subject. In this case the picture would be reversed; that is, the
struggling figures would be in the foreground, and the Moses behind. I
proceed always in the same manner. I make a very rough indication of my
two figures, an indication which need not define either arms, bodies, or
legs, but which gives me an approximate idea of the size and general
shape of the group. This being done, it remains to place the Moses. It
is clear I must not put him very far off, or his action and expression
would be lost. On the other hand, I must not place him very near, or the
interest would be equally divided between him and the other figures.
I might perhaps, by merely introducing his head with a pair of angry
eyes glaring at the Egyptian, do something which would be original and
telling; and in this case, with the head only seen, he might be quite
close to the struggling group. All these different versions of the
subject should be carefully considered before I finally adopt any one of
them; but when once I have made my choice, I ought to stick to it. There
will be plenty of modifications to carry out in the individual action of
the figures without again disturbing the general arrangement of the
picture.
Another of my old illustrations of the reasoning an artist ought to
bring to bear on his subject, was “The Return of a Crusader.” Now here
the first question which suggests itself is: Where shall we place our
returning warrior? On the road, catching a first glimpse of his home? on
his threshold? or fairly inside his house and surrounded by his family?
Something may be said in favor of all three readings, but if we place
him at a distance on the road he will be alone, or at best accompanied
only by a retainer or two, and we shall lose the best and most pathetic
element in the subject.
If we place him inside the house and surrounded by his family, we shall
certainly avoid the objection to the first treatment, but I think that
the best moment to choose is when he has just crossed his threshold,
with the open door behind him.
Admitting that we place him here, our first and most obvious idea would
be to make him the centre of a group, his wife clinging to his neck, his
children to his legs, his old dog licking his hand, and the ancient
retainer blubbering for joy in a corner. On second thoughts, however, it
might strike us that this treatment would be a little theatrical; it
would savor too much of the _tableau vivant_. Could not something more
true to nature (and therefore better) be devised?
Let us remember that our crusader has not been away for merely a month
or two on a foraging expedition; he has been away for years. The boy he
left has become a young man; the infant a young girl, and she, of course
does not remember him at all. Time and the sun of Palestine have also
changed _him_ greatly; his ruddy British complexion has vanished, his
hair is grizzled, his polished armor is rusty, and hardly holds
together.
Then again his arrival is totally unexpected. He has not (as a more
modern warrior would have done) telegraphed to his wife to expect him by
the next train. All these causes tend to make it probable that on
presenting himself on his own threshold, there would be a short period
of uncertainty, of suspense, and of hope in the air, before he would be
fully recognized. With the daylight at his back, his face would be in
the shade, which would be an additional reason for his wife not rushing
into his arms at once. Her face would, of course, be in the full light,
and ought to express a yearning, eager hope. This expression would be
difficult to depict, but all emotional expressions which are not
downright sensational _are_ difficult.
It is very likely that in this, as in the other example I have given
you, I might, when I came to the actual execution of the picture, adopt
a different moment of time and a different treatment to the one which at
present seems best to me.
My object in giving you these illustrations is not so much to recommend
this or that particular mode of treatment, as to show you how you ought
to examine a subject from every point of view before committing
yourselves to one particular reading.
In the prize for design which is associated with my name, I purposely
gave a whole day (or one third of the time allowed) for the competitors
to examine the subject in all its aspects, so as not to commit
themselves hurriedly to a treatment of which they might repent when it
was too late. For finished pictures, taking three months to paint, one
third of the time would be too large a proportion to spend in making up
one’s mind about the general arrangement; but even in this case I think
that more time might often be advantageously devoted to the design and
less to the execution than is generally done.
I cannot refer to these sketches without expressing my great
satisfaction at the progress made within a very few years. Some of you
probably recollect the first competition, and will doubtless agree with
me that not only are the prize sketches greatly superior to those of the
first year or two, but the general average is also very much higher.
Now I don’t suppose that (taking the average) you are a much cleverer
set of students than your predecessors of six years ago, and therefore
the marked improvement of which I have been speaking is due entirely to
your attention having been drawn to the very important, and I may add
attractive, study of composition.
