now before us. I have observed, that every candidate has copied the
celebrated invention of Timanthes in hiding the face of Agamemnon in his
mantle; indeed, such lavish encomiums have been bestowed on this
thought, and that too by men of the highest character in critical
knowledge--Cicero, Quintilian, Valerius, Maximus, and Pliny--and have
been since re-echoed by almost every modern that has written on the
Arts, that your adopting it can neither be wondered at nor blamed. It
appears now to be so much connected with the subject, that the spectator
would perhaps be disappointed in not finding united in the picture what
he always united in his mind, and considered as indispensably belonging
to the subject. But it may be observed, that those who praise this
circumstance were not painters. They use it as an illustration only of
their own art; it served their purpose, and it was certainly not their
business to enter into the objections that lie against it in another
Art. I fear _we_ have but very scanty means of exciting those powers
over the imagination which make so very considerable and refined a part
of poetry. It is a doubt with me, whether we should even make the
attempt. The chief, if not the only occasion, which the painter has for
this artifice, is, when the subject is improper, to be more fully
represented, either for the sake of decency, or to avoid what would be
disagreeable to be seen; and this is not to raise or increase the
passions, which is the reason that is given for this practice, but, on
the contrary, to diminish their effect.
It is true, sketches, or such drawings as painters generally make for
their works, give this pleasure of imagination to a high degree. From
a slight, undetermined drawing, where the ideas of the composition and
character are, as I may say, only just touched upon, the imagination
supplies more than the painter himself, probably, could produce; and
we accordingly often find that the finished work disappoints the
expectation that was raised from the sketch; and this power of the
imagination is one of the causes of the great pleasure we have in
viewing a collection of drawings by great painters. These general
ideas, which are expressed in sketches, correspond very well to the
art often used in Poetry. A great part of the beauty of the celebrated
description of Eve in Milton's "Paradise Lost" consists in using only
general indistinct expressions, every reader making out the detail
according to his own particular imagination,--his own idea of beauty,
grace, expression, dignity, or loveliness: but a painter, when he
represents Eve on a canvas, is obliged to give a determined form, and
his own idea of beauty distinctly expressed.
We cannot on this occasion, nor indeed on any other, recommend an
undeterminate manner or vague ideas of any kind, in a complete and
finished picture. This notion, therefore, of leaving anything to the
imagination, opposes a very fixed and indispensable rule in our
art--that everything shall be carefully and distinctly expressed, as if
the painter knew, with correctness and precision, the exact form and
character of whatever is introduced into the picture. This is what with
us is called Science and Learning: which must not be sacrificed and
given up for an uncertain and doubtful beauty, which, not naturally
belonging to our Art, will probably be sought for without success.
Mr. Falconet has observed, in a note on this passage in his
translation of Pliny, that the circumstance of covering the face of
Agamemnon was probably not in consequence of any fine imagination of
the painter--which he considers as a discovery of the critics--but
merely copied from the description of the sacrifice, as it is found in
Euripides.
The words from which the picture is supposed to be taken are these:
_Agamemnon saw Iphigenia advance towards the fatal altar; he groaned,
he turned aside his head, he shed tears, and covered his face with his
robe._
Falconet does not at all acquiesce in the praise that is bestowed on
Timanthes; not only because it is not his invention, but because he
thinks meanly of this trick of concealing, except in instances of
blood, where the objects would be too horrible to be seen; but, says
he, "in an afflicted Father, in a King, in Agamemnon, you, who are a
painter, conceal from me the most interesting circumstance, and then
put me off with sophistry and a veil. You are (he adds) a feeble
Painter, without resource: you do not know even those of your Art: I
care not what veil it is, whether closed hands, arms raised, or any
other action that conceals from me the countenance of the Hero. You
think of veiling Agamemnon; you have unveiled your own ignorance. A
Painter who represents Agamemnon veiled is as ridiculous as a Poet
would be, who, in a pathetic situation, in order to satisfy my
expectations, and rid himself of the business, should say, that the
sentiments of his hero are so far above whatever can be said on the
occasion, that he shall say nothing."
To what Falconet has said, we may add, that supposing this method of
leaving the expression of grief to the imagination to be, as it was
thought to be, the invention of the painter, and that it deserves all
the praise that has been given it, still it is a trick that will serve
but once: whoever does it a second time will not only want novelty,
but be justly suspected of using artifice to evade difficulties. If
difficulties overcome make a great part of the merit of Art,
difficulties evaded can deserve but little commendation.
FOOTNOTES:
9: DISCOURSES II. and VI.
10: This was inadvertently said. I did not recollect the
admirable treatise _On the Sublime and Beautiful_.
DISCOURSE IX.
_Delivered at the Opening of the Royal Academy, in Somerset Place,
October 16, 1780._
ON THE REMOVAL OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY TO SOMERSET PLACE.--THE
ADVANTAGES TO SOCIETY FROM CULTIVATING INTELLECTUAL PLEASURE.
