CHAPTER XIII

PLATE 18PLATE 18Landscape, by Hobbema(Metropolitan Museum, N. Y.)(Seepage 202)

(Seepage 202)

A rainbow in nature has a life of appreciable duration, and so may be appropriately used in landscape, but obviously it should be regarded as a minor accessory except where it forms a necessary feature in the design.[m]The great drawback in a prominent rainbow is that it forces itself upon the attention of the observer to the detriment of the picture as a whole, and if it be very conspicuous and crosses the middle of the painted view, as in Turner's Arundel Castle, the picture appears divided in two parts, and the possibility of an illusion of opening distance isdestroyed.[n]Almost as bad is the effect when a rainbow cuts off a corner of a picture, for this suggests at first sight an accidental interference with the work.[o]Of all artists Rubens seemed to know best how to use a rainbow. He adopts three methods. The first and best is to put the bow entirely in the sky[p]; the second to throw it right into the background where part of it is dissolved in the view[q]; and the third to indicate the bow in one part of the picture, and overshadow it with a strong sunlight thrown in from another part.[r]Any of these forms seems to answer well, but they practically exhaust the possibilities in general design. A section of a rainbow may be shown with one end of it on the ground, because this is observable in nature[s]; but to cut off the top of the arch as if there were no room for it on the canvas is obviously bad, for the two segments left appear quite unnatural.[t]

The small rainbows sometimes seen at waterfalls are occasionally introduced into paintings, but rarely with success because they tend to interfere with the general view of the scene. Such views are necessarily near ground, and so a bow must seriously injure the picture unless it be placed at the side, as in Innes's fine work of Niagara Falls (the example of 1884).

The use of a rainbow as a track in classical pictures is sometimes effective, though the landscape is largely sacrificed owing to the compulsory great width and bright appearance of the bow, which must indeed practically absorb the attention of the observer. The best known picture of this kind is Schwind's Rainbow, which shows the beautiful form of Iris wrapped in the sheen of the bow, and descending with great speed, the idea being apparently taken from Virgil.[u]To use the top of the rainbow for a walking track is bad, as the mind instinctively repels the invention as opposed to reason.[v]

But if fleeting natural phenomena become disturbing to the observer of a picture, how much more objectionable are the quickly disappearing effects of artificial devices, as the lights from explosions. In a battle scene covering a wide area of ground, a small cloud of smoke here and there is not out of place, because under natural conditions such a cloud lasts for an appreciable time; but no good artist will indicate in his work a flash from a gun, for this would immediately become stagy and unreal to the observer. Nor can fireworks of the ordinary kind be properly represented in a picture. The beauty of these fireworks lies in the appearance out of nothing, as it were, of brilliant showers of coloured lights, and their rapid disappearance, to be replaced by others of different form and character, the movement and changes constituting important elements in their appreciation. But the painter can only indicatethem by fixed points of light which necessarily appear abnormal. Stationary points of light can have no resemblance whatever to fireworks, and if the title of the picture forces the imagination to see in them expiring sparks from a rocket, the impression can only last a moment, and will be succeeded by a revolt in the mind against so glaring an impossibility as a number of permanent sparks. The only painted firework display that does not appear abnormal is a fountain of fire and sparks which may be presumed to last for some time, and therefore would not quickly tire the mind.[w]

