CONCLUSION
The distinction between Art Criticism and Aesthetic--The aim of
this chapter--Art and physical fact--The ‘common-sense’ conception
of landscape art as evidence of fact--The relation of Art and
Nature--Mr. Ruskin’s treatment of this subject--He distinguishes
(a) physical fact and (b) the artist’s thoughts and feelings about
these facts, yet maintains that the representation of (a) is
equivalent to the expression of (b)--His confusion of Nature and
Mind exemplified in his remarks on the ‘Pass of Faïdo’--Art as the
organ of Beauty implies that the dualism of Nature and Mind is
transcended--Nature is neither given nor immediate--Art therefore
cannot copy nature--What does art represent?--An individualised
psychical content present to the mind of the artist--Classification
of Turner’s sketches and studies from the point of view of their
logical content--The difference between (1) Studies of particular
objects, (2) Drawings from nature, and (3) Works of art proper--The
logical reference of a work of art--The assertions in a work of art
do not directly qualify the ordinary world of reality, but an
imaginary world specially constructed for the artist’s purpose--The
ideal of complete definition--Yet the content must determine the
form--Plea for a dynamic or physiological study of artistic forms.
We have been engaged thus far upon a genuinely inductive investigation,
upon a voyage of discovery, and not upon a dogmatic exposition of
ultimate aesthetic principles. Our general aim has been to study the
processes of artistic expression, but to study them as we find them in
definite concrete instances. Moreover, the nature of our subject-matter
rendered it necessary to keep faithful to the point of view of art
criticism. We were dealing with particular works of art, and to leave
them while we plunged into general questions of aesthetic would hardly
have been polite. But, as I have ventured to observe before, though art
criticism and general aesthetic can be distinguished they cannot be
rigidly separated. Aesthetic without close conversance with the
concrete subject-matter of art criticism is necessarily loose and empty,
while art criticism without a firm grasp of the broad principles of
beauty easily degenerates into casuistry or a useless and rather
despicable form of self-assertion. And however much we try to keep
questions of principle apart from our estimation and study of particular
works of art, we are bound inevitably to fail. We can begin as it were
at either end of the scale, we can busy ourselves with the one or with
the many, but before we have gone very far we are bound to realise that
we are concerned with exactly the same problems. The distinction of art
criticism from aesthetic is merely one of convenience and degree.
In all that has gone before we have been concerned with the fundamental
problems of aesthetic, though we have not treated them directly. In all
that we have written a more or less definite and consistent answer to
these problems has been implied. In this final chapter, therefore, I
propose to draw out as well as I can some of the more general results of
our observations and analyses, or rather to endeavour to state in a more
general form the laws of artistic expression and action which we have
discovered. The ultimate aim of art criticism, as I understand it, is to
grasp and render intelligible the whole region of artistic activity, and
I cannot but think that it will facilitate our grasp of the wider laws
of artistic phenomena, as well as help to consolidate or disprove the
results of our detailed observations, if I make an attempt to render
explicit what has only been implied in our remarks upon particular
concrete instances.
I will begin by calling attention to a fact that has been repeatedly
forced upon our notice. Though our attention has been mainly fixed upon
Turner’s studies and sketches from nature, we have never come into
direct contact with the plain physical reality which, according to the
invariable usage of common-sense, it is the mission of art to represent.
Common-sense tells us that the ‘subject’ of every landscape painting is
a group of physical realities--the fields, rivers, mountains, trees,
houses, etc., in such and such a place, together with their invariable
physical accompaniments, the air and any particular effect of light and
weather that the artist may choose to select. Our analysis has
invariably shown us that the slightest sketch--much more then a fully
organised work of art!--is something more than and something radically
different from a mere representation of such physical constituents. The
physical objects are indeed portrayed, but when we have recognised this
touch of colour or that shape as the representation of this or that
natural fact, we have not exhausted the meaning of the artist’s work.
This recognition is nothing more than what I may call the plain
dictionary meaning of the words the artist has chosen to employ. It is
not till we have gone on to grasp the special significance of the order
in which these elements have been grouped, that we really begin to come
into contact with the work of art itself. As we cannot interpret the
meaning of the simplest sentence unless we give due weight to its
grammatical construction, so with a picture we must take into
consideration what I can only call the grammatical construction and
distinctions proper to pictorial expression. When we penetrate in this
way to the real significance of any of Turner’s works we find we have
been brought into contact with the artist’s thoughts and emotions. We
start, as it were, with trees and rocks and physical details, which, as
such, are independent of man and indifferent if not actually hostile to
human hopes and fears, joys and sorrows; and we end by finding that our
so-called physical facts are but elements in a definitely organised
whole of thought and feeling. We seem to start with natural facts, and
they change under our hands into the symbols of mere ideas and emotions.
Our whole conception of the scope and possibilities of art turns upon
the view we take of the artist’s means of expression. Are we to regard
pictorial art as a medium for imaging and recording the visible facts of
the physical world, or as symbols of states of consciousness? And if we
take the latter view, what is the exact relation of these symbols to the
visible world, to the world of common perception?
So far as I know, only one English art critic has attempted anything
like an adequate discussion of these questions. It will help us, I
think, if we glance for a moment at Mr. Ruskin’s treatment of these
subjects. In the first volume of _Modern Painters_ we are told that the
two great ends of landscape painting are (1) to induce in the
spectator’s mind the faithful conception of any natural object
whatsoever, and (2) to inform him of the thoughts and feelings with
which these’ (_i.e._ the natural objects) ‘were regarded by the artist
himself (_Modern Painters_, Part II., Sec. 1, Ch. i. p. 44).
In attaining the first end, Mr. Ruskin adds, ‘the painter only places
the spectator where he stands himself; he sets him before the landscape
and leaves him.... But he [the spectator] has nothing of thought given
to him, no new ideas, no unknown feelings, forced on his attention or
his heart.’
‘But in attaining the second end, the artist not only _places_ the
spectator, but--makes him a sharer in his own strong feelings and quick
thoughts;--and leaves him ... ennobled and instructed, under the sense
of having not only beheld a new scene, but of having held communion with
a new mind, and having been endowed for a time with the keen perception
and the impetuous emotions of a nobler and more penetrating
intelligence.’
It may seem at first sight that Mr. Ruskin is simply distinguishing two
kinds of landscape painting, such as the simply topographical from the
more imaginative kind. And he does say that ‘it is possible to reach
what I have stated to be the first end of art, the representation of
facts, without reaching the second, the representation of thoughts.’ But
the point he is chiefly concerned to emphasise is the complete
dependence of the second of these aims upon the representation of facts.
An artist can give us physical facts, he says, without expressing his
thoughts and feelings, but no artist can express thoughts and feelings
without the accurate representation of facts. This is the point, he
says, that he wishes at present ‘especially to insist upon,’ and this
dependence of thought upon fact, or ‘truth’ as he generally prefers to
call it, forms, as I understand it, the theoretical basis upon which a
large part of Mr. Ruskin’s art teaching rests.
All great art, he admits, gives us ‘the thoughts and feelings of the
artist,’ but we have no standard by which we can test the value of mere
thoughts and feelings; but as there is a ‘constant relation’ between an
artist’s thoughts and feelings and his ‘faithfulness in representing
nature,’ we have only to examine ‘the botanical or geological details’
in a landscape to ‘form a right estimate as to the respective powers and
attainments’ of the artist. It is from this point of view that he calls
‘the representation of facts’ ‘the foundation of all art,’ and in the
preface to _The Elements of Drawing_, the power ‘to copy’ natural
objects ‘faithfully, and without alteration,’ is treated as equivalent
to the power ‘of pictorial expression of thought.’
Now there is a point of view from which these statements could be
defended, and I will endeavour a little later to indicate that point of
view, but as Mr. Ruskin expresses and applies these ideas, I think they
lead to confusion. Much of the welter of confusion into which the reader
of _Modern Painters_ finds himself plunged seems to me caused by the
author’s persistent refusal to discriminate between physical reality and
mind, between external nature and ideas. The mountains, trees, and
clouds become human thoughts and feelings, not in a metaphysical sense,
but as a matter of ordinary observation, and the artist is bidden to go
out into the fields and draw, with the patience and precision of a
geologist or land-surveyor, the visible shapes and hues of these
materialised emotions and ideas.
Yet Mr. Ruskin is far too fearless and candid a thinker to attempt
deliberately to falsify his evidence. He admits, when the point presents
itself to him, that Turner ‘never draws accurately on the spot’; and in
the wonderful analysis of Turner’s ‘Pass of Faïdo,’ in the fourth volume
of _Modern Painters_, we are clearly shown that the artist’s
representation contains hardly a single accurate and faithful statement
of the physical features of the place. Yet we are assured that in some
inexplicable way the picture is truer to the facts of the place than the
place itself.
The artist, we are told, made ‘a few pencil scratches on a bit of thin
paper’ during a momentary stoppage of the diligence in the pass.
