The entrance into a picture and obstacles thereto, as applied to
landscape, has already been considered, from which it is evident that
wisdom renders this as easy as possible for the vision, not only
negatively, but through positive means as well. An obstruction through
which penetration must be forced, diverting the attention, is like the
person who claims us when we are trying to listen to someone else.
When in nature we observe a scene that naturally fits a frame and we find
ourselves gazing first at one object and then at another and _returning
again to the first,_ we may be sure it will make a picture.
But when we are tempted to turn, in the inspection of the whole horizon
(though this be circular observation), it proves we have not found a
picture. Our picture, on canvas, must fit an arc of sixty degrees. The
other thing is a panorama. The principle is contained in the illustration
of the _athletes._ This picture has the fascination of a continuous
performance and so in degree should every picture have.
In the foreground, or figure subject the same principles apply. The main
point is to capture the observer’s interest with the theme, _which to his
mental processes shall unfold according to the artist’s plan._ With
twenty objects to present, which one on the chessboard of your picture
shall take precedence and which shall stand next in importance, and which
shall have a limited influence, and which, like the pawns, shall serve as
little more than the added thoughts in the game?
[Circular Observation--The Principle; The Slaying of the Unpropitious
Messengers (Triangular Composition--Circular Observation)]
In “The Slaying of the Unpropitious Messengers,” a picture of great power
and truly sublime in the simplicity of its dramatic expression, the vision
falls without hesitation on the figure of Pharaoh, easily passing over the
three prostrate forms in the immediate foreground. These might have
diverted the attention and weakened the subject had not they been
skillfully played for second place. Their backs have been turned, their
faces covered, and, though three to one, the single figure reigns supreme.
Note how they are made to guide the eye toward him and into the picture
and discover in the other lines of the picture an intention toward the
same end, the staircase, the river, the mountain, the angular contour of
the portico behind tying with the nearer roof projection and making a
broken stairway from the left-hand upper corner. See, again, the lines of
the canopy composing a special frame for the master figure.
Suppose a reconstruction of this composition. Behold the slain messengers
shaken into less recumbent and more tragic attitudes, arranged along the
foreplane of the picture; let all the leading lines be reversed; make them
antagonistic to the principles upon which the picture was constructed.
The subject indeed will have been preserved and the story illustrated, but
the following points will be lost and nothing gained: A central dominating
point of interest; the disparity between monarch and slave; the sentiment
of repose and quietude suggested by a starlit night and the coordination
of recumbent lines; the pathos of the lonely vigil, with the gaze of the
single figure strained and fixed upon, the distant horizon whence he may
expect the remnants of his shattered army.
The artist’s first conception of this subject was doubtless that of a
pyramid; the head of Pharaoh is the apex and the slaves the base and side
lines. The other lines were arranged in part to draw away from this
apparent and very common form of composition. One has but to look through
a list of notable pictures to find evidence of the very frequent use of
these concentric lines drawing the vision from the lower corners of the
picture to an apex of the pyramid.
Now, herein lies the analogy between the simplest form of landscape
construction and the foreground or figure subject. The framework of both
is the pyramid, or what is termed _the structure of physical stability._
In the landscape the pyramid lies on its side, the apex receding. It is
the custom of some figure painters to construct entirely in pyramids, the
smaller items of the picture resolving themselves into minor pyramids. In
the single figure picture—the portrait, standing or sitting—the pyramidal
form annihilates the spaces on either side of the figure, which,
paralleling both the sides and the frame, would leave long quadrilaterals
in place of diminishing segments.
Whether the pyramid is in perspective or one described on the foreplane of
a picture, the principle is, _leading lines should carry the eye into the
picture or toward the subject,_ a point touched upon in the preceding
chapter.
When reverie begins in a picture, one’s vision involuntarily makes a
circuit of the items presented, starting at the most interesting and
widening in its review toward the circumference, as ring follows ring when
a stone is thrown into water. The items of a picture may arrange
themselves in elliptical form, and the circuit may bend back into the
picture; or the form may be described on a vertical plane, but the circuit
should be there, and if two circuits may be formed the reverie will
continue that much longer. The outer circuit finished, the vision may
return to the centre again. If in a landscape, for instance, the interest
of the sky dominates that of the land, the vision will centre there and
come out through the foreground, and it is important that the eye have
such a course marked out for it, lest, left to itself, it slip away
through the sides, and the continuous chain of reverie be broken.
