Chapter III: Part 3

By the industry of the hand you will acquire good manner, but it is to the industry of the mind you will be indebted for any solid reputation.

'He who does not know others, knows himself very imperfectly.'

_Wrongly directed_ industry is a dangerous delusion. Too much copying will, on the other hand, greatly tend to impair our mental exertions, render them servile and mechanical, and confine, at the most, our aspirings to a very limited sphere, while it is utterly at variance in establishing any claim of our own to originality or distinction. Studying the _genius_ of a fine work of art, its _general_ forms, its combinations, its chiaroscuro, its colour and effect; and with all these on our minds, going home and making a companion to it, is a noble and lofty aim, frequently attended with entire success. This excellent practice, diligently persevered in, at length brings our sympathies into a corresponding train of ideas with those we would emulate; and if we cannot reach them in their various excellencies, so we succeed in lighting our torch at those glorious beams of old, our advances are at least entitled to that respect they universally meet with. An abject imitation is of all things that I should avoid. But that _reading of_, and conversing with a picture, that almost places us under a delusion, during the time we are under its influence; that associating our feelings and ideas--that blending of our aspirations with the master mind that thought and wrought so well, is the surest hemisphere in which we can hope to think and paint like them. The student's perceptions become annealed by the influence of the charm that invests him: he aspires to a higher latitude of excellence: he beholds before him the ripest fruit on the topmost palm, and he knows the principles and the laws by which he _can_ reach it, and _does_ reach it, by the agency of, and the gradual developement of the simple rules he commenced with.

It often happens, and it is my opinion, that a careless scribbler, who dashes at everything, stands quite as good a chance of becoming original, as the most careful copyist ever will; after the very first attempts, too much precision stands sadly in the way of boldness, freedom and dexterity. After being enabled to draw with some degree of accuracy, _mannerism_ will invariably be the result of the extreme care so universally recommended by most writers on the subject; and hence that excess of it we daily observe; for it requires but a very common-place observer, on entering an exhibition, to point to a picture and name the painter at the same moment: presuming he had ever seen a work by the same artist before.

Reynolds says of copying, 'I consider general copying as a delusive kind of industry; the student falls into the dangerous habit of imitating, without selecting, and of labouring without any determinate object; as it requires no effort of the mind, he sleeps over his work, and those powers of invention and composition which ought particularly to be called out, and put in action, lie torpid and lose their energy for want of exercise. How incapable those are of producing anything of their own who have spent much of their time in making finished copies, is well known to all who are conversant with our art.'

ON THE LIGHT AND SHADE OF COLOUR: AND REFLEXES.

COLOUR is called in aid of Light and Shade, to dress and ornament it; but not to distort and disfigure it.

Extending either the light or shadow by means of _colour_, is perhaps one of the best ways of combining both.

Breadth of light and shade may involve _many_ colours in its arrangement, so they are divided into imposing masses; variety of colour is often necessary to explain the localities of a work; and, that they may not appear confused, light colours should be sociable with light colours; and dark ones with others of equal density: their repetitions invading each other throughout the chain.

Great _intimacy_ of union, in the colour of the lights, will likewise produce breadth; so as to make a large and connected mass appear, at a little distance, as one graduated light.

Colours may stand either for colours or shadows; so that they be of sufficient density, and sufficiently opposed to light ones.

But, if you do not depend on the colour of the picture for effect of light and shade, _much less_ intensity of colours will be sufficient.

The _strongest_ colours are sometimes most successfully employed in uniting the light with the shade.

In the conduct of light, I conceive the objects which receive its influence, should, of all things, as much as possible, partake of the colour of that light, as seeming more like an extension of it, and looking more natural:--thus, in a church, all the parts receiving the light from a painted glass window, would partake of its varieties of colour. The rising and setting of the sun turns all to gold, by the same alchymy, while it acts as an uniting link in carrying the colour through the picture: these, in their turn, throw their radiating reflects in a thousand other directions, keeping up and sustaining the communicative principle of the whole--imparted by the primitive cause and its agency.

The colouring of a picture should always be in _harmony_ with its light and shade.

The lights will require to be overcharged with colour, if the shadows are too heavy and loaded; on their transparency depends the beauty of both.

The shadows must be _darker_ than the shadowed sides of the objects which project them; for the reason explained in the article on Light and Shade.

The masses of light should be of warm colours, yellow or red, supported by blue or grey in the shadows; a very small proportion of which will generally be found sufficient.

The _real_ colour of an object is only seen in the light. All shadows should partake, more or less, of the colour of the light. That shadow will appear the darkest that is surrounded by the brightest light.

The nearer a colour is to the eye, the purer it will appear; arraying itself as it retires, with the colour of the air interposed between it; consequently, the purest colours should only occur in foregrounds,--where the shadows, for the same reason, would likewise be darkest.

The colour of a light will be stopped at the part where any reflex reaches it. We see mountains covered with snow, at sunset, from the effulgence of its rays, make the horizon appear all on fire.

Distant mountains appear more deeply blue, according to the extent of the azure of the air interposed between them and the eye. All masses in the distance partake, more or less, of this quality.

