something beside mere simplicity to recommend them. The Apollo, the
Venus, the Laocoon, the Gladiator, have a certain composition of
action, have contrasts sufficient to give grace and energy in a high
degree; but it must be confessed of the many thousand antique statues
which we have, that their general characteristic is bordering at least
on inanimate insipidity.
Simplicity, when so very inartificial as to seem to evade the
difficulties of art, is a very suspicious virtue.
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 everything it touches.
Our love and affection to simplicity proceeds in a great measure from
our aversion to every kind of affectation. There is likewise another
reason why so much stress is laid upon this virtue; the propensity
which artists have to fall into the contrary extreme: we therefore set
a guard on that side which is most assailable. When a young artist is
first told that his composition and his attitudes must be contrasted,
that he must turn the head contrary to the position of the body, in
order to produce grace and animation; that his outline must be
undulating, and swelling, to give grandeur; and that the eye must be
gratified with a variety of colours; when he is told this, with
certain animating words of Spirit, Dignity, Energy, Grace, greatness
of Style, and brilliancy of Tints, he becomes suddenly vain of his
newly-acquired knowledge, and never thinks he can carry those rules
too far. It is then that the aid of simplicity ought to be called in
to correct the exuberance of youthful ardour.
The same may be said in regard to colouring, which in its pre-eminence
is particularly applied to flesh. An artist, in his first essay of
imitating nature, would make the whole mass of one colour, as the
oldest painters did; till he is taught to observe not only the variety
of tints, which are in the object itself, but the differences produced
by the gradual decline of light to shadow; he then immediately puts
his instruction in practice, and introduces a variety of distinct
colours. He must then be again corrected and told, that though there
is this variety, yet the effect of the whole upon the eye must have
the union and simplicity of the colouring of nature.
And here we may observe that the progress of an individual Student
bears a great resemblance to the progress and advancement of the Art
itself. Want of simplicity would probably be not one of the defects of
an artist who had studied nature only, as it was not of the old
masters, who lived in the time preceding the great Art of Painting; on
the contrary, their works are too simple and too inartificial.
The Art in its infancy, like the first work of a Student, was dry,
hard, and simple. But this kind of barbarous simplicity would be
better named Penury, as it proceeds from mere want--from want of
knowledge, want of resources, want of abilities to be otherwise; their
simplicity was the offspring, not of choice, but necessity.
In the second stage they were sensible of this poverty; and those who
were the most sensible of the want were the best judges of the measure
of the supply. There were painters who emerged from poverty without
falling into luxury. Their success induced others, who probably never
would of themselves have had strength of mind to discover the original
defect, to endeavour at the remedy by an abuse; and they ran into the
contrary extreme. But however they may have strayed, we cannot
recommend to them to return to that simplicity which they have justly
quitted; but to deal out their abundance with a more sparing hand,
with that dignity which makes no parade, either of its riches or of
its art. It is not easy to give a rule which may serve to fix this
just and correct medium; because, when we may have fixed, or nearly
fixed, the middle point, taken as a general principle, circumstances
may oblige us to depart from it, either on the side of Simplicity, or
on that of Variety and Decoration.
I thought it necessary in a former discourse, speaking of the
difference of the sublime and ornamental style of painting--in order
to excite your attention to the more manly, noble, and dignified
manner--to leave perhaps an impression too contemptuous of those
ornamental parts of our Art, for which many have valued themselves,
and many works are much valued and esteemed.
I said then what I thought it was right at that time to say; I
supposed the disposition of young men more inclinable to splendid
negligence than perseverance in laborious application to acquire
correctness: and therefore did as we do in making what is crooked
straight, by bending it the contrary way, in order that it may remain
straight at last.
For this purpose, then, and to correct excess or neglect of any kind,
we may here add, that it is not enough that a work be learned; it must
be pleasing; the painter must add grace to strength, if he desires to
secure the first impression in his favour. Our taste has a kind of
sensuality about it, as well as a love of the sublime; both these
qualities of the mind are to have their proper consequence, as far as
they do not counteract each other; for that is the grand error which
much care ought to be taken to avoid.
There are some rules, whose absolute authority, like that of our
nurses, continues no longer than while we are in a state of childhood.
One of the first rules, for instance, that I believe every master
would give to a young pupil, respecting his conduct and management of
light and shadow, would be what Lionardo da Vinci has actually given;
that you must oppose a light ground to the shadowed side of your
figure, and a dark ground to the light side. If Lionardo had lived to
see the superior splendour and effect which has been since produced by
the exactly contrary conduct--by joining light to light and shadow to
shadow--though without doubt he would have admired it, yet, as it
ought not, so probably it would not be the first rule with which he
would have begun his instructions.
