Of all pictorial principles none compares in importance with Unity or
Balance.
“Why all this intense striving, this struggle to a finish,” said George
Inness, as, at the end of a long day, he flung himself exhausted upon his
lounge, “but an effort to obtain unity, unity.”
The observer of an artist at work will notice that he usually stands at
his easel and views his picture at varied distances, that he looks at it
over his shoulder, that he reverses it in a mirror, that he turns it
upside down at times, that he develops it with dots or spots of color here
and there, points of accent carefully placed and oft-times changed.
What is the meaning of this thoughtful weighing of parts in the
slowly-growing mosaic, but that he labors under the restraint of a law
which he feels compelled to obey and the breaking of which would cause
anguish to his esthetic sense. The law under which his striving proceeds
is the fundamental one of balance, and the critical artist obeys it
whether he be the maker of vignettes for a newspaper, or the painter who
declares for color only, or the man who tries hard to produce naivete by
discarding composition. The test to which the sensitive eye subjects every
picture from whatsoever creed or camp it comes is _balance_ or equipoise,
judgment being rendered without thought of the law. After the picture has
been left as finished, why does an artist often feel impelled to create an
accent on this side or weaken an obtrusive one on the other side of his
canvas if not working under a law of balance?
Let any picture be taken which has lived long enough before the public to
be considered good by every one; or take a dozen or more such and add
others by artists who declare against composition and yet have produced
good pictures; subject all these to the following simple test: Find the
actual centre of the picture and pass a vertical and horizontal line
through it. _The vertical division is the more important, as the natural
balance is on the lateral sides of a central support._ It will be found
that the actual centre of the canvas is also the actual pivot or centre of
the picture, and around such a point the various components group
themselves, pulling and hauling and warring in their claim for attention,
the _satisfactory_ picture showing as much design of balance on one side
of the centre as the other, and the picture complete in balance displaying
this equipoise above and below the horizontal line.
Now, in order that what seems at first glance an exclusive statement may
be understood, the reader should realize that every item of a picture has
a _certain positive power,_ as though each object were a magnet of given
potency. Each has attraction for the eye, therefore each, while obtaining
attention for itself, establishes proportional detraction for every other
part. On the principle of _the steelyard,_ the farther from the centre
and more isolated an object is, the greater its weight or attraction.
Therefore, in the balance of a picture it will be found that a very
important object placed but a short distance from the centre may be
balanced by a very small object on the other side of the centre _and
further removed from it._ The whole of the pictorial interest may be on
one side of a picture and the other side be practically useless as far as
picturesqueness or story-telling opportunity is concerned, but which finds
its reason for existing in the _balance,_ and that alone.
In the emptiness of the opposing half such a picture, when completely in
balance, will have some bit of detail or accent which the eye in its
circular, symmetrical inspection will catch, unconsciously, and weave into
its calculation of balance; or if not an object or accent or line of
attraction, then some technical quality, or spiritual quality, such, for
example, as a strong feeling of gloom, or depth for penetration, light or
dark, a place in fact, for the eye to dwell upon as an important part in
connection with the subject proper, and recognized as such.
But, the querist demands, if all the subject is on one side of the centre
and the other side depends for its existence on a balancing space or
accent only, why not cut it off? Do so. Then you will have the entire
subject in one-half the space to be sure, but its harmony or balance will
depend on the equipoise when pivoted in the new centre.
BALANCE OF THE STEELYARD.
Let the reader make the test upon the _“__Connoisseurs__”_ and cut away
everything on the right beyond a line through the farther support of the
mantel. This will place the statue in the exact centre. In this shape the
picture composes well. In re-adding this space however the centre is
shifted leaving the statue and two figures hanging to one side but close
to the pivot and demanding more balance in this added side. Now the space
alone, with very little in it, has weight enough, and just here the
over-scientific enthusiast might err; but the artist in this case from two
other considerations has here placed a figure. It opposes its vertical to
the horizontal of the table, and catches and turns the line of the shadow
on the wall into the line of the rug. An extended search in pictorial art
gives warrant for a rule, upon this principle, namely: where the subject
is on one side of the centre it must exist close to the centre, or, in
that degree in which it departs from the centre, show positive anchorage
to the other side.
