may be roughly stated in figures as that between 5 and 8. In such a
proportion the eye sees no mathematical relationship. Were it less than
5, it would be too near the proportion of 4 to 8 (or one-third the total
length), a dull proportion; or were it more, it would be approaching too
near equality of proportion to be quite satisfactory.
I have seen a proportional compass, imported from Germany, giving a
relationship similar to this and said to contain the secret of good
proportion. There is certainly something remarkable about it, and in the
Appendix, page 289 [Transcribers Note: APPENDIX], you will find some
further interesting facts about this.
The variety of proportions in a building, a picture, or a piece of
sculpture should always be under the control of a few simple, dominant
quantities that simplify the appearance and give it a unity which is
readily grasped except where violence and lack of repose are wanted. The
simpler the proportion is, the more sublime will be the impression, and
the more complicated, the livelier and more vivacious the effect. From a
few well-chosen large proportions the eye may be led on to enjoy the
smaller varieties. But in good proportion the lesser parts are not
allowed to obtrude, but are kept in subordination to the main
dispositions on which the unity of the effect depends.
XVII
PORTRAIT DRAWING
There is something in every individual that is likely for a long time to
defy the analysis of science. When you have summed up the total of atoms
or electrons or whatever it is that goes to the making of the tissues
and also the innumerable complex functions performed by the different
parts, you have not yet got on the track of the individual that governs
the whole performance. The effect of this personality on the outward
form, and the influence it has in modifying the aspect of body and
features, are the things that concern the portrait draughtsman: the
seizing on and expressing forcefully the individual character of the
sitter, as expressed by his outward appearance.
This character expression in form has been thought to be somewhat
antagonistic to beauty, and many sitters are shy of the particular
characteristics of their own features. The fashionable photographer,
knowing this, carefully stipples out of his negative any #striking#
characteristics in the form of his sitter the negative may show. But
judging by the result, it is doubtful whether any beauty has been
gained, and certain that interest and vitality have been lost in the
process. Whatever may be the nature of beauty, it is obvious that what
makes one object more beautiful than another is something that is
characteristic of the appearance of the one and not of the other: so
that some close study of individual characteristics must be the aim of
the artist who would seek to express beauty, as well as the artist who
seeks the expression of character and professes no interest in beauty.
Catching the likeness, as it is called, is simply seizing on the
essential things that belong only to a particular individual and
differentiate that individual from others, and expressing them in a
forceful manner. There are certain things that are common to the whole
species, likeness to a common type; the individual likeness is not in
this direction but at the opposite pole to it.
It is one of the most remarkable things connected with the amazing
subtlety of appreciation possessed by the human eye, that of the
millions of heads in the world, and probably of all that have ever
existed in the world, no two look exactly alike. When one considers how
alike they are, and how very restricted is the range of difference
between them, is it not remarkable how quickly the eye recognises one
person from another? It is more remarkable still how one sometimes
recognises a friend not seen for many years, and whose appearance has
changed considerably in the meantime. And this likeness that we
recognise is not so much as is generally thought a matter of the
individual features. If one sees the eye alone, the remainder of the
face being covered, it is almost impossible to recognise even a
well-known friend, or tell whether the expression is that of laughing or
crying. And again, how difficult it is to recognise anybody when the
eyes are masked and only the lower part of the face visible.
[Illustration: Plate L.
FROM A DRAWING IN RED CHALK BY HOLBEIN IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM PRINT ROOM
Note how every bit of variety is sought for, the difference in the eyes
and on either side of the mouth, etc.]
If you try and recall a well-known head it will not be the shape of
the features that will be recollected so much as an impression, the
result of all these combined, a sort of chord of which the features will
be but the component elements. It is the relation of the different parts
to this chord, this impression of the personality of a head, that is the
all-important thing in what is popularly called "catching the likeness."
In drawing a portrait the mind must be centred on this, and all the
individual parts drawn in relation to it. The moment the eye gets
interested solely in some individual part and forgets the consideration
of its relationship to this whole impression, the likeness suffers.
Where there is so much that is similar in heads, it is obvious that what
differences there are must be searched out and seized upon forcefully,
if the individuality of the head is to be made telling. The drawing of
portraits should therefore be approached from the direction of these
differences; that is to say, the things in general disposition and
proportion in which your subject differs from a common type, should be
first sought for, the things common to all heads being left to take care
of themselves for a bit. The reason for this is that the eye, when
fresh, sees these differences much more readily than after it has been
working for some time. The tendency of a tired eye is to see less
differentiation, and to hark back to a dull uniformity; so get in touch
at once with the vital differences while your eye is fresh and your
vision keen.
