_THE EQUIPMENT OF THE ILLUSTRATOR._
Three special qualifications are absolutely indispensable to the
artist who desires to become an illustrator.
First, in order to make the least important illustration, the student
must have a sound training in drawing, and if he has worked in colour
so much the better, for in the near future colour work will play a
very important part, even in the least costly form of books and
papers.
Second, the student must thoroughly understand the use of various
mediums, oil (in monochrome at least), water colour, wash and body
colour, pen and ink, chalk, etching, lithography, and he must have
ability to express himself by almost all these methods. A knowledge,
too, of the appearance the drawing will present after it has been
engraved on wood or metal, processed, etched, or lithographed is
necessary, because the illustrator will be held responsible for the
results on the printed page; even though, as is usually the case, the
fault is that of the engraver or printer, the public certainly will
blame the artist alone. Therefore the editor or publisher will not
employ him. The engraver will blame him if only to save his own
business reputation. The printer will take away in every case many
valuable qualities which the drawing possessed; but for the
incompetency or inability of engraver and printer, the artist will be
held accountable, and he must therefore understand engraving and
printing well enough to place the blame where it belongs, if not on
his own shoulders.
To be able, then, to obtain good printed results, requires a knowledge
of the reproductive arts, on the part of the illustrator, in theory at
least, almost equal to the practical skill demanded in drawing.
Third, but most important of all, the ability to discover the vital or
characteristic motive of an author's work, and so set it forth that
the public may see it too. And the power to do this well is without
doubt the real test of an illustrator.
Nothing is more difficult. The artist must please the author,
therefore he should if possible know the writer personally; at least
he must be in sympathy with, and interested in his work, else a
difference arises at once; jealousy between author and artist, nearly
always the fault of the author, who usually resents the presence of
the artist at all, is the cause of half the failures in illustration.
No artist would think of dictating to an author the fashion in which
the latter should write his story, but every author, and not a few
editors, try to tell their own artist how it shall be illustrated. To
a certain extent this is right, and it would be altogether right, if
only the author and editor knew anything of art; but not infrequently
they do not, and the less they know the more they dictate.
It may be safely said that not once in a hundred times is the author
satisfied with his illustrations, especially if they are made to
decorate a story. And even the designs intended to illustrate a
descriptive article seldom please the writer, simply because the
author has no comprehension of the limitations of graphic art.
Still, with descriptive articles, the case is somewhat different. If
the illustrator knows the author, he may undertake the journey, if to
a foreign land, for example, with him, and a most delightful piece of
collaboration may be the result. Or the author having visited the
spot--sometimes he writes about it without having done so--may make
out a list of subjects, and the artist may pick and choose from them,
going to the place described to do so, with more or less satisfactory
results. It is in this way that most of the better known magazines
obtain their illustrated descriptive articles, but even by this method
the artist and author usually disagree as to what should be drawn, the
matter being looked at from two entirely different points of view. Or
the artist may be asked to work up into drawings, from photographs,
views of a place, or portraits of people never seen by him; some
illustrators are very successful at this, work which in most men's
hands would be but the veriest drudgery and hack work, becoming
interesting, attractive, and truly artistic.
But in most cases such drawings, even by the most skilful men, lack
the go and life obtained when the work is done direct from nature, or
at least without the photograph; and every true artist prefers nature
to any photograph. There is nothing in the world more difficult to
work from. One is confused by endless unimportant, unselected details;
the point of view is never that which one would have selected, and the
result, save in the rarest instances, is dubbed photographic even by
the artless.
The most awful misfortune that may occur to an illustrator is to be
compelled to use the photographs or sketches made by an author; here
almost certain disaster awaits the artist. The author who cannot draw
but will sketch is terrible; the author who can photograph is
impossible. Both, they are sure, could make the illustrations if they
but had the time; and the artist who is compelled to illustrate them
could write the story or do the description, he knows, if he but took
the trouble. At least, that is the view they take of each other. The
result is almost certain failure.
