real dignity of the Art, and who rate the works of an Artist in
proportion as they excel or are defective in the mechanical parts,
look on theory as something that may enable them to talk but not to
paint better; and, confining themselves entirely to mechanical
practice, very assiduously toil on in the drudgery of copying, and
think they make a rapid progress while they faithfully exhibit the
minutest part of a favourite picture. This appears to me a very
tedious, and, I think, a very erroneous, method of proceeding. Of
every large composition, even of those which are most admired, a great
part may be truly said to be _commonplace_. This, though it takes up
much time in copying, conduces little to improvement. I consider
general copying as a delusive kind of industry: the Student satisfies
himself with the appearance of doing something; he falls into the
dangerous habit of imitating without selecting, and of labouring
without any determinate object; as it requires no effort of the mind,
he sleeps over his work: and those powers of invention and composition
which ought particularly to be called out, and put in action, lie
torpid, and lose their energy for want of exercise.
How incapable those are of producing anything of their own who have
spent much of their time in making finished copies, is well known to
all who are conversant with our art.
To suppose that the complication of powers and variety of ideas
necessary to that mind which aspires to the first honours in the Art
of Painting can be obtained by the frigid contemplation of a few
single models, is no less absurd than it would be in him who wishes to
be a poet to imagine, that by translating a tragedy he can acquire to
himself sufficient knowledge of the appearances of nature, the
operations of the passions, and the incidents of life.
The great use in copying, if it be at all useful, should seem to be in
learning to colour; yet even colouring will never be perfectly
attained by servilely copying the model before you. An eye critically
nice can only be formed by observing well-coloured pictures with
attention; and by close inspection and minute examination you will
discover, at last, the manner of handling, the artifices of contrast,
glazing, and other expedients by which good colourists have raised the
value of their tints, and by which nature has been so happily imitated.
I must inform you, however, that old pictures, deservedly celebrated
for their colouring, are often so changed by dirt and varnish that we
ought not to wonder if they do not appear equal to their reputation in
the eyes of unexperienced painters, or young Students. An artist whose
judgment is matured by long observation considers rather what the
picture once was than what it is at present. He has by habit acquired
a power of seeing the brilliancy of tints through the cloud by which
it is obscured. An exact imitation, therefore, of those pictures is
likely to fill the Student's mind with false opinions, and to send him
back a colourist of his own formation, with ideas equally remote from
nature and from art, from the genuine practice of the masters and the
real appearances of things.
Following these rules, and using these precautions, when you have
clearly and distinctly learned in what good colouring consists, you
cannot do better than have recourse to nature herself, who is always
at hand, and in comparison of whose true splendour the best coloured
pictures are but faint and feeble.
However, as the practice of copying is not entirely to be excluded,
since the mechanical practice of painting is learned in some measure by
it, let those choice parts only be selected which have recommended the
work to notice. If its excellence consists in its general effect, it
would be proper to make slight sketches of the machinery and general
management of the picture. Those sketches should be kept always by you
for the regulation of your style. Instead of copying the touches of
those great masters, copy only their conceptions. Instead of treading in
their footsteps, endeavour only to keep the same road. Labour to invent
on their general principles and way of thinking. Possess yourself with
their spirit. Consider with yourself how a Michel Angelo or a Raffaelle
would have treated this subject, and work yourself into a belief that
your picture is to be seen and criticised by them when completed. Even
an attempt of this kind will rouse your powers.
But as mere enthusiasm will carry you but a little way, let me
recommend a practice that may be equivalent to and will, perhaps, more
efficaciously contribute to your advancement than even the verbal
corrections of those masters themselves, could they be obtained. What
I would propose is, that you should enter into a kind of competition,
by painting a similar subject, and making a companion to any picture
that you consider as a model. After you have finished your work, place
it near the model, and compare them carefully together. You will then
not only see but feel your own deficiencies more sensibly than by
precepts, or any other means of instruction. The true principles of
painting will mingle with your thoughts. Ideas thus fixed by sensible
objects will be certain and definitive; and, sinking deep into the
mind, will not only be more just but more lasting than those presented
to you by precepts only, which will always be fleeting, variable, and
undetermined.
This method of comparing your own efforts with those of some great
master is, indeed, a severe and mortifying task, to which none will
submit but such as have great views, with fortitude sufficient to
forego the gratifications of present vanity for future honour. When
the Student has succeeded in some measure to his own satisfaction, and
has felicitated himself on his success, to go voluntary to a tribunal
where he knows his vanity must be humbled, and all self-approbation
must vanish, requires not only great resolution but great humility. To
him, however, who has the ambition to be a real master, the solid
satisfaction which proceeds from a consciousness of his advancement
(of which seeing his own faults is the first step) will very
abundantly compensate for the mortification of present disappointment.