FOOTNOTES:[a]See Plate 18.[b]For example, The Marsh, Hermitage.[c]See Plate 19.[d]For examples see S. Bough's Borrowdale, and Thoma's View of Laufenburg.[e]Berlin Gallery. See Plate 20.[f]Dunluce Castle, which with Fast Castle, is in the Kingsborough Collection, Scotland.[g]Landscape by Moonlight, Mond Collection, London.[h]The fire of God is fallen from Heaven, and hath burned up the sheep and the servants. Job 1, 16.[i]Metropolitan Museum, N. Y.[j]Adrastus and Hypsipyle, Venice.[k]Landscape with Baucis and Philemon, Munich.[l]Jonah cast into the sea.[m]As in Martin's I have Set My Bow in the Clouds.[n]In the Rivers of England series.[o]The Rainbow of Millet, and a similar work of Thoma.[p]Harvest Landscape, Munich Gallery.[q]Harvest Landscape, Wallace Collection, London.[r]Landscape with a Rainbow, Hermitage, Petrograd.[s]Rubens's Shipwreck of Æneas, Berlin Gallery.[t]A. P. Van de Venne's Soul Fishery, Amsterdam.[u]Æneid V., where Juno sends Iris to the Trojan fleet.[v]Thoma's Progress of the gods to Walhalla.[w]See examples by La Touche, notably La Fête de Nuit, Salon, 1914.

FOOTNOTES:

[a]See Plate 18.

[b]For example, The Marsh, Hermitage.

[c]See Plate 19.

[d]For examples see S. Bough's Borrowdale, and Thoma's View of Laufenburg.

[e]Berlin Gallery. See Plate 20.

[f]Dunluce Castle, which with Fast Castle, is in the Kingsborough Collection, Scotland.

[g]Landscape by Moonlight, Mond Collection, London.

[h]The fire of God is fallen from Heaven, and hath burned up the sheep and the servants. Job 1, 16.

[i]Metropolitan Museum, N. Y.

[j]Adrastus and Hypsipyle, Venice.

[k]Landscape with Baucis and Philemon, Munich.

[l]Jonah cast into the sea.

[m]As in Martin's I have Set My Bow in the Clouds.

[n]In the Rivers of England series.

[o]The Rainbow of Millet, and a similar work of Thoma.

[p]Harvest Landscape, Munich Gallery.

[q]Harvest Landscape, Wallace Collection, London.

[r]Landscape with a Rainbow, Hermitage, Petrograd.

[s]Rubens's Shipwreck of Æneas, Berlin Gallery.

[t]A. P. Van de Venne's Soul Fishery, Amsterdam.

[u]Æneid V., where Juno sends Iris to the Trojan fleet.

[v]Thoma's Progress of the gods to Walhalla.

[w]See examples by La Touche, notably La Fête de Nuit, Salon, 1914.

Its comparative difficulty—Its varieties—Its limitations.

Right through the degrees of the art of the painter till we reach still-life, the difficulty in producing the art is in proportion to the general beauty therein, but in the case of still-life the object is much less readily gained than in simple landscape which is on a higher level in painting. The causes of this apparent anomaly appear to be as follows:—Firstly in miniature painting one does not expect such close resemblance to nature as in still-life which usually represents things in their natural size: secondly, in still-life the relative position of the parts can never be such as to appear novel, whereas in landscape their position is always more or less unexpected: thirdly, in still-life the colours are practically fixed, for the painter cannot depart from the limited variety of tints commonly connected with the objects indicated, while in landscape the colouring may vary almost indefinitely from sun effects without appearing to depart from nature.

The beauty in still-life paintings may arise from several causes, namely, the pleasure experiencedfrom the excellence of the imitation; the harmony of tones; the beauty of the things imitated; the association of ideas; and the pleasure derived from the acquisition of knowledge. Aristotle seemed to think this last one of the principal reasons for our appreciation of the painter's work, though he agreed that the better the imitation, the greater the pleasure to the observer. The argument appears to apply particularly to the lower forms of life because in nature they are not often closely examined. A cauliflower for instance may be seen a thousand times by one who would not carefully note its structure, but if he see an imitation of it painted by a good artist, his astonishment at the excellence of the imitation might cause him to observe the representation closely, and learn much about the vegetable which he did not know before. In this way the information gained would add to his pleasure.

As in landscape, from the absence of abstract qualities from the things represented, and since the position of the signs may be indefinitely varied without a sense of incongruity resulting, there can be no ideal in still-life, and so the painter cannot pass beyond experience without achieving the abnormal.

