They may not be very obvious, and may be hidden under the most broken of
techniques, but they will always be found underlying the planning of any
painting. Some may say that the lines are only the boundaries of the
masses, and others that the masses are only the spaces between the
lines. But whichever way you care to look at it, there are particular
emotional qualities analogous to music that affect us in lines and line
arrangements and also in tone or mass arrangements. And any power a
picture may have to move us will be largely due to the rhythmic
significance of this original planning. These qualities, as has already
been stated, affect us quite apart from any association they may have
with natural things: arrangements of mere geometrical lines are
sufficient to suggest them. But of course other associations connected
with the objects represented will largely augment the impression, when
the line and tone arrangements and the sentiment of the object are in
sympathy. And if they are not, it may happen that associations connected
with the representation will cut in and obscure or entirely destroy this
line and tone music. That is to say, if the line and tone arrangement
in the abstract is expressive of the sublime, and the objects whose
representation they support something ridiculous, say a donkey braying,
the associations aroused by so ridiculous an appearance will override
those connected with the line and tone arrangement. But it is remarkable
how seldom this occurs in nature, the sentiment of the line and tone
arrangements things present being usually in harmony with the sentiment
of the object itself. As a matter of fact, the line effect of a donkey
in repose is much more sublime than when he is braying.
[Sidenote: Unity and Variety.]
There are two qualities that may be allowed to divide the consideration
of this subject, two points of view from which the subject can be
approached: #Unity# and #Variety#, qualities somewhat opposed to each
other, as are harmony and contrast in the realm of colour. Unity is
concerned with the relationship of all the parts to that oneness of
conception that should control every detail of a work of art. All the
more profound qualities, the deeper emotional notes, are on this side of
the subject. On the other hand, variety holds the secrets of charm,
vitality, and the picturesque, it is the "dither," the play between the
larger parts, that makes for life and character. #Without variety there
can be no life#.
In any conception of a perfect unity, like the perfected life of the
Buddhist, Nirvana or Nibbana (literally "dying out" or "extinction" as
of an expiring fire), there is no room for variety, for the play of
life; all such fretfulness ceases, to be replaced by an all-pervading
calm, beautiful, if you like, but lifeless. There is this deadness about
any conception of perfection that will always make it an unattainable
ideal in life. Those who, like the Indian fakir or the hermits of the
Middle Ages, have staked their all on this ideal of perfection, have
found it necessary to suppress life in every way possible, the fakirs
often remaining motionless for long periods at a time, and one of the
mediaeval saints going so far as to live on the top of a high column
where life and movement were well-nigh impossible.
And in art it is the same; all those who have aimed at an absolute
perfection have usually ended in a deadness. The Greeks knew better than
many of their imitators this vital necessity in art. In their most ideal
work there is always that variety that gives character and life. No
formula or canon of proportions or other mechanical device for the
attainment of perfection was allowed by this vital people entirely to
subdue their love of life and variety. And however near they might go
towards a perfect type in their ideal heads and figures, they never went
so far as to kill the individual in the type. It is the lack of this
subtle distinction that, I think, has been the cause of the failure of
so much art founded on so-called Greek ideals. Much Roman sculpture, if
you except their portrait busts, illustrates this. Compared with Greek
work it lacks that subtle variety in the modelling that gives vitality.
The difference can be felt instinctively in the merest fragment of a
broken figure. It is not difficult to tell Greek from Roman fragments,
they pulsate with a life that it is impossible to describe but that one
instinctively feels. And this vitality depends, I think it will be
found, on the greater amount of life-giving variety in the surfaces of
the modelling. In their architectural mouldings, the difference of which
we are speaking can be more easily traced. The vivacity and brilliancy
of a Greek moulding makes a Roman work look heavy and dull. And it will
generally be found that the Romans used the curve of the circle in the
sections of their mouldings, a curve possessing the least amount of
variety, as is explained later, where the Greeks used the lines of conic
sections, curves possessed of the greatest amount of variety.
