opinion, had no great vigour of mind or strength of original genius.
He rarely seizes the imagination by exhibiting the higher
excellencies, nor does he captivate us by that originality which
attends the painter who thinks for himself. He knew and practised all
the rules of art, and from a composition of Raffaelle, Caracci, and
Guido, made up a style, of which the only fault was, that it had no
manifest defects and no striking beauties; and that the principles of
his composition are never blended together so as to form one uniform
body, original in its kind, or excellent in any view.
I will mention two other painters, who, though entirely dissimilar,
yet, by being each consistent with himself, and possessing a manner
entirely his own, have both gained reputation, though for very
opposite accomplishments. The painters I mean are Rubens and Poussin.
Rubens I mention in this place, as I think him a remarkable instance
of the same mind being seen in all the various parts of the art. The
whole is so much of a piece, that one can scarce be brought to believe
but that if any one of the qualities he possessed had been more
correct and perfect, his works would not have been so complete as they
now appear. If we should allow him a greater purity and correctness of
Drawing, his want of Simplicity in Composition, Colouring, and
Drapery, would appear more gross.
In his Composition his art is too apparent. His figures have
expression, and act with energy, but without simplicity or dignity.
His colouring, in which he is eminently skilled, is, notwithstanding,
too much of what we call tinted. Throughout the whole of his works
there is a proportionable want of that nicety of distinction and
elegance of mind, which is required in the higher walks of painting;
and to this want it may be in some degree ascribed, that those
qualities which make the excellency of this subordinate style appear
in him with their greatest lustre. Indeed, the facility with which he
invented, the richness of his composition, the luxuriant harmony and
brilliancy of his colouring, so dazzle the eye, that whilst his works
continue before us, we cannot help thinking that all his deficiencies
are fully supplied.
Opposed to this florid, careless, loose, and inaccurate style, that of
the simple, careful, pure, and correct style of Poussin seems to be a
complete contrast. Yet however opposite their characters, in one thing
they agreed; both of them always preserving a perfect correspondence
between all the parts of their respective manners; insomuch that it
may be doubted whether any alteration of what is considered as
defective in either would not destroy the effect of the whole.
Poussin lived and conversed with the ancient statues so long that he
may be said to have been better acquainted with them than with the
people who were about him. I have often thought that he carried his
veneration for them so far as to wish to give his works the air of
Ancient Paintings. It is certain he copied some of the Antique
Paintings, particularly the Marriage in the Aldobrandini Palace at
Rome, which I believe to be the best relic of those remote ages that
has yet been found.
No works of any modern have so much of the air of Antique Painting as
those of Poussin. His best performances have a remarkable dryness of
manner, which though by no means to be recommended for imitation, yet
seems perfectly correspondent to that ancient simplicity which
distinguishes his style. Like Polidoro, he studied the ancients so much
that he acquired a habit of thinking in their way, and seemed to know
perfectly the actions and gestures they would use on every occasion.
Poussin in the latter part of his life changed from his dry manner to
one much softer and richer, where there is a greater union between the
figures and ground; as in the Seven Sacraments in the Duke of Orlean's
collection; but neither these, or any of his other pictures in this
manner, are at all comparable to many in this dry manner which we have
in England.
The favourite subjects of Poussin were Ancient Fables; and no painter
was ever better qualified to paint such subjects, not only from his
being eminently skilled in the knowledge of the ceremonies, customs,
and habits of the Ancients, but from his being so well acquainted with
the different characters which those who invented them gave to their
allegorical figures. Though Rubens has shown great fancy in his
Satyrs, Silenuses, and Fauns, yet they are not that distinct separate
class of beings, which is carefully exhibited by the Ancients, and by
Poussin. Certainly, when such subjects of antiquity are represented,
nothing in the picture ought to remind us of modern times. The mind is
thrown back into antiquity, and nothing ought to be introduced that
may tend to awaken it from the illusion.
Poussin seemed to think that the style and the language in which such
stories are told, is not the worse for preserving some relish of the
old way of painting, which seemed to give a general uniformity to the
whole, so that the mind was thrown back into antiquity not only by the
subject, but the execution.
If Poussin, in imitation of the Ancients, represents Apollo driving
his chariot out of the sea by way of representing the Sun rising, if
he personifies Lakes and Rivers, it is nowise offensive in him; but
seems perfectly of a piece with the general air of the picture. On the
contrary, if the figures which people his pictures had a modern air or
countenance, if they appeared like our countrymen, if the draperies
were like cloth or silk of our manufacture, if the landscape had the
appearance of a modern view, how ridiculous would Apollo appear
instead of the Sun; and an old Man, or a nymph with an urn, to
represent a River or a Lake?