There is, besides, this alleviating circumstance: every discovery he
makes, every acquisition of knowledge he attains, seems to proceed
from his own sagacity: and thus he acquires a confidence in himself
sufficient to keep up the resolution of perseverance.
We all must have experienced how lazily, and, consequently, how
ineffectually, instruction is received when forced upon the mind by
others. Few have been taught to any purpose who have not been their
own teachers. We prefer those instructions which we have given
ourselves, from our affection to the instructor; and they are more
effectual, from being received into the mind at the very time when it
is most open and eager to receive them.
With respect to the pictures that you are to choose for your models, I
could wish that you would take the world's opinion rather than your
own. In other words, I would have you choose those of established
reputation rather than follow your own fancy. If you should not admire
them at first, you will, by endeavouring to imitate them, find that
the world has not been mistaken.
It is not an easy task to point out those various excellencies for
your imitation which lie distributed amongst the various schools. An
endeavour to do this may, perhaps, be the subject of some future
discourse. I will, therefore, at present, only recommend a model for
style in Painting, which is a branch of the art more immediately
necessary to the young Student. Style in painting is the same as in
writing, a power over materials, whether words or colours, by which
conceptions or sentiments are conveyed. And in this Ludovico Caracci
(I mean his best works) appears to me to approach the nearest to
perfection. His unaffected breadth of light and shadow, the simplicity
of colouring, which, holding its proper rank, does not draw aside the
least part of the attention from the subject, and the solemn effect of
that twilight which seems diffused over his pictures, appear to me to
correspond with grave and dignified subjects, better than the more
artificial brilliancy of sunshine which enlightens the pictures of
Titian; though Tintoret thought that Titian's colouring was the model
of perfection, and would correspond even with the sublime of Michel
Angelo; and that if Angelo had coloured like Titian, or Titian
designed like Angelo, the world would once have had a perfect painter.
It is our misfortune, however, that those works of Caracci which I
would recommend to the Student are not often found out of Bologna. The
_St. Francis in the Midst of his Friars_, _The Transfiguration_, _The
Birth of St. John the Baptist_, _The Calling of St. Matthew_, the _St.
Jerome_, _The Fresco Paintings_ in the Zampieri palace, are all worthy
the attention of the Student. And I think those who travel would do
well to allot a much greater portion of their time to that city than
it has been hitherto the custom to bestow.
In this art, as in others, there are many teachers who profess to show
the nearest way to excellence; and many expedients have been invented
by which the toil of study might be saved. But let no man be seduced
to idleness by specious promises. Excellence is never granted to man,
but as the reward of labour. It argues, indeed, no small strength of
mind to persevere in habits of industry, without the pleasure of
perceiving those advances; which, like the hands of a clock, whilst
they make hourly approaches to their point, yet proceed so slowly as
to escape observation. A facility of drawing, like that of playing
upon a musical instrument, cannot be acquired but by an infinite
number of acts. I need not, therefore, enforce by many words the
necessity of continual application; nor tell you that the port-crayon
ought to be for ever in your hands. Various methods will occur to you
by which this power may be acquired. I would particularly recommend,
that after your return from the Academy (where I suppose your
attendance to be constant), you would endeavour to draw the figure by
memory. I will even venture to add, that by perseverance in this
custom you will become able to draw the human figure tolerably
correctly, with as little effort of the mind as is required to trace
with a pen the letters of the alphabet.
That this facility is not unattainable some members in this Academy
give a sufficient proof. And be assured, that, if this power is not
acquired whilst you are young, there will be no time for it
afterwards; at least, the attempt will be attended with as much
difficulty as those experience who learn to read or write after they
have arrived at the age of maturity.
But while I mention the port-crayon as the Student's constant
companion, he must still remember that the pencil is the instrument by
which he must hope to obtain eminence. What, therefore, I wish to
impress upon you is, that, whenever an opportunity offers, you paint
your studies instead of drawing them. This will give you such a
facility in using colours, that in time they will arrange themselves
under the pencil, even without the attention of the hand that conducts
it. If one act excluded the other, this advice could not with any
propriety be given. But if Painting comprises both drawing and
colouring, and if, by a short straggle of resolute industry, the same
expedition is attainable in painting as in drawing on paper, I cannot
see what objection can justly be made to the practice, or why that
should be done by parts which may be done all together.