'The vapours mixing with the air, in the lower region near the earth, render it thick, and apt to reflect the sun's rays on all sides, while the air above remains dark; and because light (white) and darkness (black) mixed together, compose the azure that becomes the colour of the sky--which is lighter or darker, in proportion as the air is more or less mixed with damp vapours.'

Shadows produced by the redness of the setting sun, will be blue; from the reflexes of that part of the air not illumined by its rays.

If the sun is overcast, the lights will be general; so will the shadows. If the sunbeams burst out, and strike the objects in a landscape, the shadows will then be dark in _proportion_ to the lights. The brilliant edges of the clouds all assist the general illumination; and all objects in the light, will participate of _their_ colour from reflexion. On the contrary, those parts not included in the range of rays, remain the colour of the _air_.

The air partakes less of the azure of the sky as it approaches the horizon, being more remote from the sun than that part of it above our heads, which receives a larger portion of its rays. The horizon will be light, while, in ascending to the meridian, it becomes, from this cause, deeper and bluer. So the nature of all colours diminish in proportion as density of air is interposed between them and the eye.

Reflected colours, thrown from, and upon, equal angles, will be the strongest: the most distinct, being produced by the shortest ray.

No reflected colour will have the brilliance of a direct one. For, if a reflected light from a blue object be thrown on a yellow one, the result would be green:--green being composed of blue and yellow. This circumstance refers to most mixtures.

It only happens to those colours which are on a _level_ with the eye, that their gradation is in proportion to their distance. As to those of elevation, they are influenced by the quality of the air they are seen through.

Colours, whose nearest approach is to black, as they retire into distance, partake most of the azure of the air:--and those colours most dissimilar to black, preserve their proper colour as they recede. The golden lights on distant mountains or fields will best explain this. 'The green, therefore, of the fields will change sooner into blue, than yellow or white, which will preserve their natural colour at a greater distance than that, or even red.'

'It may happen that a colour does not alter, though placed at different distances, when the thickness of the air and the distance are in the same inverse proportion.'

_Masses_ of shadow carry the strongest part of their colour to the greatest distance; as when trees appear thick together, accumulating the shadow on each other, they become darker by multiplying those shadows.

'The darker a mountain is in itself,' says Leonardo, 'the bluer it will appear at a great distance. The highest part will be the darkest, being more woody; because woods cover a great many shrubs and other plants, which never receive the light. Near the tops of those mountains, where the air is thinner and purer, the darkness of the woods will make it appear of a deeper azure than at the bottom, where the air is thicker.'

'In general, all objects that are darker or lighter than the air are discoloured by distance, which changes their quality, so that the lighter appears darker, and the darker lighter.'

Colours are more or less _entirely_ lost at a great distance from the eye, according to the purity or density of the air through which they are revealed, or as they are more or less elevated from the earth, merging as they retire into a general grey, occasioned by the quantity of the intervening air. In countries where the air is thin, colours are discernible at great distances, but still tinged with the colour of that air.

The _darkest_ colours, in distance, will be most of all impregnated with the colour of the air. So will the _strongest_ real or accidental shadows.

Colours and outline are best defined on objects placed _out_ of the strong light of the sun, and its reflexes. In sunshine, both are operated on by refraction, which occasions that chaotic indistinctness so painful for the eye to dwell on long together.

Every body, on which light falls, reflects a part of it back again. Any thing red, held before a looking-glass, gives back a portion of its own colour with great vividness; as a glass would throw the sun's ray on a wall.

The real colour of polished surfaces are lost in the colour of the light that falls on them. This likewise applies to all metals.

All smooth or shining surfaces repel the light they receive, throwing their reflexes on any thing opposed to them.

Polished surfaces, as in plate or armour, do not show their real colours. The reflected colours of the sun or air that shines on them confuse their own. Rough surfaces, on the contrary, retain their natural colours most.

Suppose the sun to equally illumine two sides of a street, as it passes its centre, and on one side is a red house, and opposite to it a white one, the white one would be impinged with the reflection from the action of the light on the red one: thus, all proximity of colours affect each other, in the light, in the manner of reflexes, declining as they recede. The reflected lights in folds of silk draperies illustrate this phenomenon best.

Compare the shadows thrown on different colours with each other, by placing a number of coloured materials in a dark place, the colours of shadows being regulated by the objects giving and receiving them.

Examine well the colours in the shadows of flowers; they present the most excellent combinations.

All colours, as at night, may be lost in that of the general shadow, presuming it dark enough to destroy all reflexes.

Colours reflected on by their _opposites_ will become neutralized; as green against red, purple against yellow, &c.

The shadows on all objects partake of the colour of the light, or are qualified by other lights throwing their reflects into them.

The lightness or darkness of shadows are entirely regulated by the colour of the objects on which they fall.

An object painted in a light colour will be more or less light, according to the strength of its shadow, from the consequences attending opposition.

So a light figure, laid upon a light background, but differing in colour--as a warm object on a grey sky--assists, in the greatest degree, the preservation of the breadth. Opposition of colour is, perhaps, of most use under these circumstances.

Colours on the figures or parts brought into notice by opposition may be sometimes applied with sufficient _depth_ and intensity as to advantageously take the place of _shadows_ or darks.

Light and shade may be produced by the influence of _colours alone_, judiciously applied; the reds and yellows supporting the lights, while the blues, greys, and cold colours form the retiring portions, or such as would otherwise be in shadow.