I cannot avoid mentioning here a circumstance in portrait-painting
which may help to confirm what has been said. When a portrait is
painted in the Historical Style, as it is neither an exact minute
representation of an individual, nor completely ideal, every
circumstance ought to correspond to this mixture. The simplicity of
the antique air and attitude, however much to be admired, is
ridiculous when joined to a figure in a modern dress. It is not to my
purpose to enter into the question at present, whether this mixed
style ought to be adopted or not; yet if it is chosen, it is necessary
it should be complete, and all of a piece; the difference of stuffs,
for instance, which make the clothing, should be distinguished in the
same degree as the head deviates from a general idea. Without this
union, which I have so often recommended, a work can have no marked
and determined character, which is the peculiar and constant evidence
of genius. But when this is accomplished to a high degree, it becomes
in some sort a rival to that style which we have fixed as the highest.
Thus I have given a sketch of the characters of Rubens and Salvator
Rosa, as they appear to me to have the greatest uniformity of mind
throughout their whole work. But we may add to these, all those
Artists who are at the head of a class, and have had a school of
imitators from Michel Angelo down to Watteau. Upon the whole it
appears that, setting aside the Ornamental Style, there are two
different modes, either of which a Student may adopt without degrading
the dignity of his art. The object of the first is to combine the
higher excellencies and embellish them to the greatest advantage; of
the other, to carry one of these excellencies to the highest degree.
But those who possess neither must be classed with them, who, as
Shakespeare says, are _men of no mark or likelihood_.
I inculcate as frequently as I can your forming yourselves upon great
principles and great models. Your time will be much misspent in every
other pursuit. Small excellencies should be viewed, not studied; they
ought to be viewed, because nothing ought to escape a Painter's
observation: but for no other reason.
There is another caution which I wish to give you. Be as select in
those whom you endeavour to please, as in those whom you endeavour to
imitate. Without the love of fame you can never do anything excellent;
but by an excessive and undistinguishing thirst after it, you will
come to have vulgar views; you will degrade your style; and your taste
will be entirely corrupted. It is certain that the lowest style will
be the most popular, as it falls within the compass of ignorance
itself; and the Vulgar will always be pleased with what is natural, in
the confined and misunderstood sense of the word.
One would wish that such depravation of taste should be counteracted
with that manly pride which actuated Euripides when he said to the
Athenians who criticised his works, "I do not compose my works in
order to be corrected by you, but to instruct you." It is true, to
have a right to speak thus, a man must be an Euripides. However, thus
much may be allowed, that when an Artist is sure that he is upon firm
ground, supported by the authority and practice of his predecessors of
the greatest reputation, he may then assume the boldness and
intrepidity of genius; at any rate he must not be tempted out of the
right path by any allurement of popularity, which always accompanies
the lower styles of painting.
I mention this, because our Exhibitions, while they produce such
admirable effects by nourishing emulation, and calling out genius,
have also a mischievous tendency, by seducing the Painter to an
ambition of pleasing indiscriminately the mixed multitude of people
who resort to them.
DISCOURSE VI.
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1774._
IMITATION.--GENIUS BEGINS WHERE RULES END.--INVENTION: ACQUIRED BY
BEING CONVERSANT WITH THE INVENTIONS OF OTHERS.--THE TRUE METHOD
OF IMITATING.--BORROWING, HOW FAR ALLOWABLE.--SOMETHING TO BE
GATHERED FROM EVERY SCHOOL.
When I have taken the liberty of addressing you on the course and
order of your studies, I never proposed to enter into a minute detail
of the art. This I have always left to the several Professors, who
pursue the end of our institution with the highest honour to
themselves, and with the greatest advantage to the Students.
My purpose in the discourses I have held in the Academy has been to
lay down certain general positions, which seem to me proper for the
formation of a sound taste: principles necessary to guard the pupils
against those errors into which the sanguine temper common to their
time of life has a tendency to lead them: and which have rendered
abortive the hopes of so many successions of promising young men in
all parts of Europe. I wished also, to intercept and suppress those
prejudices which particularly prevail when the mechanism of painting
is come to its perfection; and which, when they do prevail, are
certain utterly to destroy the higher and more valuable parts of this
literate and liberal profession.
These two have been my principal purposes; they are still as much my
concern as ever; and if I repeat my own notions on the subject, you
who know how fast mistake and prejudice, when neglected, gain ground
upon truth and reason, will easily excuse me. I only attempt to set
the same thing in the greatest variety of lights.
The subject of this discourse will be IMITATION, as far as a painter
is concerned in it. By imitation, I do not mean imitation in its
largest sense, but simply the following of other masters, and the
advantage to be drawn from the study of their works.
Those who have undertaken to write on our art, and have represented it
as a kind of _inspiration_, as a _gift_ bestowed upon peculiar
favourites at their birth, seem to insure a much more favourable
disposition from their readers, and have a much more captivating and
liberal air, than he who attempts to examine, coldly, whether there
are any means by which this art may be acquired; how the mind may be
strengthened and expanded, and what guides will show the way to
eminence.
