Much has been said of late of "Encaustic Painting." It must have been
discontinued before the time of Giotto, as shown by the experiments of
Lanzi--no wax has been found in pictures painted after the year 1360. We
know that Sir Joshua Reynolds frequently used it, as have some painters
since his day. We cannot suppose that, mixed with oil, it would ever
give pigments their proper hardness.
Dryers are not mentioned by Cennino, excepting _verderame_ (verdigris,)
and that as a mordant. How were the oils made to dry? Will the sun be
sufficient? In the summers in Italy their mixed oils readily dry. But in
Holland, as in England, for at least a great part of the year, they will
not dry of themselves; and it is certain that the longer the pigments
are subjected to the action of the oil, the greater is the change. White
lead is by no means the best drying colour; and if lead, as a dryer, is
so injurious as some will have it to be, to colours in general, why do
we not find it so in white lead? Cennino recommends garlic pounded to a
juice, and cleared, as a mordant. It is supposed that it gives a drying
quality to oil. The practice of the old masters in drying their pictures
in the sun--was it only to effect the drying? We believe exposure to the
atmosphere is most beneficial to newly painted pictures. We have now a
picture before us which was disagreeably oily, and yet did not well bear
out. We laid it on the grass, face uppermost, where it lay for about ten
days during heat and cold, day and night, dry weather and wet, and in
some few burning days exposed to the sun; during these hot days, we had
it frequently, plentifully washed with water, left on for the sun to
take up. We have this day removed the picture to the easel. The "oily
appearance" was gone, it was very dry, but pure, and clean, and bore out
equally, but rather like distemper. It is a question worth considering,
whether the atmosphere did not take up the impurities of the oil, which
always come to the surface.
There is proof enough of this. A picture, unless it be painted with very
little oil indeed, will become, in a few days after being painted,
greasy--it will not take water on the surface--in fact, "secca teme
acqua" will not bear water. If, in this state, the surface be lightly
rubbed over with common sand and water, this greasiness will be removed,
and the surface will not only be clean, but beautiful; this greasiness
will, however, in a day or two come again. If the process of sanding be
repeated, _until the greasiness does not_ come again, we conjecture that
we have done for the picture what time, but a long time, might do--we
have removed _all_ the impurity of the oil. We believe that pictures
after that do not undergo further change, and if the paint be tolerably
hard, may be varnished--and that they will become much sooner hard; for
it is more than probable that this greasiness in the oil is the main
cause of retarding the drying. We have followed this practice many
years, and always with the same results. It is surprising how soon after
painting you may sand--even coarse red sand will not remove paint, that
is yet tacky--it much remedies the "colori olcesi." The translator lays
much stress in the preface upon the importance of white grounds. In the
olden time, it appears, that when they were not of gold, they were
white; and Leonardo da Vinci thus lays down _his_ precept--"Sempre a
quelli colori che vuoi che habino belleza preparerai primo il campo
_candidissimo_, e questo dico de' colori che sono transparenti, perche a
quelli che non sono transparenti non giova campo chiaro." And yet
Leonardo is said to have painted occasionally on the canvass without any
other priming than a coat of glue. His pictures so painted are said to
be durable, and worthy his great name. We should have doubted if Titian
did always paint on a white ground--and should fix upon the "Peter
Martyr" as the subject of doubt. It is said to have been the practice of
Correggio; if so, he did not always derive the benefit from the ground
which white grounds are said to confer, for his painting is so generally
solid, and the transparency so much the effect of his glazing, that
there seems to be no reason why he should have given the preference. It
is said the Flemish School used white grounds--probably Rubens did so
generally, not all other painters. Teniers used a light drab, and, if we
were to judge from some of his skies, painted upon it when that thinly
coloured ground was wet. Unless a great body of colour be used, even in
the most transparent painting, white grounds are apt to give a weakness
and flimsiness. Gaspar Poussin, and perhaps generally, Nicolo, painted
on red grounds; the former probably often upon a vermilion ground,
though most commonly on one of a deeper tone; the advantage of this, in
landscapes, such as his, is evident. There is no colour so good as red
to set off greens; and in fact, to make tints appear green, that on
another ground would not so be; and, moreover, a red ground, from its
warmth, makes those greens appear cool, deep, and refreshing, which is
so strong a characteristic in the colouring of that great Italian
landscape painter, Gaspar Poussin.
The most important recipes of Cennino Cennini may be those which relate
to fresco-painting; and as that is now likely to be nationally revived,
this publication is well-timed. So much has been said and written of
late upon this subject, that we think it best simply to refer to the
text and notes. To those who mean to practise fresco, they may be
important. Besides the value of the recipes of Cennino, there are
incidentally some curious things not unworthy of notice. All persons
must have been surprised in pictures of grave subjects, and we might
especially mention those of Paul Veronese, that dogs are introduced as
attendants on feasts, and we find them gnawing bones on very fine
floors. But we find in Cennino Cennini that it was the practice to throw
their bones under the table. Cennino recommends them to be gathered and
selected for black pigments. We have heard it said that Murillo was
partial to the pigments made from beef bones taken after dinner.