Suppose a picture, composed of one part shade and the other light--the light being warm, and the shadow composed of cold colours--a red or warm-coloured figure laid against the shadowed side, and a blue one brought out from the light, would, in addition to possessing the greatest force of colour, have a spirited and imposing effect. But the _contrary_ treatment would possess the greatest breadth and repose;--a dark figure laid on the mass of shadow (a point of which, being darker than the rest, would gather it together), and a light one on the light, having a point still higher in colour than the ground.

Rich, deep, and warm shadows are required to support strong coloured lights. So, strong colours are equally useful in focussing the shadows, or in giving them variety.

That beautiful diffusion of _aeriel_ and fluctuating _pearly_ reflections, that play equally over the surfaces of the strongest colours, shadows, and lights, in the tenderest hues and forms, and with which all nature appears invested, should engage our deepest attention and enquiry, as their properties so softly blend and break down the harshness and influence of positive colour, and the asperity of opposing tints, by tempering them with their airy and luminous sweetness.

If the general harmony or _hue_ of a picture is warm, the deepest shadows should be warm also; while the _strongest_ colour, being brought into the middle space, will serve to connect both the light and the shadow. Indian red, in most instances, should be the mixing medium, using cold colours _sparingly_, and _only_ where they are wanted as a _foil_; as the greens of trees are set off from the rich brown shadows, producing a splendid effect, and bringing the hot and cold colours into harmony.

Colours, forming the middle tint and shadows, should always be warm; though the light may be cold, the effect will be beautiful.

Warm shadows will support the _strongest_ colours.

I generally observe that Titian, Rubens, and the best colourists, use their reds in the shadows, at once to support and give them brilliance;--for when it happens that the shadows of a picture are wholly made up of warm colours, the effect is sure to be splendid, though the lights are cold;--considering red, perhaps, too _strong_ a colour to interfere with the _light_, at the risk of destroying its breadth. Their manner was often that of deepening the colour as it lost or absorbed itself in the background.

Every object receiving the light of the sun, receives likewise the _general_ light, producing _two_ shadows, the darkest one being occasioned by the sun.

When the horizon is tinged with red by the rays of the setting sun, the distant shadows, being blue or azure, mingling with the red, produces purple.

The air between the earth and the sun, when it rises or sets, invests all objects with a degree of obscurity, which is whiter on the earth than towards the zenith.

When the vapours descend to the earth at sunset, all objects that the sun's rays do not reach become confused and dark; but those that are tinged with its light will appear of the colour of that light, and distinctly marked in their outlines, though surrounded by obscurity.

The magnificence of the setting sun, gilding with its rays the slopes of mountains and tops of forests, towns, villages, and waters, while all below is lost in deep brown, grey, and purple masses, has ever been a favourite subject with painters of all schools.

The inferior or lower parts of all objects, when the air is thickest on the earth, will appear farther from the eye than the tops.

In looking down from an eminence on a street or town when the air is thick, the tops of the buildings will be darker, more distinct and articulate than the objects placed at the bottom, which, being filled with air, the tops come off it (as a ground) with more decision.

When the sun is veiled by clouds, in a landscape, the trees receiving a general light, the darkest parts will be the lowest.

Although the trees and fields may be of the same colour, the trees will always seem darker than the fields, from their quantity of shadow, notwithstanding every blade of grass has _its_ shadow.

The tops of all mountains will be more clearly defined than their bases, becoming more and more so as they rise into the thinner and purer regions of the air; and, as they still rise to their highest summits, the more they develope their form and colours.

All buildings will appear darker at the top than the bottom, from the lower parts being surrounded with thicker air of a lighter colour.

Buildings, or other objects, seen through a fog, only develope those sides which are reflected on by the sun; the other parts remain the colour of the fog. Beautiful combinations of silvery grey and golden reflections, on foliage, windows, boats, water, &c. may be made under these circumstances. As the outline becomes confused or lost, so the objects seen through it acquire magnitude. The fog and the object being both near the eye, its density will occasion the object to appear at a great distance.

Objects of all sorts, seen through rain, have an indistinct and undetermined outline, sometimes becoming greatly confused.

If the observer is placed _between_ the sun and a cloud of dust or smoke, they will appear dark. If they are seen between the sun and the eye, they will be light and transparent. This equally applies to the effects produced by fog.

Some artists represent water very dark or very light. It can neither be darker nor lighter than the surrounding objects which occasion its shadows.

If water is muddy or thick, the shadows of a bridge or boat would be projected _on_ it, as it would be on the ground. But if, on the contrary, the water is clear and transparent, all reflections are formed in it, as they would be in a looking-glass, and no lateral shadows occur.

How much _bluer_ the sea appears from on board ship than it does from the shore; because, _at sea_, the blue of the waves is reflected on the eye.

All objects in the distance, which are near a river or water, will appear less distinct than those that are remote from it.

All distances should have their outlines confused and unfinished, while foreground objects should be bold and determined.

Objects appear most remote that are divested of their outline, as in Turner's pictures--giving the idea of space and largeness.