The honour which the Arts acquire by being permitted to take
possession of this noble habitation is one of the most considerable of
the many instances we have received of His Majesty's protection; and
the strongest proof of his desire to make the Academy respectable.
Nothing has been left undone that might contribute to excite our
pursuit or to reward our attainments. We have already the happiness of
seeing the Arts in a state to which they never before arrived in this
nation. This Building, in which we are now assembled, will remain to
many future ages an illustrious specimen of the Architect's[11]
abilities. It is our duty to endeavour that those who gaze with wonder
at the structure may not be disappointed when they visit the
apartments. It will be no small addition to the glory which this
nation has already acquired from having given birth to eminent men in
every part of science, if it should be enabled to produce, in
consequence of this institution, a School of English Artists. The
estimation in which we stand in respect to our neighbours, will be in
proportion to the degree in which we excel or are inferior to them in
the acquisition of intellectual excellence, of which Trade and its
consequential riches must be acknowledged to give the means; but a
people whose whole attention is absorbed in those means, and who
forget the end, can aspire but little above the rank of a barbarous
nation. Every establishment that tends to the cultivation of the
pleasures of the mind, as distinct from those of sense, may be
considered as an inferior school of morality, where the mind is
polished and prepared for higher attainments.
Let us for a moment take a short survey of the progress of the mind
towards what is, or ought to be, its true object of attention. Man, in
his lowest state, has no pleasures but those of sense, and no wants
but those of appetite; afterwards, when society is divided into
different ranks, and some are appointed to labour for the support of
others, those whom their superiority sets free from labour begin to
look for intellectual entertainments. Thus, whilst the shepherds were
attending their flocks, their masters made the first astronomical
observations; so music is said to have had its origin from a man at
leisure listening to the strokes of a hammer.
As the senses, in the lowest state of nature, are necessary to direct us
to our support, when that support is once secure there is danger in
following them further; to him who has no rule of action but the
gratification of the senses, plenty is always dangerous: it is therefore
necessary to the happiness of individuals, and still more necessary to
the security of society, that the mind should be elevated to the idea of
general beauty, and the contemplation of general truth; by this pursuit
the mind is always carried forward in search of something more excellent
than it finds, and obtains its proper superiority over the common senses
of life, by learning to feel itself capable of higher aims and nobler
enjoyments. In this gradual exaltation of human nature, every art
contributes its contingent towards the general supply of mental
pleasure. Whatever abstracts the thoughts from sensual gratifications,
whatever teaches us to look for happiness within ourselves, must advance
in some measure the dignity of our nature.
Perhaps there is no higher proof of the excellency of man than
this--that to a mind properly cultivated, whatever is bounded is
little. The mind is continually labouring to advance, step by step,
through successive gradations of excellence, towards perfection, which
is dimly seen, at a great, though not hopeless, distance, and which we
must always follow, because we never can attain; but the pursuit
rewards itself; one truth teaches another, and our store is always
increasing, though nature can never be exhausted. Our art, like all
arts which address the imagination, is applied to a somewhat lower
faculty of the mind, which approaches nearer to sensuality: but
through sense and fancy it must make its way to reason; for such is
the progress of thought, that we perceive by sense, we combine by
fancy, and distinguish by reason: and without carrying our art out of
its natural and true character, the more we purify it from everything
that is gross in sense, in that proportion we advance its use and
dignity; and in proportion as we lower it to mere sensuality, we
pervert its nature, and degrade it from the rank of a liberal art; and
this is what every artist ought well to remember. Let him remember
also, that he deserves just so much encouragement in the state as he
makes himself a member of it virtuously useful, and contributes in his
sphere to the general purpose and perfection of society.
The Art which we profess has beauty for its object; this it is our
business to discover and to express; the beauty of which we are in
quest is general and intellectual; it is an idea that subsists only in
the mind; the sight never beheld it, nor has the hand expressed it; it
is an idea residing in the breast of the artist, which he is always
labouring to impart, and which he dies at last without imparting; but
which he is yet so far able to communicate, as to raise the thoughts
and extend the views of the spectator; and which, by a succession of
art, may be so far diffused, that its effects may extend themselves
imperceptibly into public benefits, and be among the means of
bestowing on whole nations refinement of taste: which, if it does not
lead directly to purity of manners, obviates at least their greatest
depravation, by disentangling the mind from appetite, and conducting
the thoughts through successive stages of excellence, till that
contemplation of universal rectitude and harmony, which, began by
Taste, may, as it is exalted and refined, conclude in Virtue.
FOOTNOTES:
11: Sir William Chambers.
DISCOURSE X.