[Pines in Winter (Unbalance); The Connoisseurs--Fortuny (Balance of the
Steelyards)]
It is not maintained that every good picture can show _this complete_
balance; but the claim is made that the striving on the part of its
designer has been in the direction of this balance, and that, had it been
secured, the picture would have been that much better. Let this simple
test be applied by elimination of overweighted parts or addition of items
where needed, _on this principle,_ and it will be found that the
composition will always improve. As a necessary caution it should be
observed that the small balancing weight of the steelyard should not
become a point causing divided interest.
It is easy to recognize a good composition; to tell why it is good may be
difficult; to tell how it could be made better is what the art worker
desires to know. Let the student when in doubt weight out his picture in
the balances mindful that the principle of the steelyards covers the items
in the depth as well as across the breadth of the picture.
POSTULATES
Every picture is a collection of units or items.
Every unit has a given value.
The value of a unit depends on its attraction; its attraction varies as to
its placement.
An isolated unit near the edge has frequently more attraction than at the
centre.
Every part of the picture space has some attraction.
Space having no detail may possess attraction by gradation and by
association.
A unit of attraction in an otherwise empty space has more weight through
isolation than the same when placed with other units.
A black unit on white or a white on black has more attraction than the
same on gray.
The value of a black or white unit is proportioned to the size of space
contrasting with it.
A unit in the foreground may have less weight than a like one in the
distance.
Two or more associated units may be reckoned as one and their _united
centre_ is the point on which they balance with others.
There is balance of Line,(2) of Mass,(3) of Light and Dark,(4) of
Measure,(5) which is secured upon a _scale of attraction_ which each
possesses. Many pictures exhibit these in combination.
The “Lion of the Desert,” by Gerome shows three isolated spots and one
line of attraction. The trend of vision on leaving the lion is to the
extreme right and thence back along the pathway of the dark distance into
the picture to the group of trees. Across this is an oppositional balance
from the bushes of the foreground to the mountains of the extreme
distance. The only line in the composition, better seen in the painting
than in the reproduction, counts much in the balance over the centre. The
placement of the important item or subject, has little to do with the
balance scheme of a picture. _This is the starting point, and balance is a
consideration beyond this._
In every composition the eye should cross the central division at least
once. This initiates equipoise, for in the survey of a picture the eye
naturally shifts from the centre of interest, which may be on one side, to
the other side of the canvas. If there be something there to receive it,
the balance it seeks is gratified. If it finds nothing, the artist must
create something, with the conclusion that some element of the picture was
lacking.
In the snow-scene the eye is attracted from the pine-trees to the houses
on the left and rests there, no attraction having been created to move it
to the other half of the picture.
What is known as divided interest in a picture is nothing more than the
doubt established by a false arrangement of balance, too great an
attraction being used where less weight was needed. The artist must be
the judge of the degree of satisfaction he allows this feeling, but no one
can ignore it and obtain unity.
The question of degree must have a caution placed before it; for in an
attempt to create a balance on the opposite side of the vertical the
tendency is to use too heavy a weight. The whole of the subject is
sometimes made to take its place well on one side and another item would
seem redundant. Two points will be noticed in all of such cases: that the
opposing half may either be cut off without damage, or greatly elongated,
and in both forms the picture seems to survive.(6) The fact becomes an
argument for the theory of balance across a medial upright line; in the
first instance by shifting the line itself into the centre of the subject,
and in the second by securing more _weight of space_ with which to balance
the subject.
[Portrait of Sara Bernhardt--Clairin (Balance Across the Natrual Axis)]
The portrait of _Sarah Bernhardt,_ an excellent composition from many
points of view, finds its most apparent balance on either side of the
sinuous line of light through the centre exhibiting the _axis,_ which many
pictures show in varying degrees. The opposing corners are well balanced,
the plant over against the dog, with a trifle too much importance left to
the dog. Place the finger in observation over the head and forelegs of
the dog, taking this much off and the whole composition gains, not only
because the diagonal corners then balance, but because the heads of both
woman and dog are too important for the same side of the picture.
It would be perfectly possible in the more complete composition to have
both heads as they are, but this would demand more weight on the other
side; or a shifting of the whole picture very slightly toward the left
side.
In the painting this is not felt, as the head of the dog is so treated
that it attracts but little, though the object be in the close foreground.
