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A
PRACTICAL TREATISE
ON
COMPOSITION, LIGHT AND SHADE,
AND COLOUR.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM WILCOCKSON, ROLLS BUILDINGS, FETTER LANE.
[Illustration]
THE USE
OF A
BOX OF COLOURS,
IN A
Practical Demonstration on
COMPOSITION, LIGHT AND SHADE,
AND COLOUR.
Illustrated by Plain and Coloured Examples.
BY
HARRY WILLSON,
AUTHOR OF FUGITIVE SKETCHES IN ROME, VENICE, ETC.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY TILT AND BOGUE, FLEET STREET,
FOR THE PROPRIETOR,
CHARLES SMITH, 34, MARYLEBONE STREET, PICCADILLY.
M.DCCC.XLII.
Entered at Stationers' Hall.
PREFACE.
BETWEEN those works on Art which are too costly, or too old to be useful
now,--those, which are too comprehensive or prolix--and those, which
teach nothing,--it was suggested to the Author, that an investigation
and simple arrangement of the Principles on which he has hitherto
successfully taught, with useful results, would form a _Practical_
Treatise, calculated to abridge the labours and shorten the road of the
Student, by its available suggestions.
CONTENTS.
Page
PREFATORY REMARKS;--COMPOSITION, APPLIED TO PAINTING 1
OF ANGULAR COMPOSITION 9
OF THE CIRCULAR FORM IN COMPOSITION 12
LIGHT AND SHADE--ITS APPLICATION TO PAINTING 15
ON COLOUR 30
OF THE THREE PRIMITIVE COLOURS 33
ON GENERAL NATURE 39
ON RULES 45
ON COPYING 47
ON THE LIGHT AND SHADE OF COLOUR; AND REFLEXES 52
HARMONY AND CONTRAST 61
EFFECT, ACCIDENT, RELIEF, AND KEEPING 63
DEXTERITY AND AFFECTATION 68
OF BACKGROUNDS 71
ON WATER-COLOUR 73
OF TINTS 75
REFERENCE TO THE PLATES ON COLOUR 76
DESCRIPTION OF THE PLATES 78
COMPOSITION.
'GENIUS is the power of making efforts.'
Erroneous opinions, once formed, seldom fail to affect the taste of a
man's character through his whole life. It is, therefore, of the utmost
necessity that his conduct be rightly directed.
'Art will not descend to us, we must be made to reach and aspire to it.'
'The great art to learn much,' says Locke, 'is to undertake a little at
a time.' And Dr. Johnson has very forcibly observed--'That all the
performances of human art, at which we look with praise or wonder, are
instances of the resistless force of _perseverance_: it is by this that
the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries are united by
canals. If a man were to compare the effect of a single stroke with a
pickaxe, or of one impression of a spade, with the general design and
last result, he would be overwhelmed with the sense of their
disproportion; yet those petty operations, incessantly continued, in
time surmount the greatest difficulties; and mountains are levelled, and
oceans bounded, by the slender force of human beings.
'It is, therefore, of the utmost importance, that those who have any
intention of deviating from the beaten roads of life, and of acquiring a
reputation superior to names hourly swept away by time, among the refuse
of fame, should add to their reason and spirit the power of _persisting_
in their purposes; acquire the art of sapping what they cannot batter;
and the habit of vanquishing obstinate resistance by obstinate attacks.'
To the many, of different ages, of different pursuits, of different
degrees of advancement, who may take up this work, it will be difficult
to address myself, as the mind requires instruction adapted to its
growth; but I trust to being enabled to protect industry from being
misapplied.
To such as desire to shorten the path to excellence, and to whom rules
appear as the 'fetters of genius,' from mere impatience of labour, if
their studies be not well _directed_, they will, just in proportion to
their industry, deviate from that right way, to which, after all their
exertions, they will have to return at last. It will be time enough to
destroy the bridge when we have attained the shore. To render our
efforts effectual, they must be well directed; and the student will
ultimately triumph over those rules which before restrained him.
Begin wrong, and you are no sooner under sail, than under water!
When a difficulty presents itself, attack it as though you meant to
overcome it, and the chances are you succeed.
Do not fancy that you have, or that you want, that illusion,
_inspiration_; but remember Art is to be acquired by human means; that
the mind is to be expanded by study; and that examples of industry
abound to show the way to eminence and distinction. 'He must of
necessity,' says Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'be an imitator of the works of
other painters. This appears humiliating, but is equally true; and no
man can be an artist, whatever he may suppose, on any other terms. For,
if we did not make use of the advantages our predecessors afford us, the
art would be always to begin, and consequently remain always in an
infant state.' And we shall no longer require to use the thoughts of
others when we have become able to think for ourselves: 'Genius is the
child of Imitation.'
