view, the horizontal line must be at somewhere about the height which
your lens is most generally placed at, and the vanishing point nearly
opposite the spot occupied by the camera. * * * * I have just said that
the horizon of a landscape background and the vanishing point should be
opposite the lens; I may, perhaps, for the sake of such operators as
are not acquainted with perspective, explain why. The figure and the
background are supposed to be taken at one and the same time, and the
camera has the place of the spectator by whom they are taken. Now,
suppose we have a real figure before a real landscape: if I look up at a
figure I obtain one view of it, but if I look down on it, I get another
and quite a different view, and the horizon of the natural landscape
behind the figure is always exactly the height of _my_ eye. To prove
this, you may sit down before a window, and mark on the glass the height
of the horizon; then rise, and, as you do so, you will find the horizon
also rises, and is again exactly opposite your eye. A picture, then, in
which the horizontal line of the background represents the spectator as
looking up at the figure from a position near the base line, while the
figure itself indicates that the same spectator is at that identical
time standing with his eyes on a level with the figure's breast or
chin--such productions are evidently false to art, and untrue to nature.
* * * * The general fault in the painted screens we see behind
photographs arises from introducing too many objects."
Now, as I advanced neither more nor less in my paper, why does Mr. Wall
turn round and caution your readers not to receive such simple truths
uttered by me? I was not aware that Mr. Wall had forestalled me in
laying down such rules; for at that date I was in America, and did not
see the _News_; but, on turning over the volume for 1861 the other day,
since this discussion began, I there saw and read, with surprise, the
above in his article on backgrounds. I am perfectly aware that I did not
say all that I might have said on perspective in my paper; but the
little I did say was true in principle, and answered my purpose.
When Mr. Wall (in the second paragraph of his last letter) speaks of the
"principal visual ray going from the point of distance to the point of
sight, and forming a right angle to the perspective plane," it seems to
me that he is not quite sure of the difference between the points of
_sight_, _distance_, and _observation_, or of the relation and
application of one to the other. However, his coming articles on
perspective will settle that. It also appears to me that he has
overlooked the fact that my diagrams were _sections_, showing the
perspective inclination and declination of the lines of a parallelogram
towards the point of sight. In my paper I said nothing about the _point
of distance_; with that I had nothing to do, as it was not my purpose to
go into all the dry details of perspective. But I emphatically deny that
anything like a "bird's eye view" of the figure could possibly be
obtained by following any of the rules I laid down. In my paper I
contended for the camera being placed on a level with the head of the
sitter, and that would bring the line of the horizon in a pictorial
background also as high as the head of the sitter. And if the horizon of
the pictorial background were placed anywhere else, it would cause the
apparent overlapping of _two_ conditions of perspective in the resulting
photograph. These were the errors I endeavoured to point out. I maintain
that my views are perfectly correct, and can be proved by geometrical
demonstration, and the highest artistic and scientific testimony.
I wish it to be clearly understood that I do not advocate the use of
pictorial backgrounds, and think I pretty strongly denounced them; but
if they _must_ be used by photographers, either to please themselves or
their customers, let them, for the credit of our profession, be as true
to nature as possible.
I think I have now answered all the points worth considering in Mr.
Wall's letter, and with this I beg to decline any further correspondence
on the subject.--I am, yours, &c.,
J. Werge.
_March 5th, 1866._
NOTES ON PICTURES IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY.
In the following notes on some of the pictures in the National Gallery,
it is not my intention to assume the character of an art-critic, but
simply to record the impressions produced on the mind of a photographer
while looking at the works of the great old masters, with the view of
calling the attention of photographers and others interested in
art-photography to a few of the pictures which exhibit, in a marked
degree, the relation of the horizon to the principal figures.
During an examination of those grand old pictures, two questions
naturally arise in the mind: What is conventionality in art? and--In
whose works do we see it? The first question is easily answered by
stating that it is a mode of treating pictorial subjects by established
rule or custom, so as to obtain certain pictorial effects without taking
into consideration whether such effects can be produced by natural
combinations or not. In answer to the second question, it may be boldly
stated that there is very little of it to be seen in the works of the
best masters; and one cannot help exclaiming, "What close imitators of
nature those grand old masters were!" In their works we never see that
photographic eye-sore which may be called a binographic combination of
two conditions of perspective, or the whereabouts of two horizons in the
same picture.
The old masters were evidently content with natural combinations and
effects for their backgrounds, and relied on the rendering of natural
truths more than conventional falsehoods for the strength and beauty of
their productions. Perhaps the simplest mode of illustrating this would
be to proceed to a kind of photographic analysis of the pictures of the
old masters, and see how far the study of their works will enable the
photographer to determine what he should employ and what he should
reject as pictorial backgrounds in the practice of photography. As a
photographer, then--for it is the photographic application of art we
have to consider--I will proceed to give my notes on pictures in the
National Gallery, showing the importance of having the horizontal line
in its proper relation to the sitter or figure.