Afterwards he put a few blots of colour to these pencil scratches,
possibly ‘at Bellinzona the same evening’ but ‘certainly _not_ upon the
spot.’ In the course of a few months he showed this sketch to Mr.
Ruskin, who commissioned the artist to make a finished water-colour from
it. (The sketch is reproduced as the frontispiece of the present volume,
so the curious reader may compare it at his leisure with the
reproduction of the completed drawing and Mr. Ruskin’s topographical
drawing made on the spot in _Modern Painters_.)
[Illustration: _PLATE LXXXIII_
VILLAGE AND CASTLE ON THE RHINE
WATER COLOUR. ABOUT 1844]
[Illustration: _PLATE LXXXIV_
THE VIA MALA
WATER COLOUR. ABOUT 1844]
The first sketch is certainly sufficiently inaccurate as a
representation of the physical facts of the scene, but in the finished
drawing Turner permitted himself further liberties. In it ‘the whole
place is altered in scale.’ The rocks on the left which should be four
or five hundred feet high are made to look ‘about a thousand feet.’
‘Next, he raises, in a still greater degree, all the mountains beyond,
putting three or four ranges instead of one.’ In this way all the parts
of the scene are modified, important features are eliminated at will,
and facts that the artist had seen elsewhere are freely introduced. This
is what we find Mr. Ruskin means when he talks about receiving ‘a true
impression from the place itself, and the accurate and faithful
representation of physical facts’ (_Modern Painters_, vol iv. p. 21.)
Now I am far from denying that Turner’s procedure was thoroughly
justified, but from the ordinary standpoint of common-sense it does
stand in need of justification, and it seems to me that it is not a
proper way to justify it by passionately declaring that the imaginative
vision of the artist does indeed give us ‘the real facts of the world’s
outside aspect,’ or a faithful and unaltered copy of a portion of
physical reality. Indeed I feel very strongly that this playing fast and
loose with Nature and Mind (with physical fact and mental
interpretation) is no gain to the cause Mr. Ruskin has at heart. In
spite of all his passionate eloquence and transparent earnestness and
good faith, the ordinary reader continues to regard nature as the
hypostatised world of the physical sciences and as that part of the
world which falls outside of mind. And when we regard nature in this way
as a mechanical and external system, and declare that it is ‘God’s
work,’ we can go on, as Mr. Ruskin does, to attack ‘idealisation,’ and
heap contumely on such painters as Claude and Poussin, for daring to
modify God’s works and for casting the shadow of their puny selves on
the works of their Creator (_Modern Painters_, vol. i. Preface to second
ed. p. xxvi.). But if we do this we must at least go on to admit that
Turner and all the other great artists sinned in exactly the same way.
There is only one way, I am convinced, of working our way to a firmer
and more consistent point of view, and that is to get above this naïve
dualism of human and physical nature. I may even say that before we can
understand the nucleus of truth in Mr. Ruskin’s own work, we must get
above the unreflective realism in which the theoretical parts of his
writings are steeped. Again and again, in passages of the noblest wisdom
and insight, he transcends the limitations of his own thought and
language, but always to sink back into the confusion inevitable to all
adherents of the psychological philosophy when they come to deal with
mental and moral questions.
The influence of Locke and Hume upon the form of Mr. Ruskin’s theories
is obvious and avowed. He believes that ‘fact,’ ‘nature,’ and ‘truth’
are only given in sense-perception, and that therefore sensation gives
us the truest and fullest knowledge of reality; his distrust of ideas is
due to the belief that they distort and obscure the revelations of this
unerring mirror of reality. But these assumptions do justice neither to
the real independence of the physical world, nor to the claims of the
mind to discover and possess absolutely reliable knowledge. And when we
are dealing with such a concrete reality as pictorial art we cannot
afford to do less than the fullest justice to both nature and mind. We
cannot, like the practical man or the students of the physical sciences,
rule out the unseen world of human feeling as irrelevant to our
immediate purposes, any more than we can neglect the concrete course of
phenomena, like the student of the _a priori_ forms of knowledge. In art
we have to do with nature and mind in active co-operation. We are
therefore bound to treat them as two factors in a common process. We
cannot have two aims in art, and we cannot separate (_a_) physical
objects from (_b_) an artist’s thoughts and feelings; if we make the
attempt we are inevitably driven, as we have seen Mr. Ruskin driven, to
maintain that (_a_) is (_b_), and (_b_) (_a_), and then the point of our
distinction seems lost. In art criticism the problem is not to separate
mind from nature, but to unite them--to bring out the permanent and
universal relation which binds them together. And the only way to do
this is to treat them both as elements or members in the formed world of
the self-conscious subject.
It is not the special business of art criticism to show that the
conception of nature as what is ‘given’ in sense-perception, and as
‘God’s work’ as distinguished from the action of human intelligence, is
contradictory and untenable. The work is already done. The theory of
the perceptive judgment, upon which all modern philosophies, realist as
well as idealist, are based, is too firmly established to render
necessary any further discussion of Locke’s and Hume’s imperfect
analysis of perception. All that art criticism has to do is to realise
that its own point of view is essentially identical with the point of
view of logic and metaphysic, and to adopt and use any of the
established truths of these sciences which are relevant to its purposes.
In insisting that the philosophical point of view is the only possible
platform from which the facts which art criticism deals with can be
adequately correlated, I am aware that I am advancing a somewhat novel
proposition. It is also one which I do not think it advisable to defend
in detail on the present occasion. The present volume is the outcome of
an attempt to apply this point of view. So far as all that has gone
before is in harmony with my intentions, it is an exemplification of the
practical usefulness of such a working hypothesis, but the subject seems
to me to call for full and free discussion, and I hope on a suitable
occasion to revert to it. At present I hope it will be sufficient if I
say that art criticism, if it is to be regarded as a form of knowledge,
can have only one consistent aim, and that is intellectual satisfaction.
And the subject-matter of art criticism is essentially a form of
communication, and therefore is concerned only with certain aspects of
the formed world of human experience. And in dealing with any aspects of
the ‘world of discourse’ with a view to the satisfaction of our
intellectual requirements of coherency and consistency of thought, the
terms and ideas used in our non-systematised everyday thought and
language are certainly inadequate, and those in use in all the special
sciences, though valid enough when confined within the limits prescribed
by their initial assumptions, are no less unsatisfactory for our
purpose.
For the artist to regard nature as anything but an existing reality
independent of individual experience and given ready-made in immediate
perception must, no doubt, be exceedingly difficult. Both the original
bent of his mind and the whole course of his professional training and
practice have tended to consolidate his spatial intuitions into
something apparently primary and instinctive. But an artist, as an
artist, is not called upon to undertake the business of art criticism.
The difficulty, however, remains nearly as great for the art critic, for
he also is necessarily one whose visual faculties have received early
and special development. When even an art critic looks at the familiar
objects with which he is surrounded and notices their sharply defined
forms and colours, he finds it hard to believe that the very
distinctness of these perceptions is the result of a long process of
education which his own faculties have undergone. The clearness seems so
unmistakably to belong to the objects. Yet however difficult the step,
it must be taken. We are bound to admit that animals and infants cannot
have the same ordered visual image of space definitely stretching away
all round them which we are apt to regard as one of the primary and
fixed constituents of the external world. But if the spatial system into
which objects of perception fall so easily has to be constructed in some
way by each human being for himself, it follows that pictorial art,
which as a means of expression and communication is based entirely upon
that system, cannot by any possibility present us with bare physical
fact, with a nucleus of solid, ready-made reality--of ‘God’s work,’ in
Mr. Ruskin’s sense of these terms. So that when we talk of art as
representing nature, it is evident that we must be careful to
distinguish exactly what we mean by such an expression. If we take it to
mean that art does or can or ought to give us a copy of the given actual
world as it exists apart from what Mr. Ruskin calls the meddling action
of man’s intelligence, then it is obvious that we have fallen into a
very serious error. Apart from the action of his intellect, an artist
could not possibly make the external world an object of his thought; he
could not, therefore, represent it on paper or canvas; and even if we
suppose these difficulties overcome, and the copy of bare unadulterated
reality fixed on the canvas, nobody could possibly recognise it or know
that it was there.
If this is so, I think it is clear that art cannot portray or represent
or imitate or copy nature, at least in the sense in which nature is
taken at the unreflective level of thought. What art portrays must be
some part of the ideal construction present to the mind of the artist.
Perhaps the simplest way of putting this is to say that the artist can
operate only with ideas, and not with any directly given elements of
reality; with idea, in short, in the sense of ‘meaning,’ ‘significance,’
or ‘logical content,’ and not with idea as physical fact or immediate
experience. But as ideas in this sense--which we must be careful to
remember includes emotion--are not gifted with the property of
visibility, it seems on the whole better not to say that a work of art
imitates or portrays them. Strictly speaking, a work of art is a symbol,
and a symbol is not a copy or imitation of the meaning it stands for.