Of the beauty of reflexes, Da Vinci says: 'If you mean the proximity of one colour should give beauty to another that terminates near it, observe the rays of the sun in the composition of the rainbow, the colours of which are generated by the falling rain, when each drop in its descent takes every colour of the bow.'

Displaying the various colours that compose either the light or the shade, or lights and darks, that are to stand as such, into _large_ and subtly interwoven portions,--the blending and the opposition of hot and cold colours, and of light with dark, together with strict attention to their strength and relations (for the most discordant and opposite properties will produce harmony, under certain circumstances and arrangement), so that the _masses_ of light and shade, and the _breadth_ of the whole, are not disturbed,--are the leading circumstances that should engage the anxious attention.

HARMONY AND CONTRAST.

HARMONY, as in Nature, is the agreeable _accordance_ of the various colours that form the _parts_ of a scene into a _whole_; divested, in their dispersion, of their harshness by the everywhere surrounding atmosphere: this may be tested by holding a piece of silk, the _exact colour_ of the grass at our feet, up against a field, when the field will become _grey_ in comparison.

The exact degree of strength, or of tone, greatly tend to reconcile the harmony of a picture.

Harmony consists more in the power of bringing colours together, than in the mere arrangement of the colours themselves.

Burnet, in his excellent Treatise, says--'When a picture is composed of the two _extremes_ of hot and cold, we are certain of having employed the whole strength of the palette; and, if judiciously used to assist the chiaroscuro, an harmonious union will be kept up between these opposite qualities, more forcible and splendid than by the _intervention of middle tint_;' but immediately after he adds--'In producing variety and contrast, we ought never to lose sight of that imperceptible harmony arising from the union of two colours in producing a _third_, composed of both. Whether this be founded on any law existing in optics, or is merely the result of that sympathy which one colour has to another in producing harmony, we know not.'

Any colour _too often_ repeated, will destroy its value in proportion to its repetition; but a continuation of the same colour carried with tact through the picture, from the highest light to the deepest shade, and strongly relieved by some colour of a different nature, produces the beautiful effect so admired in the Dutch and Flemish sketches of Vandyke and others; arising from the rich brown gradations, brought up to a 'high pitch' of red or yellow, or yellowish white, and subdued by a little cool grey, merging into blue or green.

Strong colours are generally more usefully applied in supporting the general whole, than by being employed on the more prominent parts of it. They are equally useful in focussing the shadows, or in giving them variety.

If the mixture of many colours be unharmonious and disturbed, perplexity and confusion will be the result.

When the general character of a picture is of a cool grey, its influence upon the eye is of a very agreeable description, from its tender and soft transitions; but its spirit is roused into energy at once by the introduction of a warm colour; increasing, by its opposition of character, the harmony of the whole. A red cloak on a figure crossing a field will explain this.

In Du Fresney I find we 'are not to let two hostile colours meet without a medium to unite them.' Notwithstanding which, we see the contrary practised with the greatest success;--blue brought against red, for instance, the value of each increasing as they antipathize.

The hot and cold colours--the balancing power produced by their combinations--the arrangement that gives to every object its _place_ and value, are the principal circumstances that should engage the attention, when contemplating the works of the best colourists, or on gazing at a scene in Nature.

If the colouring of a picture is _too_ harmonious, it will want solidity.

EFFECT, ACCIDENT, RELIEF, AND KEEPING.

IN Effect, the means are widely different indeed which lead to the same result! Rembrandt, with his concentrated light and wide diffusion of shade--Rubens, and his school, with his splendid extension of light and of colour--Vandyke, with the Dutch and Flemish painters--Titian--all arrive at the same end, although by the most opposite means. Some aim at a particular effect; others at a general one, proceeding from different combinations, and different views and ideas. All effects should be consistent with the subject treated. The effect will be more or less bad as the parts which are to constitute it are more or less scattered or diffused. Masses of light, supported and brought out by masses of shadow, are the surest means of producing it. Effect is procured by the strongest opposition, and sometimes by the reverse. Arrangement and Expression is, in historical composition, much the same thing that Effect is in landscape-painting. On the other hand, particular effects mostly arise from circumstance. Sudden and startling effects are not unfrequently produced by a piece of charcoal on brown or grey paper; beautiful ones by the simple operation of the black lead pencil or stump, until we trace it up to the whole range of the palette, in the most splendid and magnificent efforts of colour.

Every part of a picture should occasion pleasure in detail! If we are fascinated with the colour of the highest or prevailing light, the most anxious care should be exercised that its influence does not destroy our admiration of the others: to avoid this prejudice, the principal light, or colour of it, should not be so influential as to prevent the eye being gently led away from it, by the repetition of a softer grade of its own, to others of a less imposing quality: that _must_ of necessity be there, to give value to, and influence the importance of the principal.

Effect consists in either lights and shadows, or _colours_, so massed and blended in their arrangement, as to produce breadth.

The greatest power of Effect is often produced from the most simple materials. All the force of the palette, and all the strength of the master, is not unfrequently called into action by no other materials than a straight horizon meeting the sky, supported by an undulating line or two; and exemplifying the most scientific manoeuvres in the management of breadth, and in diversity of colour, on which the eye loves to dwell, and repose from the fatigue occasioned by a repetition of forms.