Look out first for the character of the disposition of the features,
note the proportions down an imagined centre line, of the brows, the
base of the nose, the mouth and chin, and get the character of the
shape of the enclosing line of the face blocked out in square lines. The
great importance of getting these proportions right early cannot be
over-emphasised, as any mistake may later on necessitate completely
shifting a carefully drawn feature. And the importance of this may be
judged from the fact that you recognise a head a long way off, before
anything but the general disposition of the masses surrounding the
features can be seen. The shape of the skull, too, is another thing of
which to get an early idea, and its relation to the face should be
carefully noted. But it is impossible to lay down hard and fast rules
for these things.
Some artists begin in point drawing with the eyes, and some leave the
eyes until the very last. Some draughtsmen are never happy until they
have an eye to adjust the head round, treating it as the centre of
interest and drawing the parts relatively to it. While others say, with
some truth, that there is a mesmeric effect produced when the eye is
drawn that blinds one to the cold-blooded technical consideration of a
head as line and tone in certain relationships; that it is as well to
postpone until the last that moment when the shapes and tones that
represent form in your drawing shall be lit up by the introduction of
the eye to the look of a live person. One is freer to consider the
accuracy of one's form before this disturbing influence is introduced.
And there is a good deal to be said for this.
Although in point drawing you can, without serious effect, begin at any
part that interests you, in setting out a painting I think there can be
no two opinions as to the right way to go about it. The character of the
general disposition of the masses must be first constructed. And if
this general blocking in has been well done, the character of the sitter
will be apparent from the first even in this early stage; and you will
be able to judge of the accuracy of your blocking out by whether or not
it does suggest the original. If it does not, correct it before going
any further, working, as it were, from the general impression of the
masses of the head as seen a long way off, adding more and more detail,
and gradually bringing the impression nearer, until the completed head
is arrived at, thus getting in touch from the very first with the
likeness which should dominate the work all along.
[Illustration: Plate LI.
SIR CHARLES DILKE, BART.
From the drawing in the collection of Sir Robert Essex, M.P., in red
conté chalk rubbed, the high lights being picked out with rubber.]
There are many points of view from which a portrait can be drawn--I
mean, mental points of view. And, as in a biography, the value of the
work will depend on the insight and distinction of the author or artist.
The valet of a great man might write a biography of his master that
could be quite true to his point of view; but, assuming him to be an
average valet, it would not be a great work. I believe the gardener of
Darwin when asked how his master was, said, "Not at all well. You see,
he moons about all day. I've seen him staring at a flower for five or
ten minutes at a time. Now, if he had some work to do, he would be much
better." A really great biography cannot be written except by a man who
can comprehend his subject and take a wide view of his position among
men, sorting what is trivial from what is essential, what is common to
all men from what is particular to the subject of his work. And it is
very much the same in portraiture. It is only the painter who possesses
the intuitive faculty for seizing on the significant things in the form
expression of his subject, of disentangling what is trivial from what
is important; and who can convey this forcibly to the beholder on his
canvas, more forcibly than a casual sight of the real person could
do--it is only this painter who can hope to paint a really fine
portrait.
It is true, the honest and sincere expression of any painter will be of
some interest, just as the biography written by Darwin's gardener might
be; but there is a vast difference between this point of view and that
of the man who thoroughly comprehends his subject.
Not that it is necessary for the artist to grasp the mind of his sitter,
although that is no disadvantage. But this is not his point of view, his
business is with the effect of this inner man on his outward appearance.
And it is necessary for him to have that intuitive power that seizes
instinctively on those variations of form that are expressive of this
inner man. The habitual cast of thought in any individual affects the
shape and moulds the form of the features, and, to the discerning, the
head is expressive of the person; both the bigger and the smaller
person, both the larger and the petty characteristics everybody
possesses. And the fine portrait will express the larger and subordinate
the petty individualities, will give you what is of value, and
subordinate what is trivial in a person's appearance.
The pose of the head is a characteristic feature about people that is
not always given enough attention in portraits. The habitual cast of
thought affects its carriage to a very large degree. The two extreme
types of what we mean are the strongly emotional man who carries his
head high, drinking in impressions as he goes through the world; and
the man of deep thought who carries his head bent forward, his back bent
in sympathy with it. Everybody has some characteristic action in the way
that should be looked out for and that is usually absent when a sitter
first appears before a painter on the studio throne. A little diplomacy
and conversational humouring is necessary to produce that
unconsciousness that will betray the man in his appearance.
How the power to discover these things can be acquired, it is, of
course, impossible to teach. All the student can do is to familiarise
himself with the best examples of portraiture, in the hope that he may
be stimulated by this means to observe finer qualities in nature and
develop the best that is in him. But he must never be insincere in his
work. If he does not appreciate fine things in the work of recognised
masters, let him stick to the honest portrayal of what he does see in
nature. The only distinction of which he is capable lies in this
direction. It is not until he awakens to the sight in nature of
qualities he may have admired in others' work that he is in a position
honestly to introduce them into his own performances.