The painter of still-life has the choice of four kinds of imitation, namely, the representation of products of nature which are in themselves beautiful, as roses and fine plumaged birds; the imitation of products of human industry which are in themselves beautiful, as sculptured plate or fine porcelain; the representation of natural and manual products which in themselves are neither beautiful nor displeasing, butinterest from association of ideas, as certain fruits, books, and musical instruments; and the imitation of things which in themselves are not pleasing to the sight, as dead game, kitchen utensils, and so on. Obviously the artist may assort any two or more of these varieties in the same picture. He may also associate them with life, but here he is met with a grave difficulty which goes to the very root of art. If two forms, not being merely accessories, are associated together in a design, the lower form must necessarily be subordinated, otherwise the mind of the observer will be disturbed by the apparent double objective. A live dog or other animal in a still-life composition will immediately attract the eye of the observer, drawing off his attention from the inanimate objects represented, which will consequently thereafter lose much of their interest. The presence of a man is still worse. Not only is it natural and inevitable that a human being should take precedence of whatever is inanimate in a work of art, but in the case of still-life, where he is painted of natural size, he must necessarily overshadow everything else in the picture. Further, his own representation is much injured because the surroundings exercise a disconcerting influence. Even with the human figures of such a work executed by a painter of the first rank, they are quite uninteresting.[a]

Beautiful products of nature such as brilliant flowers and butterflies, cannot be imitated so well that the representations appear as beautiful as thethings themselves, and so are unsuited as entire subjects for paintings, for we are usually well acquainted with these things, and consciously or unconsciously recognize the inferiority of the imitation. The greatest flower painters have therefore wisely refrained from introducing into their works more than a few fine roses or similar blooms. The presence of many less beautiful flowers in which the imitation is, or appears to be, more pleasing than the natural forms, neutralizes or overcomes the effect of the inferior imitation of the more beautiful. In fact the extent to which natural products which are necessarily more beautiful than the imitations, may be used in painting, except as incidentals, is very limited. They cannot appropriately be used at all on walls and curtains where they continually cross the vision, for they would there quickly tire owing to the involuntary dissatisfaction with the representation. The Japanese, whose whole art of painting was for centuries concentrated upon light internal decoration, rightly discard from this form of art all natural products which are necessarily superior to the imitations, and confine their attention to those signs which, while being actually more beautiful, when closely seen, than the imitations, do not appear to be so in nature where they are usually observed at some distance from the eye. Thus, waterfowl of various kinds, small birds of the hedges, storks, herons, branches of fruit blossoms, light trees and vegetation, are infinitely preferable to the more beautiful products for purely decorative purposes. A common pigeon with an added bright feather, isbetter on a wall or screen than the most brilliant pheasant, for in the one case the representation appears above ordinary experience, and in the other case, below it.

The decorative artist then is at liberty to enhance the beauty of his signs, but not to take for them things which are commonly observed in nature, and whose beauty he cannot equal. But there should be no wide divergence between the natural beauty and the art, and nothing which in itself is unpleasing is suitable for decoration. It may be introduced in a hanging picture, because here a sense of beauty may be derived from the excellence of the imitation, as in the case of a dead hare or a basket of vegetables; but in pure decoration the effect is general and not particular, and so the imitation yields no beauty apart from that of the thing imitated.

FOOTNOTES:[a]See still-life pictures at the Hague and Vienna Museums by Van Dyck and Snyders.

FOOTNOTES:

[a]See still-life pictures at the Hague and Vienna Museums by Van Dyck and Snyders.

Paintings of record—Scenes from the novel and written drama—From the acted drama—Humorous subjects—Allegorical works.

