HOW DOURIS WORKED
Let us now watch the craftsman at work. We have said that Douris was
a potter, but that usually he left to others the care of making vases
according to well-known models, and reserved to himself the task of
decoration. In what then does his character of painter consist?
First he must decide on the subject. The Greeks tried, as much as
possible, to adapt the design to the purpose of the vase. An amphora or
a krater would not usually have the same design as a kylix. There were
no rules on the subject, and the utmost liberty was given the artist.
Nevertheless, we notice that grave subjects and personages in attitudes
of repose are given the preference on large vases, which had stable
bases and were rarely moved, as harmonizing best with their broad
surface and vertical lines. Animated or everyday subjects are better
adapted to the horizontal sides of a kylix, which circulated freely in
the hands of guests.
For the same reason, we may say that the painting of large vases
remained essentially conservative, more attached to ancient methods and
subjects, while the painting of the kylix constantly called forth new
ideas: hence its great importance in the fifth century.
Certain archæologists claim to have discovered two distinct branches
in the industry--but that is an error. The same distinguished artists
produced the large krater and the kylix, as for example Euphronios.
But it would be more correct to distinguish two schools side by side,
and those artists who by preference decorated the kylix were more
“progressive.” Douris is of this number, if not in style, at least in
the choice of his subjects. He tries to create new designs; he draws
from daily life, banquet scenes, dancing scenes, scenes from the
palæstra (Fig. 6), amorous scenes--well adapted for a drinking cup. On
the other hand, if he approaches heroic or mythical compositions, he
makes use of the opportunity to draw beautiful bodies in motion, rape
or battle episodes: The Nereids flying from Peleus (Fig. 13); Theseus
killing the Minotaur and Attic robbers (Fig. 11); or the battles of
heroes in Homer, as those of Menelaos and Paris or Ajax and Hector
(Figs. 9 and 10). At other times, we find allusions to recent glorious
events which had taken place in Greece, a Greek soldier striking down a
Persian (Fig. 20), Hoplites and Asiatic archers at close quarters. He
belonged to that group of artists who are always looking for action,
for the new and the modern.
After what originals did the painter compose? We are quite ignorant
here, and cannot specify without falling into fiction and hypothesis.
Were there sketch books, representing the individual observations
of the artist, taken from Nature or from great contemporary works?
Or did πίνακες, tablets of wood or panels of terracotta, serve for
preliminary sketches? Did a painter, as it were, design a “model” which
he transferred to clay or gave to his workmen as a theme to work upon?
All these questions remain unanswered. One is forced to surmise that
the master signed only works on which he himself had worked, those
which he designed and circulated as his latest productions, the _editio
princeps_, so to speak, inscribed with his signature. But when a
subject once composed was repeated in the workshop, copied with slight
variations by workmen, the pottery, no matter what its commercial
value, was no longer entitled to this personal certificate.
[Illustration: Fig. 9. CONTEST OF MENELAOS AND PARIS.
Exterior of preceding Cup.]
Subjects thus composed with free repetition must be very numerous, for
there is, as it were, a strong family likeness among many of them:
battle scenes, banquets, gatherings of youths, games in the palæstra.
Another important fact, must be stated, no obstacle was placed against
plagiarism in ancient times; on the contrary, it was the spirit and
essence of industrial art. We have proof of this in the terracottas
as well as in the vases. Every one copies or imitates his neighbour.
There is no copyright or patent for artistic property, an idea which
has become the subject of legislation only in modern times. Considering
the communistic way in which these Greek craftsmen lived, at a time
when production was so intense, and the personal reputation of a potter
might prove so great a factor in his fortune, we can readily understand
how any man may have been led to protect himself against plagiarism
by means of a signature which authenticated a production. A krater by
Euphronios, a kylix by Douris or Brygos, might be particularly sought
after by certain customers in Greece and Etruria. Why should they not
be assured that they had in their hands an original work of a great
master, and not a copy made by workmen or competitors? Have we not
clocks signed by Boulle, and chests of drawers by Riesener, which are
thus distinguished from similar objects, sometimes very beautiful, but
which, without a trade-mark, do not represent original work?
Such then is the sense in which we should understand the signature of
a vase by Douris. He sought, devised and composed the design. And even
more, his own hands carried out the painting.
Let us now reflect upon the material side of the painter’s trade.