Although a great advocate for this study, I cannot say I approve of
sketching clubs as usually constituted. Experienced painters may perhaps
join them with impunity; their evening’s contribution is always a faint
echo of something they have done fifty times before, but no good can
come of any young artist cudgelling his brains to produce something
original in two hours.
I don’t think a professor of music would approve of his pupils meeting
once a fortnight to improvise something on a given subject.
The result would be a farrago of stolen melodies and borrowed passages
which could not lead to any good. He who had the best memory and the
cleverest execution would carry off the honors of the evening.
The original genius, if there happened to be one present, would be
nowhere.
The same kind of thing would happen in a sketching club; the thoughtful
and fastidious members would become discouraged, and perhaps give up
composition altogether.
I think that friendly artistic gatherings are not only very enjoyable
but very useful. A man who systematically keeps aloof from all his
colleagues, generally deteriorates; but the object of these gatherings
should be the interchange of ideas, and not the production of crude,
hasty sketches.
An historical or figure painter ought, in addition to his knowledge of
the human frame, to study the connection between mind and expression,
and to steer a middle course between the facial monotony of Giotto,
Orcagna, and the early masters, and the grotesque grimacing of the
Mantegna school. The works of Lebrun and Lavater on facial expression
are ridiculous and useless; indeed, nature is the only book we ought to
consult if we wish truly to depict the effects of anger, fear, love, and
all the other human passions. Instead, therefore, of extending my
observations in this direction, I will return to the proper object of my
lecture and give you a few more hints about the arrangement of a
picture.
Many artists, in designing historical or what I call historical incident
pictures, prefer oblique to parallel perspective. There are reasons for
and against this practice, and I am far from condemning oblique
perspective in every case; but I think that, speaking generally, the
simpler method is preferable. Oblique perspective has the merit of being
more picturesque and less formal; but, on the other hand, it is less
easily understood, and although perfectly correct, often gives a
figure-picture a lop-sided look.
In every picture, the horizon should be either above or below the centre
of the canvas, and not bisect it into two equal portions. This is
evident enough in landscape-painting, but the reasons for observing this
rule in figure-pictures (particularly in those where the scene is the
interior of a room, and no horizon is visible) are not so obvious.
Practically, however, it will almost always be found desirable to place
the horizon considerably below the centre.
Similarly the point of sight (which in parallel perspective would, of
course, coincide with the vanishing point) should not be in the centre
of the picture, unless, indeed, the subject happens to be one of the
severest kind.
It should be nearest to that side of the picture from which the light
comes.
Suppose the figures in a picture to be lighted from the left of the
spectator, and that the picture is hung in its proper light. You would
not stand exactly opposite the centre of the canvas to get a good view.
You would naturally place yourself a little on the side whence the light
comes. Hence it is desirable that the point of sight should also be on
that side.
Where the perspective is parallel, the eye is not at all shocked when
the point of sight is fairly out of the picture.
Indeed, in pictures which represent a small area, the effect is more
agreeable when the lines converge toward a point outside.
In the determination of all these points, as also in settling the height
of your horizon, you must allow yourselves to be guided by the nature of
your subject.
What is right in one case is wrong in another.
In a “Prometheus Bound” you might with great propriety place your
horizon below the picture altogether. Here, quite at the bottom of the
canvas, you see the peaks of high mountains; the real horizon would
therefore be a long distance below.
[Illustration]
It would not be impossible to suggest subjects where the horizon should
be above the picture, but I have probably said enough to show that
exceptional subjects must be exceptionally dealt with.
Beginners (when they have a subject of several figures to paint) will
often find it of great assistance to make a small clay model of the
whole design, and to clothe their little figures with rags of different
shades, until they get an effect which they think will do. The figures
would be mere rough clay sketches, just enough to give an idea of the
proportions and attitudes. The rags should be wetted with clay water,
and then the folds when dry will become quite stiff, so that the figures
can be moved about without disturbing the arrangement of drapery.