This picture also balances on the horizontal and vertical lines.
Here we have the dog and fan balancing the body and plant. The balance
_across the diagonal_ of the figure, by the opposition of the dog with the
plant is very complete. Joined with the hanging lamp above, this sinuous
line effects a letter S or without the dog and leaf Hogarth’s line of
beauty.
In the matter also of the weakening of the necessary foundation lines
which support the figure (the sofa), and cut the picture in two, this
curving figure, the pillow and the large leaf do excellent service.
When one fills a vase with flowers he aims at both unity and balance, and
if, in either color combination, or in massing and accent, it lacks this,
the result is disturbing. Let the vase become a bowl and let the bowl be
placed on its edge and made to resemble a frame, entirely surrounding the
bouquet; his effort remains the same. To be effective in a frame, balance
and unity are just as necessary. The eye finds repose and delight _in the
perfect equipoise of elements,_ brought into combination and bound
together by the girdle of the frame.
A picture should be able to hang from its exact centre. Imperfect
composition inflicts upon the beholder the duty of accommodating his head
to the false angle of the picture. Pictures that stand the test of time
do not demand astigmatic glasses. We view them _balanced,_ and they
repeat the countersign—“_balanced._”
After settling upon this as the great consideration in the subject of
composition and reducing the principle to the above law, I confess I had
not the full courage of my conviction for a six month, for now and then a
picture would appear that at first glance seemed like an unruly colt, to
refuse to be harnessed to the theory and was in danger of kicking it to
pieces. After a number of such apparent exceptions and the ease with
which they submitted to the test of absolute balance from the centre, on
the scheme of the steelyards, I am now entirely convinced that what
writers have termed the “very vague subject of composition,” “the
perplexing question of arrangement of parts,” etc., yields to this
simplest law, and which, in its directness and clearness, affords the
simplest of working rules. Those whose artistic freedom bids defiance to
the slavery of rule, as applied to an artistic product, and who try to
produce something that shall break all rules, in the hope of being
original, spend the greater part of the time in but covering the surface
so that the principle _may not be too easily seen,_ and the rest of the
time in balancing the unbalanced.
As the balance of the figure dominates all other considerations in the
statue or painting of the human form, so does the equipoise of the
picture, or its balance of parts, become the chief consideration in its
composition. The figure balances its weight over the point of support, as
the flying Mercury on his toes, the picture upon a fulcrum on which large
and small masses hang with the same delicate adjustment. In Fortuny’s
_“__Connoisseurs,__”_ the two men looking at a picture close to the left
of the centre form the subject. The dark mass behind them stops off
further penetration in this direction, but the eye is drawn away into the
light on the right and seeks the man carrying a portfolio. At his
distance, together with the lighted objects he easily balances the
important group on the other side of the centre. Indeed, with the
attractiveness of the clock, vase, plaque, mantel and chest, his face
would have added a grain too much, and this the artist happily avoided by
covering it with the portfolio.
[Lady with Muff--Photo A. Hewitt (Steelyard in Perspective)]
In the portrait study of “Lady with Muff,” one first receives the
impression that the figure has been carelessly placed and, indeed, it
would go for a one-sided and thoughtless arrangement but for the little
item, almost lost in shadow, on the left side. This bit of detail enables
the eye to penetrate the heavy shadow, and is a good example of the value
of the small weight on the long arm of the steelyard, which balances its
opposing heavy weight.
This picture is trimmed a little too much on the top to balance across the
horizontal line, and, indeed, this balance is the least important, and, in
some cases, not desirable; but the line of light following down from the
face and across the muff and into the lap not only assists this balance,
but carries the eye into the left half, and for that reason is very
valuable in the _lateral_ balance, which is _all important to the upright
subject._
One other consideration regarding this picture, in the matter of balance,
contains a principle: The line of the figure curves in toward the flower
and pot which become the radius of the whole inner contour. This creates
an elliptical line of observation, which being the arc on this radius
receives a pull toward its centre. There is a modicum of balance in the
mere weight of this empty space, but when given force by its isolation,
plus the concession to its centripetal significance, the small item does
great service in settling the equilibrium of the picture. The lines are
precisely those of the Rubens recently added to the Metropolitan Museum,
wherein the figures of Mary, her mother, Christ and John form the arc and
the bending form of the monk its oppositional balance.
