

'The Italian attends only to the invariable--the great and general ideas which are fixed and inherent in _universal_ Nature; the Dutch, on the contrary, to _literal_ truth, and a minute exactness in the detail, as I may say, of Nature _modified_ by accident. The attention to these petty peculiarities is the very cause of this naturalness, so much admired in the Dutch pictures, which, if we suppose to be a beauty, is certainly of a lower order, that ought to give place to a beauty of a superior kind, since one cannot be obtained but by departing from the other.'

With the most practised hands, in painting from Nature on the spot, the _hue and character of the artist_ will frequently pervade all his efforts to paint nothing but what _he sees_ spread out before him; and his system, prevailing even to this extent, has this advantage, that accustomed as he is to consider Nature _generally_, his performance may resemble Nature _more at another time_ than that one he painted it at! as Nature seldom looks the _same_ two hours together.

The simple music of a bird may as well be compared to the most refined compositions of the Italian school, that requires the most industrious efforts to reach: both originate in Nature, but the latter is 'Nature to advantage dressed.'

Nature, the best source we can go to for instruction, is '_always at hand_!'--'but Nature herself is not to be too closely copied. There are excellencies in the art of painting beyond what is commonly called the imitation of Nature. A mere copyer of Nature can never produce any thing great; for the works of Nature are full of disproportion.' It is the _beau ideal_ of the mind alone that reaches this great end. It is _comparing_ our observations _on_ Nature, that enables us to acquire this ideal perfection. It is to skill in _selection_, and the separating her beauties from her defects, that qualifies us to reach this grand acquisition, which cannot be reduced to practical principles; but, by being enabled to discover those defects, we learn the art of supplying her wants. 'Correcting Nature by herself--her imperfect state by her more perfect,'--'and Nature denies her instructions to none who desire to become her pupils.'

Young people, and even men and women, who make respectable, and often very excellent _copies_ from the works of others, frequently show me their 'sketches from Nature;'--Oh, if Nature could see them--for, to say they are in general perfectly frightful, is to use the gentlest expression. I invariably trace, in these productions, their _individuality_ is the cause of their unsuccess; and the incapacity to _even see Nature generally_, which must be necessary before they can paint her so.

Thus to abstract as it were her beauties, and to form _one general idea_ of them, in that abstract, is to enlarge the sphere of our understandings, and invest our works with that intellectual grandeur which _alone_ lifts them above the efforts of common minds, by the nobleness of conception, and a higher degree of excellence: while the student may be assured that his reputation will become permanent and universal, from this system of contemplating Nature in the abstract, and ennoble all he undertakes. His picture will have a mental effect over all that is mechanical.

Dr. Johnson has most ably explained the hypothesis, so much urged by his friend, of the necessity of _generalizing_ our ideas of Nature, when he says, 'It is not to examine the individual, but the species; to remark general properties and large appearances: he does not number the streaks of the tulip, nor describe the different shades of the forest; he is to exhibit in his portraits of nature such permanent and striking features, as recall the original to _every_ mind; and must neglect the minuter discriminations, which are alike obvious to vigilance and carelessness.'

The idleness of laborious _finish_, opposed to the overwhelming majesty of _breadth_, cannot be better explained.

ON RULES.

RULES are not principles: Polite learning is only a more specious ignorance: it may do something to make a connoisseur, but will never make a practical painter; while a little knowledge of _principles_ will go farther to make a connoisseur!

A foreign _philosopher_ says, 'A thinking man is a depraved animal.' Both rules and principles are the healthy results of thought, notwithstanding.--Condensation and simplification--shorter methods, and conclusive deductions, are among the results obtained from them.

'There are rules for the conduct of the artist, which are fixed and invariable. The arts would lie open for ever to caprice and casualty, if those who are to judge of their excellencies had no settled principles by which they are to regulate their decisions, and their merits or defects were to be determined by unguided fancy;' which, in the end, would deprive art of its existence.

Reynolds says, 'Whatever is done well is done by some certain rule, otherwise it could not be repeated.'

Rules, pursued beyond their _intention_, become the fetters of the mind: among architects for instance--whose very profession should be a matter of light and shade--I have never known, nor heard of one in my life, who ever obtained even the veriest mediocrity in painting, however otherwise talented. This can only be attributable to their adherence to the rigidity of their rules in their details, beyond their _general_ intention.

Much should oftentimes be conceded to the suggestions of strong inclination in an ingenious and intelligent mind, whose impulses are irresistible, and which any peculiar method would only clog and fetter, by thwarting its particular turn--which, after all succeeds best its own way; and arrives at the same end by its own impulses. Rules apply more properly to such as are not invested with these powers: or, with the same incentives, have not the strength.

ON COPYING.

A SYSTEM of copying, or rather borrowing from the works of others, some _point_, 'from which the imagination may rise and take flight,' is a manner commonly pursued by our best painters. This method is that of really making it our own, by judicious efforts, without the risk of the imputation of plagiarism, which I shall endeavour to make appear.

By the contemplation of what is good in others, 'a sense of the higher excellencies of art will by degrees dawn on the imagination; at every review that sense will become more and more assured, and the artist will then find no difficulty in fixing in his own mind the principles by which the impression is produced; which he will feel and practice, though they are perhaps too delicate and refined to be conveyed to the mind by any other means.'