This plan is particularly applicable whenever the scene of the picture
is a confined room or cell, with a strong concentrated light.
Over the board on which your little figures are standing, you put an
empty box or packing case, and you cut a hole in the side of the case,
to represent the window. If you find the light on your group too
concentrated, you can enlarge the hole, or cut a small aperture on the
opposite side, so as to diffuse the light. In lamp or fire-lit subjects,
this “maquette” method is most valuable. You admit no daylight into the
box, but you place a small lamp or night-light wherever you wish the
fire to be, and you have nothing to do but to copy the effect.
You must, of course, bore a small spy-hole at the point of sight.
In my early days in Paris, when _pictures_ were painted, and not single
figures for the market, almost every young artist had his little
puppet-show, into which he was continually peeping during the progress
of his work. Some of the pictures thus painted were badly composed, some
were clumsily executed, some were crude in color, but all had a truthful
look about them as far as light and shade were concerned.
The real shadows, the reflected light, and the half-tones were all in
their right places and of the right value.
When a man has been painting pictures for twenty or thirty years, he
knows pretty well what his effect ought to be under certain conditions.
He knows when he may venture to copy the effect of light on the model
before him, and when he must depart from it, but the beginner has no
experience to guide him, and I would strongly recommend him to try the
little clay figures. The whole group of say ten figures could be
modelled in two days. The legs of those which are to be clothed in
flowing drapery need, of course, not be indicated at all, and the
roughest approximation to nature in the attitudes is all that is
necessary, provided effect _only_ is wanted. Of course, if you wish to
study _drapery_ from your small figures, you will have to elaborate them
with greater care, and probably have to make them larger than would be
convenient for the other purpose.
Another advantage of pursuing this method is that it gives a little
practice in modelling, and I think that every figure-painter ought to be
able to give expression to his ideas in clay just as well as on canvas.
There is no necessity for his learning to work out detail in the clay;
he need never model nose, eyes, or mouth, and still less fingers and
toes, but he ought to be able to give proportion and action to a small
clay figure, just as easily as he would sketch with charcoal on a sheet
of paper.
Before I have done with my little clay figures, I think it right to
caution you against relying too implicitly on the effects of light and
shade of your miniature figures. They are intended to serve as aids, but
not as models to be servilely copied. When copied too closely, the
shades are generally too black, and there is an absence of half-tones,
which gives rather a harsh look to the picture.
An ingenious fellow-student of mine improved on the method by rigging up
a light semi-transparent canvas box instead of the wooden one. He cut
the usual opening to admit the light, and the canvas sides of the box
let in just daylight enough to take away all unnatural blackness from
the shadows. It may be asked: Why have a box at all? Why not model the
little figures, clothe them, and put them on your studio table? In the
first place, the light you require for your picture may be dissimilar to
the light of your studio; and, secondly, one of the principal advantages
of the box system is that the sides of the box represent the sides of
the hall or room of the picture, so that you see at a glance how the
shadows of the groups are cast, you see which portions of the figures
stand out dark, and which light, against the background. In short, you
get a much more complete idea of what you propose painting than you
could possibly manage in any other way.
For out-of-door subjects, where the light ought to be generally
diffused, this method is altogether inapplicable, but for any prison,
catacomb, or cloister scene, it will be found extremely useful.
In a composition of several figures, you will, after arranging your
groups, often find large portions of the ground or floor space
unoccupied. Don’t be in a hurry to fill up these spaces with unmeaning
accessories. They are sometimes most valuable, as giving rest to the
eye, and ought often to be preserved. At any rate, they ought never to
be filled up promiscuously with objects which do not assist in telling
the story.
I remember when I was a student we had a stopgap always ready in the
shape of a pot of some sort or other. If Joseph was being sold by his
brethren, and there was an awkward corner in the foreground, we would
put in a water-pot. The Egyptian merchants who bought him would be sure
to carry large pots with them. If Æneas was escaping from Troy with his
father on his back, there would certainly be a large amphora in the
corner, supposed to be too heavy for him to carry. The captive Jews
could not wail by the waters of Babylon without a whole set of pots
occupying the nooks and corners of the composition.