The meaning of pictorial art is then always some connected circle of
psychical states with their presentative and emotional contents. These
contents may refer to the common physical world of ordinary experience,
or they may refer to a dream-world that has no existence except as an
element of human consciousness; and this reference is determined in each
case by the nature of the contents themselves.
In reducing nature in this way to an element within the consciousness of
the artist and spectator, I may seem to have destroyed at a blow all the
pure unsullied beauty of the external world as it exists in apparent
independence of human experience. I have done nothing of the kind. I
have insisted that nature, as an existent independent of individual
experience, is an unreal abstraction; that the very fulness and reality
and splendour of nature exist for each of us nowhere but in the world of
our own consciousness, and that within that world of consciousness
nature does exist as a system of objects acting and reacting on one
another, and is therefore independent of the presence or absence of the
consciousness which presents them.
Such a conception of nature seems to me an inevitable corollary from the
general conception of the purpose and mode of action of art forced upon
us by our previous investigations. From this point of view I will define
a work of pictorial art as an arrangement of spatial symbols embodying
an individualised psychical content present to the mind of the artist,
and intended to call up always the same ideas and emotions in the minds
of others. I will make no attempt to conceal my opinion that such a
theory is valid of all pictorial art, and I will add that I am also
disposed to think that such a point of view is a peculiarly fruitful one
from which the whole field of art criticism could be reconstituted. And
as criticism, as at present understood and practised, is declared on all
hands--even by its most accomplished exponents--to be bankrupt,[33] I
might urge that the revolutionary character of any general theory was a
strong argument in its favour. But the present occasion is not a
suitable one for dwelling upon the general and far-reaching character of
this theory. Here I am only justified in insisting upon its validity as
a working hypothesis for the proper understanding of our immediate
subject-matter. Only on such an hypothesis, it seems to me, can we give
an intelligible explanation of the essential character of Turner’s
studies and sketches and drawings from nature, and of their connection
with his completed works.
Whether this assertion is justified at all, and if so how far, depends,
of course, upon the whole of the foregoing study of Turner’s works, but
I will add a few cursory remarks, partly of a recapitulatory nature, but
treating our subject-matter from the point of view of its logical
content or meaning. In these remarks I will try to deal with some of the
difficulties that stand in the way of such a treatment.
We will deal first with Turner’s studies of separate objects, such as
those of an arm-chair (No. 563, N. G.), of fishes (373, 374, N. G.) and
birds (375, 415, N. G.) among the exhibited drawings.[34] Here the
artist works directly from an external object, and seems to be aiming
not at the expression or representation of his own ideas, but at the
reproduction of the attributes or qualities _given_ in sense perception
and belonging to an independent reality. The object was there before the
artist began to draw it, and the artist’s drawing only reproduces the
visible qualities (form and colour) of the object itself. But the object
is much more than its visible qualities, and even its visible qualities
are far from exhausted by the one aspect of them which is all that the
artist can represent. He therefore takes one aspect of an object and
uses that as a sign or symbol of all the other possible aspects and
sense qualities which we may suppose the object to possess. So that even
if we insist on regarding the image on the paper as a particular image,
it is clear that it must be used as a universal sign, if it is to be
understood. The profile view of a face, for instance, means or implies
not only the whole head, but also the whole concrete individuality of
the person to whom the profile belongs.
So far, then, as a particular visual image is used as a rallying point
for calling up the whole range of ideas which constitute the thing as an
object of thought, so far have we to do with a logical idea, with an
element in our world of knowledge, with what is strictly an universal or
an identity. A sharply defined sensuous image of a thing forms, no
doubt, a more easily and generally recognisable vehicle of reference
than a name, but its function as a means of communication is the same.
And as in speaking and writing it is not a matter of indifference what
words we use to designate the objects about which we are thinking, so in
pictorial communication, the particular sensuous image employed has
considerable importance in directing attention to certain constituents
of the total idea called up. In this way pictorial signs certainly have
a general tendency to focus attention upon the corporeity of objects,
but it is, I believe, a grave error of principle not to acknowledge that
all the properly associated elements of the subject referred to are more
or less involved. Some elements are kept more in the background of
consciousness than others, but they are very far from being
non-existent.
It is important, certainly, to think of pictorial signs as endlessly
supple and fluid. Even the rigidity of the meanings of words has been
absurdly overstated. Poetry is only possible because the powers of
evocation possessed by words are much less limited and defined than
certain theorists would have us believe. But pictorial signs are more
delicate agents than words. They vary in ways that words cannot. They
are made _de novo_ on every occasion of their use, and therefore they
can adapt themselves more adroitly to each new context. And every shade
of variation in the constitution of the sign has its influence in
determining the constitution of the mental presentation which it calls
up.
But even when we make all due allowance for the artist’s power of
emphasis and discrimination with regard to the elements which make up
the total thought-content of his object, we must confess that the range
of expression centred round any single material object is limited. A
study of such an object points to the object it was made from--it
assures us that this particular object was bodily present to the eyes of
the artist when he made the study, but it does not tell us in what ideal
context we are to take the object. A study as such is not a work of art,
or perhaps it would be better to say that it is a mere fragment of a
possible work of art. A study is simply a pictorial name, and a name has
meaning only in a sentence or by suggesting a sentence.[35] If we look
at a study from the same point of view from which we regard a work of
art, we should go on to ask ourselves, ‘Well, what of it, what is the
artist’s purpose in painting or drawing this?’ It would start us upon an
objectless and endless intellectual exercise, in which we should miss
the purpose which every work of art implies.
This indeterminateness and incompleteness of meaning forms, I believe,
the essential characteristic of a study, as distinguished from a work of
art. One result, then, of our insistence upon the content of pictorial
art is the re-emergence of an old traditional usage or term which recent
theorising has done its best to discard. Apart from the question of
content, I believe there is nothing to distinguish a study or a sketch
from a complete picture.
Let us now turn from the elaborate studies of individual objects to the
pure outline drawings of places and buildings which Turner made at the
beginning of his career. The drawings of ‘Ripon’ and ‘Lincoln Cathedral’
here reproduced may stand as typical of this class of work. Such
drawings are defective in the same way as the studies. Their meaning is
incomplete. We do not know exactly how to take them. They are very much
on the footing of perceptive judgments, that is to say, they are not cut
loose from the artist’s personal focus of presentation. This is what he
saw at a certain moment; but why did he draw it? As a mere record of
fact, or as material which would or might be useful in a subsequent
imaginative construction? The drawings themselves do not answer these
questions, but their defects of meaning point beyond themselves.
Such drawings are also defective in another way. Being
[Illustration: _PLATE LXXXV_
ON THE RHINE
WATER COLOUR. 1844]
[Illustration: _PLATE LXXXVI_
BADEN, LOOKING NORTH
WATER COLOUR. 1844]
entirely in outline they make abstraction of the tone, colour, and light
and shade. If we are to take them as topographical illustrations they
demand further visual determination, if, as having an imaginative
purpose, the emotional setting of the facts calls for specification.
So far, then, we have been dealing with operations preliminary or
subservient to the genuine processes of artistic expression. In studies
and sketches made in the presence of the object or model the personal
focus of presentation, and therefore time reference, remains clearly in
evidence. It is not, I am inclined to think, till the drawing or
painting cuts itself loose from the demonstrative of immediate
perception that we find ourselves on the threshold of free artistic
expression.
Such a sketch as that of the ‘Hedging and Ditching’ subject (Plate XXV.)
may serve as a connecting link between the two categories. Like the
drawings of Lincoln and Ripon Cathedrals, it is probably only a record
of a scene actually witnessed, and as a record of the objects
constituting such a scene and their relations to one another it is
considerably less complete than they are. But somehow I find it hard to
take it simply as a record of fact, perhaps simply because of its very
incompleteness. As a symbol of a determinate complex of feeling present
to the mind of the artist, it demands to be placed in a different
category from those drawings which only aim at the accumulation of the
raw material of artistic invention; and this in spite of its defects and
insufficiencies which make it, it must be admitted, quite unintelligible
as such a symbol to everybody but the artist himself. Yet here, it seems
to me, we have crossed the threshold which divides a study from a work
of art proper. The reference to reality is no longer direct. The artist
is no longer giving evidence about matters of fact. He has cut himself
free from the demonstrative of immediate perception and is groping his
way towards a definitory judgment.[36] We have here an operative
identity cut loose from its context, though in a singularly inarticulate
form. But if so, the sketch must be taken as an incipient work of art,
which possesses the capacity of growth or development.