There is a practice, or we should say happily there was, in the days of
these old painters, which did not tend very much to raise the
profession. "Sometimes, in the course of your practice," says Cennino,
"you will be obliged to paint flesh, especially faces of men and women."
He recommends the painting them with egg tempera, with oil, and with
_oil and liquid varnish_, "which is the most powerful of temperas." He
proceeds to tell how the paint is to be removed. Chapter 162 is entirely
devoted to the ladies, and offers a caution now happily unnecessary, but
it is so quaintly given, that we quote it:--
"It sometimes happens that young ladies, especially those of Florence,
endeavour to heighten their beauty by the application of colours and
medicated waters to the skin. But as women who fear God do not make use
of these things, and as I do not wish to render myself obnoxious to
them, or to incur the displeasure of God and our Lady, I shall say no
more on this subject. But I advise you, that if you desire to preserve
your complexion for a long period, to wash yourself with water from the
fountains, rivers, or wells; and I warn you, that if you use cosmetics,
your face will soon become withered, your teeth black, and you will
become old before the natural course of time, and be the ugliest object
possible. This is quite sufficient to say on this subject."
A modern painter with whom we are acquainted, declares that he has _very
often_ been called upon to paint "under the eyes" of certain "young men
about town"--we presume of the Titmouse grade--that they might appear
the more decently before the public and their employers.
If poor Cennino had entertained no other fears but the displeasure of
the fair sex, he would have passed a happier old age. We know not that
he condescended to paint faces, however, in his most abject condition.
There was ever from the beginning a complaint of the little favour
bestowed upon artists in general. Was the art considered a slavish
practice? Grecia Capta taught it to the Romans, with whom,
notwithstanding the force of some few high names, as of Fabius Pictor,
it was at no time in very high repute.
The indefatigable Gaye says of the fluctuations incidental to the
profession of arts--"While, on one hand, painters, sculptors, and
military engineers flourish as ambassadors, magistrates, and
correspondents with princes, others live overwhelmed with debt, and
pleading for subsistence." A tax return of Jacopo de Domenico, painter,
gives this sad account of himself--"Ever since 1400, have I gone on
struggling, and eating the bread of others, until 1421; after which I
returned to Florence, where I found myself plundered, and in debt, and
totally destitute." The reader will be surprised at his remedy, and the
modern Poor-law Commissioners, those "Indociles pauperiem pati," will
deny the test of destitution, and feel a separating impulse; for he
continues--"I took a wife, and went to Pisa, where I mended the roads
about the gates, and staid four years." The tax returns afford curious
documents. We have that of Massaccio:--"Declaration of the means of
Tommaso di Giovanni, called Massaccio, and of his brother Giovanni, to
the officers of the fisc, detailing their miserable means, inability,
and liability--We live in the house of Andrea Macigni, for which we pay
ten florins a-year." "The son of this Andrea bound himself apprentice in
the studio of Nendi Bicci for two years, in 1458, aged seventeen, to
have fifteen florins and a pair of shoes yearly."[8]
It was the custom of writers, in the time of Cennino, to neglect the
precept of Horace. They did not rush "in medias res"--Cennino in
particular. He not only begins with the beginning of every particular
thing, or invention, or practice; but thinks it necessary to commence
his work on the arts with a much earlier fact than the production of
Leda's egg--even with the creation of the world--and immediately deduces
the art of painting from the fall of Adam, who was from that event
compelled to labor; hence invention--hence the art. His book is,
however, written in a pious spirit; nor have we now-a-days any right, in
good taste, to ridicule his mixing up with his reverence for the
Creator, and the Virgin Mary, and all saints in general, and St
Eustachius, and St Francis, St John the Baptist, St Anthony of Padua,
"the reverence of Giotto of Taddeo, and of Agnolo the master of
Cennino;" nor do we in the least doubt, nay, admire his happy zeal, when
he says that he begins his book "for the utility, and good, and
advantage of those who would attain perfection in the arts." We said
that this is a beautiful volume; the few plates and illustrations are
not the least of its charms: they are drawn on stone by the translator.
We hail the republication of every old work on the arts; and although as
yet we have not been so fortunate as to discover the vehicle of Titian
or Correggio, we do not despair. In a former paper, if we mistake not,
we mentioned a treatise of Rubens--"De Lumine et Colore"--said to have
been, somewhat more than half a century ago, in the possession of a
canon of Antwerp, a descendant of Rubens: surely it may be worth
enquiring after. It is said to be in Latin, which, not being a living
and moveable language, is the best form from which we could have a
translation upon any subject relating to the arts.