A dark object, placed against the most retiring or lightest part of the picture, while it acquires all the startling effect to be derived from great force, and is a resource so much adopted by the greatest landscape-painters, often, in my opinion, destroys the whole keeping of the work. Bringing such strong objects up against the sun, was the great vice of Claude; Cuyp and Both managed it better, but certainly not always with success.

KEEPING is a term in art which implies that every object and colour should be in its place;--the object, its exact space to stand on, and the colours in strict harmony and accordance; each possessing the exact _strength_ which belongs to its situation in the picture.

RELIEF, and occasionally CHIARO-SCURO, which, by its arrangement of light and shade, describes the necessary forms that are to be revealed: this may likewise be effected by light and dark _colours_ alone, or by opposition of colours and sharp contrasts.

The highest point or mass of the light, from which the gradations radiate, should be kept very pure, allowing as little of the shade tint to insinuate itself as possible.

If the lights of a picture are _few_, it will mainly contribute to its breadth and repose:--if _many_, or _scattered_, the result will be confusion. I say, to keep the leading mass of light pure and _clean_, should employ our deepest attention.

When the attention is to be fixed to a particular object, the degree of power given to the accessories will alone establish its degree of consequence: but it must not be wholly insulated; those accessories, being the medium of its own importance, must contribute all to assist it to its place, without weakening its force or imparing its character; as the middle tints find their value and clearness only by the strength of the lights, and the depths of the darks.

Pictures, painted in a 'light key,' possess many advantages:--

Great breadth of Effect is produced by placing the principal mass of shadow on, or rather immediately under, the horizon; graduating upwards into the clouds, and downwards, in a long angle, to a broad light on the base line; on which a figure or any other object, however small, but darker than the rest, being placed, will produce an effect that has become extremely popular of late. This is equally applicable to landscape or sea pieces; and was a favourite arrangement of A. Vandervelde. When the picture is mostly made up of half tint, his manner was to throw all the power of the palette into his figures; bringing them out strong, dark, and cutting on the foreground; and, in the retiring groups, diminishing the force as little as possible; keeping the shadows flat, and a little weaker in colour. This management produces one of the most powerful daylight effects, though not so aerial; but the sacrifice of the last is as nothing to the want of the former. Atmospheric effect is scarcely missed when the whole is on so light a key, as the quantity of half tint employed renders it.

Most of the Dutch landscape painters seem universally agreed on this arrangement, as having that beautiful contrast of force and softness we so often see in coast scenes, and leaving so large a space as two-thirds of the picture for the luminous forms of the clouds.

Broken heaths, road scenes, corn-fields, boats on the water, with their forcible and deep shadows, fishermen on the sands, all readily adapt themselves to this manner; which, likewise, from the light tone that pervades the whole, requires the strongest opposition and contrast of colour--so that the colours be carried well through the picture; that is, if the ground be warm, a figure in blue placed in the foreground may be carried out by being repeated in the blue of the water, and so into parts of the sky, &c. And, on the other hand, if the ground be cool grey, as in a river scene, the boats may be yellow, and the figures red, carried up and diffused into the warm lights of the sky, or striking on the sandy shore and distant buildings, and even reaching the birds in the air--all will help to convey the colours through the work.

In working out this system, let the lights be bright, and their shadows strong and forcible, keeping the middle tints tender, airy, and delicate. A few trials on this plan will soon convince the student of the beauty and real look of daylight it has over many others.

In examining the works of Cuyp, when the picture is painted on a light key, he is sure to make use of very strong colour, to clear up and give vigour to the whole, in his figures; serving, at the same time, to invest the general mass with air, breadth, and extent.

Rembrandt thought it of more consequence to paint light, than the objects seen by it.

'Titian's great care was to express the general colour, to preserve the masses of light and shade, and to give, by opposition, the idea of that solidity which is inseparable from natural objects. When these are preserved, though the work should possess no other merit, it will have, in a proper place, its complete effect; but where any of these are wanting, however minutely laboured the picture may be in detail, the whole will have a false, and even an unfinished appearance, at whatever distance, or in whatever light it can be shown. It is in vain to attend to the variations of tints, if in that attention, the general _hue_ is lost, or to finish ever so minutely the parts, if the masses are not observed, or the _whole_ not well put together. And those who will examine into the artifice, will find it to consist in the power of _generalizing_, and the shortness and simplicity of the means employed;' and in fixed principles, our general ideas predominating over our individual.

Rubens, in his splendid manner, involved all the schools--Roman, Dutch, and Venetian! yet, with all this magnificence and variety, possessed repose.

ACCIDENT.--Accident often comes in aid of invention. In nature, all objects by daylight are equally illumined; the painter has, therefore, always found it necessary to avail himself of accident, whenever it may occur: shadows, in particular, reflected upon one object by another; large floating masses of light or shade thrown across a mountain, a flat country, or an open sea, by the passing clouds as they sail by; flashes and streaks of light, as they struggle from between them, &c., are all adapted to work out the general effect. Where the _forms_ of a composition are _insufficient_, this is the usual resource, these accessories generally supplying grandeur and elevation to the scene. All catching lights should be laid hold of with equal tenacity. The clearing off of a shower is particularly favourable to this useful auxiliary.

DEXTERITY AND AFFECTATION.

