[1] (_N.B._--This note is only for the satisfaction of incredulous
or curious readers. You may miss it if you are in a hurry, or are
willing to take the statement in the text on trust.)
The perception of solid Form is entirely a matter of experience. We
see nothing but flat colors; and it is only by a series of
experiments that we find out that a stain of black or gray indicates
the dark side of a solid substance, or that a faint hue indicates
that the object in which it appears is far away. The whole technical
power of painting depends on our recovery of what may be called the
_innocence of the eye_; that is to say, of a sort of childish
perception of these flat stains of color, merely as such, without
consciousness of what they signify,--as a blind man would see them
if suddenly gifted with sight.
For instance: when grass is lighted strongly by the sun in certain
directions, it is turned from green into a peculiar and somewhat
dusty-looking yellow. If we had been born blind, and were suddenly
endowed with sight on a piece of grass thus lighted in some parts by
the sun, it would appear to us that part of the grass was green, and
part a dusty yellow (very nearly of the color of primroses); and, if
there were primroses near, we should think that the sunlighted grass
was another mass of plants of the same sulphur-yellow color. We
should try to gather some of them, and then find that the color went
away from the grass when we stood between it and the sun, but not
from the primroses; and by a series of experiments we should find
out that the sun was really the cause of the color in the one,--not
in the other. We go through such processes of experiment
unconsciously in childhood; and having once come to conclusions
touching the signification of certain colors, we always suppose that
we _see_ what we only know, and have hardly any consciousness of the
real aspect of the signs we have learned to interpret. Very few
people have any idea that sunlighted grass is yellow.
Now, a highly accomplished artist has always reduced himself as
nearly as possible to this condition of infantine sight. He sees the
colors of nature exactly as they are, and therefore perceives at
once in the sunlighted grass the precise relation between the two
colors that form its shade and light. To him it does not seem shade
and light, but bluish green barred with gold.
Strive, therefore, first of all, to convince yourself of this great
fact about sight. This, in your hand, which you know by experience
and touch to be a book, is to your eye nothing but a patch of white,
variously gradated and spotted; this other thing near you, which by
experience you know to be a table, is to your eye only a patch of
brown, variously darkened and veined; and so on: and the whole art
of Painting consists merely in perceiving the shape and depth of
these patches of color, and putting patches of the same size, depth,
and shape on canvas. The only obstacle to the success of painting
is, that many of the real colors are brighter and paler than it is
possible to put on canvas: we must put darker ones to represent
them.
[2] Stale crumb of bread is better, if you are making a delicate
drawing, than india-rubber, for it disturbs the surface of the paper
less: but it crumbles about the room and makes a mess; and, besides,
you waste the good bread, which is wrong; and your drawing will not
for a long while be worth the crumbs. So use india-rubber very
lightly; or, if heavily, pressing it only, not passing it over the
paper, and leave what pencil marks will not come away so, without
minding them. In a finished drawing the uneffaced penciling is often
serviceable, helping the general tone, and enabling you to take out
little bright lights.
[3] What is usually so much sought after under the term "freedom" is
the character of the drawing of a great master in a hurry, whose
hand is so thoroughly disciplined, that when pressed for time he can
let it fly as it will, and it will not go far wrong. But the hand of
a great master at real _work_ is _never_ free: its swiftest dash is
under perfect government. Paul Veronese or Tintoret could pause
within a hair's breadth of any appointed mark, in their fastest
touches; and follow, within a hair's breadth, the previously
intended curve. You must never, therefore, aim at freedom. It is not
required of your drawing that it should be free, but that it should
be right; in time you will be able to do right easily, and then your
work will be free in the best sense; but there is no merit in doing
wrong easily.
These remarks, however, do not apply to the lines used in shading,
which, it will be remembered, are to be made as quickly as possible.
The reason of this is, that the quicker a line is drawn, the lighter
it is at the ends, and therefore the more easily joined with other
lines, and concealed by them; the object in perfect shading being to
conceal the lines as much as possible.
And observe, in this exercise, the object is more to get firmness of
hand than accuracy of eye for outline; for there are no outlines in
Nature, and the ordinary student is sure to draw them falsely if he
draws them at all. Do not, therefore, be discouraged if you find
mistakes continue to occur in your outlines; be content at present
if you find your hand gaining command over the curves.
[4] If you can get any pieces of dead white porcelain, not glazed,
they will be useful models.
[5] Artists who glance at this book may be surprised at this
permission. My chief reason is, that I think it more necessary that
the pupil's eye should be trained to accurate perception of the
relations of curve and right lines, by having the latter absolutely
true, than that he should practice drawing straight lines. But also,
I believe, though I am not quite sure of this, that he never _ought_
to be able to draw a straight line. I do not believe a perfectly
trained hand ever can draw a line without some curvature in it, or
some variety of direction. Prout could draw a straight line, but I
do not believe Raphael could, nor Tintoret. A great draughtsman can,
as far as I have observed, draw every line _but_ a straight one.
[6] Or, if you feel able to do so, scratch them in with confused
quick touches, indicating the general shape of the cloud or mist of
twigs round the main branches; but do not take much trouble about
them.