But while unity must never exist without this life-giving variety,
variety must always be under the moral control of unity, or it will get
out of hand and become extravagant. In fact, the most perfect work, like
the most perfect engine of which we spoke in a former chapter, has the
least amount of variety, as the engine has the least amount of "dither,"
that is compatible with life. One does not hear so much talk in these
days about a perfect type as was the fashion at one time; and certainly
the pursuit of this ideal by a process of selecting the best features
from many models and constructing a figure out of them as an ideal type,
was productive of very dead and lifeless work. No account was taken of
the variety from a common type necessary in the most perfect work, if
life and individual interest are not to be lost, and the thing is not to
become a dead abstraction. But the danger is rather the other way at the
moment. Artists revel in the oddest of individual forms, and the type
idea is flouted on all hands. An anarchy of individualism is upon us,
and the vitality of disordered variety is more fashionable than the calm
beauty of an ordered unity.
Excess of variations from a common type is what I think we recognise as
ugliness in the objective world, whereas beauty is on the side of unity
and conformity to type. Beauty possesses both variety and unity, and is
never extreme, erring rather on the side of unity.
Burke in his essay on "The Sublime and the Beautiful" would seem to use
the word beautiful where we should use the word pretty, placing it at
the opposite pole from the sublime, whereas I think beauty always has
some elements of the sublime in it, while the merely pretty has not.
Mere prettiness is a little difficult to place, it does not come between
either of our extremes, possessing little character or type, variety or
unity. It is perhaps charm without either of these strengthening
associates, and in consequence is always feeble, and the favourite diet
of weak artistic digestions.
The sculpture of ancient Egypt is an instance of great unity in
conception, and the suppression of variety to a point at which life
scarcely exists. The lines of the Egyptian figures are simple and long,
the surfaces smooth and unvaried, no action is allowed to give variety
to the pose, the placing of one foot a little in front of the other
being alone permitted in the standing figures; the arms, when not
hanging straight down the sides, are flexed stiffly at the elbow at
right angles; the heads stare straight before them. The expression of
sublimity is complete, and this was, of course, what was aimed at. But
how cold and terrible is the lack of that play and variety that alone
show life. What a relief it is, at the British Museum, to go into the
Elgin Marble room and be warmed by the noble life pulsating in the Greek
work, after visiting the cold Egyptian rooms.
In what we call a perfect face it is not so much the perfect regularity
of shape and balance in the features that charms us, not the things that
belong to an ideal type, but rather the subtle variations from this
type that are individual to the particular head we are admiring. A
perfect type of head, if such could exist, might excite our wonder, but
would leave us cold. But it can never exist in life; the slightest
movement of the features, which must always accompany life and
expression, will mar it. And the influence of these habitual movements
on the form of the features themselves will invariably mould them into
individual shapes away from the so-called perfect type, whatever may
have been nature's intention in the first instance.
If we call these variations from a common type in the features
imperfections, as it is usual to do, it would seem to be the
imperfections of perfection that charm and stir us; and that perfection
without these so-called imperfections is a cold, dead abstraction,
devoid of life: that unity without variety is lifeless and incapable of
touching us.
On the other hand, variety without unity to govern it is a riotous
exuberance of life, lacking all power and restraint and wasting itself
in a madness of excess.
So that in art a balance has to be struck between these two opposing
qualities. In good work unity is the dominating quality, all the variety
being done in conformity to some large idea of the whole, which is never
lost sight of, even in the smallest detail of the work. Good style in
art has been defined as "variety in unity," and Hogarth's definition of
composition as the art of "varying well" is similar. And I am not sure
that "contrasts in harmony" would not be a suggestive definition of good
colour.
Let us consider first variety and unity as they are related to line
drawing, and afterwards to mass drawing.
XI
RHYTHM: VARIETY OF LINE
Line rhythm or music depends on the shape of your lines, their relation
to each other and their relation to the boundaries of your panel. In all
good work this music of line is in harmony with the subject (the
artistic intention) of your picture or drawing.