If we turn our eyes to the several Schools of Painting, and consider
their respective excellencies, we shall find that those who excel most
in colouring pursued this method. The Venetian and Flemish schools,
which owe much of their fame to colouring, have enriched the cabinets
of the collectors of drawings with very few examples. Those of Titian,
Paul Veronese, Tintoret, and the Bassans, are in general slight and
undetermined. Their sketches on paper are as rude as their pictures
are excellent in regard to harmony of colouring. Correggio and
Baroccio have left few, if any, finished drawings behind them. And in
the Flemish school, Rubens and Vandyck made their designs for the most
part either in colours or in chiaro-oscuro. It is as common to find
studies of the Venetian and Flemish Painters on canvas as of the
schools of Rome and Florence on paper. Not but that many finished
drawings are sold under the names of those masters. Those, however,
are undoubtedly the productions either of engravers or their scholars,
who copied their works.
These instructions I have ventured to offer from my own experience;
but as they deviate widely from received opinions, I offer them with
diffidence, and when better are suggested shall retract them without
regret.
There is one precept, however, in which I shall only be opposed by the
vain, the ignorant, and the idle. I am not afraid that I shall repeat
it too often. You must have no dependence on your own genius. If you
have great talents, industry will improve them: if you have but
moderate abilities, industry will supply their deficiency. Nothing is
denied to well-directed labour: nothing is to be obtained without it.
Not to enter into metaphysical discussions on the nature or essence of
genius, I will venture to assert, that assiduity unabated by
difficulty, and a disposition eagerly directed to the object of its
pursuit, will produce effects similar to those which some call the
result of _natural powers_.
Though a man cannot at all times, and in all places, paint or draw,
yet the mind can prepare itself by laying in proper materials, at all
times, and in all places. Both Livy and Plutarch, in describing
Philopoemen, one of the ablest generals of antiquity, have given us a
striking picture of a mind always intent on its profession, and by
assiduity obtaining those excellencies which some all their lives
vainly expect from nature. I shall quote the passage in Livy at
length, as it runs parallel with the practice I would recommend to the
Painter, Sculptor, and Architect:--
"Philopoemen was a man eminent for his sagacity and experience in
choosing ground, and in leading armies; to which he formed his mind by
perpetual meditation, in times of peace as well as war. When, in any
occasional journey, he came to a strait, difficult passage, if he was
alone, he considered with himself, and if he was in company he asked
his friends, what it would be best to do if in this place they had
found an enemy, either in the front or in the rear, on the one side or
on the other? 'It might happen,' says he, 'that the enemy to be
opposed might come on drawn up in regular lines, or in a tumultuous
body formed only by the nature of the place.' He then considered a
little what ground he should take; what number of soldiers he should
use, and what arms he should give them; where he should lodge his
carriages, his baggage, and the defenceless followers of his camp; how
many guards, and of what kind, he should send to defend them: and
whether it would be better to press forward along the pass, or recover
by retreat his former station: he would consider likewise where his
camp could most commodiously be formed; how much ground he should
enclose within his trenches; where he should have the convenience of
water, and where he might find plenty of wood and forage; and when he
should break up his camp on the following day, through what road he
could most safely pass, and in what form he should dispose his troops.
With such thoughts and disquisitions he had from his early years so
exercised his mind, that on these occasions nothing could happen which
he had not been already accustomed to consider."
I cannot help imagining that I see a promising young Painter equally
vigilant, whether at home or abroad, in the streets or in the fields.
Every object that presents itself is to him a lesson. He regards all
nature with a view to his profession, and combines her beauties, or
corrects her defects. He examines the countenance of men under the
influence of passion; and often catches the most pleasing hints from
subjects of turbulence or deformity. Even bad pictures themselves
supply him with useful documents; and, as Lionardo da Vinci has
observed, he improves upon the fanciful images that are sometimes seen
in the fire, or are accidently sketched upon a discoloured wall.
The Artist who has his mind thus filled with ideas, and his hand made
expert by practice, works with ease and readiness; whilst he who would
have you believe that he is waiting for the inspirations of Genius, is
in reality at a loss how to begin; and is at last delivered of his
monsters with difficulty and pain.
The well-grounded Painter, on the contrary, has only maturely to
consider his subject, and all the mechanical parts of his art follow
without his exertion. Conscious of the difficulty of obtaining what he
possesses, he makes no pretensions to secrets, except those of closer
application. Without conceiving the smallest jealousy against others,
he is contented that all shall be as great as himself who have
undergone the same fatigue; and as his pre-eminence depends not upon a
trick, he is free from the painful suspicions of a juggler who lives
in perpetual fear lest his trick should be discovered.
DISCOURSE III.
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution of
the Prizes, December 14, 1770._
THE GREAT LEADING PRINCIPLES OF THE GRAND STYLE.--OF BEAUTY.--THE
GENUINE HABITS OF NATURE TO BE DISTINGUISHED FROM THOSE OF FASHION.