* * * * *
Probably the most popular point of view in portraiture at present is the
one that can be described as a "striking presentment of the live
person." This is the portrait that arrests the crowd in an exhibition.
You cannot ignore it, vitality bursts from it, and everything seems
sacrificed to this quality of striking lifelikeness. And some very
wonderful modern portraits have been painted from this point of view.
But have we not sacrificed too much to this quality of vitality? Here is
a lady hurriedly getting up from a couch, there a gentleman stepping
out of the frame to greet you, violence and vitality everywhere. But
what of repose, harmony of colour and form, and the wise ordering and
selecting of the materials of vision that one has been used to in the
great portraiture of the past? While the craftsman in one is staggered
and amazed at the brilliant virtuosity of the thing, the artist in one
resents the sacrifice of so much for what is, after all, but a
short-lived excitement. Age may, no doubt, improve some of the portraits
of this class by quieting them in colour and tone. And those that are
good in design and arrangement will stand this without loss of
distinction, but those in which everything has been sacrificed to this
striking lifelike quality will suffer considerably. This particular
quality depends so much on the freshness of the paint that when this is
mellowed and its vividness is lost, nothing will remain of value, if the
quieter qualities of design and arrangement have been sacrificed for it.
Frans Hals is the only old master I can think of with whom this form of
portrait can be compared. But it will be noticed that besides designing
his canvases carefully, he usually balanced the vigour and vitality of
his form with a great sobriety of colour. In fact, in some of his later
work, where this restless vitality is most in evidence, the colour is
little more than black and white, with a little yellow ochre and
Venetian red. It is this extreme reposefulness of colour that opposes
the unrest in the form and helps to restore the balance and necessary
repose in the picture. It is interesting to note the restless variety of
the edges in Frans Hal's work, how he never, if he can help it, lets an
edge run smoothly, but keeps it constantly on the move, often leaving
it quite jagged, and to compare this with what was said about vitality
depending on variety.
[Illustration: Plate LII.
JOHN REDMOND, M.P.
From the drawing in the collection of Sir Robert Essex, M.P., in red
conté chalk rubbed, the high lights being picked out with rubber.]
* * * * *
Another point of view is that of the artist who seeks to give a
significant and calm view of the exterior forms of the sitter, an
expressive map of the individuality of those forms, leaving you to form
your own intellectual judgments. A simple, rather formal, attitude is
usually chosen, and the sitter is drawn with searching honesty. There is
a great deal to be said for this point of view in the hands of a painter
with a large appreciation of form and design. But without these more
inspiring qualities it is apt to have the dulness that attends most
literal transcriptions. There are many instances of this point of view
among early portrait painters, one of the best of which is the work of
Holbein. But then, to a very distinguished appreciation of the
subtleties of form characterisation he added a fine sense of design and
colour arrangement, qualities by no means always at the command of some
of the lesser men of this school.
Every portrait draughtsman should make a pilgrimage to Windsor, armed
with the necessary permission to view the wonderful series of portrait
drawings by this master in the library of the castle. They are a liberal
education in portrait drawing. It is necessary to see the originals, for
it is only after having seen them that one can properly understand the
numerous and well-known reproductions. A study of these drawings will, I
think, reveal the fact that they are not so literal as is usually
thought. Unflinchingly and unaffectedly honest they are, but honest not
to a cold, mechanically accurate record of the sitter's appearance, but
honest and accurate to the vital impression of the live sitter made on
the mind of the live artist. This is the difference we were trying to
explain that exists between the academic and the vital drawing, and it
is a very subtle and elusive quality, like all artistic qualities, to
talk about. The record of a vital impression done with unflinching
accuracy, but under the guidance of intense mental activity, is a very
different thing from a drawing done with the cold, mechanical accuracy
of a machine. The one will instantly grip the attention and give one a
vivid sensation in a way that no mechanically accurate drawing could do,
and in a way that possibly the sight of the real person would not always
do. We see numbers of faces during a day, but only a few with the
vividness of which I am speaking. How many faces in a crowd are passed
indifferently--there is no vitality in the impression they make on our
mind; but suddenly a face will rivet our attention, and although it is
gone in a flash, the memory of the impression will remain for some time.
The best of Holbein's portrait drawings give one the impression of
having been seen in one of these flashes and rivet the attention in
consequence. Drawings done under this mental stimulus present subtle
differences from drawings done with cold accuracy. The drawing of the
Lady Audley, here reproduced, bears evidence of some of this subtle
variation on what are called the facts, in the left eye of the sitter.
It will be noticed that the pupil of this eye is larger than the other.
