to colour, and light and shade, in the highest degree. He was both the
first and the greatest master of this art. By a few strokes he knew
how to mark the general image and character of whatever object he
attempted; and produced, by this alone, a truer representation than
his master Giovanni Bellino, or any of his predecessors, who finished
every hair. His great care was to express the general colour, to
preserve the masses of light and shade, and to give by opposition the
idea of that solidity which is inseparable from natural objects. When
those are preserved, though the work should possess no other merit, it
will have in a proper place its complete effect; but where any of
these are wanting, however minutely laboured the picture may be in the
detail, the whole will have a false and even an unfinished appearance,
at whatever distance, or in whatever light, it can be shown.
It is in vain to attend to the variation of tints, if, in that
attention, the general hue of flesh is lost; or to finish ever so
minutely the parts, if the masses are not observed, or the whole not
well put together.
Vasari seems to have had no great disposition to favour the Venetian
Painters, yet he everywhere justly commends _il modo di fare, la
maniera, la bella practica_; that is, the admirable manner and
practice of that school. On Titian, in particular, he bestows the
epithets of _giudicioso_, _bello_, _e stupendo_.
This manner was then new to the world, but that unshaken truth on
which it is founded has fixed it as a model to all succeeding
Painters; and those who will examine into the artifice will find it to
consist in the power of generalising, and in the shortness and
simplicity of the means employed.
Many artists, as Vasari likewise observes, have ignorantly imagined
they are imitating the manner of Titian when they leave their colours
rough, and neglect the detail; but, not possessing the principles on
which he wrought, they have produced what he calls _goffe pitture_,
absurd, foolish pictures; for such will always be the consequence of
affecting dexterity without science, without selection, and without
fixed principles.
Raffaelle and Titian seem to have looked at nature for different
purposes; they both had the power of extending their view to the
whole; but one looked only for the general effect as produced by form,
the other as produced by colour.
We cannot entirely refuse to Titian the merit of attending to the
general _form_ of his object, as well as colour; but his deficiency
lay, a deficiency, at least, when he is compared with Raffaelle, in
not possessing the power like him of correcting the form of his model
by any general idea of beauty in his own mind. Of this his St.
Sebastian is a particular instance. This figure appears to be a most
exact representation both of the form and the colour of the model,
which he then happened to have before him; it has all the force of
nature, and the colouring is flesh itself; but, unluckily, the model
was of a bad form, especially the legs. Titian has with as much care
preserved these defects, as he has imitated the beauty and brilliancy
of the colouring. In his colouring he was large and general, as in his
design he was minute and partial: in the one he was a genius, in the
other not much above a copier. I do not, however, speak now of all
his pictures: instances enough may be produced in his works, where
those observations on his defects could not with any propriety be
applied; but it is in the manner or language, as it may be called, in
which Titian and others of that school express themselves, that their
chief excellence lies. This manner is in reality, in painting, what
language is in poetry; we are all sensible how differently the
imagination is affected by the same sentiment expressed in different
words, and how mean or how grand the same object appears when
presented to us by different Painters. Whether it is the human figure,
an animal, or even inanimate objects, there is nothing, however
unpromising in appearance, but may be raised into dignity, convey
sentiment and produce emotion, in the hands of a Painter of genius.
What was said of Virgil, that he threw even the dung about the ground
with an air of dignity, may be applied to Titian: whatever he touched,
however naturally mean and habitually familiar, by a kind of magic he
invested with grandeur and importance.
I must here observe, that I am not recommending a neglect of the
detail; indeed, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to prescribe
_certain_ bounds, and tell how far, or when, it is to be observed or
neglected; much must, at last, be left to the taste and judgment of
the artist. I am well aware that a judicious detail will sometimes
give the force of truth to the work, and consequently interest the
spectator. I only wish to impress on your minds the true distinction
between essential and subordinate powers; and to show what qualities
in the art claim your _chief_ attention, and what may, with the least
injury to your reputation, be neglected. Something, perhaps, always
must be neglected; the lesser ought then to give way to the greater;
and since every work can have but a limited time allotted to it (for
even supposing a whole life to be employed about one picture, it is
still limited), it appears more reasonable to employ that time to the
best advantage, in contriving various methods of composing the
work,--in trying different effects of light and shadow,--and employing
the labour of correction in heightening, by a judicious adjustment of
the parts, the effects of the whole,--than that the time should be
taken up in minutely finishing those parts.
But there is another kind of high finishing, which may safely be
condemned, as it seems to counteract its own purpose; that is, when the
artist, to avoid that hardness which proceeds from the outline cutting
against the ground, softens and blends the colours to excess; this is
what the ignorant call high finishing, but which tends to destroy the
brilliancy of colour, and the true effect of representation; which
consists very much in preserving the same proportion of sharpness and
bluntness that is found in natural objects. This extreme softening,
instead of producing the effect of softness, gives the appearance of
ivory, or some other hard substance, highly polished.