It is not easy to speak with propriety to so many Students of different
ages and different degrees of advancement. The mind requires nourishment
adapted to its growth; and what may have promoted our earlier efforts
might retard us in our nearer approaches to perfection.
The first endeavours of a young Painter, as I have remarked in a
former discourse, must be employed in the attainment of mechanical
dexterity, and confined to the mere imitation of the object before
him. Those who have advanced beyond the rudiments may, perhaps, find
advantage in reflecting on the advice which I have likewise given
them, when I recommended the diligent study of the works of our great
predecessors; but I at the same time endeavoured to guard them against
an implicit submission to the authority of any one master, however
excellent, or, by a strict imitation of his manner, precluding
themselves from the abundance and variety of Nature. I will now add,
that Nature herself is not to be too closely copied. There are
excellencies in the art of painting beyond what is commonly called the
imitation of Nature, and these excellencies I wish to point out. The
Students who, having passed through the initiatory exercises, are more
advanced in the art, and who, sure of their hand, have leisure to
exert their understanding, must now be told that a mere copier of
Nature can never produce anything great, can never raise and enlarge
the conceptions, or warm the heart of the spectator.
The wish of the genuine Painter must be more extensive; instead of
endeavouring to amuse mankind with the minute neatness of his
imitations, he must endeavour to improve them by the grandeur of his
ideas; instead of seeking praise, by deceiving the superficial sense of
the spectator, he must strive for fame, by captivating the imagination.
The principle now laid down, that the perfection of this art does not
consist in mere imitation, is far from being new or singular. It is,
indeed, supported by the general opinion of the enlightened part of
mankind. The poets, orators, and rhetoricians of antiquity are
continually enforcing this position,--that all the arts receive their
perfection from an ideal beauty, superior to what is to be found in
individual nature. They are ever referring to the practice of the
painters and sculptors of their times, particularly Phidias (the
favourite artist of antiquity), to illustrate their assertions. As if
they could not sufficiently express their admiration of his genius by
what they knew, they have recourse to poetical enthusiasm: they call
it inspiration--a gift from heaven. The artist is supposed to have
ascended the celestial regions, to furnish his mind with this perfect
idea of beauty. "He," says Proclus,[1] "who takes for his model such
forms as Nature produces, and confines himself to an exact imitation
of them, will never attain to what is perfectly beautiful; for the
works of Nature are full of disproportion, and fall very short of the
true standard of beauty. So that Phidias, when he formed his Jupiter,
did not copy any object ever presented to his sight, but contemplated
only that image which he had conceived in his mind from Homer's
description." And thus Cicero, speaking of the same Phidias:--"Neither
did this artist," says he, "when he carved the image of Jupiter or
Minerva, set before him any one human figure, as a pattern, which he
was to copy; but having a more perfect idea of beauty fixed in his
mind, this is steadily contemplated, and to the imitation of this all
his skill and labour were directed."
The Moderns are not less convinced than the Ancients of this superior
power existing in the art; nor less sensible of its effects. Every
language has adopted terms expressive of this excellence. The _gusto
grande_ of the Italians, the _beau idéal_ of the French, and _great
style_, _genius_, and _taste_ among the English, are but different
appellations of the same thing. It is this intellectual dignity, they
say, that ennobles the Painter's art; that lays the line between him
and the mere mechanic; and produces those great effects in an instant,
which eloquence and poetry, by slow and repeated efforts, are scarcely
able to attain.
Such is the warmth with which both the Ancients and Moderns speak of
this divine principle of the art; but, as I have formerly observed,
enthusiastic admiration seldom promotes knowledge. Though a Student by
such praise may have his attention roused, and a desire excited, of
running in this great career, yet it is possible that what has been
said to excite may only serve to deter him. He examines his own mind,
and perceives there nothing of that divine inspiration with which he
is told so many others have been favoured. He never travelled to
heaven to gather new ideas; and he finds himself possessed of no other
qualifications than what mere common observation and a plain
understanding can confer. Thus he becomes gloomy amidst the splendour
of figurative declamation, and thinks it hopeless to pursue an object
which he supposes out of the reach of human industry.
But on this, as upon many other occasions, we ought to distinguish how
much is to be given to enthusiasm, and how much to reason. We ought to
allow for, and we ought to commend, that strength of vivid expression
which is necessary to convey, in its full force, the highest sense of
the most complete effect of art; taking care, at the same time, not to
lose in terms of vague admiration that solidity and truth of principle
upon which alone we can reason, and may be enabled to practise.