Again; in the artificial management of the figures, it is directed
that they shall contrast each other according to the rules generally
given; that if one figure opposes his front to the spectator, the next
figure is to have his back turned, and that the limbs of each
individual figure be contrasted; that is, if the right leg be put
forward, the right arm is to be drawn back.
It is very proper that those rules should be given in the Academy; it
is proper the young students should be informed that some research is
to be made, and that they should be habituated to consider every
excellence as reducible to principles. Besides, it is the natural
progress of instruction to teach first what is obvious and perceptible
to the senses, and from hence proceed gradually to notions large,
liberal, and complete, such as comprise the more refined and higher
excellencies in Art. But when students are more advanced, they will
find that the greatest beauties of character and expression are
produced without contrast; nay more, that this contrast would ruin
and destroy that natural energy of men engaged in real action,
unsolicitous of grace. St. Paul preaching at Athens, in one of the
Cartoons, far from any affected academical contrast of limbs, stands
equally on both legs, and both hands are in the same attitude: add
contrast, and the whole energy and unaffected grace of the figure is
destroyed. Elymas the sorcerer stretches both hands forward in the
same direction, which gives perfectly the expression intended. Indeed,
you never will find in the works of Raffaelle any of those school-boy
affected contrasts. Whatever contrast there is, appears without any
seeming agency of art, by the natural chance of things.
What has been said of the evil of excesses of all kinds, whether of
simplicity, variety, or contrast, naturally suggests to the painter
the necessity of a general inquiry into the true meaning and cause of
rules, and how they operate on those faculties to which they are
addressed: by knowing their general purpose and meaning he will often
find that he need not confine himself to the literal sense; it will be
sufficient if he preserve the spirit of the law.
Critical remarks are not always understood without examples: it may
not be improper, therefore, to give instances where the rule itself,
though generally received, is false, or where a narrow conception of
it may lead the artists into great errors.
It is given as a rule by Fresnoy, That _the principal figure of a
subject must appear in the midst of the picture, under the principal
light, to distinguish it from the rest_. A painter who should think
himself obliged secretly to follow this rule, would encumber himself
with needless difficulties; he would be confined to great uniformity
of composition, and be deprived of many beauties which are
incompatible with its observance. The meaning of this rule extends, or
ought to extend, no further than this:--That the principal figure
should be immediately distinguished at the first glance of the eye;
but there is no necessity that the principal light should fall on the
principal figure, or that the principal figure should be in the middle
of the picture. It is sufficient that it be distinguished by its
place, or by the attention of other figures pointing it out to the
spectator. So far is this rule from being indispensable, that it is
very seldom practised; other considerations of greater consequence
often standing in the way. Examples in opposition to this rule are
found in the Cartoons, in Christ's Charge to Peter, the Preaching of
St. Paul, and Elymas the Sorcerer, who is undoubtedly the principal
object in that picture. In none of those compositions is the principal
figure in the midst of the picture. In the very admirable composition
of the Tent of Darius, by Le Brun, Alexander is not in the middle of
the picture, nor does the principal light fall on him; but the
attention of all the other figures immediately distinguishes him, and
distinguishes him more properly; the greatest light falls on the
daughter of Darius, who is in the middle of the picture, where it is
more necessary the principal light should be placed.
It is very extraordinary that Felibien, who has given a very minute
description of this picture, but indeed such a description as may be
called rather panegyric than criticism, thinking it necessary
(according to the precept of Fresnoy) that Alexander should possess
the principal light, has accordingly given it to him; he might with
equal truth have said that he was placed in the middle of the picture,
as he seemed resolved to give this piece every kind of excellence
which he conceived to be necessary to perfection. His generosity is
here unluckily misapplied, as it would have destroyed, in a great
measure, the beauty of the composition.
Another instance occurs to me, where equal liberty may be taken, in
regard to the management of light. Though the general practice is, to
make a large mass about the middle of the picture surrounded by
shadow, the reverse may be practised, and the spirit of the rule may
still be preserved. Examples of this principle reversed may be found
very frequently in the works of the Venetian School. In the great
composition of Paul Veronese, THE MARRIAGE AT CANA, the figures are,
for the most part, in half shadow; the great light is in the sky; and,
indeed, the general effect of this picture, which is so striking, is
no more than what we often see in landscapes, in small pictures of
fairs and country feasts; but those principles of light and shadow,
being transferred to a large scale, to a space containing near a
hundred figures as large as life, and conducted to all appearance with
as much facility, and with an attention as steadily fixed upon _the
whole together_, as if it were a small picture immediately under the
eye, the work justly excites our admiration; the difficulty being
increased as the extent is enlarged.
The various modes of composition are infinite; sometimes it shall
consist of one large group in the middle of the picture, and the
smaller groups on each side; or a plain space in the middle, and the
groups of figures ranked round this vacuity.