In proof of the fact that the half balance, or that on either side of the
vertical is sufficient in many subjects, see such portraits in which the
head alone is attractive, the rest being suppressed in detail and light,
for the sake of this attraction.
It is rarely that figure art deals with balance over the horizontal
central line _in conjunction_ with balance over the vertical.
One may recall photographs of figures in which the positions on the field
of the plate are very much to one side of the centre, but which have the
qualifying element in _leading line_ or _balance by an isolated measure_
that brings them within the requirements of unity. The “Brother and
Sister” (7) by Miss Kasebier—the boy in sailor cap crowding up to the face
and form of his younger sister,—owes much to the long, strongly-relieved
line of the boy’s side and leg which draws the weight to the opposite side
of the picture. In imagination we may see the leg below the knee and know
how far on the opposite side of the central vertical his point of support
really is. The movement in both figures originates from this side of the
picture as the lines of the drapery show. Deprive such a composition of
its balancing line and instead of a picture we would have but two figures
on one side of a plate.
The significance of the horizontal balance is best understood in
landscape, with its extended perspective. Here the idea becomes
reminiscent of our childhood’s “teeter.” Conceiving a long space from
foreground to distance, occupied with varied degrees of interest, it is
apparent how easily one end may become too heavy for the other. The
tempering of such a chain of items until the equipoise is attained must be
coordinate with the effort toward the lateral balance.
VERTICAL AND HORIZONTAL BALANCE.
In the _“__Salute to the Wounded,__”_by Detaille, complete and formal
balance on both the vertical and horizontal line is shown. The chief of
staff is on one side of centre, balanced by the officer on the other, and
the remaining members of staff balance the German infantry. Although the
heads of prisoners are all above the horizontal line, three-fourths of the
body comes below—a just equivalent—and, in the case of the horsemen, the
legs and bodies of the horses draw down the balance toward the bottom of
the canvas, specially aided by the two cuirassiers in the left corner. In
addition to this, note the value of the placement of the gray horse and
rider at left, as a means of interrupting the necessary and objectionable
line of feet across the canvas and leading the eye into the picture and
toward the focus, both by the curve to the left, including the black
horse, and also by the direct jump across the picture, through the white
horse and toward the real subject—i.e., the prisoners.
[Lion in the Desert--Gerome (Balance of Isolated Measures); Salute to the
Wounded--Detaille (Balance of Equal Measures)]
Much has been written by way of suggestion in composition dealing with
this picture or that to illustrate a thought which might have been
simplified over the single idea of balance which contains the whole secret
and which if once understood in all of its phases of possible change will
establish procedure with a surety indeed gratifying to him who halts
questioning the next step, or not knowing positively that the one he has
taken is correct.
These criticisms vaguely named “confusion,” “stiffness,” “scattered
quantity,” etc., all lead in to the root, unbalance, and are to be
corrected there.
Balance is of importance according to the number of units to be composed.
Much greater license may be taken in settling a single figure into its
picture-space than when the composition involves many. In fact the mind
pays little heed to the consideration of balance until a complication of
many units forces the necessity upon it. The painter who esteems lightly
the subject of composition is usually found to be the painter of simple
subjects—portraits and non-discursive themes, but though these may survive
in antagonism to such principles their authors are demanding more from the
technical quality of their work than is its mission to supply.
The first two main lines, if they touch or cross, start a composition.
After that it is necessary to work upon the picture as it hangs in the
balances.
The inutility of considering composition in outline or in solid mass of
tone as a safe first analysis of finished work is evident when we discover
that not until we have brought the picture to the _last_ stage of detail
finish do we fully encompass balance. The conception which looks
acceptable to one’s general idea in outline may finish all askew; or the
scheme of Light and Dark in one or two flat tones _minus the balance of
gradation_ will prove false as many times as faithful, as it draws toward
completion. It is because of this that artists when composing roughly in
the presence of nature seldom if ever produce note-book sketches which
lack the unity of gradation. It is the custom of some artists to paint
important pictures from such data which, put down hot when the impression
is compulsory, contain more of the essence of the subject than the
faithful “study” done at leisure.
[]
The possibilities of balanced arrangement being so extensive, susceptible
in fact of the most eccentric and fantastic composition, it follows: that
its adaptability to all forms of presentation disarms argument against it.