When the invention of the painter is circumscribed by the requirements of another art, whether a fine art or not, then his art ceases to be a pure art and becomes an art of record, subordinate to the art by which his work is circumscribed. This may be termed the Secondary Art of painting. The art may be of importance outside the purposes of the fine arts, and in certain cases may be productive of good pictures, but only by way of accident: hence a work of secondary art never engages the attention of a great artist unless he be specially called upon to execute it. Hard and fast lines dividing the pure from the secondary art cannot be laid down, as one often verges on the other, but there is a general distinction between them which is easily comprehensible in the separate branches of painting.

PLATE 19PLATE 19Landscape, by Jacob Ruysdael(National Gallery, London)(Seepage 204)

(Seepage 204)

Secondary art is not produced from incidents or characters taken from sacred or mythological history, because here the general invention of the painter is never circumscribed, for he is able to produce form and expression above experience. In profane history the art is secondary when the painter confines his invention to recorded details. Thus in a picture of the Coronation of Charlemagne, the composition is entirely invented by the artist, and so the work becomes one of pure art; but the representation of the Coronation of Queen Victoria, where the artist reproduces the scene as it actually occurred, is secondary art, for he is precluded from the exercise of his imagination in the design, the end of art being subordinated to that of record or history. Such a picture is necessarily stiff and formal. Where the scene represents a number of actions, as in a battle design, the artist is unable to record the actual occurrence, though he may represent particular actions; consequently he has large scope for his imagination, and may limit his representation to those actions which together make a fine example of pure art. But a battle scene where a particular event, as a meeting of generals, has to be painted, immediately becomes secondary art, for then the surrounding battle events would be accessory in their nature. It is possible for simple historical works painted to order centuries ago to appear now as of high art value, because we commonly connect a strict formality with old pictures of the kind, whether executed from records or invention. Thus Holbein's Henry VIII. presenting a Charter to the Barber-Surgeons no doubt closely depicts the actual event, yet the stiffness of the design does not seem out of place.[a]Neverthelessit is a refreshing change from this picture to Richard III. offered the Crown by London Merchants, which is a magnificent modern work of pure invention.[b]

A scene from a story of actual life is necessarily secondary art, because here the painter imitates what is already an imitation, and cannot ascend above experience. He is confined to the invention of the novelist, and is therefore subordinate to him.

The written drama is available for the painter as a source for designs only in cases of high tragedy, or mixed plays containing strong dramatic events of tragic import. Seeing that the drama is itself an imitative art, only such actions or characters can be used by the painter which are above life experience, and it is only in tragedy that the dramatist can exalt human attributes, and ennoble the passions above this experience. Tragedy deals directly with the two great contrasting human mysteries—life and death. From one to the other is the most awful and sublime action within human knowledge, and consequently the motives and sentiments relating to it may be carried to the loftiest reach of the understanding. An exaggeration of ordinary life, where the combination of perfected parts in form and expression is not possible, means only the abnormal; while comedy, which imitates conditions inferior to ordinary life, cannot be exaggerated except into distortion. High tragedy therefore is the only section of the written drama that concerns the painter. If he draw from any other work of the dramatist he only produces secondary art, as when he draws fromthe novelist. The picture may be interesting, but both interest and beauty will be fleeting.

While the painter may use the written drama in certain cases, he can by no means be concerned with the acted drama. It is useless to attempt to produce a good picture by imitating an imitation accomplished by a combined art, as the opera or drama. A painted scene from a play as it is acted, is merely the execution of another man's design which in itself is entirely circumscribed by conditions of action and speech wholly foreign to the art of the painter. A picture of a particular moment of action in a written play, as it is thrown upon the brain in the course of reading, is interesting, firstly because our imagination has wide limits of invention, and we naturally and instinctively adopt a harmonious rendering of the scene so far as the writing will allow; and secondly for the reason that we pass rapidly from impression to impression, and so the whole significance of each picture, separately and relatively, is conveyed to us. But a painting of an acted scene is meaningless, for it can represent only one in a series of a thousand moments of action which are all connected, and of which the comprehension of any one is dependent upon our knowledge of the whole. The painter has no scope. He simply copies a number of figures in a fixed setting, and the result is necessarily inferior art to a copy of the poorest original picture, since in this case the artist at least copies the direct product of the imagination, while in the other he has only before him a series of dummies who are imitating the product. The senseof unreality arising from such a picture must instantly overpower any harmony of colour or form that may be present.