The artist begins with a simple sketch made by means of a hard
point, it may simply be the sharpened end of a bit of wood, which
scratches the unbaked clay, leaving decided traces after the final
painting, baking and glazing. There is hardly a beautiful vase of
this period, signed or not, which does not show these traces. This
sketch sufficiently proves the absolute independence of the worker
in regard to his model, and contradicts the opinion of those who
maintain that the transfer was made with compasses. On the contrary,
one feels how free the work is, and that the arrangement was invented
entirely to suit the object decorated. And what enables us to follow
the method of sketching still more closely, is the fact that the
stroke of the brush, coming after, has not always exactly followed
its lines. There have been alterations at the last moment, a lowered
arm has been raised, a foot advanced, etc. It is impossible to doubt
the spontaneous character, in some respects the improvisation of the
design. It is, besides, rare to outline completely every person in
a sketch. Frequently the outlines of one or two, with their chief
characteristics, are drawn, and these determine the rest.
When the sketch is finished, the painter begins to put in his colour.
He first takes a broad brush and rapidly indicates in black the
outlines of the figures which compose his picture: this broad stroke
of the brush charged with more colour and forming a projection round
the figures can be easily distinguished. Next come the fine brushes,
composed of only one bristle, giving in accurate and precise strokes
the chief lines of the bodies and the folds of the garments; others,
a little heavier, are used to indicate the hair, the beard, ornaments
on the garments, etc. The black may be used in a variety of tones. By
diluting it a more fluid matter was obtained, rather grey, which was
frequently used for the under sides of objects, for rendering muscular
details, the wavy folds in drapery, locks of hair, etc. Usually
this diluted black would turn yellow in the baking. An unobtrusive
polychrome is the result which the painters used with ingenuity; they
were thus able to produce blonde hair or slightly golden folds of
garments.
We have already stated that, in order to carry out these very fine
lines, the artist probably held his brush firmly, not only with the
tips of his fingers, but with closed hand as the Japanese painters
still do (Figs. 2 and 25). He must move slowly and firmly in tracing
these fine lines. Constantly obliged to take fresh colour, he sometimes
had to break a line two or three times; but these joinings are only
visible with a magnifying glass. It is said that it was impossible to
make any correction of the stroke, and that the faultless execution of
the lines proves the wonderful skill of the Greeks. We believe this to
be an error. A wet sponge probably sufficed to remove any drawings or
parts of them from the clay, and when it was dry the artist could begin
work again. It was a question of patience and skill. It is because
correction was so easy, that the results attained are usually
perfect.
[Illustration: Fig. 10. CONTEST OF AJAX AND HECTOR.
Exterior of preceding Cup.]
The painting finished, the pot was handed over to a workman to fill in
the background between the figures with black as well as the foot and
the edges of the handles.
After the black had dried, the pot was returned to the artist’s hands
to be retouched with colour. In the sixth century, in the black-figured
style, many colours were used, as violet-red and white. At the time of
Douris, the red figured vases displayed very few complementary colours.
Great simplicity characterized the taste of the times. A few red lines
sufficed to indicate fillets tied in the hair, belts holding swords,
the reins of horses, etc. Red was likewise used to trace inscriptions
or the signature of the artist (Fig. 8). Others preferred to inscribe
it in black on the foot of handle (Fig. 15). Others again incised it
with a style in the thick colour. White only returns again to favour
after the Persian wars. About the time of Douris, in the workshop of
one of his rivals--Brygos--who may have been a little younger, attempts
were made to heighten the effect of the red figures by a little gilding
cautiously placed on the outlines of the armour, helmets and vases for
libations. It is a return to the rich polychromy, which later continues
to develop, and ends in those pretty little gilt vases devoted to
scenes of child life, beloved by Attic customers towards the end of
the fifth century. As far as we know, Douris does not seem to have
taken part in the manufacture of the beautiful drinking cups with a
white background and fresco tones of brown, red and violet, with which
the workshops of Euphronios and his successors were busy (Fig. 7). He
adheres to the classical method of figures left in the red clay, and
only retouched by a few wine-coloured lines. It may be said that he is
not a colourist. To his eyes, as to those of Ingres, drawing is the
very foundation of the art.
When the drawings were finished, his chief task was done; but his
position as manufacturer did not permit him to remain indifferent to
the rest. He had to carry his painted pottery to the drying place, and,
after the required time, to have it baked. This is a very delicate part
of the manufacture of vases, on which its success greatly depends.