In almost every case, when the work of an accomplished painter fails to
convince, through that completeness which of all qualities stands first,
when, after the last word has been said by him, when, nature, in short,
has been satisfied and the work still continues in its feeble state of
insurrection, which many artists will confess it frequently requires years
to quell, it is sure proof that way back in the early construction of such
a picture some element of unbalance had been allowed.
THE NATURAL AXIS
In varying degrees pictures express what may be termed a _natural axis,_
on which their components arrange themselves in balanced composition.
This axis is the visible or imaginary line which the eye accepts
connecting the two most prominent measures or such a line which first
arrests the attention. If there be but one figure, group or measure, and
there be an opening or point of attraction through the background
diverting the vision from such to it, then this line of direction becomes
the axis. The axis does not merely connect two points within the picture,
but pierces it, and the near end of the shaft has much to do with this
balance.
Balance across the centre effects the unity of the picture in its
limitations with its frame. Balance on the axis expresses the natural
balance of the subject as we feel it in nature when it touches us
personally and would connect our spirit with its own.
We discern the former more readily where the subject confronts us with
little depth of background. We get into the movement of the latter when
the reach is far in, and we feel the subject revolving on its pivot and
stretching one arm toward us while the other penetrates the visible or the
unknown distance.
Balance constructed over this line will bring the worker to as unified a
result as the use of the steelyard on the central vertical line.
In this method there is less restraint and when the axis is well marked it
is best to take it. Not every subject develops it however. It is easily
felt in Clairin’s portrait of _Sarah Bernhardt,_ the _“__Lady with
Muff,__”_ _“__The Path of the Surf,__”_ and in the line of the _horse,
Indian, and sunset_. When the axis is found, its force should be modified
by opposed lines or measures, on one or both sides. In these four examples
good composition has been effected in proportion as such balance is
indicated; in the first by dog and palm, in the second by flower-pot, in
the third by the light on the stubble and cloud in left hand corner, and
in the last by the rocks and open sea.
A further search among the accompanying illustrations would reveal it in
the sweeping line of cuirassiers, _1807_ balanced by the group about
Napoleon, the line of the hulk and the light of the sky in _“__Her Last
Moorings,__”_ the central curved line in _“__The Body of Patroclus__”_ the
diagonal line through the arm of _Ariadne_ into the forearm of Bacchus.
APPARENT OR FORMAL BALANCE.
Raphael is a covenient point at which to commence a study of composition.
His style was influenced by three considerations: warning by the pitfalls
of composition into which his predecessors had fallen; confidence that the
absolutely formal balance was safe; and lack of experience to know that
anything else was as good. To these may be added the environment for
which most of his works were produced. His was an architectural plan of
arrangement, and this well suited both the dignity of his subject and the
chaste conceptions of a well poised mind.
Raphael, therefore, stands as the chief exponent of _informal
composition._ His plan was to place the figure of greatest importance in
the centre. This should have its support in balancing figures on either
side; an attempt then often observable was to weaken this set formality by
other objects wherein, though measure responded to measure, there was a
slight change in kind or degree, the whole arrangement resembling that of
an army in battle array; with its centre, flanks and skirmishers. The
balance of equal measures—seen in his “Sistine Madonna,” is conspicuous in
most ecclesiastical pictures of that period, notably the “Last Supper of
Leonardo” in which two groups of three persons each are posed on either
side of the pivotal figure.
This has become the standard arrangement for all classical balanced
composition in pictorial decoration. The doubling of objects on either
side of a central figure not only gives to it importance, but contributes
to the composition that quietude, symmetry and solemnity so compatible
with religious feeling or decorative requirement. The objection to this
plan of balance is that it divides the picture into equal parts, neither
one having precedence, and the subdivisions may be continued indefinitely.
For this reason it has no place in genre art. Its antiphonal responses
belong to the temple. A more objectionable form of balance on the centre
is that in which the centre is of small importance. This cuts the picture
into halves without reason. The _“__Dutch Peasants on the Shore,__”_
_“__Low Tide,__”_ and _“__The Poulterers,__”_ and David’s “Rape of the
Sabine Women,” are examples.