Where the portrait of an actor is painted in a stage rôle, the same principle is involved, though the result is not so disastrous. We still have the unreal, but it is painted and put forward as a living person. The artist moreover has a little imaginative scope. He can choose a moment of action best suited to his art, and may even vary the character of the action, which is not possible where an acted scene is depicted. But notwithstanding all the relative advantages, a Raphael could not make a fine picture out of a man in character. He may largely overcome the disabilities arising from the limitation to his invention; he may introduce great effects of light and shade; may ennoble expression and give grandeur to form; but he will never hide the sham—never conceal the fact that he is representing an imitation of life. The actor on the stage is one of a number of signs used by the dramatist. His identity apart from the sign is lost, or presumed to be lost for the time being, and so he is not a sham; but outside of the stage his use or meaning as a sign does not exist. Hence the representation of this sign as a subject of a painting is only a degree less incongruous than would be the introduction of a painted figure as one of the characters of a stage scene.

It is an indication of the sure public instinct in matters of art principles, that general opinion has always tacitly condemned paintings of stage scenes and characters. They have not infrequently beenproduced, and sometimes artists of high rank, as Reynolds and Lawrence, have painted portraits of actors in stage rôles, but never has one met with public appreciation as a work of art. Probably in most cases these works were executed as mementoes rather than as works of art, for it is scarcely possible to conceive a painter of the stamp of Reynolds, who was so well acquainted with first principles, putting forward even a portrait of Garrick in a stage rôle, as a serious work, notwithstanding that he might well know that it was a masterpiece in respect of execution.

Humour is not a subject for the painter to deal with, for a humorous picture cannot be comprehended without the assistance of another art. Further, comedy is founded upon a sense of the ridiculous, which means distortion of form or idea. Distortion of form would tend to destroy the art if reproduced, and distortion of idea implies events in time which are beyond the scope of the painter. If any humour were exhibited in the representation of a single moment of action in a story, it would quickly disappear, for a permanent joke is beyond the range of human understanding. In poetry and fiction, humour may be appropriately introduced, because here it is of a fugitive character, and may serve as a possible relief of the mind, as a discordant note in music; but in a painting, the moment of humour is fixed, and a fixed laugh suggests mental disorder.

Nor is there place in the art of the painter for works intending to convey satire or irony, for such pictures also mean distortion. Moreover they are merely substitutes for, or adjuncts to, the art ofwriting. The object of caricature is to present an idea in a more direct and rapid way than it can be expressed in writing, and not specially to exhibit beauty, which is the purpose of the painter. Hogarth's many caricatures are composed of superlative signs of writing, and not of any fine art. Cartoons (as the word is commonly understood) are of the nature of allegory, and may afford scope for the painter, but as they necessarily refer to more or less fleeting conditions of a political or social character, they cannot retain permanent interest.

Allegorical paintings are secondary art when they endeavour to cover more than a moment of time in a single design, or when the allegory is merely a metaphor applying to action. The first variety is rarely seen in modern works, but it was not very uncommon from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century, though it was never produced by first-class artists, and seldom indeed by those of the second rank. Quite a number of works of this period, formerly supposed to have an allegorical signification, are now properly identified as rarely represented mythological legends, or historical incidents which have only lately been unearthed,[c]and we may rest assured from internal evidence that many others of the same kind will yet be newly interpreted. A good design cannot be produced from an event in time because the figures in a presumed action must be shown in repose,[d]or else the action appearsincongruous and opposed to experience, as when a goddess is overpowered by a personage with the appearance of a human being.[e]In both cases the figures must seem to be falsities. Designs of the first kind can only be properly represented in a sequence of pictures, each indicating a particular action, as in the Marie de' Medici series of Rubens; and those of the second by commonly accepted figures of sacred or mythological history or legend, as where St. Michael and the Dragon typify Good overcoming Evil.