A CONTEMPTIBLE species of affectation in the form of a _dashing dexterity_--used, in most instances, to confuse and mystify bad drawing, conceal ignorance of principles, and all the higher excellencies a painter should have studied and brought to aid his work--has been so widely diffused of late, that a notice of this splashing attainment may not be out of place in a work of this kind. I have heard of 'snatching a grace beyond the reach of art,' but could never comprehend its meaning.

It is 'natural to be more captivated with what is brilliant than with what is solid, and to prefer splendid negligence to painful and humiliating exactness.'

Mere novelty and peculiarity, having no other merits, when it ceases to be new, it ceases to have value.

That which is solely addressed to the _eye_, is certainly inferior to that which is addressed to the imagination.

If too much indulgence is given to peculiarity, _mannerism_ will be sure to be the result!

'A facility in composing, a lively and masterly handling, are captivating qualities to young minds: they endeavour to imitate these dazzling excellencies, and, after much time spent in the frivolous pursuit, find, when too late, the difficulty of retreat; and there is scarce an instance of return to scrupulous labour, after the mind has been deceived by this fallacious mastery. By this useless industry, whilst boys, they have arrived at their _utmost perfection_; they have taken the shadow for the substance; and make the mechanical felicity the chief excellence of the art, whilst it is one of the most dangerous sources of corruption. They wish to find some shorter path to excellence, and hope to obtain the reward of eminence by other means than those, which the indispensable rules of art have prescribed. But whatever the force of genius may be, there is no _easy_ method of becoming a good painter.'

There is no mechanism in painting; for those, who by a clever handling, possess this quality to the greatest perfection, are rarely found to excel in the higher realities of art.

It is to the _whole_--the absolute and entire impression--the disposition of pictorial matter and auxiliaries, that imply ability and power in their treatment.

Do not let the love of novelty induce you to leave the beaten path of excellence; for all endeavours to surprise and please by that which is uncommon or new, will be attended with defeat; a matter, oftener the result of idleness and caprice, than the striking effect of a mind well-regulated and devoted to study.

Style, manner, handling, are for the most part matters of tact, distinguishing one painter from another, quite as much as one man's manners are known from another's. Where the inferior and subordinate pursuit of skill in _handling_ or execution is aimed at, it tends universally to form a _mannerist_; and this is the greatest evil of our time. Instead of elevating the mind to the quality of the _whole_, it degenerates into an abject and curious species of imitation of the parts, or of some one thing in particular the artist feels he can do cleverly; sacrificing to this 'industrious idleness,' correctness of drawing, character, expression, and elevation of style. In a word, it is mechanics, and not art! Grandeur, sublimity, simplicity, all fly from this one evil.

Style comprehends the whole of a picture, in all its mysterious or simple workings--its moral character--its elevation, or its degeneracy.

Decision, spirit, and freedom of execution and expertness of handling, opposed to feeble uncertainty, have great charms, in common with all excellencies; yet, so delusive is this species of fascination, that it becomes imperious to be guarded against it. The _end_ must not be sacrificed to the means!

OF BACKGROUNDS.

'ONE of the principal and most important parts of painting, is the nature and quality of backgrounds;' from which any round or solid body is to detach itself; and this may be so contrived that both may be of the same colour; 'because the convex sides of solid bodies do not receive the light in the same manner as the ground does, being lighter or darker than the ground.'

Different colours, or degrees of light in the background, can alone separate the object from it. They will become more detached as they differ from the colour of the object to be relieved.

The greatest relief is acquired by a ground of a _neutral_, or undetermined colour. But the object that is to stand out from it, depends wholly on its light and shade for relief.

According to the ground which surround colours, they will appear different to their natures. Flesh will look palest on a red ground: and a pale colour, redder on a yellow ground: and so on, always deriving their character from the surrounding one.

If any object in a composition does not sufficiently assert its place, instead of heightening the colour of it, it is generally more advisable, as the case may be, to subdue the power of its background.

The outlines of figures should be sketched with either the shadow-colour, or the colour of the ground, on which they are laid; strengthening them according to their situations.

A very useful resource, in painting, is often to look at your picture in a looking-glass, whose reflection is a _copy_ of the picture; and the picture, being a _copy_ from nature, a kind of analogy is established: they are both on even superfices, and both give the idea of something _beyond_ their superfices. In viewing your picture in this manner, keep one eye shut: seeing from both eyes surround the objects too much.

Looking at your picture through the medium of a glass, blackened on one side, will, in divesting it of colour, show only its light and shade. This is a capital way of ascertaining if the latter is right.

In painting, it is a good plan to leave _all you can_ to the imagination! it is _flattering_ to the beholder; it gives him latitude for the exertion of his own mind; and _he_ will supply, better than _you_, what you wanted, entirely to his own satisfaction--and, of course, to yours: deprive him of this, and you seldom fail to imbue him with apathy. _His_ imagination assumes characters and forms of its own; you have set it painting: he _finishes_ your picture, and is happy, because he has had something to do with it; and he will not quarrel with you, lest he should blame himself.

Painting should possess 'brilliancy without gaudiness, solidity without harshness, truth without familiarity, and sweetness without insipidity; all conjoined in the greatest breadth of colour.'