These pictures present three degrees of formal balance. In the first a
lack of sequence impairs the picture’s unity. In the second, though the
objects are contiguous there is no subjective union, and in David’s
composition the formality of the decorative structure is inapplicable to
the theme.
The circular group of Dagnan-Bouveret’s “Pardon in Brittany,” where the
peasants are squatted on the left in the foreground is a daring bit of
balance, finding its justification in the movement of interest toward the
right in the background.
In all forms, save the classic decoration it should be the artist’s effort
to conceal the balance over the centre.
[]
In avoiding the equal divisions of the picture plane a practical plan of
construction is based upon the strong points as opposed to the weak ones.
It assumes that the weak point is the centre, and that in all types of
composition where formality is not desired the centre is to be avoided.
Any points equidistant from any two sides are also weak points. The
inequalities in distance should bear a mathematical ratio to each other as
one and two-thirds, two and three-fifths. These points will be strongest
and best adapted for the placement of objects which are distant from the
boundary lines and the corners, _in degrees most varied._
If we take a canvas of ordinary proportion, namely, one whose length is
equal to the hypothenuse on the square of its breadth, as 28×36 or 18×24
and divide it into unequal divisions as three, five or seven, we will
produce points on which good composition will result.
The reason for this is that the remaining two-thirds becomes a unit as has
the one-third. If the larger is given the precedence it carries the
interest; if not it must be sacrificed to the smaller division. On this
principle it may be seen that a figure could occupy a position in the
centre if it tied itself _in a positive_ way to that division which
carried the remainder of the interest thus becoming unobjectionable as an
element dividing the picture into equal parts.
The formula is always productive of excellent results. (See Howard’s
“Sketcher’s Manual.”)
This proportional division of the picture one may find in the best of
Claude Lorraine’s landscapes, with him a favorite method of construction.
It suggests the pillars and span for a suspension trestle. When, as is
invariably seen in Claude’s works the nearest one is in shadow, the vision
is projected from this through the space intervening to the distant and
more attractive one. A feeling of great depth is inseparable from this
arrangement.
BALANCE BY OPPOSITION OF LINE.
A series of oppositional lines has more variety and is therefore more
picturesque than the tangent its equivalent. The simplest definition of
picturesqueness is variety in unity. The lines of the long road in
perspective offer easy conduct for the eye, but it finds a greater
interest in threading its way over a track lost, then found, lost and
found again. In time we as surely arrive from _a_ to _z_ by one route as
by the other, but in one the journey has had the greater interest.
Imagine a hillside and sky offered as a picture. The hillside is without
detail, the sky a blank. The first item introduced attracts the eye, the
second and third are joined with the first. If they parallel the line of
the hillside they do nothing toward the development of the picture but
rather harm by introducing an element of monotony. If, however, they are
so placed in sky and land as to accomplish opposition to this line they
help to send the eye on its travels.
No better example of this principle can be cited than Mr. Alfred
Steiglitz’s pictorial photograph of two Dutch women on the shore. The
lines of ropes through the foreground connect with others in the middle
distance leading tangentially to the house beyond.
To one who fences or has used the broad sword a feeling for oppositional
line should come as second nature. A long sweeping stroke must be parried
or opposed frankly; the _riposte_ must also be parried. A bout is a
picturesque composition of two men and two minds in which unity of the
whole and of the parts is preserved by the balance of opposed measures.
The analogy is appropriate. The artist stands off brush in hand and fights
his subject to a finish, the force of one stroke neutralizing and parrying
another. This is as true of linear as color composition, where the scheme
is one producing harmony by opposition of colors.
[]
[Indian and Horse--Photo A.C. Bode (Oppposition of Light and Dark
Measures); The Cabaret--L. L’hermitte (Opposition Plus Transition)]
In the photograph of the _Indian and horse_ we have a subject full of fine
quality. The demonstration occurs in the sky at just the right place to
serve as a balance for the heavy measures of the foreground and the
interest is drawn back into the picture and to the upper left hand corner
by the two cloud forms, over which is sharply thrown a barricade of cloud
which turns the vision back into the picture. The simplicity of the three
broad tones is appropriate to the sentiment of vastness which the picture
contains. The figure seated in revery before this expanse supplies the
mental element to the subject, the antithesis of which is the interest of
the horse, earthward. Each one has his way, and in the choice by each is
the definition of man and brute, a separation which the pose of each
figure indicates through physical disunion. The space between them widens
upon the horizon line. To establish the necessary pictorial connection or
at least a hint of it suggests three devices. A lariat in a curving line
might be slightly indicated through the grass: the foreground might be cut
so as to limit the range toward us; or a broken line may be constructed
diagonally from the horse’s left foot by a few accents in the light of the
stubble. In the first, the union is effected by transition of line; in
the last by opposition of the spot of the figure to the line of the
horse’s shoulder and leg extended by a line through the grass.