It is interesting to note in what cycles this great wheel of circular
observation revolves, directing the slow revolution of our gaze.
In one picture it takes us from the corner of the canvas to the extreme
distance and thence in a circuit back; in another it moves on a flat plane
like an ellipse in perspective. Again, first catching the eye in the
centre, it unfolds like a spiral.
Much of a painter’s attention is given to keeping his edges so well
guarded that the vision in its circuit may be kept within the canvas. A
large proportion of the changes which all pictures pass through in process
of construction is stimulated by this consideration—how to stop a wayward
eye from getting too near the edge and escaping from the picture. When
every practical device has been tried, as a last resource the centre may
be strengthened.
In order to settle this point to the student’s satisfaction no better
proof could be suggested than that he paint in black and white a simple
landscape motif, with no attempt to create a focus, with no suppression of
the corners and no circuit of objects—a landscape in which ground and sky
shall equally divide the interest. He may produce a counterfeit of
nature, but the result will rise no higher in the scale of art than a raw
print from the unqualified negative in photography. The art begins _at_
that point, and consists in the production of unity, in the establishment
of a focus, in the subordination of parts by the establishment of a scale
of relative values, and in a continuity of progression from one part to
another. The procedure will be somewhat as follows: Decision as to
whether the sky or ground shall have right of way; the production of a
centre and a suppression of contiguous parts; the feeling after lines
which shall convey the eye away from the focal centre and lead it through
the picture, a groping for an item, an accent, or something that shall
attract the eye away from the corner or side of the picture, where, in
following the leading lines, it may have been brought, and back toward the
focus again. Here then, will have been described the circuit of which we
speak. In the suppression of the corners the same instinct for the
elliptical line has been followed, for the composition, by avoiding them,
describes itself within the inner space.
[Huntsman and Hounds (Triangle with Circular Attraction); Portrait of Van
der Geest--Van Dyck (A sphere within a Circle)]
A composition in an oval or circle is much more easily realized than one
occupying a rectangular space, as the vexing item of the corners has been
disposed of, and the reason why these shapes are not popularly used is
that hanging committees cannot dispose of them with other pictures. The
attempt in the majority of compositions, however, is to fit the picture
proper to the fluent lines of the circle or oval. In “Huntsman and
Hounds,” a picture which is introduced because the writer is able to speak
of points in its construction which these principles necessitated, the
pyramidal form of composition is apparent, and around this a circuit is
described by the hand, arm, crop, spot on dog’s side, elbow of dog’s
foreleg, line of light on the other dog’s breast, the light on table and
chair in background—all being points which catch the eye and keep it
moving in a circuit. In the first arrangement of this composition a
buffet occupied the space given to the indication of chair and table.
This did not assist sufficiently in diverting the awkward line from the
left shoulder, down the arm, into the dog’s head and out of the picture.
Judgment here lay between filling the space with the dog’s head, which
would have separated it too far from the man, or striving to divert it as
noted. The space between this line and the side of the canvas was _the_
difficult space of the picture. There is always a rebellious member in
every picture, which continues unruly throughout its whole construction,
and this one did not settle itself until several arrangements of the part
were tried. In order to divert the precipitate line a persistence of
horizontals was necessary—the table, the chair and the shadow on the
floor. The shadows and the picture on the wall block the top and sides,
and the shadow from the fender indicated along the lower edge complete the
circuit and weaken the succession of verticals in the legs of dog and man.
CIRCULAR COMPOSITION
Circular observation in pictures whose structure was apparently not
circular leads to the consideration of _circular composition,_ or that
class of pictures where the evident intention is to compose under the
influence of circular observation—where the circle expresses the first
thought in the composition.
