learning to colour; yet even colouring will never be perfectly attained
by servilely copying the model before you. An eye critically nice can
only be formed by observing well-coloured pictures with attention; and
by close inspection, and minute examination, you will discover, at last,
the manner of handling, the artifices of contrast, glazing, and other
expedients, by which good colourists have raised the value of their
tints, and by which nature has been so happily imitated.
I must inform you, however, that old pictures deservedly celebrated for
their colouring, are often so changed by dirt and varnish, that we ought
not to wonder if they do not appear equal to their reputation in the
eyes of inexperienced painters, or young students. An artist whose
judgment is matured by long observation, considers rather what the
picture once was, than what it is at present. He has by habit acquired a
power of seeing the brilliancy of tints through the cloud by which it is
obscured. An exact imitation, therefore, of those pictures, is likely to
fill the student’s mind with false opinions; and to send him back a
colourist of his own formation, with ideas equally remote from nature
and from art, from the genuine practice of the masters, and the real
appearances of things.
Following these rules, and using these precautions, when you have
clearly and distinctly learned in what good colouring consists, you
cannot do better than have recourse to nature herself, who is always at
hand, and in comparison of whose true splendour the best coloured
pictures are but faint and feeble.
However, as the practice of copying is not entirely to be excluded,
since the mechanical practice of painting is learned in some measure by
it, let those choice parts only be selected which have recommended the
work to notice. If its excellence consists in its general effect, it
would be proper to make slight sketches of the machinery and general
management of the picture. Those sketches should be kept always by you
for the regulation of your style. Instead of copying the touches of
those great masters, copy only their conceptions. Instead of treading in
their footsteps, endeavour only to keep the same road. Labour to invent
on their general principles and way of thinking. Possess yourself with
their spirit. Consider with yourself how a Michael Angelo or a Raffaelle
would have treated this subject: and work yourself into a belief that
your picture is to be seen and criticised by them when completed. Even
an attempt of this kind will rouse your powers.
But as mere enthusiasm will carry you but a little way, let me recommend
a practice that may be equivalent to and will perhaps more efficaciously
contribute to your advancement, than even the verbal corrections of
those masters themselves, could they be obtained. What I would propose
is, that you should enter into a kind of competition, by painting a
similar subject, and making a companion to any picture that you consider
as a model. After you have finished your work, place it near the model,
and compare them carefully together. You will then not only see, but
feel your own deficiencies more sensibly than by precepts, or any other
means of instruction. The true principles of painting will mingle with
your thoughts. Ideas thus fixed by sensible objects will be certain and
definitive; and sinking deep into the mind, will not only be more just,
but more lasting than those presented to you by precepts only; which
will always be fleeting, variable, and undetermined.
This method of comparing your own efforts with those of some great
master is indeed a severe and mortifying task, to which none will
submit, but such as have great views, with fortitude sufficient to
forego the gratifications of present vanity for future honour. When the
student has succeeded in some measure to his own satisfaction, and has
felicitated himself on his success, to go voluntarily to a tribunal
where he knows his vanity must be humbled, and all self-approbation must
vanish, requires not only great resolution, but great humility. To him,
however, who has the ambition to be a real master, the solid
satisfaction which proceeds from a consciousness of his advancement (of
which seeing his own faults is the first step), will very abundantly
compensate for the mortification of present disappointment. There is,
besides, this alleviating circumstance. Every discovery he makes, every
acquisition of knowledge he attains, seems to proceed from his own
sagacity; and thus he acquires a confidence in himself sufficient to
keep up the resolution of perseverance.
We all must have experienced how lazily, and consequently how
ineffectually, instruction is received when forced upon the mind by
others. Few have been taught to any purpose, who have not been their own
teachers. We prefer those instructions which we have given ourselves,
from our affection to the instructor; and they are more effectual, from
being received into the mind at the very time when it is most open and
eager to receive them.
With respect to the pictures that you are to choose for your models, I
could wish that you would take the world’s opinion rather than your own.
In other words, I would have you choose those of established reputation,
rather than follow your own fancy. If you should not admire them at
first, you will, by endeavouring to imitate them, find that the world
has not been mistaken.
It is not an easy task to point out those various excellences for your
imitation, which lie distributed amongst the various schools. An
endeavour to do this may perhaps be the subject of some future
discourse. I will, therefore, at present only recommend a model for
style in painting, which is a branch of the art more immediately
necessary to the young student. Style in painting is the same as in
writing, a power over materials, whether words or colours, by which
conceptions or sentiments are conveyed. And in this Lodovico Caracci (I
mean in his best works) appears to me to approach the nearest to
perfection. His unaffected breadth of light and shadow, the simplicity
of colouring, which, holding its proper rank, does not draw aside the
least part of the attention from the subject, and the solemn effect of
that twilight which seems diffused over his pictures, appear to me to
correspond with grave and dignified subjects, better than the more
artificial brilliancy of sunshine which enlightens the pictures of
Titian: though Tintoret thought that Titian’s colouring was the model of
perfection, and would correspond even with the sublime of Michael
Angelo; and that if Angelo had coloured like Titian, or Titian designed
like Angelo, the world would once have had a perfect painter.