With the coalition of these two figures there would no longer be felt a
procession of three items in a straight perspective line: the horse, the
man, and the distant river. Instead it would be the horse and owner over
against the notion of prairie, river, and sky.
BALANCE BY OPPOSITION OF SPOTS.
Spots or accents are in the majority of cases equivalent to a line. The
eye follows the line more easily, but the spot is a potent force of
attraction and we take the artist’s hint in his use of it, often finding
that its subtlety is worth more than the line’s strength. In the case of
a simple hillside back-stopped by a dense mass of trees, a flat and an
upright plane are presented, but until the vision is carried into and
beyond the line of juncture the opposition of mere planes accomplishes
little, the only thing thus established being a strong effect of light and
shade and not until the eye is coaxed into the sky so that there be
established a union between the pathway or other object on the hill and
the distance, will balance by transition be effected.
This is one of the subtlest and most necessary principles in landscape
composition. The illustration herewith is of the simplest nature but the
principle may be expanded indefinitely as it has to do both with lateral
and perspective balance.
In the _“__Death of Cæsar,__”_ the perspective line of the statues and the
opposite curve in the floor are continued through the opposing mass of
columns and wall to the court beyond, a positive control of the distance
by the foreground, being thus secured.
TRANSITION OF LINE.
More effective than opposition, as the cross bar is more effective for
strength than the bar supported on only one side, is _Transition,_ or the
same item _carried across,_ or _delivered to_ another item which shall
cross a line or space.
In the group of peasants in the _Cabaret_ note the use of lines of
opposition and transition, in the single figures and when taken in twos.
The laborer (with shovel) in his upper and lower extremities exhibits a
large cross which becomes larger when we add the table on which his
extended arm rests and the figure standing behind him. The ascent of this
vertical is stopped by the line of the mantel and then continued by the
plate and picture. So in minor parts of this group one may think out the
rugged energy of its composition, nor anywhere discover a single curved or
flowing line. Nor does it require an experienced eye to note the
pyramidal structure of the various parts. In the action of the heads and
bodies of the two central figures is another strong example of
oppositional arrangement. The heavily braced table is typical of the
whole.
[Along the Shore--Photo by George Butler (Transitional line);
Pathless--Photo by A. Horsely Hinton (Transitional Line)]
In landscape the transitional line from land into sky is often impossible
and objectionable. The sentiment of the subject may deny any attempt at
this union. Here the principle only, should be hinted at. In the case of
a sunset sky where the clouds float as parallel bars above the horizon and
thus show the character of a quiet and windless closing of day, a
transitional line such as a tree, mast or spire may be unavailable.
Oppositional spots or lines attracting the vision into the land and thus
diverting it from the horizontals are the only _recourse_. In the shore
view the sun’s rays create a series of lines which admirably unite with
the curve of the wagon tracks. The union of sky and land is thus effected
and meanwhile the subject proper has its ruggedness associated with the
graceful compass of these elements.
In fact transitional line is so powerful that unless it contains a part of
the subject it should seldom be used.
In the _“__Annunciation__”_ by Botticelli the introduction of a long
perspective line beyond the figures, continuing the lines of the
foreground, railroads the vision right through the subject, carrying it
out of the picture. If the attention is pinned perforce on the subject,
one feels the interruption and annoyance of this unnecessary landscape.
The whole Italian school of the Renaissance weakened the force of its
portraits and figure pictures by these elaborate settings which they
seemed helpless to govern. In Velasquez we frequently find the
simplification of background which saves the entire interest for the
subject; but even he in his “Spinners” and to a lesser degree in some
other compositions, makes the same error. In the greatest of Rembrandt’s
portrait groups, “The Syndics,” his problem involved the placement of six
figures. Four are seated at the far side of a table looking toward us,
the fifth, on the near side, rises and looks toward us. His head, higher
than those of the row of four, breaks this line of formality; but the
depth and perspective of the picture is not secured until the figure
standing in the background is added. This produces from the foreground
figure, through one of the seated figures, the transitional line which
pulls the composition forward and backward and makes a circular
composition of what was commenced upon a line sweeping across the entire
canvas.