If a work possess the known and admitted excellencies of painting, although in the smallest and most moderate degree, it will have the peculiar appearance of _looking well_, which the want of them would quite invest with another character. The _faults_ of a great mind, capable of the greatest beauties, will never appear to have a vulgar origin.

It is just possible a picture may possess no defects, nor any beauties; but he who thinks entirely for himself, will give to his work an appearance of originality; he will be consistent with _himself!_ even faults will appear with some lustre in those to whom they are quite natural.

In conclusion, jealously endeavour to ascertain if any thing has been admitted, or omitted, that, consistent with these rules, may prejudice the general harmony of the work in the _ensemble_.

If I have made use of any contradictory observations, it was because I was impressed with the usefulness of their application to the principle described; in which matter I may take shelter under the noblest authorities of the Italian, English, or French, who have written on art. I likewise trust I have said nothing the student will have to unlearn.

In a word, the grandest, the most exalted principle requires no more _time_ to become master of than the lowest and the worst! And, 'As no school ever excelled the Dutch--combining in itself all the excellencies of the Italian--painters should go to the Dutch and Flemish schools to learn the art of painting, as they would go to a grammar-school to learn languages.'--'A close examination of their works will give us that experience of the principles on which they wrought, in a _very_ short space of time, which cost them ages to ascertain.

'The frequent allusions which every one, who treats of any art, is obliged to make to others, in order to illustrate and confirm his principles, sufficiently show their near connexion and inseparable relation.'

However, 'The great business of study is to form a mind, adapted and adequate to all times, and to all occasions; to which all nature is then laid open.'

'The _highest_ point of art is to _conceal_ itself: and the very praises we lavish on works that are 'true to nature,' only prove the perfection of art.'

I have taken up the art as I found it in the practice of the most approved methods: nor have I attempted to support any paradoxes for the sake of novelty.

Theories herein investigated, and many rules here laid down, many loose and scattered suggestions and successful results, that 'pass current from one to another,' I have endeavoured to place in the readiest manner before the student, that they may become immediately available to his purpose, or occasionally refresh his memory, without caring whence they may be derived. Even in the collecting of disjointed materials, a structure is formed every way calculated to abridge his labours and shorten the road, however carelessly thrown together; and will, in all probability, stimulate him to further investigation.

Improve every hour, and the mind will become variously enriched by systematic study: it will look through Nature with a discriminating power, even to her minutest productions, but with a refinement of taste and skill of selection that will reject all that is unworthy. When small pretension finds a welcome, it usually arises from ignorance in those who patronize. These persons, in their turn, generally pay the penalty their errors or conceit bring upon them.

THE AUTHOR OF THIS WORK TEACHES UPON THE PRINCIPLES THEREIN DEMONSTRATED.

ON WATER-COLOUR.

AS the object of this work was, in the first intention, initiatory, I shall conclude it by addressing a few words to the student in water-colour painting;--the more especially as water colour embraces so many advantages, and as there is no elevated rank in art that it does not involve in its capabilities.

After soaking and laying the paper,--an operation that must be _seen_ to be learned,--and assuming you have proceeded to the colouring, it will be essential that you use two palettes, or tiles; set one with the colours required separately, not allowing them to run together; then take sufficient colour up in the brush from each, and mix the tints on another, kept a little wet that they may mix well together;--cleaning this tile, as occasion may require, to make fresh tints on.

In the management of the greys, allowing the colours to run into one another, will produce many accidental and useful tints.

When too much colour has got on the paper, dip a thick short-haired brush in clean water, and wash into the paper with it, with sufficient force to blend them more, and remove the superfluous colour. If this method be not found sufficient, take a sponge, with very little clean water in it, and pass it lightly over, which will remove all hard edges, and greatly assist the atmospheric effect:--if this too much generalizes the colours, supply the sharp markings, as may be required, with a fine pointed sable, in their positive colours.

This method is not only the quickest way of bringing a drawing into a finished state, but adds materially to its transparency and solidity; and may be done at any period of the work.

A good master of the sponge will make several drawings, while one may be done with the brush alone. The colour will remove most easily when the surface of the drawing is previously wetted; taking great care, by keeping the sponge very clean, that none of the green tints float into the sky.

One colour laid over another, to produce the required tint, is in most cases better than mixing the tint at once, as it tends more to procure that 'internal light' so desirable in water-colour painting--taking care the under colour is dry before the other is floated over it; and always allowing for the density of the colour beneath qualifying the hue of the one laid over it. Thus, blue laid upon yellow, produces green; green over red, grey; and so on.

The slightest quantity of prepared ox-gall will make the colours wash free from grease; triflingly reducing the brilliancy, but fixing the wash more permanently.

_Flatness_ of tint is a matter of great consequence, and of equal difficulty; and is considered a great excellence, as the clearness and beauty of the gradations mainly depend on it. All mechanical means to produce it will betray themselves;--regulated by any such principle, a blue sky would become a tea-tray! Nature distinctly rejects all that is mechanical: skill alone will enable the student to overcome this difficulty, in addition to observing its process by a professor.

Meditate well the mixture before applying it; then dash it on with the greatest decision,--always at once, and not backwards and forwards, and the greatest clearness will be the result.