There are no excellencies out of the reach of the _rules_ of
art--nothing that close observation of the leading merits of others,
nothing that indefatigable industry cannot acquire. Refinement in the
practice of _rules_ brings all under its dominion; and, 'as the art
advances, its powers will be still more and more fixed by rules;' and,
'unsubstantial as these rules may seem, and difficult as it may be to
convey them in writing, they are still seen and _felt_ in the mind of
the artist, and he works from them with as much certainty as if they
were embodied upon paper. And that it is by being conversant with the
inventions of others that we learn to _invent_. The mind becomes as
powerfully affected as if it had itself produced what it admires.' An
habitual intercourse, to the end of our lives, with good and great
examples, will invest our own inventions with their splendid qualities;
and if we do not imitate others, we shall soon be found imitating
ourselves, 'and repeating what we have before often repeated; while he
who has treasured the most materials, has the greatest means of
invention.'
It by no means appears to me impossible to overtake what we admire and
imitate--or even to pass it. He 'has only had the advantage of starting
before you,' while pointing the way has shortened our own labour. Life
must henceforth become longer; because we now, more than ever, gain time
by the experience of others: we pass on from that to our own, until
every thing in nature, judiciously directed, becomes subservient to the
principles and purposes of Art.
Again, 'I very much doubt,' says Sir Joshua, 'whether a habit of drawing
correctly what we _see_ will not give a proportionable power of drawing
correctly what we imagine.' But practice must always be founded on good
Theory; for mere correctness of drawing is, perhaps, nearly allied to
mechanical; blending it with the imaginative alone, in composition,
constitutes its pretensions to genius; but confidence in the one
produces boldness in the other.
'All rules arise from the passions and affections of the mind, and to
which they are all referrible. Art effects its purposes by their means.'
'Years,' says a modern author, 'are often spent in acquiring wealth,
which eventually cannot be enjoyed for want of those stores of the mind,
that should have been laid up in youth, as the best solace of declining
age. The most moderate power of making a sketch from nature would have
been a valuable attainment, when leisure and opportunity threw them
among scenes they could but half enjoy in consequence.' Besides, true
Taste does every thing in the best way at the least expense, while the
want of it often appears in unmeaning decoration at a vast outlay.
'A man of polite imagination,' says Addison, 'feels greater satisfaction
in the prospect of fields and meadows than another does in the
possession of them: it gives him a kind of property in every thing he
sees; so that he looks on the world, as it were, in another light.'
When a Painter walks out, he receives at every glance impressions that
would entirely escape others, upon sensibilities refined by habits of
observation The art of seeing things as they appear is the art of
acquiring a knowledge of drawing them. Indefinite observation and
defective memory are improved in the utmost degree by this faculty of
seeing things well defined. Besides, most Sciences are capable of
receiving great assistance from drawing.
The road is familiar to the practised painter, whose many stages he has
passed through so often, and he seldom thinks of revisiting the earlier
tracks of it when he has set up his study at the farther end; therefore,
it behoves us to come back, and lead the pupil through those early
stages of it, until we welcome him at the end, and he becomes as
familiar with the way as ourselves. The lowest steps of a ladder are as
_useful_ as the highest.
COMPOSITION, in drawing, is the art of disposing ideas, either from
hints taken from nature, or from our own minds; of arranging them, with
a view to subsequently dividing them into light and shade; and arraying
them with judicious colour. It is the art of graphically telling a
story, and should be so contrived, that the principal objects we would
impress the minds of others with, should hold that just place in a
picture, in relation to the minor or auxiliary parts, that may at once
impress the mind, and convey our object to the view of the spectator.
To compose well, it will be necessary for the student to diligently
consult the compositions of others; zealously enquiring where the _best_
are to be found, among the numerous instances that exist both in
pictures and prints, that he may carefully avoid those that would
mislead him in his research, and attain his object by consulting only
those that have merited the approval of the best judges, and have come
down to posterity as the best examples for his imitation. By adhering to
this plan, it will readily become such matter of habit with him, that a
comparatively short interval of time will force upon him the conviction
that he is in the right path to future success. It were useless to add
how many have began, and how many have failed, for want of this
precaution at setting out. A splendid and fascinating effect, or a
beautiful display of colour, or something or other that the artist has
dexterously contrived to invest his work with, is generally the cause to
which this failure is ascribable; while in the end, our own sympathies
with a composition, correct in its management, appeal to the feelings
and judgment at once.
In the first place, _much_ knowledge of perspective is not necessary to
the student: the leading principles are all that are required, at
setting out. As he goes on, it will be time enough to extend his
enquiries.
Secondly, a _good manner_ of drawing the _parts_, or objects represented
in a picture, with accuracy.
Thirdly, reference to the best compositions of others will enable him to
compare and combine them.
Fourthly, to render some subservient to others, by a skilful
distribution of Light and Shade.
Exercise the memory on various parts of objects, till you draw them
well: the means of _connecting_ them will gradually occur, until the
whole is united. The constant practice of this method will lessen the
difficulty at every step, until it becomes a habit of the mind, and is
rendered as easy to grasp a _whole_ scene, as before it was the parts.