The hillside entitled “Pathless,” by Horsley Hinton is a subject easily
passed in nature as ordinary, which has been however unified and made
available through the understanding of this principle. So much of an
artist is its author that I can see him down on his knees cutting out the
mass of blackberry stems so that the two or three required in the
foreground should strike as lines across the demi-dark of the lower middle
space. The line of the hill had cut this off from the foreground and
these attractive lines are as cords tying it on. From the light rock in
the lower centre the eye zigzags up to the line of hillside, cutting the
picture from one side to the other. Fortunately nature had supplied a
remedy here in the trees which divert this line. But this is insisted on
in the parallelism of the distant mountains. The artist, however, has the
last word. He has created a powerful diversion in the sky, bringing down
strong lines of light and a sense of illumination over the hill and into
the foreground. The subject, unpromising in its original lines, has thus
been redeemed. This sort of work is in advance of the public, but should
find its reward with the elect.
BALANCE BY GRADATION
Gradation will be mentioned in another connection but as a force in
balance it must be noticed here. It matters not whither the tone grades,
from light to dark or the reverse, the eye will be drawn to it very
powerfully because it suggests motion. Gradation is the perspective of
shade; and perspective we recognize as one of the dynamic forces in art.
When the vision is delivered over to a space which contains no detail and
nought but gradation, the original impulse of the line is continued.
[Hillside (Graded Light Upon Surfaces; Cloud Shadows); River Fog (Light
Graded by Atmospheric Density); The Chant (Gradation through Values of
Separated Objects)]
Gradation, as an agent of light, exhibits its loveliest effect and becomes
one of the most interesting and useful elements of picture construction.
As a force in balance it may frequently replace detail when added items
are unnecessary. In “Her Last Moorings” the heavy timbers, black and
positive in the right foreground, attract the eye and divide the interest.
The diversion from the hulk to the sky is easy and direct and forms the
natural axis. A substitution for the foreground item is a simple
gradation, balancing a like gradation in the sky.
The measure of light and dark when mixed is tonically the same as the gray
of the gradation—but its attraction is weakened.
BALANCE OF PRINCIPALITY OR ISOLATION
These qualities are not synonymous but so nearly so that they are
mentioned together. In discussing the principle of the steelyard it was
stated that a small item could balance a very large one whose position in
point of balance was closer to the fulcrum, but to this point must be
added the increase of weight and importance which isolation gives. These
considerations need not be mystifying.
In the charge to Peter, “Feed my sheep,” Raphael has produced something
quite at variance with his ordinary plan of construction. Christ occupies
one side of the canvas, the disciples following along the foreplane toward
him.
Here is an isolated figure the equivalent of a group.
The sleeping senator of Gerome’s _picture_ effects a like purpose among
the empty benches and pillars. The main group is placed near the centre,
the small item at the extreme edge. Even Cæsar in the foreground—covered
by drapery and in half shadow—is less potent as an item of balance, than
this separate figure.
BALANCE OF CUBICAL SPACE.
Finally the notion that the picture is a representation of depth as well
as length and height develops the idea of balance in the chain of items
from foreground to distance. A pivotal space then will be found, a
neutral ground in the farther stretch from which may be created so much
attraction as to upend the foreground, or in the nether reach toward us
there may be such attraction as to leave the distance without its weight
in the convention of parts. The group with insufficient attraction back
of it topples toward us, to be sustained within the harmonious circuit of
the picture only by such items of attraction behind it as will recover a
balance which their absence gave proof of. This is a more subtle but none
the less potent influence than the vertical and lateral balance and may
best be apprehended negatively. The “aggressiveness” of many foreground
items which are in themselves essential as form and correct in value is
caused by the lack of their balancing complements in the back planes of
the picture.
Balance is not of necessity dependent upon objects of attraction. Its
essence lies in the movement from one part of the picture to another,
which the arrangement compels, and this may often be stimulated by the
intention or suggestion of motion in a given direction.