The portraits of Cornelius Jansen appear to have this defect, and
consequently want that suppleness which is the characteristic of
flesh; whereas, in the works of Vandyke we find the true mixture of
softness and hardness perfectly observed. The same defect may be found
in the manner of Vanderwerf, in opposition to that of Teniers; and
such also, we may add, is the manner of Raffaelle in his oil pictures,
in comparison with that of Titian.
The name which Raffaelle has so justly maintained as the first of
Painters, we may venture to say was not acquired by this laborious
attention. His apology may be made by saying that it was the manner of
his country; but if he had expressed his ideas with the facility and
eloquence, as it may be called, of Titian, his works would certainly
not have been less excellent; and that praise, which ages and nations
have poured out upon him, for possessing Genius in the higher
attainments of art, would have been extended to them all.
Those who are not conversant in works of art, are often surprised at the
high value set by connoisseurs on drawings which appear careless, and in
every respect unfinished; but they are truly valuable; and their value
arises from this, that they give the idea of an whole; and this whole is
often expressed by a dexterous facility which indicates the true power
of a Painter, even though roughly exerted; whether it consists in the
general composition, or the general form of each figure, or the turn of
the attitude which bestows grace and elegance. All this we may see fully
exemplified in the very skilful drawings of Parmegiano and Correggio. On
whatever account we value these drawings, it is certainly not for high
finishing, or a minute attention to particulars.
Excellence in every part, and in every province of our art, from the
highest style of history down to the resemblances of still-life, will
depend on this power of extending the attention at once to the whole,
without which the greatest diligence is vain.
I wish you to bear in mind, that when I speak of an whole, I do not
mean simply an _whole_ as belonging to composition, but an _whole_
with respect to the general style of colouring; an _whole_ with regard
to the light and shade; an _whole_ of everything which may separately
become the main object of a Painter.
I remember a Landscape-painter in Rome, who was known by the name of
STUDIO, from his patience in high finishing, in which he thought the
whole excellence of art consisted; so that he once endeavoured, as he
said, to represent every individual leaf on a tree. This picture I
never saw; but I am very sure that an artist who looked only at the
general character of the species, the order of the branches, and the
masses of the foliage, would in a few minutes produce a more true
resemblance of trees than this Painter in as many months.
A Landscape-painter certainly ought to study anatomically (if I may
use the expression) all the objects which he paints; but when he is to
turn his studies to use, his skill, as a man of genius, will be
displayed in showing the general effect, preserving the same degree of
hardness and softness which the objects have in nature; for he applies
himself to the imagination, not to the curiosity, and works not for
the Virtuoso or the Naturalist, but for the common observer of life
and nature. When he knows his subject, he will know not only what to
describe, but what to omit: and this skill in leaving out is, in all
things, a great part of knowledge and wisdom.
The same excellence of manner which Titian displayed in History or
Portrait-painting is equally conspicuous in his Landscapes, whether
they are professedly such, or serve only as backgrounds. One of the
most eminent of this latter kind is to be found in the picture of St.
Pietro Martire. The large trees, which are here introduced, are
plainly distinguished from each other by the different manner with
which the branches shoot from their trunks, as well as by their
different foliage; and the weeds in the foreground are varied in the
same manner, just as much as variety requires, and no more. When
Algarotii, speaking of this picture, praises it for the minute
discriminations of the leaves and plants, even, as he says, to excite
the admiration of a Botanist, his intention was undoubtedly to give
praise even at the expense of truth; for he must have known that this
is not the character of the picture; but connoisseurs will always find
in pictures what they think they ought to find: he was not aware that
he was giving a description injurious to the reputation of Titian.
Such accounts may be very hurtful to young artists, who never have had
an opportunity of seeing the work described; and they may possibly
conclude that this great Artist acquired the name of the Divine Titian
from his eminent attention to such trifling circumstances, which in
reality would not raise him above the level of the most ordinary
Painter.
We may extend these observations even to what seems to have but a
single, and that an individual object. The excellence of
Portrait-painting, and, we may add, even the likeness, the character,
and countenance, as I have observed in another place, depend more upon
the general effect produced by the Painter than on the exact expression
of the peculiarities, or minute discrimination of the parts. The chief
attention of the artist is therefore employed in planting the features
in their proper places, which so much contributes to giving the effect
and true impression of the whole. The very peculiarities may be reduced
to classes and general descriptions; and there are therefore large ideas
to be found even in this contracted subject. He may afterwards labour
single features to what degree he thinks proper, but let him not forget
continually to examine, whether in finishing the parts he is not
destroying the general effect.