Perhaps the most beautiful example is the fine picture by Annibale
Carracci of "Christ appearing to Peter." This admirable work of art as
nearly as possible contains the proportions of a carte-de-visite or
whole-plate picture enlarged, and is well worthy the careful attention
and study of every photographer; not only for its proportions and the
amount of landscape background introduced, showing the proper position
of the horizon and the small amount of sky visible, but it is a
wonderful example of light and shade, foreshortening, variety and
contrast of expression, purity of colour, simplicity of design, and
truthfulness to nature. Neither of the figures lose any of their force
or dignity, although the horizontal line is as high as their heads, and
the whole of the space between is filled in with the scene around them.
In its linear perspective it is quite in keeping with the figures, and
the scenery is in harmonious subjection, controlled and subdued by
aerial perspective.
The large picture of "Erminia takes refuge with the Shepherds," by the
same artist, is also a fine example of a horizon high in the picture.
The figure of Erminia is separated from the other figures, and could be
copied or reproduced alone without any loss of beauty and dignity, or
any violation of natural laws.
Murillo's picture of "St. John and the Lamb" suggests an admirable
background for the use of the photographer. It consists of dark masses
of rock and foliage. Nothing distinct or painfully visible, the distant
masses of foliage blend with the clouds, and there is nothing in the
background but masses of light and shade to support or relieve the
principal objects.
In the picture of "Christ appearing to Mary Magdalene," by Titian, the
water-line is above the head of Christ, but if the figure were standing
upright, the head of the Saviour would break the horizontal line.
Titian's "Bacchus and Ariadne" also has the water-line breast high,
almost to the neck of Ariadne. The figure of Bacchus springing from the
car, as a matter of course, is much higher in the sky. This picture
presents the perspective conditions of the painter having been seated
while painting such figures from nature, or similar to the results and
effects obtained by taking a group with the lens on a level with the
breast or lower part of the necks of figures standing.
In Titian's portrait of Ariosto there is a dark foliated background
which gives great brilliancy to the picture, but no sky is visible. The
"Portrait of a Lady," by Paris Bardone, has an architectural background
in which no sky is to be seen. The picture is very brilliant, and the
monotony of a plain background is skilfully overcome.
The picture of "St. Catharine of Alexandria," by Raphael, has a
landscape background, with the horizon about as high as the breast, as
if the artist had been seated and the model standing during the process
of painting.
Raphael's picture of "The Vision of a Knight" is another example of the
fearlessness of that artist in putting in or backing up his figures with
a large amount of landscape background.
The proportions of Correggio's "Venus, Mercury, and Cupid," are as
nearly as possible those of a carte-de-visite enlarged; and that picture
has no sky in the background, but a very suitable dark, cool, rocky
scene, well subdued, for the rocks are quite near to the figures. This
background gives wonderful brilliancy to the figures, and contrasts
admirably with the warm and delicate flesh tints.
Correggio's "Holy Family" has a landscape and architectural background,
with a very little sky visible in the right-hand corner.
In the "Judgment of Paris," by Rubens, the horizontal line of the
background cuts the waist of the first female figure, showing that the
artist was seated. The other two female figures are placed against a
background of rocks and dark masses of foliage. Rubens' picture of the
"Holy Family and St. George" is also a good example of the kind of
picture for the photographer to study as to the situation of the
horizontal line.
The picture of "The Idle Servant," by Nicolaes Maes, is also an
excellent subject for study of this kind. It shows the due relation of
the horizon of an interior in a very marked degree, and its shape and
subject are very suitable to the size and form of a carte-de-visite. So
are his pictures of "The Cradle" and "A Dutch Housewife."
The picture of "John Arnolfini of Lucca and his Wife," painted by John
Van Eyck in the fifteenth century, is an excellent specimen of an
interior background, with a peep out of a window on one side of the
room. This is a capital subject for the study of photographers who wish
to use a background representing an interior.
"The Holy Family at a Fountain," a picture of the Dutch school, painted
by Schoorel in the sixteenth century, has an elaborate landscape
background with the horizon above the heads of the figures, as if the
artist had been standing and the models sitting.
For an example of a portrait less than half-length, with a landscape
background, look at the portrait of "An Italian Gentleman," by Andrea da
Solario. This picture shows how very conscientiously the old masters
worked up to the truth of nature in representing the right amount of
landscape in proportion to the figure; but the background is much too
hard and carefully worked out to be pleasing. Besides, it is very
destructive to the force and power of the picture, which will be at once
visible on going to the portraits by Rembrandt, which have a marvellous
power, and seem to stand right before the dark atmospheric backgrounds
which that artist generally painted in his portraits.