Sir Joshua, speaking of the great examples of Art, says, 'These are the materials on which Genius is to work, and without which the strongest intellect may be fruitlessly or deviously employed. By studying these authentic models, that idea of excellence which is the result of the accumulated experience of past ages, may be at once acquired; and the tardy and obstructed progress of our predecessors may teach us a shorter and easier way. The student perceives at one glance the principles which many artists have spent their whole lives in ascertaining; and, satisfied with their effect, is spared the painful investigation by which they came to be known and fixed.'

The greatest painters are continually making such memoranda as may be called copying, either from the works of antiquity, or those of their cotemporaries.

Beginning with nothing, we _must_ borrow until we can pay the debt.

'The sagacious imitator does not content himself with merely remarking what distinguishes the different manner or genius of each master; he enters into the contrivance in the composition, how the masses of lights are disposed, the means by which the effect is produced, how artfully some parts are lost in the ground, others boldly relieved, and how all these are mutually altered and interchanged, according to the reason and scheme of the work. He admires not the harmony of colouring alone, but examines by what artifice one colour is a foil to its neighbour; he looks close into the tints, examines of what colours they are composed, till he has formed clear and distinct ideas, and has learnt to see in what harmony and good colouring consists. What is learned in this manner from the works of others becomes really our own, sinks deep, and is never forgotten.

'If the excellence of a picture consists in its general effect, it would be proper to make slight sketches of the machinery and general management of the work. Those sketches should be kept always by you for the regulation of your style. Instead of copying the touches of those great masters, copy only their conceptions. Instead of treading in their footsteps, endeavour only to keep the same road. Labour to invent on their general principles and way of thinking. Possess yourself with their spirit: and work yourself into a belief that your picture is to be seen and criticised by them, when completed. Even an attempt of this kind will rouse your powers.' Again--'But as mere enthusiasm will carry you but a little way, what I propose is, that you should enter into a kind of competition, by painting a similar subject, and making a companion to any picture that you consider as a model; place them together and compare them carefully, and you will detect the deficiencies in your own more sensibly than by any other means of instruction. The true principles of painting will mingle with your thoughts, which will be certain and definitive, and sink deep into the mind. This method of comparing your own efforts with those of some great master, is indeed a severe and mortifying task; to go voluntarily to a tribunal where he knows his vanity must be humbled, and all self-approbation must vanish, requires not only great resolution, but great humility! but it is attended with this alleviating circumstance, which abundantly compensates for the mortification of present disappointment, every discovery he makes, every acquisition to knowledge he attains, seems to proceed from his _own_ sagacity, and thus he acquires confidence in himself, sufficient to keep up the resolution of perseverance. And we prefer those instructions which we have given to ourselves, from our affection to the instructor.'

The perception of errors shortens the road to truth. 'Cease to follow any master when he ceases to excel.' Avoid that narrowness and poverty of conception which attends a bigoted admiration of a single master! We will suppose 'those perfections which lie scattered among various masters, are now united in one general idea, which is henceforth to regulate his taste and enlarge his imagination, extending his capacity to more general instructions, he must now consider the _art_ itself as his master. At all times, and in all places, he should be employed in laying up materials for the exercise of his art, to be combined and varied as occasion may require; seeking only to know and combine excellence, wherever it is to be found, into one idea of perfection; and employing the most subtle disquisition to discriminate perfections that are incompatible with each other. The habitual dignity which long converse with the _greatest minds_ has imparted to him, will display itself in all his attempts, and he will stand among his instructors, not as an imitator, but a rival. The more extensive your acquaintance is with the works of those who have excelled, the more extensive will be your powers of invention; and, what will appear still more like a paradox, the more original will be your conceptions.'

Again:--'By the devotion with which many study a particular master, they acquire a habit of thinking the same way; therefore, let his faults always be your best instructors.'

The firm, correct and determined pencil of many of the Dutch masters, cannot be too strongly recommended for imitation. I speak of the mechanism of painting: the expression, force and energy they gave to their works, from the decision of touch and handling, which enabled them to give that look of nature and freshness of reality to their studies, that forms so great an excellence in their performances. The study of Ostade, Teniers, and many others of that school, cannot fail to enrich our own works with variety of invention, and 'those who have not looked out for themselves in this manner from time to time, have not only ceased to advance and improve, but have invariably gone backward, from being left without resources;' and having gathered nothing, have nothing to work upon--from an inability to infuse into their own works what they have neglected to learn from the contemplation of the works of others. It places you under the guidance of your own judgment and discretion by comparison with the best efforts of others; it enables you 'to criticise, compare, and rank their works in your own estimation, as they approach to, or recede from, the standard of perfection which you have formed in your own mind--but which those masters themselves have taught you to make, and which you will cease to make with correctness when you cease to study them. It is their excellencies which have taught you their defects, and you will, henceforth, be your own teacher.' Be cautious against the 'imaginary powers of native genius, and sufficiency in yourself, which seldom fails to produce either a vain confidence or a sluggish despair, both equally fatal to all proficiency.

'Study, therefore, the great masters for ever: study nature attentively, but always with those masters in your company; consider them as models which you are to imitate, and, at the same time, as _rivals_ with whom you are to contend;' and you will insensibly come to feel and reason like them, and find taste imperceptibly formed in _your own mind_.