It is very natural for those who are unacquainted with the _cause_ of
anything extraordinary to be astonished at the _effect_, and to
consider it as a kind of magic. They, who have never observed the
gradation by which art is acquired; who see only what is the full
result of long labour and application of an infinite number and
infinite variety of acts, are apt to conclude, from their entire
inability to do the same at once, that it is not only inaccessible to
themselves, but can be done by those only who have some gift of the
nature of inspiration bestowed upon them.
The travellers into the East tell us, that when the ignorant
inhabitants of those countries are asked concerning the ruins of
stately edifices yet remaining amongst them, the melancholy monuments
of their former grandeur and long-lost science, they always answer
that they were built by magicians. The untaught mind finds a vast gulf
between its own powers and those works of complicated art, which it is
utterly unable to fathom; and it supposes that such a void can be
passed only by supernatural powers.
And, as for artists themselves, it is by no means their interest to
undeceive such judges, however conscious they may be of the very
natural means by which their extraordinary powers were acquired;
though our art, being intrinsically imitative, rejects this idea of
inspiration, more perhaps than any other.
It is to avoid this plain confession of the truth, as it should seem,
that this imitation of masters, indeed almost all imitation, which
implies a more regular and progressive method of attaining the ends of
painting, has ever been particularly inveighed against with great
keenness, both by ancient and modern writers.
To derive all from native power, to owe nothing to another, is the
praise which men who do not much think on what they are saying, bestow
sometimes upon others, and sometimes on themselves; and their
imaginary dignity is naturally heightened by a supercilious censure of
the low, the barren, the groveling, the servile imitator. It would be
no wonder if a student, frightened by these terrific and disgraceful
epithets, with which the poor imitators are so often loaded, should
let fall his pencil in mere despair (conscious as he must be, how much
he has been indebted to the labours of others), how little, how very
little of his art was born with him; and consider it as hopeless, to
set about acquiring by the imitation of any human master, what he is
taught to suppose is matter of inspiration from heaven.
Some allowance must be made for what is said in the gaiety of
rhetoric. We cannot suppose that any one can really mean to exclude
all imitation of others. A position so wild would scarce deserve a
serious answer; for it is apparent, if we were forbid to make use of
the advantages which our predecessors afford us, the art would be
always to begin, and consequently remain always in its infant state;
and it is a common observation, that no art was ever invented and
carried to perfection at the same time.
But to bring us entirely to reason and sobriety, let it be observed,
that a painter must not only be of necessity an imitator of the works of
nature, which alone is sufficient to dispel this phantom of inspiration,
but he must be as necessarily an imitator of the works of other
painters; this appears more humiliating, but is equally true; and no man
can be an artist, whatever he may suppose, upon any other terms.
However, those who appear more moderate and reasonable, allow, that
our study is to begin by imitation; but maintain that we should no
longer use the thoughts of our predecessors, when we are become able
to think for ourselves. They hold that imitation is as hurtful to the
more advanced student, as it was advantageous to the beginner.
For my own part, I confess, I am not only very much disposed to
maintain the absolute necessity of imitation in the first stages of
the art; but am of opinion that the study of other masters, which I
here call imitation, may be extended throughout our whole lives,
without any danger of the inconveniences with which it is charged, of
enfeebling the mind, or preventing us from giving that original air
which every work undoubtedly ought always to have.
I am on the contrary persuaded that by imitation only, variety, and
even originality of invention, is produced. I will go further; even
genius, at least what generally is so called, is the child of
imitation. But as this appears to be contrary to the general opinion,
I must explain my position before I enforce it.
Genius is supposed to be a power of producing excellencies which are
out of the reach of the rules of art; a power which no precepts can
teach, and which no industry can acquire.
This opinion of the impossibility of acquiring those beauties, which
stamp the work with the character of genius, supposes that it is
something more fixed than in reality it is; and that we always do, and
ever did agree in opinion, with respect to what should be considered
as the characteristic of genius. But the truth is, that the _degree_
of excellence which proclaims _Genius_ is different, in different
times and different places; and what shows it to be so is, that
mankind have often changed their opinion upon this matter.
When the Arts were in their infancy the power of merely drawing the
likeness of any object was considered as one of its greatest efforts.
The common people, ignorant of the principles of art, talk the same
language even to this day. But when it was found that every man could
be taught to do this, and a great deal more, merely by the observance
of certain precepts; the name of Genius then shifted its application,
and was given only to him who added the peculiar character of the
object he represented; to him who had invention, expression, grace, or
dignity; in short, those qualities, or excellencies, the power of
producing which could not _then_ be taught by any known and
promulgated rules.