The fleeting nature of effects of cloud or sunshine passing before us,
leave no time to meditate them; therefore, to impress the memory with
them is the only resource left.
The single glance of an eye has been found sufficient to catch the
passing expression of character, and fix it on the memory, when that
memory has been strengthened and matured by repeated efforts: so
evanescent are the features of things and forms that pass us by, that
observation--discriminative observation--assisted by habits of memory,
alone can fix them in our ideas: no single expression of the human
countenance remains long enough to paint it by any other means. When the
memory has been thus exercised, the slightest hint will be sufficient to
fire it. This may account for the expression, 'that artists see things
where nobody else can find them!' It is an _improved perception_ that
catches resemblances from almost ideal forms.
The most general forms of nature are the most beautiful. An enlarged
comprehension sees the whole object _at once_, without minute attention
to details, by which it obtains the ruling characteristics, and imitates
it by short and dexterous methods. 'Science soon discovers the shortest
and surest way to effect its own purpose;'--by an exact _adequate_
expression, and _no more_, adjusts the whole. The laziness of highly
finishing the parts, has been justly called the 'laborious effects of
idleness:' excessive _labour_ in the detail, is always pernicious to
the general effect, frittering it away; and, while you deceive yourself
that you are acquiring art, your pursuit will end in mechanics, in
default of more extended views--the _Art of seeing_ Nature!
To copy well, or even tolerably, is all that most amateurs ever arrive
at: to draw from nature, originally, seems placed out of the reach of
all, but those who devote a great part of their existence to it; and
yet, to copy nature, is a goal that all would reach if they could! Try
it, and behold the miserable production that is the result! without a
previous devotion to its laws.
Instead of for ever copying, it will be found of more importance to be
continually exercising the _memory_. 'A _mere_ imitator or copyist,'
says Dagley, 'dare not lose sight of his model, lest he should lose
himself!'
In sketching from nature, always survey the object at _every point_ the
nature of the ground will permit, as it prevents the disappointment
arising from having completed your work, and afterwards seeing it from a
point that would have given you greater advantages.
Whenever a pencil or pen is at hand, practice continually the
perpendicular, horizontal, and diagonal lines; then strike circles out,
or any other flowing lines, which practice will eventually give that
flow to the hand which is understood by freedom. When power is acquired
over these, _their combinations form Drawing_, in all its picturesque
varieties. It is in the power of all to attain these forms and essential
parts of drawing, with the same, or more facility, than the forms of
writing are acquired.
'No object you can place in your picture, can possess its proper value,
unless it is in its proper place;--out of that place, it can only create
disorder.'
The size of a figure, or any other object, should denote the distance at
which it is situated: so should the colour of it retire in the _same_
proportion.
The eye should be distant from the picture twice the length of it.
The most natural point of sight, is the level of a man's eye, standing
up; which should be the line of the horizon, or where the sky meets it.
All mountains should rise above that line.
If a figure be placed on the bottom line of the picture, it should be
the natural size, and all others diminish as they recede, in an exact
proportion to their distance, care being taken that they never have the
appearance of going up steps; all buildings, trees, &c., being governed
by the same rule. Thus the second figure or object, being the same
distance from the first as the first is from the eye, presuming them
both to be of the same size in nature, the second will appear _half_ the
size of the first; and, if the third be removed the same distance from
the second, it will appear _two-thirds_ less; and so on they will
diminish in equal proportion. At twice the distance, it will diminish
_three-fourths_; and at one-third more, it will lose _five-sixths_; and
so retire progressively, never varying the point of sight. One eye only
should be open, in order to reduce all objects to one point of sight;
the objects immediately in front, receiving alone the highest finish,
that all may appear to have ground to stand on. If you look at nature
with both eyes, you will never obtain the same relief upon a flat
superfice.
The horizontal line should never be placed at _half_ the height of the
picture, but always above or below it.
In drawing a room, or the nave of a church, place the centre of it on
one _side_, and never in the middle; and nearer the _bottom_ than the
top. Observe the same rule with the figures. One side should be in
light, while the other is in shadow. The heads or parts of figures on
the shadowed side should catch the light; while, to balance the mass,
the dark groups should be placed on the light side. (_See plate 1, fig.
1._)
So, in drawing any single object, always place it sufficiently on _one
side_, to procure a greater space above it, than beneath; and more
repose on _one_ side than the _other_. This principle should never be
lost sight of, for even in portraits it has a bad effect.
To produce pictorial effect, in composing landscape, the lines should be
of unequal length, forming acute and obtuse angles. Neither should they
be vertical or horizontal with the sides or bottom of the square, but
always diagonal, the distant horizon and lower streaks of the bases of
the clouds excepted, which should be contrasted, by the upper parts of
the clouds being round. Broken banks and spreading roots of trees will
effect this. An exception, in buildings and architecture, something
reverses this rule, from the lines being perpendicular and horizontal,
in which case, the shadows must be diagonal. When a wall, for instance,
is _straight_, a wheel, or circular object is generally placed against
it, to reverse the lines by apposition.'