The two lines with the least variation are a perfectly straight line and
a circle. A perfectly straight line has obviously no variety at all,
while a circle, by curving at exactly the same ratio all along, has no
variation of curvature, it is of all curves the one with the least
possible variety. These two lines are, therefore, two of the dullest,
and are seldom used in pictures except to enhance the beauty and variety
of others. And even then, subtle variations, some amount of play, is
introduced to relieve their baldness. But used in this way, vertical and
horizontal lines are of the utmost value in rectangular pictures,
uniting the composition to its bounding lines by their parallel
relationship with them. And further, as a contrast to the richness and
beauty of curves they are of great value, and are constantly used for
this purpose. The group of mouldings cutting against the head in a
portrait, or the lines of a column used to accentuate the curved forms
of a face or figure, are well-known instances; and the portrait painter
is always on the look out for an object in his background that will give
him such straight lines. You may notice, too, how the lines drawn across
a study in order to copy it (squaring it out, as it is called) improve
the look of a drawing, giving a greater beauty to the variety of the
curves by contrast with the variety lacking in straight lines.
The perfect curve of the circle should always be avoided in the drawing
of natural objects (even a full moon), and in vital drawings of any sort
some variety should always be looked for. Neither should the modelling
of the sphere ever occur in your work, the dullest of all curved
surfaces.
Although the curve of the perfect circle is dull from its lack of
variety, it is not without beauty, and this is due to its perfect unity.
It is of all curves the most perfect example of static unity. Without
the excitement of the slightest variation it goes on and on for ever.
This is, no doubt, the reason why it was early chosen as a symbol of
Eternity, and certainly no more perfect symbol could be found.
The circle seen in perspective assumes the more beautiful curve of the
ellipse, a curve having much variety; but as its four quarters are
alike, not so much as a symmetrical figure can have.
Perhaps the most beautiful symmetrically curved figure of all is the
so-called egg of the well-known moulding from such a temple as the
Erechtheum, called the egg and dart moulding. Here we have a perfect
balance between variety and unity. The curvature is varied to an
infinite degree, at no point is its curving at the same ratio as at any
other point; perhaps the maximum amount of variety that can be got in a
symmetrical figure, preserving, as it does, its almost perfect
continuity, for it approaches the circle in the even flow of its
curvature. This is, roughly, the line of the contour of a face, and you
may note how much painters who have excelled in grace have insisted on
it in their portraits. Gainsborough and Vandyke are striking, instances.
[Illustration: Diagram VII.
EGG AND DART MOULDING FROM ONE OF THE CARYATIDES FROM THE ERECHTHEUM IN
THE BRITISH MUSEUM]
The line of a profile is often one of great beauty, only here the
variety is apt to overbalance the unity or run of the line. The most
beautiful profiles are usually those in which variety is subordinated
to the unity of the contour. I fancy the Greeks felt this when they did
away with the hollow above the nose, making the line of the forehead
run, with but little interruption, to the tip of the nose. The unity of
line is increased, and the variety made more interesting. The idea that
this was the common Greek type is, I should imagine, untrue, for their
portrait statues do not show it. It does occur in nature at rare
intervals, and in most Western nationalities, but I do not think there
is much evidence of its ever having been a common type anywhere.
[Illustration: Diagram VIII.
ILLUSTRATING VARIETY IN SYMMETRY
Note how the hollows marked A are opposed by fullnesses marked B.]
In drawing or painting a profile this run or unity of the line is the
thing to feel, if you would express its particular beauty. This is best
done in the case of a painting by finally drawing it with the brush from
the background side, after having painted all the variety there is of
tone and colour on the face side of the line. As the background usually
varies little, the swing of the brush is not hampered on this side as it
is on the other. I have seen students worried to distraction trying to
paint the profile line from the face side, fearing to lose the drawing
by going over the edge. With the edge blurred out from the face side, it
is easy to come with a brush full of the colour the background is
immediately against the face (a different colour usually from what it is
further away), and draw it with some decision and conviction, care being
taken to note all the variations on the edge, where the sharpnesses come
and where the edge is more lost, &c.
[Sidenote: Variety in Symmetry.]