We are very sure that the beauty of form, the expression of the
passions, the art of composition, even the power of giving a general
air of grandeur to a work, is at present very much under the dominion
of rules. These excellencies were, heretofore, considered merely as
the effect of genius; and justly, if genius is not taken for
inspiration, but as the effect of close observation and experience.
He who first made any of these observations, and digested them, so as to
form an invariable principle for himself to work by, had that merit, but
probably no one went very far at once; and generally, the first who gave
the hint, did not know how to pursue it steadily and methodically; at
least not in the beginning. He himself worked on it, and improved it;
others worked more, and improved further; until the secret was
discovered, and the practice made as general as refined practice can be
made. How many more principles may be fixed and ascertained we cannot
tell; but as criticism is likely to go hand in hand with the art which
is its subject, we may venture to say, that as that art shall advance,
its powers will be still more and more fixed by rules.
But by whatever strides criticism may gain ground, we need be under no
apprehension that invention will ever be annihilated or subdued; or
intellectual energy be brought entirely within the restraint of
written law. Genius will still have room enough to expatiate, and keep
always at the same distance from narrow comprehension and mechanical
performance.
What we now call Genius begins, not where rules abstractedly taken
end, but where known vulgar and trite rules have no longer any place.
It must of necessity be, that even works of Genius, like every other
effect, as they must have their cause, must likewise have their rules;
it cannot be by chance that excellencies are produced with any
constancy or any certainty, for this is not the nature of chance; but
the rules by which men of extraordinary parts, and such as are called
men of Genius, work, are either such as they discover by their own
peculiar observations, or of such a nice texture as not easily to
admit being expressed in words; especially as artists are not very
frequently skilful in that mode of communicating ideas. Unsubstantial,
however, 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, as I may say, upon paper. It is true, these refined
principles cannot be always made palpable, like the more gross rules
of art; yet it does not follow, but that the mind may be put in such a
train, that it shall perceive, by a kind of scientific sense, that
propriety, which words, particularly words of unpractised writers,
such as we are, can but very feebly suggest.
Invention is one of the great marks of genius; but if we consult
experience, we shall find that it is by being conversant with the
inventions of others, that we learn to invent; as by reading the
thoughts of others we learn to think.
Whoever has so far formed his taste, as to be able to relish and feel
the beauties of the great masters, has gone a great way in his study;
for, merely from a consciousness of this relish of the right, the mind
swells with an inward pride, and is almost as powerfully affected as
if it had itself produced what it admires. Our hearts, frequently
warmed in this manner by the contact of those whom we wish to
resemble, will undoubtedly catch something of their way of thinking;
and we shall receive in our own bosoms some radiation at least of
their fire and splendour. That disposition, which is so strong in
children, still continues with us, of catching involuntarily the
general air and manner of those with whom we are most conversant; with
this difference only, that a young mind is naturally pliable and
imitative; but in a more advanced state it grows rigid, and must be
warmed and softened before it will receive a deep impression.
From these considerations, which a little of your own reflection will
carry a great way further, it appears, of what great consequence it
is, that our minds should be habituated to the contemplation of
excellence; and that, far from being contented to make such habits the
discipline of our youth only, we should, to the last moment of our
lives, continue a settled intercourse with all the true examples of
grandeur. Their inventions are not only the food of our infancy, but
the substance which supplies the fullest maturity of our vigour.
The mind is but a barren soil--a soil which is soon exhausted, and
will produce no crop, or only one, unless it be continually fertilised
and enriched with foreign matter.
When we have had continually before us the great works of Art to
impregnate our minds with kindred ideas, we are then, and not till
then, fit to produce something of the same species. We behold all
about us with the eyes of those penetrating observers whose works we
contemplate; and our minds, accustomed to think the thoughts of the
noblest and brightest intellects, are prepared for the discovery and
selection of all that is great and noble in nature. The greatest
natural genius cannot subsist on its own stock: he who resolves never
to ransack any mind but his own, will be soon reduced, from mere
barrenness, to the poorest of all imitations; he will be obliged to
imitate himself, and to repeat what he has before often repeated.
When we know the subject designed by such men, it will never be
difficult to guess what kind of work is to be produced.
It is vain for painters or poets to endeavour to invent without
materials on which the mind may work, and from which invention must
originate. Nothing can come of nothing.
Homer is supposed to be possessed of all the learning of his time; and
we are certain that Michel Angelo and Raffaelle were equally possessed
of all the knowledge in the art which had been discovered in the works
of their predecessors.
A mind enriched by an assemblage of all the treasures of ancient and
modern art will be more elevated and fruitful in resources, in
proportion to the number of ideas which have been carefully collected
and thoroughly digested. There can be no doubt but that he who has the
most materials has the greatest means of invention; and if he has not
the power of using them, it must proceed from a feebleness of
intellect; or from the confused manner in which those collections have
been laid up in his mind.