'Objects, whether they consist of lights, shadows, or figures, must be
disposed in large _masses_ and groups, properly varied and contrasted,
that, to a certain quantity of action, a proportioned space of plain
ground is required; that light is to be supported by sufficient shadow,
and that a certain quantity of cold colours is necessary to give value
and lustre to the warm.' Observation of the best pictures will convey
those proportions to the mind, much better than the most profound
demonstration, 'that the eye may not be distracted by a multiplicity of
objects of equal magnitude.'
Grouping, in composition, involves in its arrangement, a combination of
the parts, so that they form an agreeable and well-defined whole, in
which it is essential sometimes to employ the strongest contrasts; on
the other hand, if the forms be too much scattered, they will distort
the harmonious combination that is the greatest beauty of art. All
accessories may be included in the principal group, so that they
contribute to the general breadth. _Opposition_ to regular forms is
essential; this opposition is called Relief. (_See art. Light and
Shade._)
We may derive hints in composition from almost every sort of
combination.
Variety and intricacy have many excellencies, when managed with skill,
as they exert the imagination of the beholder.
'Simplicity,' says Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'when so very inartificial as to
seem to _evade_ the difficulties of art, is a very suspicious virtue.'
Simplicity might often better deserve the name of penury. 'I do not,
however, wish to degrade simplicity from the high estimation in which it
has been ever justly held. It is our barrier against that great enemy to
truth and nature, affectation! which is ever clinging to the pencil, and
ready to drop in and poison every thing it touches.'
Perseverance, in laborious application to acquire correctness, should
always be preferred to a splendid negligence of manner.
[Illustration: Composition Plate I. C. Hullmandel's Patent]
The frequent practice of covering down, veiling, or concealing an object
or figure, because they cannot draw it, and doing that so inexpertly
as not to escape detection, is frequently observable in the works
of modern artists; such as clothes, baskets, &c., thrown across a horse,
to conceal its deformity; unnecessary or affected drapery over a figure;
a cow, half buried in weeds and dock-leaves, that its shapeless legs may
not be seen, &c., with many other artifices to evade difficulties: to
such he says, 'If difficulties overcome make a great part of the merit
of art, difficulties evaded can deserve but little commendation.'
It is by no means an object with me, neither has this work pretension to
the form of a regular treatise (too often prolix and abstruse in their
investigations), but I would endeavour to bring together such useful
hints as occur to me in its progress, as _practically_ useful, without
confining myself to the regularity or connexion of a lengthened
dissertation, and seeking only to accomplish the end by explaining the
means of contending with difficulties where they are likely to occur.
OF ANGULAR COMPOSITION.
That the angular form is one of the best adapted to composition, at
least in landscape, is indisputable; the diagonal line dividing the
whole into two halves, gives the largest space for the distribution of
light and shade, as well as extent for the design.
When the whole composition is placed on one side, a single object--but
stronger in colour than the rest--placed at the opposite side, will
generally be found sufficient to balance all on the other, however
complicated or extensive in its details it may be. (_Plate 1, fig. 1._)
More _repose_ and softness is obtained by uniting the composition with
the darker shadows of the clouds, than by opposition.
On the other hand, an harmonious and agreeable whole is often achieved
by bringing the line of the clouds in an opposing angle to the line of
the landscape, the principal figures being then mostly placed at the
opposite side of the mass of the composition.
The first plan embraces an advantageous union of the parts with the
greatest breadth that can perhaps be obtained, while the other
frequently produces a dexterous effect by the opposition of colour.
A long stretching swamp, a bog, or line of sandy waste, marshes, a
broken heath, the distant sea or sand-bank, with nothing but its
straight horizon, are the sweetest morsels to good painters; for when
nature has done nothing, they must do all; and, with these difficulties
to contend with, it is something surprising to see the most broad and
beautiful productions result from so barren materials by investing them
with the all-controlling powers of chiaroscuro, by a careful inspection
of their natural colours, the forms of their lights and shadows, and
above all, the shapes and masses of the passing clouds; but variety and
simplicity should ever be their leading principle, and grandeur is sure
to be the result. Matter, seemingly incapable of form; wide extents of
pathless and unbroken sterility, of nakedness and desolation, will
become beautiful and masterly arrangements on these conditions: the
torn, and ragged, and scattered fragments of the clouds in their wild
and rushing fury over the sea, with its inexhaustible changes and
endless variety of colour, are the objects painters often choose, from
their very seeming nothingness, to invest with the _beau ideal_ of art.
The extremes of simplicity in composition, should not be attempted by
Tyros; the long-practiced and master hand alone can accomplish that,
which in others, would appear affectation.
The most powerful impressions are produced by the simplest construction.