This introduces us to the widest reaches of pictorial art, for in this
category lie the greatest of the world’s pictures. Slight analysis is
necessary to discover this arrangement in the majority of the strongest
compositions which we encounter. In the Metropolitan and Lenox Galleries
of New York, the following pictures may be looked at for this form of
structure, showing the circle either in the vertical plane or in
perspective. Auguste Bonheur’s large cattle-piece, Inness’ “Autumn Oaks,”
Corot’s “Ville d’Avray,” Knaus’ “Madonna,” Cabanel’s kneeling female
figure, Koybet’s “Card Players,” “Jean d’Arc,” by Bastian Lepage; “The
Baloon,” by Julian Dupré; Wylie’s “Death of the Vendean Chief,” Leutze’s
“Crossing of the Delaware,” Meissonier’s “1807,” the three pictures of
Turner, “Milton Dictating to His Daughters,” by Munkacsy, and Knaus’ “Bow
at a Peasants’ Ball.” This list contains the most important works of
these collections, and others might easily be added.
The head by Van Dyck carries with it the repose which belongs to _the
completeness of the circle._
Like Saturn and his ring, this sphere within the circle is typical of
harmony in _unity,_ and for this reason, though detached as we know it to
be, it has a greater completeness than though joined to a body. It is on
this general principle that all circular compositions are based—absorption
of the attention _within the circuit._
[Marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne--Tintoretto (Circle and Radius);
Endymion--Watts (The Circle--Vertical Plane)]
In Tintoretto’s “Marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne,” the floating figure
offers us a shock not quite relieved when we recall the epoch of its
production or concede the customary license to mythology. At a period in
art when angels were employed through a composition as a stage manager
would scatter supernumeraries—to fill gaps or create masses—in any posture
which the conditions of the picture demanded, it is not strange that the
artist conceived this figure suspended from above in an arc of a circle,
if in these lines it served his purpose. In this shape it completes a
circuit in the figures, fills the space which would otherwise open a wide
escape for the vision, and, by the union of the three heads, joins the
figures in the centre of the canvas, completing, with the legs of Ariadne,
five radial lines from this focus.
To the mind of a sixteenth century artist, these reasons were more
convincing than the objection to painting a hundred and forty pounds of
recumbent flesh and blood, with the support unseen. To the modern artist
such a conception would be well-nigh impossible, though Mr. Watts gives us
much the same action. Here, however, the movement of the draperies
supplies motion to the figure of Selene, and as a momentary action we know
it to be possible. Were the interpretation of motion by hair and drapery
impossible, and the impression, as in the Tintoretto, that of the
suspended nude model, it would be safe to say that no modern painter would
have employed such a figure. This touch of realism, even among the
transcendental painters, denotes the clean-cut separations between the
modern and mediaeval art sense.
While these two examples show the “vortex” arrangement with fluent
outlines, the _portrait_(10) by Mr. Whistler expresses the same principles
in an outline almost rectangular, but is to be placed in the same category
as the other two. The chair-back, the curtain, the framed etching, are
all formally placed with respect to the edges of the canvas, and as we
observe them in their order, we return in a circuit to the head.
The circle in composition is discoverable in many pictures where there is
no direct evidence that the intention was to compose thus, but wherein
analysis on these lines proves that, led by unity, balance and repose
(cardinal beacon-lights to the mind artistic), the painter naturally did
it.
It is of interest to review this picture through its simple evolution.
The head conceived in its pose, the next line of interest is one from neck
to feet. This, besides being the edge of the black mass of the body, is
the more apparent against the light gray wall and as a line is attractive
in forming Hogarth’s “Line of Beauty.” But beautiful as it may be, it
commits an unlovely act in cutting a picture diagonally, almost from
corner to corner. Interruption of this is effected by the hands and
increased by the handkerchief. Shortly below the knee this is diverted by
the base-board and at the bottom squarely stopped by the solid rectangle
of the stool.
Suppose that the picture on the wall were missing; not only would the long
parallelogram of the curtain be unrelieved, but the return of the line to
the subject in the ensemble of the picture would be broken. This,
therefore, becomes the keystone of the composition. Other considerations
besides its diversion from the curtain are, its curtailing of wall space,
and, by its close placement to the curtain, its union therewith as a
balance for head and body—in bulk of light and dark almost identical with
them, though less forcible in tonal value.