It is our misfortune, however, that those works of Caracci which I would
recommend to the student, are not often found out of Bologna. The _St.
Francis in the midst of his Friars_, _The Transfiguration_, _The Birth
of St. John the Baptist_, _The Calling of St. Matthew_, the _St.
Jerome_, the _Fresco Paintings_ in the Zampieri Palace, are all worthy
the attention of the student. And I think those who travel would do well
to allot a much greater portion of their time to that city, than it has
been hitherto the custom to bestow.
In this art, as in others, there are many teachers who profess to show
the nearest way to excellence; and many expedients have been invented by
which the toil of study might be saved. But let no man be seduced to
idleness by specious promises. Excellence is never granted to man, but
as the reward of labour. It argues indeed no small strength of mind to
persevere in habits of industry, without the pleasure of perceiving
those advances; which, like the hand of a clock, whilst they make hourly
approaches to their point, yet proceed so slowly as to escape
observation. A facility of drawing, like that of playing upon a musical
instrument, cannot be acquired but by an infinite number of acts. I
need not, therefore, enforce by many words the necessity of continual
application; nor tell you that the port-crayon ought to be for ever in
your hands. Various methods will occur to you by which this power may be
acquired. I would particularly recommend, that after your return from
the Academy (where I suppose your attendance to be constant), you would
endeavour to draw the figure by memory. I will even venture to add, that
by perseverance in this custom, you will become able to draw the human
figure tolerably correct, with as little effort of the mind as is
required to trace with a pen the letters of the alphabet.
That this facility is not unattainable, some members in this Academy
give a sufficient proof. And be assured, that if this power is not
acquired whilst you are young, there will be no time for it afterwards:
at least the attempt will be attended with as much difficulty as those
experience, who learn to read or write after they have arrived at the
age of maturity.
But while I mention the port-crayon as the student’s constant companion,
he must still remember, that the pencil is the instrument by which he
must hope to obtain eminence. What, therefore, I wish to impress upon
you is, that whenever an opportunity offers, you paint your studies
instead of drawing them. This will give you such a facility in using
colours, that in time they will arrange themselves under the pencil,
even without the attention of the hand that conducts it. If one act
excluded the other, this advice could not with any propriety be given.
But if painting comprises both drawing and colouring, and if by a short
struggle of resolute industry, the same expedition is attainable in
painting as in drawing on paper, I cannot see what objection can justly
be made to the practice; or why that should be done by parts, which may
be done all together.
If we turn our eyes to the several Schools of Painting, and consider
their respective excellences, we shall find that those who excel most in
colouring, pursued this method. The Venetian and Flemish schools, which
owe much of their fame to colouring, have enriched the cabinets of the
collectors of drawings with very few examples. Those of Titian, Paul
Veronese, Tintoret, and the Bassans, are in general slight and
undetermined; their sketches on paper are as rude as their pictures are
excellent in regard to harmony of colouring. Correggio and Baroccio have
left few, if any, finished drawings behind them. And in the Flemish
school, Rubens and Vandyck made their designs for the most part either
in colours, or in chiaroscuro. It is as common to find studies of the
Venetian and Flemish painters on canvas, as of the schools of Rome and
Florence on paper. Not but that many finished drawings are sold under
the names of those masters. Those, however, are undoubtedly the
productions either of engravers or of their scholars, who copied their
works.
These instructions I have ventured to offer from my own experience; but
as they deviate widely from received opinions, I offer them with
diffidence; and when better are suggested, shall retract them without
regret.
There is one precept, however, in which I shall only be opposed by the
vain, the ignorant, and the idle. I am not afraid that I shall repeat it
too often. You must have no dependence on your own genius. If you have
great talents, industry will improve them; if you have but moderate
abilities, industry will supply their deficiency. Nothing is denied to
well-directed labour: nothing is to be obtained without it. Not to enter
into metaphysical discussions on the nature or essence of genius, I
will venture to assert, that assiduity unabated by difficulty, and a
disposition eagerly directed to the object of its pursuit, will produce
effects similar to those which some call the result of _natural powers_.