The chief interest confined to a very small portion of the work, and the
larger space left in so much repose as will give value to, and dignify
the subject, that should at once meet the eye and engage our energies;
investing their accessories with their due portion of interest; taking
care that the expression of the principal action of the picture is
agreeably supported by their subordinate quality; that the object
desired is obtained, to the exclusion of all others, and that its
episodes be in character.
In the arrangement of figures, Mr. Burnet, in his Hints on Composition,
says, 'the heads and hands, the seats of action and expression, are
often referred to each other for the completion of form or extension of
light, beyond which a strong point is required, as a link of
communication between the figures and the background. By making this
point the strongest of a secondary group of objects, either from its
size, lights, or darks, the eye is carried into the most remote
circumstances, which become a part of the whole, from the principal
group being made to depend upon such point for the completion of its
form, the extension of the light, or the repetition of colour.' Thus, in
Vandyke we often see the luminous points of his picture referring to
each other in the form of a _losenge_, composed of the heads and hands,
the collar, ruffs, the hilt of a sword, &c., while all the other parts
are absorbed in dark or half shade, and making the form of his
composition complete, but differing something in their force and
attraction: strong light and dark coming in cutting contrast at a single
point, places the subordinate lights and darks in their proper
situations; at the same time, these points should always be
characteristic of meaning to the composition. (_Plate 1, figs. 5, 6._)
Nothing will teach you to compose a picture like sketching, however
slightly, the different groups you encounter in walking about; never be
without a little book for this purpose, as the merest draught will, when
you are composing, apply itself to your picture better than any thing
that may be suggested. I have invariably found this the best resource.
Take first the exact outline, shape, and position of the figure, and
afterwards the expression of what he is doing, carefully noticing the
shadowed parts, and dividing them boldly from the light; the half-tints
may be blended with comparative ease; therefore make as few lines as
possible, never encumbering them. That part of the figure which is
foreshortened will have the greater number of folds, while that which is
not, will come out plain and bold. Such memoranda will always have a
look of reality over every other means of obtaining it.
It is not unfrequently the case that, in the progress of a work, a
number of circumstances, partly the result of thought, partly of
accident, may occur; therefore, entire reliance on the first sketch is
not always to be depended on; at the same time, the various improvements
that suggest themselves, do not always interfere with the carrying out
our first conceptions, and still securing the same treatment with which
we commenced.
A repetition of forms can only be diverted by opposing lines being
brought in somewhat strong contrast against them; and, if possible,
between their recurrence. (_Plate 2, fig. 1._)
In copying, draw various lines across the original, and the same on the
paper the copy is to be made on. Begin with the centre, and draw
towards the sides; the objects represented will be neither too large
nor too small by this means.
I have said, that variety and intricacy have many charms. In passing
over our embellished lands, with all the advantages our country affords
in landscape objects, we cannot but observe this infinite variety in the
English oak, the birch, the ash, the abele; the magnificent white
poplar, with its large and beautiful leaves; the beech, the elm, the
stately horse-chestnut, &c.; their great diversity of foliage and bark;
their distinct peculiarities of colour and form; the oriental plane, the
hazel, sycamore, the maple; especially where the landscape-gardener was
never heard of, when the universal and monotonous green of summer gives
place to the glowing hues of October and _November_, the best months of
all, from the large portion of pearly grey that pervades all nature at
that time, and from which are brought out, as from a background of the
softest neutrals, the umbrageous, rich, bitumen-looking browns, deep
crimsons, reds, and golden colours of the leaves, &c.
OF THE CIRCULAR FORM IN COMPOSITION.
Circular composition is another of the best forms, and most easily
adapted for the arrangement of light and shade; as it generally
possesses receding hollows for the reception of the shadows, and
graduated projections for the lights to rest on. (_Plate. 1, fig. 4._)
Taste is the discriminating power of selecting good from bad; and this
is attainable by enquiry: there is neither instability nor uncertainty
in its rules; so long as you have the good sense to place all
'inspiration' out of the question! Nothing is so pernicious as that
illusion of the mind.
Grace, in my opinion, consists of lines flowing, more or less, into the
ellipsis--free of constraint and affectation. Raphael, for instance, was
all grace; Parmegiano degenerated into _affectation_.
In pictorial economy, the repetition of the same lines, and often of the
same forms, assist and support each other; as necessarily as repetition
of colours in painting. This extension of the same thing is frequently
indispensable, both in preventing the individuality of form, and, when
well broken up by opposing lines, adding materially to the seeming
negligence and irregularity that carries with it so great a charm.
(_Plate 1, fig. 4._)
The luminous spots or lights in a picture, frequently explain the _form_
of its composition.
In this repetition of lines and forms, the ground may be made to run one
way, the line of buildings another, the figures another, the horizon
another, the forms of the trees a different one, and the shapes of the
clouds may describe another: all these may have their repeats; yet will
they all seem to form and tend, though apparently all irregularity, to
an agreeable arrangement we sometimes see in nature, and an harmonious
whole, however intricate, without confusion. The investigation of the
means pursued by Salvator Rosa will explain this fascinating system.