The contours of the limbs illustrate another form of line variety--what
may be called "Variety in Symmetry." While roughly speaking the limbs
are symmetrical, each side not only has variety in itself, but there is
usually variety of opposition. Supposing there is a convex curve on the
one side, you will often have a concave form on the other. Always look
out for this in drawing limbs, and it will often improve a poorly drawn
part if more of this variation on symmetry is discovered.
The whole body, you may say, is symmetrical, but even here natural
conditions make for variety. The body is seldom, except in soldiering,
held in a symmetrical position. The slightest action produces the
variety we are speaking about. The accompanying sketches will indicate
what is meant.
[Illustration: Diagram IX.
ILLUSTRATING VARIETY IN SYMMETRY
Note how the hollows marked A are opposed by the fullnesses marked B.]
Of course the student, if he has any natural ability, instinctively
looks out for all these variations that give the play of life to his
drawing. It is not for him in the full vigour of inspiration that books
such as this are written. But there may come a time when things "won't
come," and it is then that it is useful to know where to look for
possible weak spots in your work.
[Sidenote: Variety of Thickness and Accent.]
A line of equal thickness is a very dead and inexpressive thing compared
with one varied and stressed at certain points. If you observe any of
the boundaries in nature we use a line to express, you will notice some
points are accentuated, attract the attention, more than others. The
only means you have to express this in a line drawing is by darkening
and sharpening the line. At other points, where the contour is almost
lost, the line can be soft and blurred.
It is impossible to write of the infinite qualities of variety that a
fine draughtsman will get into his line work; they must be studied first
hand. But on this play of thickness and quality of line much of the
vitality of your drawing will depend.
XII
RHYTHM: UNITY OF LINE
Unity of line is a bigger quality than variety, and as it requires a
larger mental grasp, is more rarely met with. The bigger things in
drawing and design come under its consideration, including, as it does,
the relation of the parts to the whole. Its proper consideration would
take us into the whole field of Composition, a subject needing far more
consideration than it can be given in this book.
In almost all compositions a rhythmic flow of lines can be traced. Not
necessarily a flow of actual lines (although these often exist); they
may be only imaginary lines linking up or massing certain parts, and
bringing them into conformity with the rhythmic conception of the whole.
Or again, only a certain stress and flow in the forms, suggesting line
movements. But these line movements flowing through your panel are of
the utmost importance; they are like the melodies and subjects of a
musical symphony, weaving through and linking up the whole composition.
Often, the line of a contour at one part of a picture is picked up again
by the contour of some object at another part of the composition, and
although no actual line connects them, a unity is thus set up between
them. (See diagrams, pages 166 and 168, illustrating line compositions
of pictures by Botticelli and Paolo Veronese). This imaginary following
through of contours across spaces in a composition should always be
looked out for and sought after, as nothing serves to unite a picture
like this relationship of remote parts. The flow of these lines will
depend on the nature of the subject: they will be more gracious and
easy, or more vigorous and powerful, according to the demands of your
subject.
This linking up of the contours applies equally well to the drawing of a
single figure or even a head or hand, and the student should always be
on the look out for this uniting quality. It is a quality of great
importance in giving unity to a composition.
[Sidenote: Parallelism]
When groups of lines in a picture occur parallel to each other they
produce an accentuation of the particular quality the line may contain,
a sort of sustained effect, like a sustained chord on an organ, the
effect of which is much bigger than that of the same chord struck
staccato. This sustained quality has a wonderful influence in steadying
and uniting your work.