In the sepia drawing of this subject, reproduced in Plate XXVI., we come
to a later stage of this development. Here the whole subject has become
defined, not indeed to the point of realisation that would satisfy a
modern artist, but sufficiently to evoke and control the ideas and
emotions present to the mind of the artist. We can say if we like that
such a drawing is or may be a more or less accurate realisation of an
actual scene, and though such an assertion would require qualification,
I do not think we could reject it altogether. But if we said that it was
nothing more than such a realisation we should certainly be wrong. It is
a great deal more. The connection between any fact or series of facts
and the emotional standpoint from which we regard them is at times a
matter of chance. But in Turner’s design the connection between
subjective feeling and the objects upon which our attention is focussed
is not left to the caprice of chance or to the accidents of individual
initiative; the connection is necessary, and objective and universal.
Indeed if we examine the matter carefully we find that the whole _raison
d’être_ of the drawing turns upon its power of evoking and qualifying
ideally a definite range of emotion. The objects selected and the manner
of their presentation are such that a normal mind, so far as it
understands the artist’s symbols, is bound to feel about the presented
scene in exactly the way that the artist felt.
Now, so long as the scene which the artist evokes exists only for the
sake of suggesting and limiting a certain range of emotion, the relation
of this scene to fact is entirely irrelevant. The artist is not bearing
witness to what he has seen, he is defining a definite complex of
thought and emotion; and as an artist, his work is complete when he has
worked out this definition. When he has done this his work is complete
within itself, and all direct reference to a particular time and place
in the world of fact is wiped out. What we have before us is a
hypothetical connection of ideal and universal meanings. We are now in
the region of the hypothetical judgment. The hypothetical form is
adopted not because there is any uncertainty in the matter, but because
the artist wishes to concentrate attention on the attributes themselves,
and not on any particular embodiment of them. The subject is taken, not
given, and taken not for its own sake but for the sake of that which is
to follow from it,--in this case, the whole emotional complex which is
to be called up.
We might, if our space were not limited, attempt to work this out more
in detail. We might exhibit others of Turner’s studies and designs as
steps or stages in the process which aims at the complete analysis or
definition of its content. But the main conception will, I hope, have
been made evident. If the work of art as operative is nothing but a
connection of content, it can rely upon no other driving force than that
of systematic rationality. The assertions made in a work of art are made
on the strength of rational grounds, and not on the strength of
testimony. If the artist uses fact, he does not use it as fact, and the
most outrageous fiction may be truer than fact within the four walls of
his special construction. In interpreting pictures, as in following
fiction, we are engaged in an act of comprehensive abstraction; the
conjunction of objects or events is all within a judgment that we are
dealing with abstractions used for a certain purpose. Colonel Newcome
and Turner’s trees and mountains are as much abstractions and as unreal
as the abstractions of the physical sciences, as matter, force, atoms,
etc.,--as unreal, but also quite as real, and probably in the same way.
They are provisional conceptions employed for certain purposes. And all
the details and secondary judgments used in interpreting a picture must
be recognised as _transformed_ by the system to which they belong.[37]
But each work of art though rational is nevertheless a unique
individual, and though all works of art as forms of communication must
necessarily aspire to the ideal of complete definition, yet it does not
follow that some of the stages short of absolute determination may not
very well possess considerable aesthetic interest of their own.
Conversation among people who understand each other tends to become
elliptical. A hint of one’s meaning is generally sufficient for a
friend; indeed, when we are thoroughly assured of the good will of our
auditor, a hint often conveys our meaning better than a more laboured
form of expression. It is the same in pictorial art. To those who
understand the language and are on terms of intimacy with the artist’s
usual modes of expression and habitual range of thought and feeling, a
few hurried scribbles or washes are as delightfully suggestive and full
of significance as a completed painting; and at the same time, from the
very fact that we have gone more than half-way to meet the artist, we
enjoy the additional pleasure of intimate intercourse. The sympathetic
and imaginative and well-informed spectator is therefore apt to resent
the suggestion that such delightfully eloquent sketches as the ‘Pass of
Faïdo,’ ‘Lucerne,’ ‘Zurich,’ and a hundred others equally eloquent and
suggestive, are in any way short of perfection. And no doubt from the
strictly aesthetic point of view they are right. ‘The best of this kind
are but shadows, and the worst are no worse if imagination amend them.’
But I think it is clear that considerable experience of the completed
works of an artist is necessary before even the privileged spectators
can feel perfect confidence in their own interpretation of the artist’s
slighter work. When dealing, for example, with some of the sketches and
studies for marine subjects, as ‘Fishermen launching a Boat in a rough
Sea’ (Plate XIX.), or with the marine and pastoral subjects in the
_Liber_, we can interpret them with perfect confidence because, in
pictures like ‘The Guard Ship at the Nore,’ ‘Windsor,’ and ‘Frosty
Morning,’ the artist has shown us exactly the kind of completion his
sketches point to. But with the latest sketches (Faïdo, Lucerne, etc.),
we are on a different footing. A few only of these sketches were carried
farther, and I believe I am right in saying that according to the
consensus of educated opinion the subjects lost rather than gained by
elaboration. I believe this opinion to be correct, and I would suggest
that the explanation is not entirely to be found in the waning powers of
the artist. Some mental and emotional contents are incapable of definite
embodiment. The vague yearning and enigmatical unrest which form the
most prominent elements in these designs are probably of that kind.
Contents of such a nature that they are only partially amenable to
artistic treatment are therefore more adequately treated in the less
explicit forms of art. Such cases as these impress on us the importance
of not confusing that mechanical kind of realisation which is known in
artistic circles as ‘finishing’ or ‘high finishing’ with the demands for
ideal determination. The ideal towards which all works of art
[Illustration: _PLATE LXXXVII_
LUCERNE: EVENING
WATER COLOUR. 1844]
aspire is that of making the connection universally valid between the
sign and the state of consciousness which is its meaning, _i.e._ to
exclude all kinds of accidental and not strictly necessary emotional
effects. But this demand is only a formal one. Where a certain ambiguity
of interpretation forms a necessary factor in the meaning of the work,
the demand for definition is obviously limited. The form, on a final
analysis, must be determined by the content, and not _vice versâ_.
* * * * *
In conclusion, I will only say that I am well aware of the inadequacy of
these remarks, but that I cannot regard this as the proper place to
amplify or develop them. I have said enough, I hope, to draw attention
to the point of view which the novel character of our subject-matter has
forced upon us. In dealing with the completed work of art, as art
criticism mainly does, it is comparatively easy to rest satisfied with a
mere analysis of external shape, or a simple description of the
machinery or anatomy of pictorial art; to treat works of art, in short,
as the dried specimens of the botanist’s herbarium. But when we come to
study the rudimentary forms of artistic expression,--an artist’s
sketches and studies--we begin to discover the shortcomings of the
merely statical or morphological point of view. Works of art, we find,
are something more than the fossil remains or dead bodies of artistic
activity. They are factors in the living process by which the artist’s
thought and emotion are kindled afresh in the bosom of the spectator.
Instead, therefore, of merely describing the anatomy of the dead
specimen, we have had to address ourselves to the much harder task of
attempting to comprehend the living activity of art. The old static or
morphological point of view had to give place to a dynamic or
physiological system of interpretation. The emphasis was placed on
function rather than on structure. The new ideal of art criticism which
has thus been forced upon me is a synthetic view of function and form,
the interpretation of function in relation to structure. Art criticism
would thus become a science which treats of the mode of action of works
of art and of the function of their parts. It would be concerned
entirely with the positive facts of art as an active method
of communication, and it would seek only for verifiable
generalisations--for a classified and unified account of the phenomena
of artistic activity.
The present volume, with all its shortcomings and defects, is, I hope,
at least a feeble and hesitating step in this direction.
INDEX
The names of Turner’s oil-paintings and water-colours are printed in
italics. Oil-paintings in the National Gallery have the gallery numbers
immediately after the names, thus (N.G. 523); water-colours and drawings
in the National Gallery have their reference numbers in the official
Inventory of the Turner Bequest, thus (T.B. CCLXXX. 184). Where I have
been able to do so I have added references to the books where
reproductions of the painting’s, etc., have been published. These are
placed at the end of the entries, in square brackets, thus [Turner
Gallery, Pl. 4].
_List of Volumes referred to_
‘The Turner Gallery.’ With Memoir, etc., by R. N. Wornum.
London: James S. Virtue,
_Referred to as_ Turner Gallery
‘Turner and Ruskin.’ Edited by Fredk. Wedmore.
London: George Allen, 1900, “ Turner and Ruskin
‘Turner.’ By Sir Walter Armstrong. London: T.
Agnew and Sons, 1902, “ Armstrong
‘The Genius of J. M. W. Turner, R.A. Edited by
Charles Holme. Offices of ‘The Studio,’ 1903, “ Genius
‘Hidden Treasures at the National Gallery.’ ‘Pall
Mall’ Press. Holborn, 1905, “ Hidden Treasures
‘The Life of J. M. W. Turner, R.A.’ By P. G.
Hamerton. London: Seeley and Co., Ltd., 1895, “ Hamerton
‘J. M. W. Turner, R.A.’ By W. L. Wyllie, A.R.A.