Now, an Oriental water-jar or an Etruscan vase may be beautiful objects
and nice things to paint, but this is no reason why they should be
invariably used as stop-gaps. In a subject like Hagar in the desert, the
empty water-bottle is an essential element in the story; or again, in
Rebecca at the well, you may paint pots to your heart’s content, but in
subjects where they are out of place it is best to refrain if you
possibly can. All stop-gaps are very objectionable; and if I mention
this particular kind, it is because it is the one usually resorted to. I
do not by any means wish to imply that you are to leave a disagreeable
vacant corner unoccupied, but whatever you put in it, whether it be some
cast-off cloak, fruit, or flowers, dog or cat, or even the irrepressible
jar, it ought not to look as if it had been purposely put there to fill
up a hole. Doubtless it _would_ be put there with that intention, but
the artifice ought not to be readily detected.
My main object to-night has been to impress upon you that in designing
figure-subjects you are not to take the first commonplace ideas which
may occur to you, but to reason your subject out, and select whatever
treatment you think most telling.
By so doing, you are on the only true high-road to originality.
There is a kind of originality, or rather eccentricity, which may be
easily enough attained by ignoring the natural laws of action, of light,
and of color; but I am speaking of originality united with excellence.
This, I am convinced, is seldom (if ever) attained by sitting idle and
waiting for some happy thought to turn up. You must use your brains
constantly, from the first charcoal sketch down to the finishing-touches
on the Exhibition walls.
Before closing this course of lectures, I should wish to disclaim any
desire of imposing my individual opinions upon any of you. Like every
one who has thought a good deal about painting and painters, I have
formed my own ideas, and have, I think, expressed them pretty freely;
but it would be quite contrary to my theory of free thought in art that
you should accept as proven all the opinions I have expressed. Art (as I
have already observed) is not a science. I cannot take up the white
chalk and prove to you by _x_ + _y_ that my views are right and all
others wrong. What would become of our friends the critics, if this
could be done?
But although all assertions on art must be mere expressions of
individual opinion, it appears to me that the professor of such a
many-sided art as painting is better employed in giving his honest
convictions (whether they coincide or not with the prevalent opinion of
the day) than in prudently confining himself to dry history or hazy
æsthetics.
THE END.
* * * * *
_PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS._
=Method of Learning to Draw from Memory.= By MADAME E. CAVE. From 4th
Parisian Edition, 12mo, cloth 1 00
⁂ “This is the only method of drawing which really teaches
anything. Mme. Cave * * * renders invaluable service to all who
have marked out for themselves a career of Art.”--_Extract from a
long review in the “Revue des Deux Mondes,” written by_ DELACROIX.
“It is interesting and valuable.”--D. HUNTINGTON, _Pres. Nat.
Acad._
“Should be used by every teacher of drawing in America.”--_City
Item, Phila._
“We wish that Madame Cave had published this work half a century
ago, that we might have been instructed in this enviable
accomplishment.”--_Harper’s Mag._
=Method of Teaching Color.= By MADAME CAVE. 12mo, cloth 1 00
⁂ This work was referred by the French Minister of Public
Instruction to a commission of ten eminent artists and officials,
whose report, written by M. DELACROIX, was unanimously adopted,
indorsing and approving the work. The Minister thereupon, by a
special decree, authorized the use of it in the French normal
schools.
“I cannot too highly commend these volumes. They are a perfect
god-send to all students.”--ANNIE J. KIRK, _Chicago_.
=Methode Cave=, _pour apprendre a dessiner_ juste de mémoire d’aprés
les principes D’ALBERT DURER et de LEONARDO DA VINCI. Approved by
the Minister of Public Instruction, and by Messrs. Delacroix, H.
Verbet, etc. In eight series, folio, paper covers. Price $2 25
each. Shaded Models for more advanced students from 75 cents to $3
00 per plate.