Whether this principal broad light be in the middle space of ground,
as in THE SCHOOL OF ATHENS; or in the sky, as in THE MARRIAGE AT CANA,
in THE ANDROMEDA, and in most of the pictures of Paul Veronese; or
whether the light be on the groups; whatever mode of composition is
adopted, every variety and license is allowable: this only is
indisputably necessary, that to prevent the eye from being distracted
and confused by a multiplicity of objects of equal magnitude, those
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 we may add, that a certain quantity of cold colours is
necessary to give value and lustre to the warm colours: what those
proportions are cannot be so well learnt by precept as by observation
on pictures, and in this knowledge bad pictures will instruct as well
as good. Our inquiry why pictures have a bad effect may be as
advantageous as the inquiry why they have a good effect; each will
corroborate the principles that are suggested by the other.
Though it is not my _business_ to enter into the detail of our Art,
yet I must take this opportunity of mentioning one of the means of
producing that great effect which we observe in the works of the
Venetian painters, as I think it is not generally known or observed.
It ought, in my opinion, to be indispensably observed, that the masses
of light in a picture be always of a warm mellow colour, yellow, red,
or a yellowish-white; and that the blue, the grey, or the green
colours be kept almost entirely out of these masses, and be used only
to support and set off these warm colours; and for this purpose, a
small portion of cold colours will be sufficient.
Let this conduct be reserved; let the light be cold, and the surrounding
colours warm, as we often see in the works of the Roman and Florentine
painters, and it will be out of the power of art, even in the hands of
Rubens or Titian, to make a picture splendid and harmonious.
Le Brun and Carlo Maratti were two painters of great merit, and
particularly what may be called Academical Merit, but were both
deficient in this management of colours; the want of observing this
rule is one of the causes of that heaviness of effect which is so
observable in their works. The principal light in the Picture of Le
Brun, which I just now mentioned, falls on Statira, who is dressed
very injudiciously in a pale blue drapery: it is true, he has
heightened this blue with gold, but that is not enough; the whole
picture has a heavy air, and by no means answers the expectations
raised by the print. Poussin often made a spot of blue drapery, when
the general hue of the picture was inclinable to brown or yellow;
which shows sufficiently that harmony of colouring was not a part of
the art that had much engaged the attention of that great painter.
The conduct of Titian in the picture of BACCHUS AND ARIADNE has been
much celebrated, and justly, for the harmony of colouring. To Ariadne
is given (say the critics) a red scarf, to relieve the figure from the
sea, which is behind her. It is not for that reason alone, but for
another of much greater consequence; for the sake of the general
harmony and effect of the picture. The figure of Ariadne is separated
from the great group, and is dressed in blue, which, added to the
colour of the sea, makes that quantity of cold colour which Titian
thought necessary for the support and brilliancy of the great group;
which group is composed, with very little exception, entirely of
mellow colours. But as the picture in this case would be divided into
two distinct parts, one half cold, and the other warm, it was
necessary to carry some of the mellow colours of the great group into
the cold part of the picture, and a part of the cold into the great
group; accordingly, Titian gave Ariadne a red scarf, and to one of
the Bacchante a little blue drapery.
The light of the picture, as I observed, ought to be of a warm colour;
for though white may be used for the principal light, as was the
practice of many of the Dutch and Flemish painters, yet it is better
to suppose _that white_ illumined by the yellow rays of the setting
sun, as was the manner of Titian. The superiority of which manner is
never more striking than when in a collection of pictures we chance to
see a portrait of Titian's hanging by the side of a Flemish picture
(even though that should be of the hand of Vandyke), which, however
admirable in other respects, becomes cold and grey in the comparison.
The illuminated parts of objects are in nature of a warmer tint than
those that are in the shade; what I have recommended, therefore, is no
more than that the same conduct be observed in the whole, which is
acknowledged to be necessary in every individual part. It is
presenting to the eye the same effect as that which it has been
_accustomed_ to feel, which, in this case, as in every other, will
always produce beauty; no principle, therefore, in our art can be more
certain, or is derived from a higher source.
When I just now mentioned of the supposed reason why Ariadne has part
of her drapery red, gives me occasion here to observe, that this
favourite quality of giving objects relief, and which De Piles and all
the Critics have considered as a requisite of the utmost importance,
was not one of those objects which much engaged the attention of
Titian; painters of an inferior rank have far exceeded him in
producing this effect. This was a great object of attention, when art
was in its infant state; as it is at present with the vulgar and
ignorant, who feel the highest satisfaction in seeing a figure,
which, as they say, looks as if they could walk round it. But however
low I may rate this pleasure of deception, I should not oppose it, did
it not oppose itself to a quality of a much higher kind, by
counteracting entirely that fulness of manner which is so difficult to
express in words, but which is found in perfection in the best works
of Correggio, and we may add, of Rembrandt. This effect is produced by
melting and losing the shadows in a ground still darker than those
shadows; whereas that relief is produced by opposing and separating
the ground from the figure, either by light, or shadow, or colour.