[7] It is more difficult, at first, to get, in color, a narrow
gradation than an extended one; but the ultimate difficulty is, as
with the pen, to make the gradation go _far_.
[8] Of course, all the columns of color are to be of equal length.
[9] The degree of darkness you can reach with the given color is
always indicated by the color of the solid cake in the box.
[10] The figure _a_, Fig. 5, is very dark, but this is to give an
example of all kinds of depths of tint, without repeated figures.
[11] Nearly neutral in ordinary circumstances, but yet with quite
different tones in its neutrality, according to the colors of the
various reflected rays that compose it.
[12] If we had any business with the reasons of this, I might
perhaps be able to show you some metaphysical ones for the
enjoyment, by truly artistical minds, of the changes wrought by
light and shade and perspective in patterned surfaces; but this is
at present not to the point; and all that you need to know is that
the drawing of such things is good exercise, and moreover a kind of
exercise which Titian, Veronese, Tintoret, Giorgione, and Turner,
all enjoyed, and strove to excel in.
[13] The use of acquiring this habit of execution is that you may be
able, when you begin to color, to let one hue be seen in minute
portions, gleaming between the touches of another.
[14] William Hunt, of the Old Water-color Society.
[15] At Marlborough House, [in 1857] among the four principal
examples of Turner's later water-color drawing, perhaps the most
neglected was that of fishing-boats and fish at sunset. It is one of
his most wonderful works, though unfinished. If you examine the
larger white fishing-boat sail, you will find it has a little spark
of pure white in its right-hand upper corner, about as large as a
minute pin's head, and that all the surface of the sail is gradated
to that focus. Try to copy this sail once or twice, and you will
begin to understand Turner's work. Similarly, the wing of the Cupid
in Correggio's large picture in the National Gallery is focused to
two little grains of white at the top of it. The points of light on
the white flower in the wreath round the head of the dancing
child-faun, in Titian's Bacchus and Ariadne, exemplify the same
thing.
[16] I shall not henceforward number the exercises recommended; as
they are distinguished only by increasing difficulty of subject, not
by difference of method.
[17] If you understand the principle of the stereoscope you will
know why; if not, it does not matter; trust me for the truth of the
statement, as I cannot explain the principle without diagrams and
much loss of time. See, however, Note 1, in Appendix I.
[18] The plates marked with a star are peculiarly desirable. See
note at the end of Appendix I. The letters mean as follows:--
_a_ stands for architecture, including distant grouping of towns,
cottages, etc.
_c_ clouds, including mist and aërial effects.
_f_ foliage.
_g_ ground, including low hills, when not rocky.
_l_ effects of light.
_m_ mountains, or bold rocky ground.
_p_ power of general arrangement and effect.
_q_ quiet water.
_r_ running or rough water; or rivers, even if calm, when their
line of flow is beautifully marked.
_From the England Series._
_a c f r._ Arundel. _a f p._ Lancaster.
_a f l._ Ashby de la Zouche. _c l m r._ Lancaster Sands.*
_a l q r._ Barnard Castle.* _a g f._ Launceston.*
_f m r._ Bolton Abbey. _c f l r._ Leicester Abbey.
_f g r._ Buckfastleigh.* _f r._ Ludlow.
_a l p._ Caernarvon. _a f l._ Margate.
_c l q._ Castle Upnor. _a l q._ Orford.
_a f l._ Colchester. _c p._ Plymouth.
_l q._ Cowes. _f._ Powis Castle.
_c f p._ Dartmouth Cove.* _l m q._ Prudhoe Castle.
_c l q._ Flint Castle.* _f l m r._ Chain Bridge over
_a f g l._ Knaresborough.* Tees.*
_m r._ High Force of Tees.* _m q._ Ulleswater.
_a f q._ Trematon. _f m._ Valle Crucis.
_From the Keepsake._
_m p q._ Arona. _p._ St. Germain en Laye.
_l m._ Drachenfels.* _l p q._ Florence.
_f l._ Marly.* _l m._ Ballyburgh Ness.*
_From the Bible Series._
_f m._ Mount Lebanon. _a c g._ Joppa.
_m._ Rock of Moses at _c l p q._ Solomon's Pools.*
Sinai. _a l._ Santa Saba.
_a l m._ Jericho. _a l._ Pool of Bethesda.
_From Scott's Works._
_p r._ Melrose.* _c m._ Glencoe.
_f r._ Dryburgh.* _c m._ Loch Coriskin.*
_a l._ Caerlaverock.
_From the Rivers of France._
_a q._ Château of Amboise, with _a p._ Rouen Cathedral.
large bridge on right. _f p._ Pont de l'Arche.
_l p r._ Rouen, looking down the _f l p._ View on the Seine,
river, poplars on right.* with avenue.
_a l p._ Rouen, with cathedral _a c p._ Bridge of Meulan.
and rainbow, avenue _c g p r._ Caudebec.*
on left.
[19] As _well_;--not as minutely: the diamond cuts finer lines on
the steel than you can draw on paper with your pen; but you must be
able to get tones as even, and touches as firm.
[20] See, for account of these plates, the Appendix on "Works to be
studied."
[21] See Note 2 in Appendix I.
[22] This sketch is not of a tree standing on its head, though it
looks like it. You will find it explained presently.