N. B.--The Crayons, Paper, and other articles mentioned in the Cave
Method may be obtained of any dealer in Artists’ Materials.
=Linear Perspective.= By HENRY HODGE, of the Winchester School. 4to,
boards 75
“I find this work excellently suited to my needs.”--A. COLIN,
_Scientific Training School, New York_.
=Pottery: How it is Made, Its Shape and Decoration.= By GEORGE WARD
NICHOLS. Practical instructions for Painting on Porcelain and all
kinds of Pottery, with vitrifiable and common oil color; with a
full bibliography of standard works upon the Ceramic Art, and 42
illustrations. 12mo, boards 1 25
“Attractive, practical and suggestive. * * * We commend it most
heartily to all who take any interest in the subject of
Pottery.”--_Boston Traveller._
=Perspective.= The Theory and Practice of Linear Perspective, applied
to Landscapes, Interiors, and the Figure, for the use of Artists,
Art-Students, etc. By V. PELLEGRIN, M.S.A., Professor at the
Military School of St. Cyr. 12mo, with chart 1 00
“I can say nothing but good of this little book.”--Prof. F. L.
VINTON, _School of Mines, Columbia College_.
“Comprehensive, and contains all that the student
requires.”--VIRGINIA GRANBERY, _Prof. of Drawing, Packer Institute,
Brooklyn_.
“The most practical work on the subject I have seen.”--M. MORSE,
_Prof. of Drawing, New York_.
“Thoroughly scientific and thoroughly practical.”--SUSAN V. CARTER,
_Prin. School of Design, Cooper Union, New York_.
=Conversations on Art Methods.= By THOMAS COUTURE. Translated from
the French, by S. E. STEWART. With an introduction by ROBERT SWAIN
GIFFORD. 1 25
“Mr. Couture was not only an artist, but the sharpest literary
critic of his day. It is safe to say that no volume of the size
contains so much of value for the artist-student as this handsome
little volume, so admirably translated by Mr. Stewart.”--_Chicago
Inter-Ocean._
“A most readable and entertaining work.”--_Commonwealth._
“Couture talks with charming freedom on all subjects--on the
critic, on woman, on the recent school of art, on the great old
masters, on the divine art. It is all delightful.”--_Hartford
Courant._
“The simple way in which the book is written gives a pleasure to
its perusal, which the translation has well succeeded in
preserving.”--_Art Interchange._
“The work is thoroughly fascinating, and will be warmly welcomed
and eagerly read by all.”--_Boston Transcript._
“The book itself is of rare value. The faithful, spirited
translation is in such good English that it might be taken for an
original work.”--_Newport Daily News._
“It is amusing to the general reader, and it is of great practical
value to the art student. M. Couture’s manner is conversational and
familiar, so that when, as he often must, he deals with the
technicalities of his subject, he is never dry or
obscure.”--_Worcester Spy._
“Very curious and suggestive are Couture’s ideas about the old
masters and the modern French painters. The great point in all his
book is to impress on artists that they should dare, above all
things, to be themselves.”--_New York Times._
“A volume so characteristic, so entirely stamped with the
individuality of the writer, that those who know him recognize his
peculiar expressions, his eccentricities of manner, and almost seem
to see his familiar gestures through its pages. * * * It should be
in the hands of every student, and many besides artists will find a
charm and a pleasure in reading it. It will take an important place
in art literature.”--_Catholic World._
“We heartily recommend the book to all who are seeking to cultivate
their artistic perceptions, whether as practical artists or
connoisseurs.”--_Christian Union._
“Artists cannot fail to derive many valuable suggestions from this
work, even though they do not agree with some of the radical ideas
of the author, and to all who are interested in art it will prove
of much interest.”--_Boston Post._
“M. Couture has laid bare, in these ‘Conversations,’ the whole
theory and practice of painting. The philosophy of the delightful
art is made clear, and the application of obvious principles is so
precisely defined that the student can be at no loss to comprehend
the groundwork of his art.”--_New Orleans Picayune._