London: G. Bell & Sons, 1905, “ Wyllie
‘The Water-Colours of J. M. W. Turner.’ Offices
of ‘The Studio,’ 1909, “ Water-Colours of Turner
‘J. M. W. Turner, R.A.’ By Robert Chignell.
London: Walter Scott Publishing Co., 1902, “ Chignell
‘Ruskin on Pictures.’ Edited by E. T. Cook,
London: George Allen, 1902, “ Ruskin on Pictures
‘James Orrock, R.I. Painter, etc.’ By Byron Webber.
London, 1903, “ Byron Webber
Abbotsford, 106.
Aberdulâs, Mill at, 27.
Abingdon, 11.
_Abingdon, Berkshire, with a View of the Thames: Morning_
(N.G. 485), 5, 55, 96.
[Turner Gallery, Pl. 12; Ruskin on Pictures, p. 24; Chignell, p. 24.]
‘Aesthetic, History of’ (B. Bosanquet’s), 31.
Agnew, Messrs., 20.
_Agrippina landing with the Ashes of Germanicus. Ancient Rome_
(N.G. 523), 119, 121.
[Genius, 0-17.]
Aitken, Dr., 19.
Akenside, M., 69, 98.
Albert Memorial Museum, Exeter, 35.
_Alps at Daybreak, The_ (T.B. CCLXXX. 184), 129.
Ambleteuse, 42, 135.
_Anchorage, Ships bearing up for_ (Petworth House Collection), 44.
Anderdon Catalogues (Print Room, B.M.), 17.
_Anselm’s Chapel, with part of Thomas à Becket’s Crown,
St._ (Whitworth Institute), 18, 19.
Antinoüs, The Belvedere, 14.
Antique Class, R. A. Schools, 14.
_Apollo and Python_ (N.G. 121), 5.
[Turner and Ruskin, vol. i. p. 42.]
Apollo, The Belvedere, 14.
_Arm Chair, Study of an_ (T.B. XCV. (_a_) F.), 146.
Arnald, G., 76.
Art Criticism and Aesthetic, separation of, 3, 136.
_Arveron, Source of the_ (Farnley Hall Collection), 82.
[Study for, Genius, MW-10.]
Avon, R., 15.
_Baiae, Bay of, with Apollo and the Sibyl_ (N.G. 505), 88, 93.
[Genius, 0-11; Wyllie, p. 68; Chignell, p. 64.]
Bamborough Castle, 34.
Barnard Castle, 34.
Basire, J., 9.
_Basle_ (R. 5), 78, 79.
Bass Rock, the, 48.
_Bath Abbey from the North-East_ (T.B. VII. F.), 14, 15.
Bell, Mr. C. F., 90.
Bellinzona, 140.
_Bembridge Mill_ (T.B. XXIV. 49), 25.
Bernard, Dr. J. H., 32.
_Berry Pomeroy Castle_ (R. 58), 81.
Berwick, 48.
_Birds, Studies of_ (T.B. CCLXIII. 340 and 341), 146.
[Genius, W-7.]
‘Birmingham,’ 20.
_Blair’s Hut, Mer de Glace_ (Farnley Hall Collection), 39.
[Turner and Ruskin, vol. ii. p. 198.]
_Blaze Castle_ (T.B. VI. 20 _a_), 15.
‘Bolton Abbey,’ 109, 110, 111.
Borrowdale, 34.
Bosanquet, Dr. B., ‘Essentials of Logic,’ 148, 149.
---- ‘History of Aesthetic,’ 31.
---- ‘Knowledge and Reality,’ 151.
---- ‘Logic,’ 149.
_Boscastle_, 99, 100, 102.
Boulogne, 42.
Boydell, John, 36.
Brading, Isle of Wight, 25.
_Bridge and Cows_ (R. 2), 57, 73.
_Bridgenorth_, 20.
_Bridgewater Sea Piece, The_, 43, 44, 45, 46.
[Turner Gallery, Pl. 2.]
Bristol, 14, 15.
‘British Itinerary, The,’ 99.
Brocklebank, Mr. Ralph, 45.
---- Mr. Thomas, 106.
Burke, Edmund, 31.
Bury Art Gallery, 118.
Buttermere, 34.
_Buttermere Lake_ (T.B. XXXV. 84), 35.
_Buttermere Lake, with part of Cromack-water,
Cumberland; a Shower_ (N.G. 460), 35.
Byronism, 121, 123.
Byron, Lord, 128.
Byron’s ‘Childe Harold,’ 88.
_Caernarvon Castle, North Wales_ (T.B. LXX. M), 45.
Calais, 43.
_Calais, Pas de._ See _Now for the Painter_.
_Calais Pier, with French Poissards preparing for
Sea: an English Packet arriving_ (N.G. 472), 23, 47, 119.
[Hamerton, p. 92; Turner Gallery, Pl. 3.]
_Calais Sands, Low Water: Poissards collecting Bait_
(Bury Art Gallery), 118, 126.
[Illus. Cat. Bury Art Gallery, p. 72.]
Callcott, Sir A. W., 4.
Cambridge, 20.
Campbell, T., 128.
Canning, 58.
_Canterbury Cathedral, St. Anselm’s Chapel, with part
of Thomas à Becket’s Crown_ (Whitworth Inst.), 18, 19.
Cardiff Art Gallery, 29.
Carew Castle, 26.
Carisbrook Castle, 25.
Carlisle, 34.
_Carthaginian Empire, Decline of the_ (N.G. 499), 88.
[Turner Gallery, Pl. 21.]
‘Castle of Otranto’ (Walpole’s), 31.
_Chamounix, Mer de Glace_ (Farnley Hall Collection), 39.
[Genius, MW-24; Turner and Ruskin, vol. ii. 196.]
Chateaubriand, 88.
Chepstow, 24.
_Chester_, 20.
Chinese Art, 22.
_Christchurch Gate, Canterbury_, 17.
Clifton Nuneham, 11.
Clydach, R., 27.
_Clovelly_, 99.
Cobham, 51.
_Colchester_, 111, 119.
Coltman, N., 99.
_Combe Martin_, 99.
Coniston, 34.
Content, Form and, 3.
Conway Castle, 37.
Cook’s Folly, Bristol, 15.
Cook, Sir Frederick, 55.
Copper Plate Magazine, 20.
_Cottage, Interior of a_ (T.B. XXIX. X.), 23, 24, 28.
[Genius, MW-5.]
Cox, David, 4.
_Crossing the Brook_ (N.G. 497), 87.
[Turner Gallery, Pl. 18; Armstrong, Pl. 58; Genius, 0-10; Wyllie, p. 60.]
Crowle, Mr., 6.
Cumberland, 34.
Cyfarthfa Sketch Book (T.B. XLI.), 44.
_Dacre Castle, Cumberland_ (T.B. I. D.), 9.
Daniell, Thomas, 76.
_Danish Ships seized at Copenhagen entering Portsmouth
Harbour._ See _Spithead_; _Boat’s Crew_, _etc._
_Dartmouth_, 99.
_Dartmouth Castle_, 99.
_Datur hora Quieti_, 129.
Dawe, H., 81, 82.
Dayes, E., 18, 19, 124.
Deal, 135.
_Decline of the Carthaginian Empire_ (N.G. 499), 88.
[Turner Gallery, Pl. 21.]
Delacroix, 117.
De Loutherbourg, 18, 19, 31, 32, 43.
_Deluge, The_ (N.G. 493), 45.
Derby, 20.
Derwentwater, 34.
_Derwentwater, The Head of_ (T.B. XXXV. 82), 35.
_Devil’s Bridge, Cardiganshire_, 17.
_Devil’s Bridge, The Little_ (R. 19), 80.
‘Devonshire Rivers, The,’ 109.
Dewick, Rev. E. S., 29.
De Wint, P., 4.
_Dido and Aeneas_ (N.G. 494), 5, 87.
[Turner Gallery, Pl. 16.]
---- _building Carthage_ (N.G. 498), 87.
[Genius, 0-9; Wyllie, p. 62; Turner Gallery, Pl. 19.]
---- _directing the Equipment of the Fleet_ (N.G. 506), 88.
[Hamerton, p. 216.]
Diskobolos, The, 14.
_Dolbadern Castle_ (Diploma Gallery, R.A.), 45.
[Genius 0-1.]
_Dort_ (Farnley Hall Collection), 96.
[Mag. of Art, July, 1887, p. 300.]
Dover, 43.
Dunbar Castle, 48.
Dunbar Sketch Book (T.B. LIV.), 48.
Dunstanborough Castle, 34.
Durdham Downs, Bristol, 15.
Durham, 34.
Durham Castle, 34.
Durham Cathedral, 34.
_Dutch Boats in a Gale_ (The Bridgewater Sea-piece), 43.
[Turner Gallery, Pl. 2.]
Dying Gaul, the, 14.