(_Plate 1, figs. 2_ and _7._)
In contemplating the best regulated works of art, either in pictures or
prints, by always being careful to ascertain the _forms_ by which their
effects are produced, is one of the best means of arriving at this
object ourselves. Even a few memoranda of the ground plans, as an
architect would say, or the form of the line on which the bases stand,
will be found useful in enabling us to do this. (_Plate 1, fig. 3._)
The eye must be all observation, and the mind all reflection; and it can
scarcely fail to become influenced by the advantages to be derived from
this practice.
It is to the almost thinking sensibility, subtleness, and feeling of the
beautifully and wonderfully constructed human _hand_, that every thing
done with _it_, so far outstrips all _mechanical_ means of imitating it!
It is with this _solely_ and alone, that _fine Art_ is, ever was, and
ever will be, identified.
'The cleverness and sensibility of the hand,' says a beautiful and
masterly writer in the Quarterly Review, 'is quite as essential as
inventive genius.' Speaking of our showy and elaborate park-gates at
Hyde Park Corner, 'what men call the police station--in the language of
the gods, the triumphal arch!' and, comparing it with the bronze
net-work and foliage of Verrochio, 'which seems to grow and spring like
_living_ vegetation,' he says, 'these are capital _Brummagem_, and
nothing more.' 'Grasped by the man, the tool becomes a part of himself;
the hammer is pervaded by the _vitality_ of the _hand_. But in the work
produced by the _machinery_ of the founder there can be nothing of all
this _life_! What does it give you? Correct, stiff _patterns_, all on
the surface. Whatever is reproduced in form or colour by _mechanical_
means, is _moulded_--in short, is perpetually branded by
mediocrity--_Brummagem art_! And, like the music ground by the
barrel-organ, you never hear the _soul_ of the performer--the expression
and feeling, qualities, without which, harmony palls upon the ear.'
'Even in engraving, the best judges all declare that, so far from
benefiting art, the harm it has done has been incalculable, substituting
a general system of _plagiarism_ in place of _invention_.'
'What will not be the result of the means of multiplying the metallic
basis, and fixing the fleeting sunbeam, which are now opening upon us by
means of chemical science? Steam-engine and furnace, the steel plate,
the roller, the press, the _Daguerreotype_, the voltaic battery and the
lens, are the antagonist principles of _art_; and so long as they are
permitted to rule, so long must art be prevented from ever taking root
again in the affections of mankind. It may continue to afford enjoyment
to those who are severed in spirit from the multitude; but the masses
will be quite easy without it.' 'Whilst we triumph in the "results of
machinery," we must not repine if one of those results be the paralysis
of the imaginative faculties of the human mind.'
Of all the application of mechanical means to effect the purposes of
art, their contrast, with the operations of the hand, is as the
stiffness and weight of death, compared with life, freedom, and
vitality.
LIGHT AND SHADE.
----Shadows, to-night,
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
Armed in proof.
THE inexhaustible and unceasingly varying beauties of art begin to
develope themselves most when the study of Light and Shade commences;
and the student is amply recompensed for the time he has devoted to
obtaining a knowledge of correctness in outline. It is now that he sees
Nature with other and improved vision--with clearer conceptions of her
character--in her sunny and joyous revellings, as in her vast and awful
sublimity.
Drawing gives form; Colour, its visible quality; and Light and Shade,
its solidity.
If the necessary form of a figure, or any other object, be not agreeable
to the eye, its whole appearance may be so _altered_ by a skilful
management of its light and shade, as to become at once the contrary by
judicious arrangement.
In arranging the light and shade of a sketch I intend to paint, I
usually take a piece of grey, or neutral paper, place the highest light
at some point of sufficient interest (for the high light in a picture
always seems to say, 'Come and look at me, to see what I am about!') and
gradually lead it away, diffusing its rays, as it were, into the half
light, or the half shade, and so on, until it is wholly lost in the
darkest point; then, with white paint, or chalk, proceed to mark all
the _immaterial_ lights, on parts of the figures, or other objects, as
they occur in the design, as conductors of the more luminous one, into
the shade, as repeats, to prevent its singleness of appearance,
gradating until they are carried out of the work; like light 'collected
to a focus by a lens, and emitting rays,' as in _plate 2_. The judgment
being principally exerted in judiciously placing the repeats, one, or
more, of these lesser lights must, of necessity, be of the _same colour_
as the principal.
Sudden transitions, by producing _too much effect_, the lights being
_too_ light, and the darks too dark, produce a hard, dry, a staring, and
a vulgar appearance, for want of neutralizing their qualities, and
bringing the parts more in _union_ with each other. This overwrought
manner is principally the cause of that common look so identified with
the modern French school, the effect of too much relief.
On the other hand, nothing but flatness and _insipidity_ is the result
of too softly _blending_ and uniting the light with the shadow, and the
parts with one another, without that distinction and solidity
constituting the arrangement that should bring the near and the remote
together, in the treatment of the intermediate relations.