It is scarcely necessary to do more than barely refer to the use of metaphor by the painter when the representation of action is involved, as for instance if he should produce a picture of a heaving ship in a storm, to meet the metaphor "As a ship is tossed on a rough sea, so has been the course of my life," though this kind of picture has been occasionally executed, the artist forgetting that it is not the object depicted that is compared, but the action—in the example quoted, the tossing of the ship—which cannot be represented on canvas. Another form of metaphor sometimes used by the painter is that where a comparison of ideas is represented by physical proportions, as in Wiertz's Things of the Present as seen by the Future, in which the things of the present are indicated by liliputian figures on the hand of a woman of life size who represents the future. Needless to say that such designs, of which there are about a dozen in existence, can only suggest distortion, for the smaller figures must appear too small, and thelarger ones too great; or if our experience with miniature imitations of the human figure warrants us in regarding the smaller figures as reasonable, then the larger ones must appear as giants of the Brobdingnagian order.

The only form of metaphor which may be used by the painter is that wherein a beautiful symbol typifies a high abstract quality. Metaphor belongs properly to the arts of the poet and novelist who can indicate the symbol and things symbolized in immediate succession, so that the whole meaning is apparent. The painter can only represent the symbol, and unless this is beautiful and its purport readily comprehended, his sign is merely a hieroglyph—a sign of writing. Secondary art includes symbolic painting when the symbol may represent either the symbol itself or the thing symbolized, for such a condition involves a confusion of ideas which tends to destroy the æsthetic effect of the work. The most notable painting of this kind is Holman Hunt's The Scapegoat, where the design shows only a goat in desert country. The scapegoat has ceased to be an actuality for centuries, and the only meaning of the term as it is now used applies to a man: hence, with the title the goat appears to be a symbol of both a man and an animal, while without the title it is merely the image of a goat without symbolism. But the conception of an animal of any kind as a symbol is foreign to the art of the painter whose symbol should always be beautiful, whatever the nature of the representation.

FOOTNOTES:[a]Barbers' Hall, London.[b]Royal Exchange, London.[c]Examples are Lorenzo Costa's Cupid Crowning Isabella d'Este, Giorgione's Adrastus and Hypsipyle, and Piero di Cosimo's Marsyas picture.[d]Religion Succoured by Spain, the Prado, Madrid.[e]Lotto's Triumph of Chastity, Rospigliosi Gallery, Rome.

FOOTNOTES:

[a]Barbers' Hall, London.

[b]Royal Exchange, London.

[c]Examples are Lorenzo Costa's Cupid Crowning Isabella d'Este, Giorgione's Adrastus and Hypsipyle, and Piero di Cosimo's Marsyas picture.

[d]Religion Succoured by Spain, the Prado, Madrid.

[e]Lotto's Triumph of Chastity, Rospigliosi Gallery, Rome.

In itself colour has no virtues which are not governed by immutable laws. These are apart from the exercise of human faculties, the recognition of colour harmony being involuntary and entirely dependent upon the condition of the optic nerves. Thus there can be no meaning in colour apart from its application to form, and the extent to which it may be properly used in the representation of form is necessarily bound by our experience of nature. Other things being equal, the most perfect painting is that wherein there is a just balance between the colour and the form, that is to say, where the colour is not so vivid as to act upon the sense nerves before the general beauty of the work is appreciated, or so feeble or discordant that its want of natural truth is immediately presented to the mind, thus disturbing the impression of the design.