Though a man cannot at all times, and in all places, paint or draw, yet
the mind can prepare itself by laying in proper materials, at all times,
and in all places. Both Livy and Plutarch, in describing Philopoemen,
one of the ablest generals of antiquity, have given us a striking
picture of a mind always intent on its profession, and by assiduity
obtaining those excellences which some all their lives vainly expect
from nature. I shall quote the passage in Livy at length, as it runs
parallel with the practice I would recommend to the painter, sculptor,
and architect:
“Philopoemen was a man eminent for his sagacity and experience in
choosing ground, and in leading armies; to which he formed his mind by
perpetual meditation, in times of peace as well as war. When, in any
occasional journey, he came to a strait difficult passage, if he was
alone he considered with himself, and if he was in company he asked his
friends, what it would be best to do if in this place they had found an
enemy, either in the front, or in the rear, on the one side, or on the
other. ‘It might happen,’ says he, ‘that the enemy to be opposed might
come on drawn up in regular lines, or in a tumultuous body, formed only
by the nature of the place.’ He then considered a little what ground he
should take; what number of soldiers he should use, and what arms he
should give them; where he should lodge his carriages, his baggage, and
the defenceless followers of his camp; how many guards, and of what
kind, he should send to defend them; and whether it would be better to
press forward along the pass, or recover by retreat his former station:
he would consider likewise where his camp could most commodiously be
formed; how much ground he should inclose within his trenches: where he
should have the convenience of water, and where he might find plenty of
wood and forage; and when he should break up his camp on the following
day, through what road he could most safely pass, and in what form he
should dispose his troops. With such thoughts and disquisitions he had
from his early years so exercised his mind, that on these occasions
nothing could happen which he had not been already accustomed to
consider.”
I cannot help imagining that I see a promising young painter, equally
vigilant, whether at home, or abroad, in the streets, or in the fields.
Every object that presents itself is to him a lesson. He regards all
nature with a view to his profession; and combines her beauties, or
corrects her defects. He examines the countenance of men under the
influence of passion; and often catches the most pleasing hints from
subjects of turbulence or deformity. Even bad pictures themselves supply
him with useful documents; and, as Lionardo da Vinci has observed, he
improves upon the fanciful images that are sometimes seen in the fire,
or are accidentally sketched upon a discoloured wall.
The artist who has his mind thus filled with ideas, and his hand made
expert by practice, works with ease and readiness; whilst he who would
have you believe that he is waiting for the inspirations of genius, is
in reality at a loss how to begin; and is at last delivered of his
monsters, with difficulty and pain.
The well-grounded painter, on the contrary, has only maturely to
consider his subject, and all the mechanical parts of his art follow
without his exertion. Conscious of the difficulty of obtaining what he
possesses, he makes no pretensions to secrets, except those of closer
application. Without conceiving the smallest jealousy against others, he
is contented that all shall be as great as himself, who have undergone
the same fatigue; and as his pre-eminence depends not upon a trick, he
is free from the painful suspicions of a juggler, who lives in perpetual
fear lest his trick should be discovered.
DISCOURSE III
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution of
the Prizes, December 14, 1770._
The Great Leading Principles of the Grand Style.--Of Beauty.--The
Genuine Habits of Nature to be distinguished from those of Fashion.
GENTLEMEN,
It is not easy to speak with propriety to so many students of different
ages and different degrees of advancement. The mind requires nourishment
adapted to its growth; and what may have promoted our earlier efforts,
might retard us in our nearer approaches to perfection.
The first endeavours of a young painter, as I have remarked in a former
discourse, must be employed in the attainment of mechanical dexterity,
and confined to the mere imitation of the object before him. Those who
have advanced beyond the rudiments may, perhaps, find advantage in
reflecting on the advice which I have likewise given them, when I
recommended the diligent study of the works of our great predecessors;
but I at the same time endeavoured to guard them against an implicit
submission to the authority of any one master however excellent: or by a
strict imitation of his manner, precluding themselves from the
abundance and variety of nature. I will now add that Nature herself is
not to be too closely copied. There are excellences in the art of
painting beyond what is commonly called the imitation of nature: and
these excellences I wish to point out. The students who, having passed
through the initiatory exercises, are more advanced in the art, and who,
sure of their hand, have leisure to exert their understanding, must now
be told, that a mere copier of nature can never produce anything great;
can never raise and enlarge the conceptions, or warm the heart of the
spectator.
The wish of the genuine painter must be more extensive: instead of
endeavouring to amuse mankind with the minute neatness of his
imitations, he must endeavour to improve them by the grandeur of his
ideas; instead of seeking praise, by deceiving the superficial sense of
the spectator, he must strive for fame, by captivating the imagination.