Light should be so skilfully woven into the shadow, as not to prejudice,
but _assist_ its depth by its intrusion; this is of most essential
consequence.
It is not necessary that the light should come in at one side of the
picture, nor pass out at the other, as has been asserted. It is,
perhaps, better to attach ourselves to no particular theory: few
theorists are good painters; their works, in general, bear a
contradictory proportion to the opinions set forth in their
speculations.
Sketching light and shade from nature (with a single colour, or a
stump), teaches us to profit by every circumstance, natural or
accidental. And these sketches, studied at home, teach us, in turn, at
once to _compose_, and to extend the sphere of our observation;--it
carries us to the doctrine of probable possibilities; and invests the
meanest subject with attraction; the most infinite variety becomes
simplicity upon these terms.
The light and shade of a picture should never bear the _same_
proportions; it should, in all instances, differ materially in quantity;
a repetition of forms should always bear a different proportion in
size, the one having a decided superiority over the other, or, the
inevitable consequences will be, confusion.
Unconnected lights and shadows, that are too much defined, will have a
_bald_, a chequered, or draught-board appearance.
In sketching from nature, I usually commence by rubbing in the _effect
first_, and adding the details, or features of the scene, _afterwards_;
mostly beginning with the centre, or else the point of sight, and
working outwards, and upwards, and downwards, to the sides of the
picture. But this can only come of extensive practice, or, at least, a
power of grasping the _whole_ at once.
I have said that the first and principal part of art is Composition, or
placing things together appropriately; the situation, motion, and
expression of the figures; their shapes, and lights, and shadows,
according. A perfect outline is of most consequence, and can only be
acquired by study. Next to this, the situation, colour, and quantity of
shadows; these being infinite, may be variously managed. At the same
time, it requires much more observation and study to _shade_ a picture,
than to merely draw the lines of it. No fixed rule can be given for
this; but, after having got the outline free and flowing, endeavour, by
various trials, on other bits of paper, to leave the _masses_ of shadow
and light _broad_, so as to convey an appearance of _space_ and extent.
In the infinite gradations of shade, and the blending of them, nature
has no determined law.
Objects out of doors, which receive the general light of the sky, and
where the surrounding air gives light on _all_ sides, will look
altogether different from the same objects drawn and shaded in a room,
which would give dark shadows where in nature there are none. (_Plate 3,
fig. 2._)
Without shadows, the forms of things would be unrevealed.
At different times of the day, objects will give shadows quite different
in size and form, corresponding with the course of the sun. The
difference of your own shadow exemplifies this, as well as the variation
of the shadows in your room.
Direct your attention to the difference of the shadows thrown by
candle-light; this luminary being _smaller_ than the object placed
against it, would make a figure, cut from a card, two or three inches
high, give a shadow on the wall the size of life.
Place any object in the sun, and turn it round to the north, south,
east, and west, at different periods; and, observing the difference of
shapes in the shadows, will be found excellent practice.
Placed in certain directions, the form of every thing may be inferred
from its shadow.
The shadow of a person arriving, on an open door, will, if the sun is
behind him, distinguish to the inmate the comer's identity.
Shadow is most articulate and defined when the light is brightest, by
reason of the _contrast_ formed by the light; and will always, under
these circumstances, appear much stronger than it is; though it is not
so strong, in reality, as shadow in cloudy weather, from its being more
equalized with the light. Shadow is only, more or less, by _comparison_
with the brightness of the light. This is best explained by making a
room dark by _degrees_, and holding up some object against the light as
it _diminishes_, until it is quite dark.
The light of the sun always reflects a shadow _equal_ to the object
which it projects on a parallel plane. The sun being larger than the
body illumined, throws a shadow less than that body. On the contrary,
the light of a candle, being less than the object reflected, produces
the contrary effect, the shadow _increasing_ as it retires, not in
parallels, but in _rays_, thrown by the light.
The figure and shape of a shadow is strictly defined by the form of the
object producing it; as light occasions the existence of shadow. An
excellent and well-turned remark is made by some writer on the subject,
who says, 'It must be observed, that there are _two_ points to be made
use of: one of them, the foot of the light, which is always taken on the
plane the object is placed upon; the other, the luminous body, the rule
being common to the sun, torch, &c. with this difference, that the sun's
shadow is projected in parallels, and that of the torch in _rays_, from
the centre, as before mentioned. But as all objects on earth are so
small in comparison of the sun, the diminution of their shadows is
imperceptible to the eye, which sees them all _equal_, neither broader
nor narrower than the object that forms them. On this account, all the
shadows made by the sun are made in parallels.'
'To find the shadow of any object whatever opposed to the sun, a line
must be drawn from the top of the luminary, perpendicular to the plane
where the foot of the luminary is to be taken; and from this, an occult
line, to be drawn through one of the angles of the plane of the object;
and another, from the sun to the same angle. The intersection of the two
lines will express how far the shadow is to go. All the other lines must
be drawn parallel hereto.'