It is certainly a thing to be wished, that all excellence were applied
to illustrate subjects that are interesting and worthy of being
commemorated; whereas, of half the pictures that are in the world, the
subject can be valued only as an occasion which set the artist to
work; and yet, our high estimation of such pictures, without
considering, or perhaps without knowing the subject, shows how much
our attention is engaged by the art alone.
Perhaps nothing that we can say will so clearly show the advantage and
excellence of this faculty, as that it confers the character of Genius
on works that pretend to no other merit; in which is neither
expression, character, or dignity, and where none are interested in
the subject. We cannot refuse the character of Genius to the marriage
of Paolo Veronese without opposing the general sense of mankind (great
authorities have called it the triumph of Painting), or to the altar
of St. Augustine at Antwerp, by Rubens, which equally deserves that
title, and for the same reason. Neither of those pictures have any
interesting story to support them. That of Paolo Veronese is only a
representation of a great concourse of people at a dinner; and the
subject of Rubens, if it may be called a subject where nothing is
doing, is an assembly of various Saints that lived in different ages.
The whole excellence of those pictures consists in mechanical
dexterity, working, however, under the influence of that comprehensive
faculty which I have so often mentioned.
It is by this, and this alone, that the mechanical power is ennobled,
and raised much above its natural rank. And it appears to me, that
with propriety it acquires this character, as an instance of that
superiority with which mind predominates over matter, by contracting
into one whole what nature has made multifarious.
The great advantage of this idea of a whole is, that a greater
quantity of truth may be said to be contained and expressed in a few
lines or touches than in the most laborious finishing of the parts
where this is not regarded. It is upon this foundation that it stands;
and the justness of the observation would be confirmed by the
ignorant in art, if it were possible to take their opinions unseduced
by some false notion of what they imagine they ought to see in a
Picture. As it is an art, they think they ought to be pleased in
proportion as they see that art ostentatiously displayed; they will,
from this supposition, prefer neatness, high-finishing, and gaudy
colouring, to the truth, simplicity, and unity of nature. Perhaps,
too, the totally ignorant beholder, like the ignorant artist, cannot
comprehend an whole, nor even what it means. But if false notions do
not anticipate their perceptions, they who are capable of observation,
and who, pretending to no skill, look only straight forward, will
praise and condemn in proportion as the Painter has succeeded in the
effect of the whole. Here, general satisfaction, or general dislike,
though perhaps despised by the Painter, as proceeding from the
ignorance of the principles of art, may yet help to regulate his
conduct, and bring back his attention to that which ought to be his
principal object, and from which he has deviated for the sake of
minuter beauties.
An instance of this right judgment I once saw in a child, in going
through a gallery where there were many portraits of the last ages,
which, though neatly put out of hand, were very ill put together. The
child paid no attention to the neat finishing or naturalness of any bit
of drapery, but appeared to observe only the ungracefulness of the
persons represented, and put herself in the posture of every figure
which she saw in a forced and awkward attitude. The censure of nature,
uninformed, fastened upon the greatest fault that could be in a picture,
because it related to the character and management of the whole.
I should be sorry if what has been said should be understood to have
any tendency to encourage that carelessness which leaves work in an
unfinished state. I commend nothing for the want of exactness; I mean
to point out that kind of exactness which is the best, and which is
alone truly to be esteemed.
So far is my disquisition from giving countenance to idleness, that
there is nothing in our art which enforces such continual exertion and
circumspection, as an attention to the general effect of the whole. It
requires much study and much practice; it requires the Painter's entire
mind; whereas the parts may be finishing by nice touches, while his mind
is engaged on other matters; he may even hear a play or a novel read
without much disturbance. The artist who flatters his own indolence will
continually find himself evading this active exertion, and applying his
thoughts to the ease and laziness of highly finishing the parts,
producing at last what Cowley calls "laborious effects of idleness."
No work can be too much finished, provided the diligence employed be
directed to its proper object; but I have observed that an excessive
labour in the detail has, nine times in ten, been pernicious to the
general effect, even when it has been the labour of great masters. It
indicates a bad choice, which is an ill setting out in any undertaking.
To give a right direction to your industry has been my principal
purpose in this discourse. It is this which I am confident often makes
the difference between two Students of equal capacities, and of equal
industry. While the one is employing his labour on minute objects of
little consequence, the other is acquiring the art, and perfecting the
habit, of seeing nature in an extensive view, in its proper
proportions, and its due subordination of parts.
Before I conclude, I must make one observation sufficiently connected
with the present subject.
The same extension of mind which gives the excellence of Genius to the
theory and mechanical practice of the art, will direct him likewise in
the method of study, and give him the superiority over those who
narrowly follow a more confined track of partial imitation. Whoever,
in order to finish his education, should travel to Italy, and spend
his whole time there only in copying pictures, and measuring statues
or buildings (though these things are not to be neglected), would
return with little improvement. He that imitates the _Iliad_, says Dr.