The principle now laid down, that the perfection of this art does not
consist in mere imitation, is far from being new or singular. It is,
indeed, supported by the general opinion of the enlightened part of
mankind. The poets, orators, and rhetoricians of antiquity, are
continually enforcing this position; that all the arts receive their
perfection from an ideal beauty, superior to what is to be found in
individual nature. They are ever referring to the practice of the
painters and sculptors of their times, particularly Phidias (the
favourite artist of antiquity), to illustrate their assertions. As if
they could not sufficiently express their admiration of his genius by
what they knew, they have recourse to poetical enthusiasm: they call it
inspiration; a gift from heaven. The artist is supposed to have ascended
the celestial regions, to furnish his mind with this perfect idea of
beauty. “He,” says Proclus,[1] “who takes for his model such forms as
nature produces, and confines himself to an exact imitation of them,
will never attain to what is perfectly beautiful. For the works of
nature are full of disproportion, and fall very short of the true
standard of beauty. So that Phidias, when he formed his Jupiter, did not
copy any object ever presented to his sight; but contemplated only that
image which he had conceived in his mind from Homer’s description.” And
thus Cicero, speaking of the same Phidias: “Neither did this artist,”
says he, “when he carved the image of Jupiter or Minerva, set before him
any one human figure, as a pattern, which he was to copy; but having a
more perfect idea of beauty fixed in his mind, this he steadily
contemplated, and to the imitation of this all his skill and labour were
directed.”
The moderns are not less convinced than the ancients of this superior
power existing in the art; nor less sensible of its effects. Every
language has adopted terms expressive of this excellence. The _gusto
grande_ of the Italians, the _beau idéal_ of the French, and the _great
style_, _genius_, and _taste_ among the English, are but different
appellations of the same thing. It is this intellectual dignity, they
say, that ennobles the painter’s art; that lays the line between him and
the mere mechanic; and produces those great effects in an instant, which
eloquence and poetry, by slow and repeated efforts, are scarcely able to
attain.
Such is the warmth with which both the ancients and moderns speak of
this divine principle of the art; but, as I have formerly observed,
enthusiastic admiration seldom promotes knowledge. Though a student by
such praise may have his attention roused, and a desire excited, of
running in this great career; yet it is possible that what has been
said to excite, may only serve to deter him. He examines his own mind,
and perceives there nothing of that divine inspiration, with which, he
is told, so many others have been favoured. He never travelled to heaven
to gather new ideas; and he finds himself possessed of no other
qualifications than what mere common observation and a plain
understanding can confer. Thus he becomes gloomy amidst the splendour of
figurative declamation, and thinks it hopeless to pursue an object which
he supposes out of the reach of human industry.
But on this, as upon many other occasions, we ought to distinguish how
much is to be given to enthusiasm, and how much to reason. We ought to
allow for, and we ought to commend, that strength of vivid expression,
which is necessary to convey, in its full force, the highest sense of
the most complete effect of art; taking care at the same time, not to
lose in terms of vague admiration, that solidity and truth of principle,
upon which alone we can reason, and may be enabled to practise.
It is not easy to define in what this great style consists; nor to
describe, by words, the proper means of acquiring it, if the mind of the
student should be at all capable of such an acquisition. Could we teach
taste and genius by rules, they would be no longer taste and genius. But
though there neither are, nor can be, any precise invariable rules for
the exercise, or the acquisition, of these great qualities, yet we may
truly say, that they always operate in proportion to our attention in
observing the works of nature, to our skill in selecting, and to our
care in digesting, methodising, and comparing our observations. There
are many beauties in our art, that seem, at first, to lie without the
reach of precept, and yet may easily be reduced to practical principles.
Experience is all in all; but it is not every one who profits by
experience; and most people err, not so much from want of capacity to
find their object, as from not knowing what object to pursue. This great
ideal perfection and beauty are not to be sought in the heavens, but
upon the earth. They are about us, and upon every side of us. But the
power of discovering what is deformed in nature, or in other words, what
is particular and uncommon, can be acquired only by experience; and the
whole beauty and grandeur of the art consists, in my opinion, in being
able to get above all singular forms, local customs, particularities,
and details of every kind.
All the objects which are exhibited to our view by nature, upon close
examination will be found to have their blemishes and defects. The most
beautiful forms have something about them like weakness, minuteness, or
imperfection. But it is not every eye that perceives these blemishes. It
must be an eye long used to the contemplation and comparison of these
forms; and which, by a long habit of observing what any set of objects
of the same kind have in common, has acquired the power of discerning
what each wants in particular. This long laborious comparison should be
the first study of the painter who aims at the greatest style. By this
means, he acquires a just idea of beautiful forms; he corrects nature by
herself, her imperfect state by her more perfect. His eye being enabled
to distinguish the accidental deficiencies, excrescences, and
deformities of things, from their general figures, he makes out an
abstract idea of their forms more perfect than any one original; and,
what may seem a paradox, he learns to design naturally by drawing his
figures unlike to any one object. This idea of the perfect state of
nature, which the artist calls the Ideal Beauty, is the great leading
principle by which works of genius are conducted. By this Phidias
acquired his fame. He wrought upon a sober principle what has so much
excited the enthusiasm of the world; and by this method you, who have
courage to tread the same path, may acquire equal reputation.