Such people should contribute solely to the journals of actuality,
where neither art nor literature find an abiding place, and the
photograph, the amateur, and the personal paragraph are supreme.
Despite all these things, and many more, people struggle to become
illustrators.
Another qualification for the illustrator is education; no ignorant
person may become a decent illustrator. He need not possess an
university degree; few do. But he must be able to understand a vital
or dramatic or pictorial point, and to arrive at this understanding
may necessitate much study of literature at home and the visiting of
many lands.
How can one illustrate a history of Napoleon, for example, without
reading everything possible about his life that the author read, and
without visiting the various countries in which his life was passed;
in short, the conscientious illustrator goes through exactly the same
process as the author, when collecting his materials. With this
difference; the author is, in most cases, the final judge of his own
work, and of his artist's efforts too. It is amazing that, considering
that an illustrator has to submit to having his work judged by
editors, rejected by authors, spoiled by engraving, injured by
process, and ruined by printing--and all this may happen to good as
well as bad work--armies of young people are rushing into an
over-crowded profession, and every art school, by teaching
illustration, is encouraging them to do so.
Seeing, then, that such is the case, my object is to endeavour to give
you a start in the right way if possible, at least in the way that, up
to the present, the best work has been done.
That is, briefly, by drawing well, by working carefully, by expressing
ideas plainly, and these desired results can only be obtained by those
who regard illustration quite as seriously as any other branch of the
Fine Arts; who know the good work that has been done in the past, and
working on the right traditions, adapt their methods to the
requirements of the present.
There are many more points to be noted, not least of which is that an
illustrator must learn to keep his temper; from the first drawing he
submits, until he takes to painting in despair, his work will almost
surely be misunderstood, his motives disbelieved. If he works in the
style affected by his paper, that is, the style which the editor
considers appeals to his subscribers--for papers are published for
gain, not love--he will be asked by the critic why he does so. If he
dares to be original, to follow his own inclinations, he will be told
to efface himself and work like the rest. If he sketches he will be
accused of shirking his work. If he elaborates he will be told he is
ruining the proprietor.
His only consolation is that he, personally, seldom sees the editor,
he prepares himself for the ordeal, and as the editor has to encounter
a constant succession of irate, contrite, emphatic, and even furious
artists, his life cannot be an altogether happy one. Still he
flourishes, and so does the illustrator.
But there are compensations. One may be asked to illustrate the works
of a deceased author, one may treat the volume almost as one likes,
and discuss the result with the editor. In this case the artist will
almost certainly do his best. If he has the true illustrative spirit,
he will study the period, the country, the manners, the costume; and,
if let alone, to produce the work in his own way and at his leisure,
he may create a masterpiece. This, however, depends entirely on the
artist. It is in this way that the great illustrated works of the
century have come into existence, without hurry, without worry, and,
after all, the pleasure of work has been almost the only reward the
artist has gained--and that seems to be enough to attract crowds--but
I doubt if the business side of illustration means much to the
student.
Better still, the artist may make a series of drawings, and then get
a writer--an artist in words--one of those people who talk of
impressionism in prose, or impasto in poetry, to turn out so many
yards of copy. With what a grace he does so, and with what glee the
artist pounces on his lines! If it were not for the ever-present
editor the author's lot would be almost as bad as the illustrator's.
Best condition of all under which work may be produced is when the
illustrator is his own author, when he writes his own story or does
his own description; this requires that one shall be doubly gifted.
Much may be learned by practice, but to be really great in this has as
yet scarce been granted. But a few very talented artist-authors exist.
Equally good are those magazines that publish illustrations which are
independent works of art, of equal importance with the text.
Equally pleasant, too, is working for the weekly illustrated
press--how long this form of publication will last is doubtful--making
drawings which will be printed of a large size and show really the
ability of the artist. It is pleasant, too, when the editor is an
artist or man of sympathetic intelligence.
Another very important matter is the recognising of the fact that
illustration at its best is equal in artistic rank with any other form
of artistic expression; and that in every country save England
illustrators rank with any other artists. Here one is forced to take
to paint to gain admittance to the Royal Academy, though most of the
distinguished members of that body won their reputations, and live on
them, not by colour, but by the despised trade of illustrating.