Young, is not imitating Homer. It is not by laying up in the memory
the particular details of any of the great works of art that any man
becomes a great artist, if he stops without making himself master of
the general principles on which these works are conducted. If he even
hopes to rival those whom he admires, he must consider their works as
the means of teaching him the true art of seeing nature. When this is
acquired, he then may be said to have appropriated their powers, or,
at least, the foundation of their powers, to himself; the rest must
depend upon his own industry and application. The great business of
study is, to form a _mind_, adapted and adequate to all times and all
occasions; to which all nature is then laid open, and which may be
said to possess the key of her inexhaustible riches.
FOOTNOTES:
13: Discourse III.
DISCOURSE XII.
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1784._
PARTICULAR METHODS OF STUDY OF LITTLE CONSEQUENCE.--LITTLE OF THE
ART CAN BE TAUGHT.--LOVE OF METHOD OFTEN A LOVE OF
IDLENESS.--PITTORI IMPROVVISATORI APT TO BE CARELESS AND
INCORRECT; SELDOM ORIGINAL AND STRIKING.--THIS PROCEEDS FROM THEIR
NOT STUDYING THE WORKS OF OTHER MASTERS.
In consequence of the situation in which I have the honour to be
placed in this Academy, it has often happened that I have been
consulted by the young Students who intend to spend some years in
Italy, concerning the method of regulating their studies. I am, as I
ought to be, solicitously desirous to communicate the entire result of
my experience and observation; and though my openness and facility in
giving my opinions might make some amends for whatever was defective
in them, yet I fear my answers have not often given satisfaction.
Indeed, I have never been sure that I understood perfectly what they
meant, and was not without some suspicion that they had not themselves
very distinct ideas of the object of their inquiry.
If the information required was, by what means the path that leads to
excellence could be discovered; if they wished to know whom they were
to take for their guides; what to adhere to, and what to avoid; where
they were to bait, and where they were to take up their rest; what was
to be tasted only, and what should be their diet; such general
directions are certainly proper for a Student to ask, and for me, to
the best of my capacity, to give; but these rules have been already
given; they have, in reality, been the subject of almost all my
Discourses from this place. But I am rather inclined to think, that by
_method of study_, it was meant (as several do mean) that the times
and the seasons should be prescribed, and the order settled, in which
everything was to be done: that it might be useful to point out to
what degree of excellence one part of the Art was to be carried before
the Student proceeded to the next; how long he was to continue to draw
from the ancient statues, when to begin to compose, and when to apply
to the study of colouring.
Such a detail of instruction might be extended with a great deal of
plausible and ostentatious amplification. But it would at best be
useless. Our studies will be forever, in a very great degree, under
the direction of chance; like travellers, we must take what we can
get, and when we can get it; whether it is or is not administered to
us in the most commodious manner, in the most proper place, or at the
exact minute when we would wish to have it.
Treatises on education and method of study have always appeared to me to
have one general fault. They proceed upon a false supposition of life;
as if we possessed not only a power over events and circumstances, but
had a greater power over ourselves than I believe any of us will be
found to possess. Instead of supposing ourselves to be perfect patterns
of wisdom and virtue, it seems to me more reasonable to treat ourselves
(as I am sure we must now and then treat others) like humorsome
children, whose fancies are often to be indulged, in order to keep them
in good humour with themselves and their pursuits. It is necessary to
use some artifice of this kind in all processes which by their very
nature are long, tedious, and complex, in order to prevent our taking
that aversion to our studies which the continual shackles of methodical
restraint are sure to produce.
I would rather wish a student, as soon as he goes abroad, to employ
himself upon whatever he has been incited to by any immediate impulse,
than to go sluggishly about a prescribed task; whatever he does in such
a state of mind, little advantage accrues from it, as nothing sinks deep
enough to leave any lasting impression; and it is impossible that
anything should be well understood, or well done, that is taken into a
reluctant understanding, and executed with a servile hand.
It is desirable, and indeed is necessary to intellectual health, that
the mind should be recreated and refreshed with a variety in our
studies; that in the irksomeness of uniform pursuit we should be
relieved, and, if I may so say, deceived, as much as possible.
Besides, the minds of men are so very differently constituted, that it
is impossible to find one method which shall be suitable to all. It is
of no use to prescribe to those who have no talents; and those who
have talents will find methods for themselves--methods dictated to
them by their own particular dispositions, and by the experience of
their own particular necessities.
However, I would not be understood to extend this doctrine to the
younger students. The first part of the life of a student, like that
of other school-boys, must necessarily be a life of restraint. The
grammar, the rudiments, however unpalatable, must at all events be
mastered. After a habit is acquired of drawing correctly from the
model (whatever it may be) which he has before him, the rest, I think,
may be safely left to chance; always supposing that the student is
_employed_, and that his studies are directed to the proper object.