Edinburgh, 48.
_Edinburgh from the Galton Hill_ (T.B. LX. H.), 107, 108.
Egremont, Lord, 126.
‘Elegy,’ Gray’s, 31.
_Ely Minster, Transept and Choir of_, 23.
‘Ely Minster, View of’ (Girtin’s), 19.
‘England and Wales’ Series, 4, 26, 96, 97, 109, 111, 112, 119, 129.
‘Environs of Manchester,’ Dr. Aitken’s, 19.
_Evening of the Deluge, The_ (N.G. 531), 119.
_Evening Star, The_ (N.G. 1991), 119.
[Cassell’s Illustrated Catalogue, N.G. of B. Art., p. 33.]
_Ewenny Priory, Transept of_, 28, 29, 30, 31.
_Exile and the Rock Limpet, The_ (N.G. 529), 119.
[Cassell’s Cat., p. 136.]
Fabris, 7.
_Faïdo, Pass of_ (T.B. CCCLXIV. 209), 140, 152.
[See ‘Mod. Painters,’ 1st ed. vol. iv. pl. 20; Turner
and Ruskin, vol. ii. p. 168.]
Farington, Joseph, 36
_Farm Yard with the Cock_ (R. 17), 57.
Farnley Hall Collection, The, 39, 52.
Fast Castle, 49.
Fawkes, Mr. F. H., 52.
Fawkes, Walter, 91, 93, 103.
_Fishermen at Sea_, 23, 42.
---- _becalmed previous to a Storm--Twilight_, 42.
---- _coming Ashore at Sunset_, 42.
---- _launching a Boat_, etc. (LXVIII. 3), 152.
---- _upon a Lee-shore_ (Lord Iveagh), 23, 43, 48.
[Armstrong, p. 50.]
Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, 18, 102.
_Flint_, 20.
_Flint Castle._ See _French Coast, Scene on the_.
Flushing, 51.
Folkestone, 135.
_Folly Bridge and Bacon’s Tower_ (T.B. I. A.), 9.
[Genius, MW-1].
Form and Content, 3.
_Forum Romanum_ (N.G. 504), 93.
Fouché’s ‘Memoirs,’ 59.
Fowler, Captain, 15.
Franco-British Exhibition, The, 48.
Freedom and Necessity, Reconciliation of, 68.
_French Coast, Scene on the_ (R. 4), 57, 75-78.
_Frosty Morning, A_ (N.G. 492), 4, 5, 55, 61, 63, 64,
66, 68, 86, 87, 96, 117, 119, 152.
[Hamerton, p. 148; Wyllie, p. 56; Armstrong, p. 112].
Gainsborough, T., 57.
_Garrick’s Temple and Hampton Court_ (R. 63). See _Isleworth, Scene at_.
‘Genius of mechanical excellence,’ 10.
Gessner, 57.
Gilpin’s ‘Northern Tour,’ 9.
Girtin, Thomas, 19.
_Glaramara, Hills of_ (T.B. XXXV. 83), 35.
Goodrich Castle, 26.
Gould, Mr. G. J., 52.
Goyen, Van, 28.
Gravesend, 50, 51.
Gray’s ‘Elegy,’ 31.
Greenwich, 51.
_Greenwich Park, London from_ (N.G. 483) 63, 80.
[Genius, 0-14.]
Grose’s ‘Antiquities,’ 9.
Guisborough Shore Sketch Book (T.B. LII.) 48.
Hamerton’s ‘Turner,’ 130.
_Hannibal Crossing the Alps_ (N.G. 490), 5.
[Turner Gallery, Pl. XIV.].
Harding, J. D., 12.
Hardwick, P. C., 10, 11, 14.
Hastings, 51.
Hayter, G., 117.
Hearne, Thomas, 18, 19.
_Hedging and Ditching_ (R. 47), 61, 94, 119, 149.
Hereford, 15.
Herne Bay, 51.
_Heysham_, 103-106, 108.
_High Force of Tees_, 27.
_Hind Head Hill_ (R. 25), 58, 61.
Hoare, Sir R. C., 25.
Holmes, Mr. C. J., 146.
Holt, Collection of the late Mr. R. F., 23.
_Hornby Castle_, 102, 103, 106, 108.
Hotwells, Bristol, The, 15.
Hugo, Victor, 129.
_Hulks on the Tamar_ (Petworth House), 119.
[Armstrong, p. 74.]
Hume, David, 85, 142, 143.
_Indolence, The Fountain of_, 121.
_Interior of a Cottage_ (T.B. XXIX. X.), 23, 24, 28.
[Genius, MW-5.]
Isabey, 117.
Isle of Wight, 24, 25, 26.
Isleworth Old Church, 11, 12.
_Isleworth, Scene at_ (R. 63), 81.
Italy, 6.
Iveagh, Lord, 23, 43, 48.
Japanese Art, 22.
_Jason_ (N.G. 471), 38.
Jeffrey, F., 67.
Johnson, Dr., 33, 35.
‘Judgement, Kritik of’ (Kant), 31, 32.
_Juvenile Tricks_ (R. 22), 57.
Kant’s ‘Kritik of Judgement,’ 31, 32.
Kershaw, Mr., 25.
Keswick, 34.
‘---- Lake, View of’ (Dayes), 19.
Kidwelly Castle, 26.
_Kilgarran Castle_, 41.
[Armstrong, p. 40.]
_King’s College, Cambridge_, 20.
_Kingston Bank_ (N.G. 491), 55.
Kirkstall Abbey, 34.
_Kirkstall Crypt_ (Soane Museum), 91.
Korin, 51.
Lamartine, 88, 123.
Lambert, Mr., 25.
‘Landscape with Bathers’ (R. Wilson), 36.
Landseer, Mr. C., 25.
_Land’s End_, 102.
Langhorne, Dr., 69.
Laugharne Castle, 26.
Laurie, Mr., 25.
Lawrence, Sir T., 88, 90, 117.
_Lee-Shore, Fishermen on a_ (Lord Iveagh), 23, 43, 48.
[Armstrong, p. 50.]
Liebreich, Dr., 120.
Lessing, 98.
‘Liber Studiorum,’ 4, 48, 56, 57, 58, 61, 64, 72-83, 99, 119.
Lichfield, 20.
Life Class, R.A. Schools, 14.
Lincoln, 20.
_Lincoln, Cathedral Church at_ (Print Room, B.M.), 20,
21, 22, 29, 31, 148, 149.
[Genius, MW-4].
Lindisfarne, 34.
Lippincott, Sir H., 15.
_Llandaff Cathedral_ (T.B. XXVIII. A), 23, 29, 31.
Llanstephen Castle, 26.
Locke, 142, 143.
_London from Greenwich Park_ (N.G. 483), 63, 80.
[Genius, 0-14.]
Loutherbourg, De, 18, 19, 31, 32, 43.
_Lucerne_ (T.B. CCCLXIV. 324), 152.
Lysons’ ‘Environs of London,’ 10.
_Macon_ (Lord Yarborough), 87.
Macpherson, James, 31.
Maiden Lane, 6.
Maiden, Viscount, 25.
Mallet, David, 69.
Malmesbury Abbey, 15.
_Malvern Abbey, Porch of Great_ (Man. Whitworth Inst.) 17, 18.
Manchester, Whitworth Institute, 18, 20.
Margate, 51, 135.
Marshall, J. M. W., 11, 14.
_Martello Towers, Bexhill_ (R. 34), 80.
Martineau, H., 59.
Matthews, Dr., 25.
_Matlock_, 20.
‘Mechanical Excellence, Genius of,’ 10, 125.
Meleager, the Vatican, 14.
_Melincourt, Fall of_ (T.B. XXXVI. 8), 27.
_Melrose_, 129.
Melrose Abbey, 34.
_Mer de Glace, Chamounix_ (Farnley Hall), 39.
[Turner and Ruskin, vol. ii. 196; Genius, MW-24.]
_Meuse, Entrance of the_ (N.G. 501), 96.
[Armstrong, p. 84; Hamerton, p. 170.]
_Millbank, Study at_ (N.G. 459), 28.
Miller, Mrs. Pitt, 45.
Millet, J. F., 67.
Milton, 31, 53, 69, 98.
Mitchell, Mr., 25.
‘Modern Painters’ (Ruskin), 2.
Monmouthshire, 15.
Monro, Dr. 19.
_Moonlight Study at Millbank_ (N.G. 459), 28.
Moore, T., 88, 89.
Morland George, 43, 57.
‘Morning’ (Wilson), 36.
_Mortlake, Early (Summer’s) Morning_, 88.
[Armstrong, p. 118.]
---- _Terrace: Summer’s Evening_, 88.
[Armstrong, p. 120.]
_Mossdale Fall_, 102.
‘Musical’ Education, Defects of, 85.
Naples, Part of, with the Ruin’d Tower of St. Vincent, 7.
Napoleon, 42, 58, 59.