Critics--even the best of them--will tell you that an illustrator is
just a little lower than a painter. It is false if the art of the one
is as good in quality as that of the other; else Rembrandt's etchings
are inferior to his paintings, which is absurd.
But to-day many illustrators, in fact the mass, do not take themselves
seriously. They squabble and haggle, they hurry and push, they are as
much shopkeepers as your out-of-work painter. Others must have their
stuff in every paper. Others' portraits and eventless bourgeois lives
appear in every magazine, especially if the portrait is done for
nothing and a few drawings are thrown in. Others crib the superficial
qualities of the popular one of the moment, whether his game is
eccentricity, mysticism, or primitiveness, three excellent dodges for
hiding incapacity or want of training.
Not that there are no good men who do find their means of expression
among the primitives or who are really mystic, or truly grotesque,
but for every one of these there is an army of frauds.
But all the while good work is being done. You may not see the real
artist's name in letters a foot long on every hoarding, or his
productions in every book that comes out. But once in a while he does
an article, or even a drawing and then the mystics, the hacks, the
primitives, and even some few of the public, buy it and treasure it
up.
Therefore be serious, be earnest; and if you cannot be--if you think
illustration but a stepping-stone to something better--leave it alone
and tackle the something better. You may never succeed in that; you
will certainly fail in illustration.
There is still another point, the financial one. Here illustration
approaches architecture. Ruskin said somewhere, probably by
accident, for it is so true, "Never give your drawings away; tear
them up or keep them till some one wants to buy them." At the
present time the profession is so crowded at the bottom that some
shopkeeping editors have profited by this to reduce their prices
almost to nothing--literally, by threatening and sweating, obtaining
the work of mere students and people who are without money or
brains, though they may be possessed of artistic ability, for next
to nothing. In the case of painters they have said, "Send us a photo
or sketch of your picture, and we will put it in; and think of the
advertisement."
What you who want to be illustrators must think of is that the
painters who give their work to these people are fools. Would a writer
give his story for nothing, or a poet his sonnet? And when these
editors say they can get such an one's drawing for so much less, tell
them to get it, they will come after you on their knees later if you
have anything in you, or their papers do not come to grief in the
meantime.
Of course there can be no hard-and-fast rule about remuneration, but
the labourer is worthy of what he can get. And it has only been within
the last few years that the clever dodge of swindling the public by
bad photos and worse art, of sweating artists by employing hacks and
students has been practised, for the benefit of two people, grasping
proprietors and still more grasping editors.
In connection with this matter, let me read you an extract from a
letter recently received by me from the greatest living illustrator
(it is therefore unnecessary to mention his name), and read at one of
the meetings of the Society of Illustrators:--
"It has for too long been the case that the unsuccessful practitioner
of other arts has turned to illustration of the baser sort as a last
chance of earning a living. I dare say he has a right to a living, but
in these days of cheap and nasty illustrated journals, the low
standard of work he brings, as a rule, to a branch of the artistic
calling always considered by me a dignified and important branch, I do
not believe in recognising or encouraging; and it certainly seems to
me that a certain distinction should be made between men who take not
the slightest artistic interest in their work and those who
conscientiously endeavour to do it well and honestly.
"I have seen the abnormal growth and prosperity of cheap and nasty
illustration, to my great regret. I suppose that so long as there is a
large market for it, men will be found to supply it, and evidently
this is the sort of thing finding favour to-day.
"The standard set up by the 'Cornhill' and 'Once a Week,' and by Menzel
and Meissonier abroad, seems to be out of key with the present taste.
It must be that ignorance of good work is responsible"--ignorance, I
may add, on the part of the artist and editor--in their case
intentional or deplorable; in the case of the public it is but the
blind leading the blind.
Therefore, finally, try to do good work, and when you have done it
demand to be well paid for it. If you have not the moral or financial
backbone for this, go and chop wood--or paint.