Ancient ovens were probably very imperfect. There are many examples of
oxidization by contact with the flame, which improperly reddens the
side of a vase or turns half a figure orange. The supports on which
vases were placed, while drying, sometimes left round marks. In one
known instance, in consequence of two freshly painted vases touching
one another, the hoofs of a horse have become impressed upon the face
of a youth.
Defects in the material were more liable then than now to expose the
ceramist to breakage and various accidents, which at all times have
been the despair of the manufacturer, and which an Homeric singer
already ascribed to special demons, “Syntrips, Smaragos, Asbetos,
Sabaktes, Omodamos, gods fatal to the furnace.” We have already
described a kiln adorned with a head of Silenus, a prophylactic fetish,
destined to cast out evil influences (Fig. 4).
At last the pottery is taken out of the oven. The master can
contemplate his work, test the delicacy of its sides, examine the
fusion of the colours, study the change of tone in the baking. Other
workmen come to immerse the vases in a prepared bath, which will
glaze the entire visible surface, brighten the red of the clay, the
background and all the black lines, but will leave the retouching
dull. We are quite ignorant of the ingredients of the bath which so
thoroughly accomplished all this and gave the pottery its splendour.
We only know that a red precipitate was formed, traces of which are
frequently visible under the foot and upon the clay which had remained
uncovered. Among vases of the decline, this red overruns the entire
drawing and gives an unpleasant appearance to the whole; in this case,
as with the black, either the recipe of the glaze had been lost, or
else the work was badly executed. Possibly a dry rubbing with leather
or some other substance added finish to the glaze.
We must not even yet regard the potter’s work as finished. He had to
superintend the sale, attract customers, confer with shipowners in
regard to the export. Nor was advertising unknown to the ancients.
It adopted many devices. Some potters contrived to paint on the vase
subjects or inscriptions alluding to the products therein. There are
scenes of wine and oil sales, with sentences, praising the merchandise
or the honesty of the merchant. There are incentives to the pleasure of
drinking, friendly greetings and wishes of good health to him who will
use the kylix or kantharos. Even the details of the potter’s trade have
served as matter for representation, to recall to the customer the fame
of Attic workshops. The prettiest allegory is the one we mentioned
above, where we saw Athene accompanied by two little Victories entering
a workshop of painters and placing crowns on the heads of the workmen
(Fig. 2).
[Illustration: Fig. 11. THE ADVENTURES OF THESEUS.
By Douris. British Museum.]
But the means most frequently adopted to attract buyers was to inscribe
on the body of a vase the name of some young man of distinguished
family in Athens, known either for his beauty or his fortune, and in
this way to gain the good-will of a rich customer, who would bring the
patronage of all his family and friends. We have a large number of such
inscriptions wherein the manufacturer invokes “the handsome Leagros,”
“the handsome Glaukon,” or “the handsome Megakles,” etc., and we
recognize in these names well-known members of the Athenian aristocracy
(Figs. 5, 7, 8).
It will be remembered that the Italian potters of the sixteenth century
put into circulation _coppe amatorie_, bearing portraits of beautiful
women, surrounded by inscriptions celebrating _Lucrezia diva_ or “the
fair Camilla.” This is a similar idea.
Lastly, we have one example of a personal advertisement in rather an
aggressive form, coming from Euthymides, a contemporary and rival
of Euphronios. Upon an amphora in the Museum at Munich, the boastful
craftsman has written this defiant apostrophe: “Euphronios has never
done so well!”
These minute details enable us to penetrate into the material life of
the workshop. We catch a glimpse of the greedy struggles for gain,
the ambitions and rivalries involved in all commercial enterprise. It
is the seamy side of this beautiful art, which to-day appears to us
so pure and free from all material considerations. As in all human
efforts, there were undoubtedly in reality many competing interests,
many cruel cares, much deceit and hatred. But time has done its work;
has thrown a veil over the mean and petty things in life, and only
allowed those to survive which are truly sane and useful. Let us
rejoice in not knowing whether Douris was a successful business man,
whether he honestly made a fortune, or whether he died miserably in
debt. That which remains of his work is the spiritual, the true and
fruitful part of his life. His drawings teach us what he was, not as an
individual, but as an artist, as a member of the great Athenian family,
and this it is which interests us above all.