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution of
the Prizes, December 11, 1780._
SCULPTURE:--HAS BUT ONE STYLE.--ITS OBJECTS, FORM, AND
CHARACTER.--INEFFECTUAL ATTEMPTS OF THE MODERN SCULPTORS TO
IMPROVE THE ART.--ILL EFFECTS OF MODERN DRESS IN SCULPTURE.
I shall now, as it has been customary on this day, and on this
occasion, communicate to you such observations as have occurred to me
on the Theory of Art.
If these observations have hitherto referred principally to Painting,
let it be remembered that this Art is much more extensive and
complicated than Sculpture, and affords therefore a more ample field
for criticism; and as the greater includes the less, the leading
principles of Sculpture are comprised in those of Painting.
However, I wish now to make some remarks with particular relation to
Sculpture; to consider wherein, or in what manner, its principles and
those of Painting agree or differ; what is within its power of
performing, and what it is vain or improper to attempt; that it may be
clearly and distinctly known what ought to be the great purpose of the
Sculptor's labours.
Sculpture is an art of much more simplicity and uniformity than
painting; it cannot with propriety, and the best effect, be applied to
many subjects. The object of its pursuit may be comprised in two
words--Form and Character; and those qualities are presented to us but
in one manner, or in one style only; whereas the powers of Painting,
as they are more various and extensive, so they are exhibited in as
great a variety of manners. The Roman, Lombard, Florentine, Venetian,
and Flemish Schools all pursue the same end by different means. But
Sculpture having but one style, can only to one style of Painting have
any relation; and to this (which is indeed the highest and most
dignified that Painting can boast), it has a relation so close, that
it may be said to be almost the same art operating upon different
materials. The Sculptors of the last age, from not attending
sufficiently to this discrimination of the different styles of
Painting, have been led into many errors. Though they well knew that
they were allowed to imitate, or take ideas for the improvement of
their own Art from the grand style of Painting, they were not aware
that it was not permitted to borrow in the same manner from the
ornamental. When they endeavour to copy the picturesque effects,
contrasts, or petty excellencies of whatever kind, which not
improperly find a place in the inferior branches of Painting, they
doubtless imagine themselves improving and extending the boundaries of
their art by this imitation; but they are in reality violating its
essential character, by giving a different direction to its
operations, and proposing to themselves either what is unattainable,
or at best a meaner object of pursuit. The grave and austere character
of Sculpture requires the utmost degree of formality in composition;
picturesque contrasts have here no place; everything is carefully
weighed and measured, one side making almost an exact equipoise to the
other: a child is not a proper balance to a full grown figure, nor is
a figure sitting or stooping a companion to an upright figure.
The excellence of every art must consist in the complete
accomplishment of its purpose; and if by a false imitation of nature,
or mean ambition of producing a picturesque effect or illusion of any
kind, all the grandeur of ideas which this art endeavours to excite,
be degraded or destroyed, we may boldly oppose ourselves to any such
innovation. If the producing of a deception is the summit of this art,
let us at once give to statues the addition of colour; which will
contribute more towards accomplishing this end than all those
artifices which have been introduced and professedly defended, on no
other principle but that of rendering the work more natural. But as
colour is universally rejected, every practice liable to the same
objection must fall with it. If the business of Sculpture were to
administer pleasure to ignorance, or a mere entertainment to the
senses, the Venus or Medicis might certainly receive much improvement
by colour; but the character of Sculpture makes it her duty to afford
delight of a different, and, perhaps, of a higher kind; the delight
resulting from the contemplation of perfect beauty: and this, which is
in truth an intellectual pleasure, is in many respects incompatible
with what is merely addressed to the senses, such as that with which
ignorance and levity contemplate elegance of form.
The Sculptor may be safely allowed to practise every means within the
power of his art to produce a deception, provided this practice does not
interfere with or destroy higher excellencies; on these conditions he
will be forced, however loth, to acknowledge that the boundaries of his
art have long been fixed, and that all endeavours will be vain that hope
to pass beyond the best works which remain of ancient Sculpture.
Imitation is the means, and not the end of art: it is employed by the
Sculptor as the language by which his ideas are presented to the mind
of the spectator. Poetry and elocution of every sort make use of
signs, but those signs are arbitrary and conventional. The sculptor
employs the representation of the thing itself; but still as a means
to a higher end--as a gradual ascent, always advancing towards
faultless form and perfect beauty. It may be thought at the first
view, that even this form, however perfectly represented, is to be
valued and take its rank only for the sake of a still higher object,
that of conveying sentiment and character, as they are exhibited by
attitude and expression of the passions. But we are sure from
experience, that the beauty of form alone, without the assistance of
any other quality, makes of itself a great work, and justly claims our
esteem and admiration. As a proof of the high value we set on the mere
excellence of form, we may produce the greatest part of the works of
Michel Angelo, both in painting and sculpture; as well as most of the
antique statues, which are justly esteemed in a very high degree,
though no very marked or striking character or expression of any kind
is represented.