There are other examples of half-length portraits with landscape
backgrounds, wherein the horizontal line passes right through the eyes
of the principal figure, one of which I will mention. It is that of the
"Virgin and Child," by Lorenzo di Credi. In this picture the horizontal
line passes right through the eyes of the Virgin without interfering
with the interest of the chief object.
Several examples of an opposite character are to be seen in the National
Gallery, with the horizon of the landscape background much too low in
the picture. It is needless to call special attention to them. After
carefully examining the works already named, and comparing them with the
natural effects to be observed daily, it will be quickly seen which is a
truthful picture in this respect, and which is a false one.
SHARPNESS AND SOFTNESS _V._ HARDNESS.
The discussion on "Sharpness: what is it?" at the meeting of the South
London Photographic Society in May, 1861, and the more recent discussion
on "Focussing" at the last meeting of the same Society, seem to me to
have lost much of their value and importance to photographers for want
of a better definition of the term _hardness_ as applied to art, and as
used by _artists_ in an _artistic sense_. Webster, in his second
definition of the word "hardness," gives it as "difficulty to be
understood." In that sense Mr. Wall succeeded admirably when he gave
the term _concentration_, in reply to Mr. Hughes, who asked Mr. Wall
what he meant by _hardness_. Fairholt gives the _art meaning_ of the
word as "want of refinement; academic drawing, rather than artistic
feeling." But even that definition would not have been sufficiently
comprehensive to convey an adequate idea of the meaning of the term in
contradistinction to the word _sharpness_, and I cannot but think that
Mr. Wall failed in his object in both papers, and lost considerable
ground in both discussions, by not giving more attention to the nice
distinctions of the two terms as used in art, and explaining their
artistic meanings more clearly.
Sharpness need not be hardness; on the contrary, sharpness and softness
can be harmoniously combined in the representation of any object
desired. On the other hand, a subject may possess abundance of detail,
and yet convey to the mind an idea of _hardness_ which the artist did
not intend. This kind of hardness I should attribute to a miscarriage of
thought, or a failure, from want of manipulative skill, to produce the
desired effect. For example: one artist will paint a head, model it
carefully, and carry out all the gradations of light and shade, and for
all that it will be _hard_--hard as stone, resembling the transcript of
a painted statue more than flesh. With the same brushes and colours
another artist will paint a head that may be no better in its drawing,
nor any more correct in its light and shade, but it will resemble
_flesh_, and convey to the mind of the observer a correct impression of
the substance represented--its flexibility and elasticity--that it is
something that would be warm and pleasant to the touch, and not make you
recoil from it as if it were something cold, hard, and repulsive, as in
the former case. Again, two artists will paint a fabric or an article of
furniture (say a table) with the same brushes, pigments, and mediums:
the one artist will render it so faithfully in every respect that it
would suggest to the mind the dull sound peculiar to wood when struck,
and not the sharp, clear ring of metal which the work of the other
artist would suggest.
Another example: one artist paints a feather, and it appears to have all
the feathery lightness and characteristics of the natural object; the
other will paint it the same size, form, and colour, and yet it will be
more like a painted chip, wanting the downy texture and float-in-the-air
suggestiveness of the other. Thus it will be seen that both artists had
similar ideas, had similar materials and means at their disposal to
render on canvas the same or similar effects. The one succeeded, and the
other failed, in giving a faithful rendering of the same subjects; but
it was no fault in the materials with which they worked. The works of
one artist will convey to the mind an idea of the thing itself; with its
texture, properties, weight, and proportions; nothing undervalued;
nothing overrated, nothing softer, nothing harder, than the thing in
nature intended to be portrayed. The other gives the same idea of form
and size, light and shade, and colour, but not the texture; it is
something harder, as iron instead of wood, or hard wood instead of soft
wood, or stone instead of flesh. This, then, is the artistic meaning of
hardness (or concentration, as Mr. Wall said), and that is an apparent
packing together, a compression or petrifaction of the atoms or fibre of
which the natural materials are composed. This difference in the works
of artists is simply the effects of _feeling_, of power over the
materials employed, and ability to transfer to canvas effects that are
almost illusions. And so it is with photographers in the production of
the photographic image. There is the same difference in feeling and
manipulative skill, the same difference of power over the materials
employed, that enables one photographer to surpass another in rendering
more truthfully the difference of texture. Photographers may and do use
the same lenses and chemicals, and yet produce widely different results.
One, by judgment in lighting and superior manipulation, will transfer to
his plates more texture and suggestiveness of the different substances
represented than the other. It is a fact well known to old photographers
that in the best days of the Daguerreotype practice two widely
different classes of pictures were produced by the most skilful
_Daguerreotypists_, both sharp and full of exquisite detail; yet the one
was _hard_, in an artistic sense, not that it wanted half-tone to link
the lights and shades together, but because it was of a bronzy
hardness, unlike flesh from which it was taken, and suggested to the
mind a picture taken from a bronze or iron statue of the individual,
rather than a picture taken from the warm, soft flesh of the original.