_Narcissus and Echo_ (Petworth House), 87.
Narraways, The, 14.
Naturalism, Wordsworthian, 4.
Nature and Art, 3, 4, 8, 11, 15.
Needles, The, 25.
Neer, Van der, 28.
_Nelson, The Death of_ (N.G. 480), 53, 54.
[Genius, 0-5; Turner Gallery, Pl. 9.]
Newcome, Col. 151.
Newport, Isle of Wight, 25.
‘Night Thoughts’ (Young), 31.
_Nile, The Battle of the_, 42, 43.
_Nore, Guardship at the._ See _Sheerness_.
Norham Castle, 34.
_Norham Castle on the Tweed, Summer’s Morn_, 36, 41.
[Armstrong, p. 34.]
_Northampton_, 20.
Northumberland, 34.
Norwich School, the, 4.
_Nottingham_, 20.
_Now for the Painter_ (J. M. Naylor), 96, 116.
[Turner Gallery, Pl. 27.]
Nuneham Courtenay, 11.
Orrock, Mr. J., 55.
‘Ossian,’ 31, 69.
Oxford, 11, 15.
‘---- Almanack,’ 9.
---- Loan Collection, 27.
---- Sketch Book, The (T.B. II.), 14.
---- University Galleries, 46.
_Oxford, View of High Street_ (Wantage Coll.), 5.
[Illus. Cat. of Wantage Coll.]
_Oxford, View of the City of_ (T.B. III. B), 13.
‘Pastoral’ and ‘Elegant Pastoral,’ 56.
Paterson’s ‘Road Book,’ 34.
Patterdale, 34.
Pembroke Bay, 24.
_Pembroke Castle: Clearing up of a Thunderstorm_ (R. Brocklebank), 45.
[Turner and Ruskin, vol. ii. p. 158; Armstrong, p. 50.]
_Pembroke Castle: Thunderstorm approaching_ (Mrs. W. Pitt Miller), 45.
[Genius, W-1.]
_Pembury Mill_ (R. 12), 57.
Percy’s ‘Reliques,’ 31.
_Peterborough_, 20.
---- _Cathedral: West Entrance_, 20.
_Petworth, Interior at_ (N.G. 1988), 119.
---- _Dewy Morning_ (Petworth House Coll.), 119.
---- House Collection, 44, 126.
---- _Park_ (Petworth House Coll.), 126.
_Petworth Park_ (N.G. 559), 126.
[Wyllie, p. 48.]
_Pilot hailing a Whitstable Hoy_ (Farnley Coll.), 52.
[Turner and Ruskin, vol. i. p. 132; Genius, 0-7.]
Plato, 85.
Pleasant and Beautiful, The, 90.
_Plymouth Dock, from Mount Edgecumbe_, 102.
‘Pocket Magazine,’ 20.
‘Poetry, History of English’ (Warton), 31.
Poetry, Turner’s, 69, 70.
_Poole_, 102.
Pope’s Tower, Stanton Harcourt, 11.
Portrayal and Portrayed, Problem of, 3.
‘Ports of England’ Series, 4, 96, 97.
Portugal, Prince Regent of, 58.
‘Prelude, The’ (Wordsworth), 65.
Print Room, British Museum, 6, 17, 20.
‘Provincial Antiquities,’ Scott’s, 4, 96, 97, 106.
Purfleet, 54.
Purley, nr. Pangbourne, 70.
Pyke-Thompson Bequest, 29.
_Queen Mab’s Cave_ (N.G. 548), 119.
Radley Hall, near Abingdon, 11, 12, 13.
_Raglan Castle._ See _Berry Pomeroy Castle_.
_Rain, Storm, and Speed_, (N.G. 538), 119.
[Turner and Ruskin, vol. ii. p. 270; Genius, 0-23; Wyllie, p. 132.]
Raleigh’s (Professor), ‘Wordsworth,’ 67.
Rawlinson’s ‘Liber Studiorum,’ 73, 78.
_Reichenbach, Falls of the_ (Farnley Hall Collection), 39.
[Genius, M.W.--19.]
‘Reliques,’ Percy’s, 31.
Rembrandt, 67, 125.
‘Review of Publications of Art,’ 60.
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 10, 125.
Richmond Castle, Yorkshire, 34.
_Richmond Hill on the Prince Regent’s Birthday_ (N.G. 502), 88.
‘Richmondshire, The History of,’ 4, 97, 102, 106.
_Richmond, Yorks_, 102.
‘Rimini, Bridge of Augustus at’ (Wilson), 36.
_Ripon Cathedral_ (T.B. XXXV. 6), 34, 148, 149.
‘Rivers of England’ Series, 4, 96, 97, 99, 109, 127.
‘Rivers of France’ Series, 127, 129.
‘Rochester Castle’ (Sandby), 19.
_Rochester on the Medway_ (T.B. CCVIII. W.), 109, 127.
Rogers, Samuel, 128.
Romantic Art, Inauguration of, 31.
_Rome, from Monte Mario_ (T.B. CLXXXIX. 33), 92.
_Rome from the Vatican_ (T.B. CLXXXIX. 41), 88.
Rooker, M. A., 18, 19.
Roslin Castle, 48.
Rowlandson, T., 43.
Royal Academy Schools, 14.
Royal Academy, Winter Exhibition, 11.
Ruskin Bequest, Cambridge, 102.
Ruskin, Mr. John, 8, 27, 49, 90, 92, 93, 94, 110, 130.
‘Ruskin on Pictures,’ 50.
Ruskin’s ‘Elements of Drawing,’ 95, 140.
---- ‘Modern Painters,’ 109, 138 _sq._
St. Abb’s Head, 49.
_St. Anselm’s Chapel, etc.--‘Canterbury Cathedral’_
(Man. Whit. Inst.), 18, 19.
_St. Catherine’s Hill, near Guildford_ (R. 33), 61.
_St. Gothard, Pass of_ (Farnley Hall Collection), 39.
_St. Vincent’s Tower, Naples_ (T.B. I. E.), 6, 9.
Salisbury, 25.
_Sandbank with Gipsies_ (N.G. 467), 55.
Sandby, Paul, 7, 13, 18.
Sandwich, 135.
Santayana, Mr. George, 123, 124.
_Schaffhausen, Fall of the Rhine at_ (Tabley House), 87.
Scott, Sir Walter, 49, 88, 106, 128.
Scott’s ‘Provincial Antiquities,’ 4.
Shee, Sir Martin A., 117.
_Sheerness_ (Wantage Collection), 52, 53, 54, 96, 117, 152.
[Armstrong, p. 52; and Illus. Cat., Wantage Collection.]
Shelley, P. B., 123, 129.
_Ships bearing up for Anchorage_ (Petworth House Collection), 44.
Shipwreck, Studies of a (T.B. LXXXVIII. 1-8), 49.
[Wyllie, pp. 19-22.]
_Shipwreck, The_ (N.G. 476), 23, 49, 50.
[Genius, 0-3; Monkhouse, p. 50; Wyllie, p. 36.]
Shrewsbury, 20.
‘Simple Nature,’ 4, 5.
_Snowstorm, The_ (N.G. 530), 119.
[Wyllie, p. 126; Turner and Ruskin, vol. ii. p. 220.]
Soane Museum, The, 93.
Southampton, 25.
Southend, 51.
‘Southern Coast, The,’ 4, 96-102, 103.
Southey, R., 88.
_Spinnet Player, The_ (T.B. CCXLIV. 37), 128.
_Spithead: Boat’s Crew recovering an Anchor_ (N.G. 481), 53, 54, 60, 119.
[Armstrong, p. 66; Turner and Ruskin, vol. i. p. 154.]
Spithead Sketch Book (T.B. C.), 59, 60.
_Stamford, Linc._, 112, 113, 114, 129.
Stanton Harcourt, 11.
‘Stanton Harcourt, The Old Kitchen at,’ 9.
_Stoke, near Bristol_ (Mrs. A. Thomas), 15.
_Stonehenge at Daybreak_ (R. 81), 99.
_Straw Yard, The_ (R. 7), 57.
Strong, The late Mr. Arthur, 83.
Subject and Treatment, 3.
‘Sublime and Beautiful, Essay on the’ (Burke), 31.
Sunningwell, 14.
---- Church, 11, 12.
Symbolists, The French, 126.
Swinburne, A. C., 129.
Tantallon Castle, 48.
Taylor, The late Mr. J. E., 82.
_Tees, High Force of_, 27.
_Teignmouth_, 119.
_Téméraire, The Fighting_ (N.G. 524), 5, 54.
[Armstrong, p. 116; Genius, 0-19; Hamerton, p. 282; Wyllie, p. 118.]
Teniers, 57.
_Thames and Medway, The Meeting of the_ (N.G. 813), 46.
[Wyllie, p. 142.]
---- ---- ---- (Mr. Widener’s), 52.
[Armstrong, p. 54.]