In Wiertz’s group about the body of Patroclus, though its contour is more
decidedly circular (and in the use of this term is always meant a line
returning on itself), it fails to prompt circular observation to the same
extent as the foregoing. The eye seesaws back and forth along the lines
of the hammock arrangement of light, and we are conscious of the extreme
balance and the careful parcelling out of the units of force.
With all its evident abandon the method is painfully present, as though
the artist, given so much Greek, was careful to add the same amount of
Trojan. The level and plummet setting of the group exactly within the
sides of the frame, with no suggestion of anything else existing in the
world, puts it into the class of formal decoration, with which old
masterdom abounds, and whence Wiertz received the inspiration for most of
his great compositions.
[The Fight Over the Body of Patroclus--Weirls; 1807--Meissonier; Ville
d’Avray--Corot; The Circle in Perspective]
More studiable is the vortex arrangement of the “1807,” with its
magnificent sweep of cavalry, where the tumultuous energy of one part is
augmented by fine antithesis of repose in another. Meissonier’s
composition was expanded after the first conception was nearly completed.
The visitor at the Metropolitan Museum may discover a horizontal line in
the sky and a vertical one through the right end. This slight ridge in
the canvas shows the dimensions of the original thought. The added space
gave larger opportunity for the maneuvres of the cuirassiers, and set
Napoleon to the left of the exact centre, where, by the importance of his
figure, he more justly serves as a balance for the heavier side of the
picture.
As in the Whistler portrait, the keystone was the picture on the wall, in
this composition the group of mounted guardsmen on the left gives a
circle’s unity to it, helps to join the middle distance with the
foreground, becomes the third point in the triangle, which gives pyramidal
solidity to the composition and is altogether quite as important to the
picture as the right wing to an army.
Corot was wont to rely on Nature’s gift as she bestowed it, merely
allowing his sensitive picture-sense to lead him where pictures were,
rather than upon any artful reconstruction of the facts of nature. His
“Little Music,” as he called it, came for the most part ready-made for
him, and he simply caught it and wrote the score. His art is less
impressive for composite quality, than, for example, that of Mauve, who,
in the same simple range of subject, sought to produce a perfect
composition every time. In the “Lake at Ville d’Avray,” we have one of
Corot’s happiest subjects, though not especially characteristic. A
considerable part of its charm lies in our opportunity to girdle it with
our eye, and in imagination from any point along its rim to view its
circumference as a page from Nature, complete.
RECONSTRUCTION FOR CIRCULAR OBSERVATION.
Circular composition traceable in what has been first conceived as
pyramidal or rectangular, circular composition as the first intention,
expressed either on a vertical plane or in perspective, i.e., circular or
elliptical—and composition _made circular_ not by any arrangement of
parts, but by sacrifice and elimination of edges and corners are the three
forms of composition which produce circular observation. The value of the
circle as a unifying and therefore as a simplifying agent cannot be
overestimated, especially in solving the problems which occur in
composition where the circle has not been a part of the original scheme,
but where, when applied, it seems to bring a relief to confusion and
disorder. In many cases where all essential items are happily arranged,
but, as a whole, refuse to compose, the addition of some element or the
readjustment of a part which will produce circular observation, will
ofttimes prove the solution of the difficulty.
[The Hermit--Gerard Dow (Rectangle in Circle); The Forge of
Vulcan--Boucher (Circular Observation by Suppression of Sides and
Corners)]
Just as progression in a straight line will soon carry us out of the
picture, will circular progression keep us within its bounds. If then,
circular observation affords the best means of appreciation, it follows
that circular composition is the most telling form of presentation. There
are many subjects which naturally do not fall in these lines, but which
may ofttimes be reedited into this class. This reediting means
composition, and two examples from a vast number are here given to show
the working out of the problem. In the “Hermit,” by Dow, the figure, book
and hour glass compose in a simple left angle, but the head becomes the
centre to a circular composition by the presence of the arch above and the
encircling shadow behind and beneath the arm. The corners sacrifice their
space to strengthen the centre and the vision is thus completely funneled
upon the head. In striking contrast to this is the composition by
Boucher. Here are the elements for two or three pictures thrown into one,
and in some respects well governed as a single composition. Conceive,
however, this subject bereft of the darkened corners, and the gradations
which create a focus. The figures would lie upon the canvas somewhat in
the shape of a letter Z, devoid of essential coherence, with the details
in the foreground hopelessly exposed as padding.