This conduct of in-laying, as it may be called, figures on their
ground, in order to produce relief, was the practice of the old
Painters, such as Andrea Mantegna, Pietro Perugino, and Albert Durer;
and to these we may add the first manner of Lionardo da Vinci,
Giorgione, and even Correggio; but these three were among the first
who began to correct themselves in dryness of style, by no longer
considering relief as a principal object. As those two qualities,
relief, and fulness of effect, can hardly exist together, it is not
very difficult to determine to which we ought to give the preference.
An artist is obliged forever to hold a balance in his hand, by which
he must determine the value of different qualities; that, when _some_
fault must be committed, he may choose the least. Those painters who
have best understood the art of producing a good effect have adopted
one principle that seems perfectly conformable to reason; that a part
may be sacrificed for the good of the whole. Thus, whether the masses
consist of light or shadow, it is necessary that they should be
compact and of a pleasing shape: to this end some parts may be made
darker and some lighter, and reflections stronger than nature would
warrant. Paul Veronese took great liberties of this kind. It is said,
that being once asked why certain figures were painted in shade, as no
cause was seen in the picture itself, he turned off the inquiry by
answering, "_Una nuevola che passa_"--a cloud is passing, which has
overshadowed them.
But I cannot give a better instance of this practice than a picture
which I have of Rubens; it is a representation of a Moonlight. Rubens
has not only diffused more light over the picture than is in nature, but
has bestowed on it those warm glowing colours by which his works are so
much distinguished. It is so unlike what any other painters have given
us of Moonlight, that it might be easily mistaken, if he had not
likewise added stars, for a fainter setting sun. Rubens thought the eye
ought to be satisfied in this case, above all other considerations; he
might, indeed, have made it more natural, but it would have been at the
expense of what he thought of much greater consequence--the harmony
proceeding from the contrast and variety of colours.
This same picture will furnish us with another instance, where we must
depart from nature for a greater advantage. The Moon in this picture
does not preserve so great a superiority in regard to its lightness
over the subject which it illumines as it does in nature; this is
likewise an intended deviation, and for the same reason. If Rubens had
preserved the same scale of gradation of light between the Moon and
the objects which is found in nature, the picture must have consisted
of one small spot of light only, and at a little distance from the
picture nothing but this spot would have been seen. It may be said,
indeed, that this being the case, it is a subject that ought not to be
painted; but then, for the same reason, neither armour, nor anything
shining, ought ever to be painted; for though pure white is used in
order to represent the greatest light of shining objects, it will not
in the picture preserve the same superiority over flesh as it has in
nature, without keeping that flesh colour of a very low tint.
Rembrandt, who thought it of more consequence to paint light than the
objects that are seen by it, has done this in a picture of Achilles
which I have. The head is kept down to a very low tint, in order to
preserve this due gradation and distinction between the armour and the
face; the consequence of which is, that, upon the whole, the picture
is too black. Surely too much is sacrificed here to this narrow
conception of nature; allowing the contrary conduct a fault, yet it
must be acknowledged a less fault than making a picture so dark that
it cannot be seen without a peculiar light, and then with difficulty.
The merit or demerit of the different conduct of Rubens and Rembrandt
in those instances which I have given, is not to be determined by the
narrow principles of nature, separated from its effect on the human
mind. Reason and common-sense tell us, that before, and above all
other considerations, it is necessary that the work should be seen,
not only without difficulty or inconvenience, but with pleasure and
satisfaction; and every obstacle which stands in the way of this
pleasure and convenience must be removed.
The tendency of this Discourse, with the instances which have been
given, is not so much to place the Artist above rules, as to teach him
their reason; to prevent him from entertaining a narrow, confined
conception of Art; to clear his mind from a perplexed variety of rules
and their exceptions, by directing his attention to an intimate
acquaintance with the passions and affections of the mind, from which
all rules arise, and to which they are all referable. Art effects its
purpose by their means; an accurate knowledge, therefore, of those
passions and dispositions of the mind is necessary to him who desires
to affect them upon sure and solid principles.
A complete essay or inquiry into the connection between the rules of
Art and the eternal and immutable dispositions of our passions would
be indeed going at once to the foundation of criticism;[10] but I am
too well convinced what extensive knowledge, what subtle and
penetrating judgment, would be required to engage in such an
undertaking; it is enough for me if, in the language of painters, I
have produced a slight sketch of a part of this vast composition, but
that sufficiently distinct to show the usefulness of such a theory,
and its practicability.