A painter must study his picture in every degree of light; it is all
little enough. You know, I suppose, that this period of the day between
daylight and darkness is called "the painter's hour"? There is, however,
this inconvenience attending it, which allowance must be made for--the
reds look darker than by day, indeed almost black, and the light blues
turn white, or nearly so. This low, fading light also suggests many
useful hints as to arrangement, from the circumstance of the dashings of
the brush in a picture but newly commenced, suggesting forms that were
not originally intended, but which often prove much finer ones. Ah,
sometimes I see something very beautiful in these forms; but then I have
such coaxing to do to get it fixed!--for when I draw near the canvas
the vision is gone, and I have to go back and creep up to it again and
again, and, at last, to hold my brush at the utmost length of my arm
before I can fix it, so that I can avail myself of it the next day. The
way to paint a really fine picture is first to paint it in the mind, to
imagine it as strongly and distinctly as possible, and then to sketch it
while the impression is strong and vivid.
[Illustration: _Puvis de Chavannes_ HOPE]
I have frequently shut myself up in a dark room for hours, or even days,
when I have been endeavouring to imagine a scene I was about to paint,
and have never stirred till I had got it clear in my mind; then I have
sketched it as quickly as I could, before the impression has left me.
_Northcote._