Now I do not suppose that as a matter of mechanical accuracy this was
so, but the impression of the eyes seen as part of a vivid impression
of the head is seldom that they are the same size. Holbein had in the
first instance in this very carefully wrought drawing made them so, but
when at the last he was vitalising the impression, "pulling it together"
as artists say, he has deliberately put a line outside the original one,
making this pupil larger. This is not at all clearly seen in the
reproduction, but #is distinctly visible in the original#. And to my
thinking it was done at the dictates of the vivid mental impression he
wished his drawing to convey. Few can fail to be struck in turning over
this wonderful series of drawings by the vividness of their portraiture,
and the vividness is due to their being severely accurate to the vital
impression on the mind of Holbein, not merely to the facts coldly
observed.
[Illustration: Plate LIII.
THE LADY AUDLEY. HOLBEIN (WINDSOR)
Note the different sizes of pupils in the eyes, and see letterpress on
the opposite page.
_Copyright photo Braun & Co._]
* * * * *
Another point of view is that of seeking in the face a symbol of the
person within, and selecting those things about a head that express
this. As has already been said, the habitual attitude of mind has in the
course of time a marked influence on the form of the face, and in fact
of the whole body, so that--to those who can see--the man or woman is a
visible symbol of themselves. But this is by no means apparent to all.
The striking example of this class is the splendid series of portraits
by the late G.F. Watts. Looking at these heads one is made conscious of
the people in a fuller, deeper sense than if they were before one in the
flesh. For Watts sought to discover the person in their appearance and
to paint a picture that should be a living symbol of them. He took pains
to find out all he could about the mind of his sitters before he
painted them, and sought in the appearance the expression of this inner
man. So that whereas with Holbein it was the vivid presentation of the
impression as one might see a head that struck one in a crowd, with
Watts it is the spirit one is first conscious of. The thunders of war
appear in the powerful head of Lord Lawrence, the music of poetry in the
head of Swinburne, and the dry atmosphere of the higher regions of
thought in the John Stuart Mill, &c.
In the National Portrait Gallery there are two paintings of the poet
Robert Browning, one by Rudolph Lehmann and one by Watts. Now the former
portrait is probably much more "like" the poet as the people who met him
casually saw him. But Watts's portrait is like the man who wrote the
poetry, and Lehmann's is not. Browning was a particularly difficult
subject in this respect, in that to a casual observer there was much
more about his external appearance to suggest a prosperous man of
business, than the fiery zeal of the poet.
These portraits by Watts will repay the closest study by the student of
portraiture. They are full of that wise selection by a great mind that
lifts such work above the triviality of the commonplace to the level of
great imaginative painting.
* * * * *
Another point of view is that of treating the sitter as part of a
symphony of form and colour, and subordinating everything to this
artistic consideration. This is very fashionable at the present time,
and much beautiful work is being done with this motive. And with many
ladies who would not, I hope, object to one's saying that their
principal characteristic was the charm of their appearance, this point
of view offers, perhaps, one of the best opportunities of a successful
painting. A pose is selected that makes a good design of line and
colour--a good pattern--and the character of the sitter is not allowed
to obtrude or mar the symmetry of the whole considered as a beautiful
panel. The portraits of J. McNeill Whistler are examples of this
treatment, a point of view that has very largely influenced modern
portrait painting in England.
* * * * *
Then there is the official portrait in which the dignity of an office
held by the sitter, of which occasion the portrait is a memorial, has to
be considered. The more intimate interest in the personal character of
the sitter is here subordinated to the interest of his public character
and attitude of mind towards his office. Thus it happens that much more
decorative pageantry symbolic of these things is permissible in this
kind of portraiture than in that of plain Mr. Smith; a greater
stateliness of design as befitting official occasions.
It is not contended that this forms anything like a complete list of the
numerous aspects from which a portrait can be considered, but they are
some of the more extreme of those prevalent at the present time. Neither
is it contended that they are incompatible with each other: the
qualities of two or more of these points of view are often found in the
same work. And it is not inconceivable that a single portrait might
contain all and be a striking lifelike presentment, a faithful catalogue
of all the features, a symbol of the person and a symphony of form and
colour. But the chances are against such a composite affair being a
success. One or other quality will dominate in a successful work; and
it is not advisable to try and combine too many different points of view
as, in the confusion of ideas, directness of expression is lost. But no
good portrait is without some of the qualities of all these points of
view, whichever may dominate the artist's intention.
[Sidenote: Expression.]
The camera, and more particularly the instantaneous camera, has
habituated people to expect in a portrait a momentary expression, and of
these momentary expressions the faint smile, as we all know, is an easy
first in the matter of popularity. It is no uncommon thing for the
painter to be asked in the early stages of his work when he is going to
put in the smile, it never being questioned that this is the artist's
aim in the matter of expression.