As with metrical form in poetry, the importance of colour in painting varies inversely with the character of the art. In the highest art, where ideals are dealt with, colour is of the least importance. A composition with ideal figures may be produced by drawing only, that is to say, by the use of a singletone in outline and shading. The addition of colour heightens the beauty of a composition of this kind, not so much because of the new sensorial harmony acquired, as for the reason that a painting in colours, corresponding better than a colourless drawing with our experience of nature, assists in defining the work and so reduces the fractional time necessary for the recognition of the general beauty of the design, which is a matter of importance. The comparatively small value of colour in the highest art is demonstrated by experience. If we were to choose from paintings known to us, those which general opinion regards as the very greatest works, we should unquestionably name the frescoes of Raphael and Michelangelo at the Vatican, and those of Correggio at Parma. These, with a few easel pictures of Raphael, and perhaps a dozen other pictures by various masters, are the only works of the painter's art to which the term "sublime" may be properly applied. As with the great epic poems, they are concerned entirely with ideals—with personages far above the level of life, rising to the spiritual domain—or with human beings as they would be if the highest conceptions of our imagination were possible of realization. When we recall these splendid legacies of genius to our minds, and ponder over the apparently limitless range of human vision which they evidence, it is the designs that absorb us, and not the colour—the forms and expression, and not the tints by which their definition is assisted. We do not usually analyse the impression we receive from these frescoes and pictures,but were we to do so, it would be borne in upon our minds that while a Raphael, a Michelangelo, or a Correggio, would be required to conceive and execute such stupendous designs, many thousands of unknown patient workers could be found to colour them efficiently. On the other hand if we remove the colour from the greatest landscape known to us, we find that most of the beauty of the work has disappeared, and that we have only a kind of skeleton left, for the beauty of such a picture rests very largely upon the aerial perspective, which is unobtainable without colour.

That the appreciation of colour is relative to the character of the design may be observed from common experience. We may see the Sistine Madonna half a dozen times and then be unable to recall the colours when bringing the picture to mind, so small an effect have they had upon us as compared with that of the majesty and general beauty of the central figure. So with many of Raphael's other pictures. It is a common thing for one to call attention to the superb colouring of an easel picture by Correggio, but how rarely does an observer notice the colouring of his frescoes at Parma, which are his masterpieces? With some of the Venetian artists, the colouring is often so brilliant, not to say startling, that it seems to overpower the observer for a moment, and necessity compels him to accustom himself to the tones before considering the design. The colouring of Titian is not so strong, but it is always forcible; nevertheless one seldom hears a comment upon the colours in his works, the superior design and generalbeauty of the compositions far outweighing the purely sensorial elements therein. Titian in fact secured an approximately just balance between form and colour, while with his great followers the colour usually exceeded in strength the requirements of the design. In the time of Tintoretto and Veronese the prestige and prosperity of Venice were rapidly declining, but we have been so accustomed to associate with this city during the Renaissance, a luxurious life with something of the character of an Eastern court, that gorgeous colour of any kind does not seem out of place as one of its products. But this special appropriateness has not the effect of elevating the gay coloured voluptuous forms of the artists named, observable in their classical and allegorical works, to a high level in art. We cannot accommodate the forms to the ideas of the poets who invented or described them, or to the attributes with which they were commonly associated; and the colouring tends to bring them closer to earth. While we feel bound to admire the colouring, we are equally compelled to regret the particular application.67

Speaking generally, when the design is good we remember the composition irrespective of the colours, but when the beauty of the work depends upon the colour harmony it fades from our memory as soon as our eyes experience new colour combinations. The imagination may call up the harmony again upon the mind, but the pleasure experienced from this reflection must be very feeble indeed because the senses are not directly affected thereby. Itcan have no more effect than a written description of the harmony.