The next thing to be considered is, an _appropriate_ effect of light or
shadow, to be given to the scene, or object, treated.
Calmness and serenity are the result of _horizontal_ lights, or shadows;
while the contrary is the effect of oblique, or abrupt and irregular;
such as are seen in the stormy effects of Salvator Rosa, &c.
The sky and clouds are often resorted to for _effect_, when the
landscape does not admit of sufficient. Again, less imposition thrown
into the sky, will repose the landscape, when it happens to be invested
with sufficient interest of itself.
Extending the repose of a work,--by throwing into the general mass of
shadow a number of objects that may appear of the least consequence to
the development of its story, and bringing those which should be most
prominent boldly forth into the light, by projecting their forms from
the hollows of the shadows, that may appear to teem with a multitude of
mysterious forms, while the cutting edges and sharp lights of those
projections come out in sunshine, depending solely on their vigorous
_division_,--is one of the greatest difficulties in composition, and is
principally rendered so by the necessity of adapting its sympathies to
the subject we would place before the beholder--by its agreeable
disposition and management; at the same time preserving the utmost
singleness of intention and simplicity, by avoiding confusion, and
supporting its breadth by the shapes of the masses of one and of the
other. A very small portion of the light, striking some object placed in
the shadow, will carry the light into it; while some point or figure,
enveloped in shade or dark local colour, will be sufficient to convey
the obscure parts into the luminous, and preserve the balance of the
whole. (_Plate 3, fig. 2._)
The most complicated outline may by this means be reduced to the
broadest effect of light and shade. And simple and palpable as this
principle may seem, it may be pursued until the artist is enabled to
_conceal_ entirely the art by which it is effected; until he feels that
which he could not perhaps explain, but may paint in a language that all
may read.
Sir Joshua Reynolds speaks of 'That breadth of light and shadow,--that
art and management of uniting light to light, and shadow to shadow, so
as to make the object rise out of the ground in the plenitude of
effect.'
Outline is _cold_ and determined in its appearance, and would seem so
though drawn with vermilion; and, from its being defined, carries away
all idea of space and extent with it. The greater the absence of
outline, the greater will be the breadth. Where there is a necessity for
much outline, large masses of it must be collected into broad portions
of the shadows and lights, which should be well diversified in their
forms. (_Plate 5._)
Where light _joins_ darkness, the light and dark are most intense at
their _junction_, arising from affinity of contrast. It is not necessary
to enter into the phenomena of vision to prove the existence of any
thing that will be found in this work, its details being drawn from
every-day observation.
Light and Shade should always, I think, partake of the character of the
subject: a _fete champetre_ should not be enveloped in the gloom of
shadowy obscurity, any more than a storm piece should be clothed in the
glories of sunshine.
When the composition consists of a number of objects, the best way is to
single out those that should most attract, by giving them the highest
quality of the light; while whole portions may be disposed of by
connecting them in broad masses of the secondary light, and further
uniting them with the trees, buildings, or any other objects that occur,
to extend its quantity; while the masses of shadow are formed by the
union of other several parts, the light mingling with and intersecting
the shade, until the whole present an harmonious _breadth_. But to
achieve this, so that the parts take agreeable forms--sustaining and
supporting, and giving value to each other--is perhaps the
_chef-d'oeuvre_ of the arduous arrangement of light and shade. (_Plate
2, fig. 5._)
If we require a large space for repose, by getting the light at one or
other side of the picture, the light should of necessity possess some
striking quality, to compensate so great a sacrifice of space; while a
multitude of less important objects may find a mysterious locality in
the reposing mass. (_Plate 2, figs. 1, 2._)
In some of Rembrandt's etchings, a very small but brilliant point of
light is carried through the composition, by the softest gradations,
into the intense depth of shadow, by striking the tops only of the
figures, parts of architecture, &c., until completely lost. The
principal light must never be placed in the centre, but either on one
side or other.
A single mass of light will have the greatest force when brought in
immediate contact with a dark background: so will a dark object tell
with equal power when opposed to the strongest light. So a figure,
clothed in black and white, and placed on one side of the foreground,
will focus _all the other_ lights and shadows, which will immediately
keep their places in the picture--so they be less in strength. In
proportion to the number of forms in the composition, this rule may be
equally applied to a group, if it agree in its outline, and does not
disturb the masses on which it depends for repose.
If the picture be generally light, or the greater part in half tint, a
single object or point of dark will be often found sufficient to key the
whole,--placed at the opposing angle on the side opposite the darkest
part.
The outline of an object we would bring most forward should come out
_cutting_ and strong from its surrounding shadow, while the other masses
will retire in proportion to the absence of the opposition of _density_
employed in preventing their approach. It may not be impossible that
these few words convey the impression of what we mostly intend.
The small and immaterial lights, catching the edges of objects carried
into the shadow, are of the greatest usefulness in giving depth and
intensity to it, while they assist the work by carrying the
communicating medium through it.