The other would be equally sharp as far as focussing and _sharp lenses_
could make it, and possess as much detail, but it would be different in
colour and texture; the detail would be soft, downy, and fleshy, not
irony, if I may use that word in such a sense; and this difference of
effect arose entirely from a difference of feeling, lighting,
preparation of the plate, and development of the pictures. They might
all use the best of Voightlander's or C. C. Harrison's lenses, the
favourite lenses of that day. They might all use the same make of
plates, the same iodine, bromine, and mercury, yet there would be this
difference in the character of the two classes of pictures. Both would
be sharp and possess abundance of detail, still one would be _soft_ and
the other hard in an artistic acceptation of the word _hardness_.
Collodion positives exhibited a similar difference of character. The
works of one photographer would be cold and metallic looking, while the
works of another would be softer and less metallic, giving a better idea
of the texture of flesh and the difference of fabrics, which many
attributed to the superiority of the lens; but the difference was really
due to manipulation, treatment, and intelligence. And so it is with the
collodion negative. A tree, for instance, may be photographed, and its
whole character changed by selecting a bad and unsuitable light, or by
bad manipulation. The least over-development or "piling up" of a high
light may give it a sparkling effect that would change it into the
representation of a tree of cast iron, rather than a _growing tree_,
covered with damp, soft, and moss-stained bark. Every object and every
fabric, natural or manufactured, has its own peculiar form of "high
light" or mode of reflecting light, and care must be taken by both
artist and photographer not to exceed the amount of light reflected by
each particular object, else a _hardness_, foreign to the natural
object, will be represented. But not only should the artist and
photographer possess this feeling for nature in all her subtle beauties
and modes of expressing herself, to prevent a miscarriage in the true
rendering of any object, the photographic printer should also have a
sympathy for the work in hand, or he will, by over-fixing, or in various
other ways, mar the successful labours of the photographer, and make a
negative that is full of softness, and tenderly expresses the truth of
nature, yield prints that are crude, and convey to the mind a sense of
_hardness_ which neither the natural objects nor the negative really
possess.
Now, I think it will be seen that _hardness_ in a painting or a
photograph does not mean sharpness; nor is the artistic meaning of the
word _hardness_ confined to "rigid or severe drawing," but that it has a
broader and more practical definition than concentration; and that the
converse to the art meaning of _hardness_ is softness, tenderness,
truthfulness in expressing the varied aspects of nature in all her
forms, all of which are coincident with sharpness.--J. Werge
(_Photographic News_).
UNION OF THE NORTH AND SOUTH LONDON PHOTOGRAPHIC SOCIETIES.
_To the Editors, British Journal._
Gentlemen,--Allow me to express my opinion on the suggestion to unite
the North and South London Societies, and to point out a few of the
advantages which, I think, would accrue from a more extensive
amalgamation.
Though I am a member of all the three London photographic societies, I
have long been of opinion that there are too many, and that the objects
of all are considerably weakened by such a diffusion of interests. If
the furtherance of the art and the free and mutual interchange of
thought and experience among the members were the only things
considered, there would be but one society in London; and with one
society embodying all the members that now make the three, how much more
good might be done!
In the first place, the amounts now paid for rent by the three would, if
united, secure an excellent meeting room or chambers, in a central
position, for the _exclusive_ use of the society, where the ordinary and
special meetings, annual exhibitions, and _soirees_ could be held much
more independently than now, and at a cost little or no more than what
is now paid for the privilege of holding the ordinary meetings alone.
Secondly: If such a place of meeting were secured, then that laudable
scheme of an art library, so strenuously advocated by Mr. Wall and Mr.
Blanchard at the South London Photographic Society, might be
successfully carried into effect. Then a library and a collection of
works of art might be gradually gathered together, and one of the
members could be chosen curator and librarian, to attend the rooms one
evening in the week, or oftener, as circumstances might require, so as
to give members access to the library to make exchanges, extracts from
bulky books, &c.
Thirdly: If the union were effected, and the place of meeting more
central, there would be a larger attendance of members, and more
spirited and valuable proceedings would be the result. Papers to be read
at the regular meetings would be much more certain, and the discussions
would be more comprehensive and complete. The members would become
personally acquainted with each other, and a much better feeling would
pervade the whole photographic community.
These, gentlemen, are a few of the advantages which ought to accrue from
a union of the three societies; but, if that cannot be effected, by all
means let the triumvirate now existing be reduced to a biumvirate. If it
be not possible for the "Parent Society" and her offspring to reunite
their interests and affection for the common good, surely the other two
can, and thereby strengthen themselves, and secure to their members a
moiety of the advantages which would result from the triple alliance.