Another resort in order to secure a vortex, or a centre bounded by a
circle, is to surround the head or figure with flying drapery, branch
forms, a halo or any linear item which may serve both to cut out and to
hem in. It accomplishes something of what the hand does when held as a
tunnel before the eye. Such a device offers ready aid to the decorator
whose figures must often receive a close encasement, fitted as they are
into limited spaces, when many an ungracious line in the subject is made
to disappear through the accommodation of pliant drapery or of varied tree
forms.
In this class of compositions especially must the background be made the
_complement_ of the subject. What the subject fails to contain may there
be supplied, a sort of auxiliary opportunity.
The subject, or most interesting part, should lie either _within_ the
circuit or be the most important item _of_ the circle. It should never be
_outside_ the circle. If it appears there, the eye is thrown off of the
elliptical track. If the reader will compare the _“__Lake at Ville
d’Avray__”_ by Corot with his “Orpheus and Eurydice,” the charm in the
former may reveal itself more completely through the jar to which the
latter subjects us. The figures of the divine lyrist and his bride
escaping out of one corner of the canvas do not enter at all into the
linear scheme and in their anxiety to flee Hades they are about to leave
art and the spectator. The picture is a strange counterpart of the Apollo
and Daphne of Giorgione at Venice, and since it is known of Corot that he
cared infinitely more for nature than art, it is fair to suppose that he
had never seen this picture either in the original or reproduction. Had
he been governed by the feeling for unity which his works usually display
this pitfall in the borders of plagiarism would not have snared him.
[Orpheus and Eurydice--Corot (Figures outside the natural line of the
picture’s composition); The Holy Family--Andrea del Sarto (The circle
overbalanced)]
The “Holy Family,” by Andrea del Sarto, is a composition in which the good
intention of the artist to make a complete line within the sides of the
canvas seems a matter of greater concern than other principles of
composition, quite as important. The ellipse of the three figures is
beautifully carried out, but it leaves one of them, the most important, in
the least important place. The whole composition sags in this direction,
the weight of Joseph, in half shadow, being insufficient to recover the
balance. With these figures all well drawn and especially adapted in
their contours to the organic lines of composition, several rearrangements
might be made, as well as other arrangements, with any one of the four
figures omitted, its place used for reserved space. No better practice in
linear and mass composition could be suggested than slight modification of
parts by raising or lowering or spacing or by the reconstruction of the
background, of well known pictures in which the composition is confused.
A common mistake in the use of the circular form is that of making it too
apparent. A list of pictures might be made wherein the formal lines of
construction are very much in evidence. Such could be well headed by
Raphael’s “Death of Ananias,” where the formality of the arrangement is on
a par with the strain and effort expressed in every one of its figures.
The curved peristyle of kneeling disciples offers a temptation to push the
end man and await the result on the others, more to witness a
rearrangement than create any further commotion in the infant church. The
fact that this work is decorative rather than pictorial in intention
cannot relieve the representation of an actual occurrence of the charge of
being struck off in an oft-used and well worn mold. Compare with this
Rembrandt’s famous circular composition, “Christ Healing the Sick,”
wherein though the weight on either side of Christ is about evenly
divided, the formality of placement has been most carefully avoided, and
where the impression is merely that the Healer is the centre of a body of
people who surround him.
With the great principle of linear composition in mind, namely, that the
vision travels in the path of least resistance, no rule need be formulated
and no further examples produced to prove that the various items of a
composition are taken at their required value _to the extent to which they
adhere to and partake of the established plan of observation._