But, as a stronger instance that this excellence alone inspires
sentiment, what artist ever looked at the Torso without feeling a
warmth of enthusiasm, as from the highest efforts of poetry? From
whence does this proceed? What is there in this fragment that produces
this effect, but the perfection of this science of abstract form?
A mind elevated to the contemplation of excellence, perceives in this
defaced and shattered fragment, _disjecta membra poetæ_, the traces of
superlative genius, the reliques of a work on which succeeding ages
can only gaze with inadequate admiration.
It may be said that this pleasure is reserved only to those who have
spent their whole life in the study and contemplation of this art;
but the truth is, that all would feel its effects, if they could
divest themselves of the expectation of _deception_, and look only for
what it really is--a _partial_ representation of nature. The only
impediment of their judgment must then proceed from their being
uncertain to what rank, or rather kind of excellence, it aspires; and
to what sort of approbation it has a right. This state of darkness is,
without doubt, irksome to every mind; but by attention to works of
this kind the knowledge of what is aimed at comes of itself, without
being taught, and almost without being perceived.
The Sculptor's art is limited in comparison of others, but it has its
variety and intricacy within its proper bounds. Its essence is
correctness: and when to correct and perfect form is added the ornament
of grace, dignity of character, and appropriated expression, as in the
Apollo, the Venus, the Laocoon, the Moses of Michael Angelo, and many
others, this art may be said to have accomplished its purpose.
What Grace is, how it is to be acquired or conceived, are in
speculation difficult questions; but _causa latet, res est notissima_:
without any perplexing inquiry, the effect is hourly perceived. I
shall only observe that its natural foundation is correctness of
design; and though grace may be sometimes united with incorrectness,
it cannot proceed from it.
But to come nearer to our present subject. It has been said that the
grace of the Apollo depends on a certain degree of incorrectness: that
the head is not anatomically placed between the shoulders; and that
the lower half of the figure is longer than just proportion allows.
I know that Correggio and Parmegiano are often produced as authorities
to support this opinion; but very little attention will convince us
that the incorrectness of some parts which we find in their works does
not contribute to grace, but rather tends to destroy it. The Madonna,
with the sleeping Infant, and beautiful group of Angels, by
Parmegiano, in the Palazzo Piti, would not have lost any of its
excellence if the neck, fingers, and, indeed, the whole figure of the
Virgin, instead of being so very long and incorrect, had preserved
their due proportion.
In opposition to the first of these remarks, I have the authority of a
very able Sculptor of this Academy, who has copied that figure,
consequently measured and carefully examined it, to declare that the
criticism is not true. In regard to the last, it must be remembered that
Apollo is here in the exertion of one of his peculiar powers, which is
swiftness; he has therefore that proportion which is best adapted to
that character. This is no more incorrectness than when there is given
to an Hercules an extraordinary swelling and strength of muscles.
The art of discovering and expressing grace is difficult enough of
itself, without perplexing ourselves with what is incomprehensible. A
supposition of such a monster as Grace, begot by Deformity, is poison
to the mind of a young Artist, and may make him neglect what is
essential to his art--correctness of Design--in order to pursue a
phantom, which has no existence but in the imagination of affected and
refined speculators.
I cannot quit the Apollo without making one observation on the
character of this figure. He is supposed to have just discharged his
arrow at the Python; and, by the head retreating a little towards the
right shoulder, he appears attentive to its effect. What I would
remark is the difference of this attention from that of the
Discobolus, who is engaged in the same purpose, watching the effect of
his Discus. The graceful, negligent, though animated air of the one,
and the vulgar eagerness of the other, furnish a signal instance of
the judgment of the ancient sculptors in their nice discrimination of
character. They are both equally true to nature, and equally admirable.
It may be remarked that Grace, Character, and Expression, though words
of different sense and meaning, and so understood when applied to the
works of Painters, are indiscriminately used when we speak of
Sculpture. This indecision we may suspect to proceed from the
undetermined effects of the Art itself; those qualities are exhibited
in Sculpture rather by form and attitude than by the features, and can
therefore be expressed but in a very general manner.
Though the Laocoon and his two sons have more expression in the
countenance than perhaps any other antique statues, yet it is only the
general expression of pain; and this passion is still more strongly
expressed by the writhing and contortion of the body than by the
features.
It has been observed in a late publication, that if the attention of
the Father in this group had been occupied more by the distress of his
children than by his own sufferings, it would have raised a much
greater interest in the spectator. Though this observation comes from
a person whose opinion, in everything relating to the Arts, carries
with it the highest authority, yet I cannot but suspect that such
refined expression is scarce within the province of this Art; and in
attempting it, the Artist will run great risk of enfeebling
expression, and making it less intelligible to the spectator.