This parallelism can only be used successfully with the simplest lines,
such as a straight line or a simple curve; it is never advisable except
in decorative patterns to be used with complicated shapes. Blake is very
fond of the sustained effect parallelism gives, and uses the repetition
of curved and straight lines very often in his compositions. Note in
Plate I of the Job series, page 146 [Transcribers Note: Plate XXXI],
the use made of this sustaining quality in the parallelism of the
sheep's backs in the background and the parallel upward flow of the
lines of the figures. In Plate II you see it used in the curved lines of
the figures on either side of the throne above, and in the two angels
with the scroll at the left-hand corner. Behind these two figures you
again have its use accentuating by repetition the peaceful line of the
hacks of the sheep. The same thing can be seen in Plate XXXI, B, where
the parallelism of the back lines of the sheep and the legs of the
seated figures gives a look of peace contrasting with the violence of
the messenger come to tell of the destruction of Job's sons. The
emphasis that parallelism gives to the music of particular lines is well
illustrated in all Blake's work. He is a mine of information on the
subject of line rhythm. Compare A with Plate XXXI, C; note how the
emotional quality is dependent in both cases on the parallelism of the
upward flow of the lines. How also in Plate I he has carried the
vertical feeling even into the sheep in the front, introducing little
bands of vertical shading to carry through the vertical lines made by
the kneeling figures. And in the last plate, "So the Lord blessed the
latter end of Job more than the beginning," note how the greater
completeness with which the parallelism has been carried out has given a
much greater emphasis to the effect, expressing a greater exaltation and
peace than in Plate XXXI, A. Notice in Plate XXXI, D, where "The just,
upright man is laughed to scorn," how this power of emphasis is used to
increase the look of scorn hurled at Job by the pointing fingers of his
three friends.
Of the use of this principle in curved forms, the repetition of the line
of the back in stooping figures is a favourite device with Blake. There
will be found instances of this in Plate XXXII, E and G. (Further
instances will be found on reference to Plates VII, VIII, XIII, and
XVII, in Blake's Job.) In the last instance it is interesting to note
how he has balanced the composition, which has three figures kneeling on
the right and only one on the left. By losing the outline of the third
figure on the right and getting a double line out of the single figure
on the left by means of the outline of the mass of hair, and also by
shading this single figure more strongly, he has contrived to keep a
perfect balance. The head of Job is also turned to the left, while he
stands slightly on that side, still further balancing the three figures
on the right. (This does not show so well in the illustration here
reproduced as in the original print.)
[Illustration: Plate XXXI.
Thus did Job continually. (_Plate I, Blake's Job_)
And I only am escaped alone to tell thee. (_Plate IV, Blake's Job_)
So the Lord blessed the latter end of Job more than the beginning.
(_Plate XXI, Blake's Job_)
The just upright man is laughed to scorn. (_Plate X, Blake's Job_)]
Some rude things were said above about the straight line and the circle,
on account of their lack of variety, and it is true that a
mathematically straight line, or a mathematically perfect circle, are
never found in good artistic drawing. For without variety is no charm or
life. But these lines possess other qualities, due to their maximum
amount of unity, that give them great power in a composition; and where
the expression of sublimity or any of the deeper and more profound
sentiments are in evidence, they are often to be found.
The rows of columns in a Greek temple, the clusters of vertical lines in
a Gothic cathedral interior, are instances of the sublimity and power
they possess. The necessary play that makes for vitality--the "dither"
as we called this quality in a former chapter--is given in the case of
the Greek temple by the subtle curving of the lines of columns and
steps, and by the rich variety of the sculpture, and in the case of the
Gothic cathedral by a rougher cutting of the stone blocks and the
variety in the colour of the stone. But generally speaking, in Gothic
architecture this particular quality of "dither" or the play of life in
all the parts is conspicuous, the balance being on the side of variety
rather than unity. The individual workman was given a large amount of
freedom and allowed to exercise his personal fancy. The capitals of
columns, the cusping of windows, and the ornaments were seldom repeated,
but varied according to the taste of the craftsman. Very high finish was
seldom attempted, the marks of the chisel often being left showing in
the stonework. All this gave a warmth and exuberance of life to a fine
Gothic building that makes a classical building look cold by comparison.
The freedom with which new parts were built on to a Gothic building is
another proof of the fact that it is not in the conception of the unity
of the whole that their chief charm consists.
On the other hand, a fine classic building is the result of one large
conception to which every part has rigorously to conform. Any addition
to this in after years is usually disastrous. A high finish is always
attempted, no tool marks nor any individuality of the craftsman is
allowed to mar the perfect symmetry of the whole. It may be colder, but
how perfect in sublimity! The balance here is on the side of unity
rather than variety.