Thomas, Mrs., 15.
Thomson, 57, 98.
_Thomson’s Lyre_ (Basildon House), 5.
Thornbury, Walter, 6.
Tilsit, Treaty of, 58.
_Tintern Abbey_ (V. and A. Museum), 18 [Genius, MW-3].
Topographical Art, limitations of, 22.
_Trafalgar, Battle of_, (Greenwich Hospital), 96
[Turner and Ruskin, vol. i. p. 4; ‘Hidden Treasures,’ p. 91.]
Treatment and Subject, 3.
_Trossachs, The_, 41.
_Trout Stream, The_, 55, 86. [Armstrong, p. 58.]
Truth, 3.
Turner, Charles, 76.
_Twickenham--Pope’s Villa._ See _Isleworth, Scene at_.
_Tynemouth_, 113-115.
Ullswater, 34.
_Ulysses deriding Polyphemus_ (N.G. 508), 88, 118, 119. [Armstrong, p. 114;
Turner and Ruskin, vol. i. p. 54; Genius, 0-12;
Hamerton, p. 224; Wyllie, p. 80.]
_Union of the Thames and Isis_ (N.G. 487), 55.
Usk, R., 44.
Van der Neer, 28.
Van Goyen, 28.
Vatican Meleager, The, 14.
Vaughan Bequest, 102.
_Venice, Riva degli Schiavone, from near the Public
Gardens_ (T.B. CCCXVI. 21), 132.
_Venice, Shipping on the Riva degli Schiavone_ (T.B. CCCXVI. 20), 132.
_Venice, The Approach to_ (T.B. CCCXVI. 16), 132.
Ventnor, 25.
Venus de’ Medici, 14.
_Via Mala, The_ (T.B. CCCLXIV. 362), 135.
Victoria and Albert Museum, 18, 19, 102.
_Village and Castle on the Rhine_ (T.B. CCCLXIX. 22), 135.
_Waiting for Dinner_ (T.B. CCCXLIV. 31), 127, 128.
Wallis Wall, Bristol, 15.
Walpole, Horace, 31.
Walton Bridges, 51.
_Walton Bridges_ (Wantage Collection), 55. [Armstrong, p. 58.]
---- ---- (Mr. J. Orrock), 55. [Byron Webber, vol. i. 94].
Wanstead, New Church at, 10.
Wantage, The Lady, 52, 55, 63.
Warkworth Castle, 34.
Warton, Joseph, 4, 31.
_Watchet_, 99, 100, 101, 102.
_Waterloo, Field of_ (N.G. 500), 88.
_Water Mill, The_ (R. 37), 61.
Wells, 26.
Wells, Mrs., 75.
---- W. F., 73.
_Welsh Bridge, Shrewsbury_ (Man. Whit. Inst.), 20.
‘_Welsh Coast, A View of the, from Cook’s Folly_,’ (T.B. VI. 9), 15.
Westall, William, 76.
_Whalers_ (N.G. 546, 547), 119.
_Whalley Bridge and Abbey_ (Wantage Collection),
63. [Illus. Cat. Wantage Collection.]
‘Whatman’s Turkey Mills,’ View of (Sandby), 19.
_What You Will_, 88.
Wheatley, F., 18, 19, 57.
Wheeler, Mrs., 75.
_Whitstable Hoy, Pilot hailing a_ (Farnley Hall Collection),
52. [Turner and Ruskin, vol. i. p. 132; Genius, 0-7.]
Widener, Mr. P. A. B., 52.
Wight, Isle of, 24, 25, 26.
Wilson, R., 4, 31, 32, 33, 36, 37, 39, 84.
Winchester, 25.
Windermere, 34.
_Windmill and Lock_ (R. 27), 57, 58, 61, 94.
---- ---- (Sir Frederick Cook), 55 [Genius 0-8].
Windsor, 15.
_Windsor_ (N.G. 486), 4, 55, 63, 64, 67, 68, 86, 96, 117, 152.
Wint, De, 4.
Worcester, 15.
Wordsworth, 4, 65, 86, 125.
---- Dorothy, 64.
‘Wordsworth’ (Prof. Raleigh), 67.
Wordsworthian Naturalism, 4.
Wordsworth’s ‘Excursion,’ 67.
Wordsworth’s ‘Lines, composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey,’ 66.
---- ‘Lyrical Ballads,’ 58.
---- ‘Prelude,’ 65.
Wrexham, 20.
Yorkshire, 34.
_Yorkshire, Coast of, near Whitby_ (R. 24), 48.
‘Yorkshire Series, The.’ See ‘Richmondshire, History of.’
Young, Edward, 4, 31.
_Zurich_ (T.B. CCCLXIV. 289), 152.
[Water-Colours of Turner, Pl. XXVII.]
Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See _Modern Painters_, vol. v. p. 342 _note_.
[2] _The Life of Turner_, by Walter Thornbury, 1897 edition, p. 27. The
drawings referred to are now in the Print Room, British Museum.
[3] Since these lines were written I have been lucky enough to discover
its source. It is based on an engraving in Gilpin’s _Northern Tour_,
vol. ii., facing p. 85. Turner has followed the engraving fairly
carefully, but has introduced two figures of his own in the foreground.
[4] It was finished in 1790 and consecrated on the 24th June. See
Lysons’s _Environs of London_, vol. ii. p. 237.
[5] These titles are written on the backs of the drawings by the artist
himself--an excellent practice which he very soon abandoned.
[6] The fourth architectural subject in the exhibition is described as
a view of the ‘Inside of Tintern Abbey.’ If this was the drawing now in
the Victoria and Albert Museum, as the evidence seems to indicate, the
critic’s preferences seem even more incomprehensible. On the whole this
is, I think, a finer work even than the ‘St. Anselm’s Chapel.’
[7] For it appears that there is some doubt about the matter. The
Rev. E. S. Dewick possesses another version of this subject, similar
in size and design, but very inferior in workmanship. The clumsiness
and woodenness of the workmanship have been taken as evidence that
the drawing was an earlier one than that at Cardiff. But it may also
indicate that it is merely the work of an unskilful copyist.
[8] Cf. Bosanquet’s _History of Æsthetic_, p. 277; also Kant’s _Kritik
of Judgment_, sections 28 and 29.
[9] _Op. cit._ (Dr. Bernard’s translation), p. 141.
[10] _Op. cit._ p. 125.
[11] The conventional eighteenth-century attitude towards these scenes
seems well expressed by a description in Paterson’s _Road Book_. ‘To
the south of the Derwentwater,’ the passage runs, ‘is the rocky chasm
of Borrowdale, a tremendous pass, at the entrance of which dark caverns
yawn terrific as the wildness of a maniac, etc.,’ page 435.
[12] Wordsworth, _Prelude_, Bk. xii. 118-120.
[13] See Plate XVI. for the study for the Farnley
picture.
[14] See Plate XXXVII.
[15] Plate XXXVIII.
[16] Plate XXVII (_b_).
[17] _The Prelude_, Bk. xiii. l. 287 _sq._
[18] See, for example, Jeffrey’s account of the Sixth Book of the
_Excursion_, quoted in Professor Raleigh’s _Wordsworth_, pp. 8 and 9.
[19] It is, of course, possible that the verses were composed by Turner
himself.
[20] Plate XXXIX.
[21] Bell, Article on ‘Turner and his Engravers,’ in _The Genius of
Turner_ (Studio Extra), pp. 142-143.
[22] _Turner Catalogue_, written in 1881. National Gallery edition,
1899, p. 37.
[23] _Ibid._
[24] It is also worth remarking that the value of these drawings from
a topographical point of view, _i.e._ as giving information pure and
simple, is probably diminished by the fact that the material they
contain is so skilfully selected and arranged.
[25] _Modern Painters_, vol. i. p. 132.
[26] _Ibid._ p. 130.
[27] _Elements of Drawing_, Preface, p. X.
[28] Plate LVII.
[29] ‘Turner and Mulready.--On the Effect of certain Faults of Vision,
etc.’ By R. Liebreich. _Macmillan’s Magazine_, April 1872.
[30] _The Sense of Beauty_, by George Santayana. A. & C. Black, 1896,
p. 149.
[31] This, I need hardly add, is Mr. Ruskin’s explanation.
[32] Hamerton’s _Turner_, p. 244.
[33] See, for example, Professor C. J. Holmes’s _Notes on the Science
of Picture-Making_. Introduction.
[34] Two of these studies are reproduced in _The Genius of Turner_.
[35] See Dr. Bosanquet’s _Essentials of Logic_, p. 91 _sq._
[36] The transition is from the singular to the universal judgment. See
Dr. Bosanquet’s _Logic_, vol. i. chap. v.; and _Essentials of Logic_,
p. 64 _sq._
[37] The best discussion of these points with which I am acquainted is
contained in Dr. Bosanquet’s _Knowledge and Reality_, pp. 140-155.