PLATE 20PLATE 20The Storm, by Jacob Ruysdael(Berlin Museum)(Seepage 206)

(Seepage 206)

The painter is at liberty to make what use he will of colour so long as he provides a thing of beauty, but he must remember that the appreciation of colour harmony is dependent not only upon the condition of the optic nerves of the observer, but also upon his experience at the time of observation. As to the first consideration little heed need be taken, because rudimentarily the nerve structure is equal or nearly so, in all persons, and while accident at birth may provide in some an advanced condition which in others is only obtained by exercise, yet in respect of colours, experience in complex harmony is gained involuntarily in contact with every-day nature. Hence for the purpose of the painter, all men may be considered alike in regard to the recognition of colour harmony. But individual experience at the time of observation of a painting varies largely,68a circumstance which is not of importance in dealing with works of the higher art, but becomes of great significance when considering the lower forms. No organ of the body is so susceptible to fatigue as the eye, and a painting of the kind known as a colour scheme may or may not be pleasing according as the tone is a relief or otherwise to the sight. Sometimes a few seconds are sufficient to fatigue the eye, as for instance when it is directed towards a vivid maroon hanging, but let a landscape with a grey tone be placed on the hanging and considerable pleasure will be involuntarily experienced through the relief to the optic nerves. Remove the picture to a greywall, and it will instantly lose its charm, except such as it may possess apart from the colour.

As with particular tones, so with colours generally. People habituated to conditions of nature where extremes of sun effects are uncommon, as in the northern latitudes, may be temporarily pleased with schemes of glowing colours on their walls, because these relieve the monotony of daily experience, but they must necessarily quickly tire, as with all exceptional conditions of life which are concerned with the senses only. How soon one is fatigued with bright colours generally is obvious to any visitor to a public gallery which is crowded with pictures. In an hour or less the fatigue of his eyes becomes so extreme that his whole nervous system is affected, and he loses energy of both mind and body. But brilliant colors used sparingly with good designs may be a perpetual source of pleasure. Place a fine work by Rubens or Paolo Veronese in a living-room and it will attract attention every time one enters, for the colouring will always be a change from the normal eye experience. One turns to the picture involuntarily, and then the design is observed, and so one passes from sensual to intellectual pleasure. This process is repeated day by day, and the work never tires. Of course it is a condition that the design is able to hold the attention, otherwise the bright colours would serve little better purpose than if they defined a geometrical pattern.

Nowadays quite a number of paintings are produced in which unusual tones are given to signs or shadows, but these are not to be taken seriously bythe earnest student. In the sunlight, amidst certain surroundings, the arm of a woman may appear for some moments to have a bluish tone, but the artist would be entirely wrong to paint a bluish arm. The picture is to be seen under all lights, and if the tones be contrary to general experience under any of these lights, then the work appears to be a falsity, for the artist does not, and cannot, reproduce the conditions which together bring about the exceptional colours. To the normal eye under ordinary circumstances, the arm of a woman is of flesh colour, and the artist is not at liberty to vary this tone. He has to represent what appears to be true in general opinion, whether it be really true or not under certain conditions. The dictum of Aristotle in regard to poetry—that what appears probable, though in reality is impossible, is better than what seems improbable but is really possible—is equally true in painting. In fact it is of more importance that this maxim should be remembered in painting than in poetry, because the signs of the painter are permanent. A poet or novelist may refer to a passing exceptional sun effect, for the impression on the mind of the reader would probably be as transient as, or more transient than, the effect itself, but with the painter the transient effect becomes fixed. The blue arm is always blue, and in a very short time becomes a disagreeable unreality. It may be claimed that the objectionable sun effects are not really exceptional, though they are seldom noticed; but for the purpose of art, what appears to be exceptional must be definitely regarded as so, and for this reason discarded by the artist who desires to paint a good picture.

Generally then, the value of colour lies firstly in its correspondence with nature, for upon this depends its harmony and the assistance it lends to the recognition of the beauty in the whole composition. Beyond this it may or may not have an ephemeral value according to local conditions. In any case colour must ever be subordinated to design in a picture, and this is what Poussin meant when he said that particular attention to colour is an obstacle to the art student.

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