The greater the diversity of colour, from the transparency of most colours in water, so much more will be its resemblance to nature.

Wiping out the lights, such as the foliage of trees, or any other forms required, is performed by first wetting the part or form to be taken out, with the brush--applied as it would be in painting--and, after the gloss on the water has subsided, with a clean piece of cotton rag or the pocket handkerchief, folded on the fore finger, the colour intended to be removed must be whisked out with some smart degree of force: and in the event of the light not coming out clean and sharp enough (from perhaps being too dry), the application of the India-rubber to the part will effect it. The colours intended are then laid over the parts so wiped out.

OF TINTS.

MAKING good Tints has ever been a matter of extreme difficulty, great perseverance, and too often entire loss of time; and, in the event of success occasionally attending the student's exertions, it is a thousand to one he never gets them twice alike; for that which is done by _accident_ cannot be repeated. The very difficulty attending them, from want of knowledge of those colours that blend well and harmonize in their natures, and the many requisite to charge the memory with, renders them so easily forgotten, that few but professors ever achieve the object sought.

To obviate this,--to save the student's time, that he may devote the more to the attainment of his pursuit,--that he may be enabled to tint a drawing in half an hour, when he would have spent three in making a good tint or two (presuming his capability to do it at all),--induced the Author of this work, at a considerable outlay of time and expense, to form a BOX OF TINTS, in permanent cakes, ready at once for use, and all the necessary purposes of landscape or other painting, and for sketching from nature without inconvenience or difficulty.

As water-colour painting has experienced so much revolution of late, arising from its extensive capabilities,--the best drawings, or rather water-colour paintings, being produced by the balance of opaque and transparent colours,--those tints and mixtures that are found most useful in oil-painting, and most wanting in water, has engaged his particular attention.

He has confided the making them solely to Mr. Charles Smith, of Marylebone-street, Piccadilly. The tints are expressed on the cakes in numbers, which have reference to the coloured plates. In addition to which the following colours are those mostly used:--

Indigo; to which may be added cobalt and French blue. Indian red. Venetian red. Purple lake. Madder lake. Vermilion. Burnt sienna. Raw sienna. Yellow ochre. Gamboge, Brown pink. Raw umber. Vandyke brown. Ivory black.

REFERENCE TO THE PLATES ON COLOUR.

_Plate 7._--The sky is laid with tint No. 10;--the walls and foreground are covered down with No. 1, varied here and there with burnt sienna;--the tiles and roof with No. 4;--tints 6, 7 and 8 are mixed together, varied and floated over for the cool greys;--the figure, Indigo and No. 10; vermilion, ochre and burnt sienna. The greens are composed of indigo, gamboge and burnt sienna, with brown pink. The gallery is tint No. 6, floated over Vandyke brown. Cobalt and Vandyke brown in the hollows.

_Plate 8._--The sky is done with No. 9, and thin cobalt floated over: the horizon with No. 4, varied with Venetian red: the orange brought down into the trees, and worked together with gamboge; the shadowed parts of which are put in with No. 7--repeated in the bases of the clouds. No. 9 is worked into the cool greys of the middle space. The greens are varied with indigo, burnt sienna, gamboge and brown pink;--the brightest lights with yellow ochre: foreground with No. 5.

_Plate 9._--The sky French blue and madder-lake;--distance with No. 1, heightened here and there with ochre;--middle space worked in with 9 and 8--the greys with No. 7. Cobalt in the hollows; warmed, in parts, with No. 4. Boats done with No. 9, strengthened with Vandyke brown;--the water slightly washed with No. 5, varied with the same and indigo;--steps and railing with Nos. 1 and 5.

_Plate 10._--The sky is washed with indigo and madder-lake, kept grey towards the horizon;--the distant buildings with Nos. 7, 8;--No. 7 is mixed with burnt sienna for the greys of the trees: the greens are composed of indigo, burnt sienna, raw sienna, Venetian red, and gamboge;--the gravel with No. 5, a little burnt sienna, and white;--the shadows with No. 7;--figures with positive colours;--foreground slightly washed with No. 1, varied with No. 5;--the pedestal with No. 5, varied at the base with Nos. 6 and 9.

_Plate 11._--The sky, indigo and madder lake: the clouds varied with Nos. 8 and 9, and floated over with cobalt: the warm lights with yellow ochre and burnt sienna;--horizon with cobalt and indigo;--the sands with No. 1, shaded with 2 and 6;--the mill with No. 1, lightly floated over with No. 6, and touched in parts with No. 3;--the foreground brought down with brown pink;--the mill, on the left, painted _into_ with Vandyke brown, Indian-red, and No. 5; the lights with No. 4, and roof with No. 3; the sail, Indian red and Vandyke brown; figures, cobalt and vermilion, subdued with No. 6.

_Plate 12._--The walls and pavement floated down with No. 1, and toned over with No. 6;--the architectural markings with No. 6 and cobalt, with a little No. 9 in the darkest parts, to give them point;--hollows of the arches with No. 9, and No. 7 worked in;--the window is all laid in with positive colours, brought down on the figures, which are subdued with No. 6;--the altar, banners, priests' robes, books, &c., with chrome and white: their shadows with No. 3;--the curtain with Vandyke brown, Venetian red, and burnt sienna.