undeterminate manner, or vague ideas of any kind, in a complete and
finished picture. This notion, therefore, of leaving anything to the
imagination, opposes a very fixed and indispensable rule in our
art,--that everything shall be carefully and distinctly expressed, as if
the painter knew, with correctness and precision, the exact form and
character of whatever is introduced into the picture. This is what with
us is called science and learning: which must not be sacrificed and
given up for an uncertain and doubtful beauty, which, not naturally
belonging to our art, will probably be sought for without success.
Mr. Falconet has observed, in a note on this passage in his translation
of Pliny, that the circumstance of covering the face of Agamemnon was
probably not in consequence of any fine imagination of the
painter,--which he considers as a discovery of the critics,--but merely
copied from the description of the sacrifice, as it is found in
Euripides.
The words from which the picture is supposed to be taken are these:
_Agamemnon saw Iphigenia advance towards the fatal altar; he groaned, he
turned aside his head, he shed tears, and covered his face with his
robe_.
Falconet does not at all acquiesce in the praise that is bestowed on
Timanthes; not only because it is not his invention, but because he
thinks meanly of this trick of concealing, except in instances of blood,
where the objects would be too horrible to be seen; but, says he, “in an
afflicted father, in a king, in Agamemnon, you, who are a painter,
conceal from me the most interesting circumstance, and then put me off
with sophistry and a veil. You are” (he adds) “a feeble painter, without
resource: you do not know even those of your art: I care not what veil
it is, whether closed hands, arms raised, or any other action that
conceals from me the countenance of the hero. You think of veiling
Agamemnon; you have unveiled your own ignorance. A painter who
represents Agamemnon veiled is as ridiculous as a poet would be, who in
a pathetic situation, in order to satisfy my expectations, and rid
himself of the business, should say, that the sentiments of his hero are
so far above whatever can be said on the occasion, that he shall say
nothing.”
To what Falconet has said, we may add, that supposing this method of
leaving the expression of grief to the imagination, to be, as it was
thought to be, the invention of the painter, and that it deserves all
the praise that has been given it, still it is a trick that will serve
but once; whoever does it a second time will not only want novelty, but
be justly suspected of using artifice to evade difficulties. If
difficulties overcome make a great part of the merit of art,
difficulties evaded can deserve but little commendation.
DISCOURSE IX
_Delivered at the Opening of the Royal Academy, in Somerset Place,
October 16, 1780._
On the Removal of the Royal Academy to Somerset Place.--The
Advantages to Society from cultivating Intellectual Pleasure.
GENTLEMEN,
The honour which the arts acquire by being permitted to take possession
of this noble habitation, is one of the most considerable of the many
instances we have received of his Majesty’s protection; and the
strongest proof of his desire to make the Academy respectable.
Nothing has been left undone, that might contribute to excite our
pursuit, or to reward our attainments. We have already the happiness of
seeing the arts in a state to which they never before arrived in this
nation. This building, in which we are now assembled, will remain to
many future ages an illustrious specimen of the architect’s[17]
abilities. It is our duty to endeavour that those who gaze with wonder
at the structure, may not be disappointed when they visit the
apartments. It will be no small addition to the glory, which this nation
has already acquired from having given birth to eminent men in every
part of science, if it should be enabled to produce, in consequence of
this institution, a school of English artists. The estimation in which
we stand in respect to our neighbours, will be in proportion to the
degree in which we excel or are inferior to them in the acquisition of
intellectual excellence, of which trade and its consequential riches
must be acknowledged to give the means; but a people whose whole
attention is absorbed in those means, and who forget the end, can aspire
but little above the rank of a barbarous nation. Every establishment
that tends to the cultivation of the pleasures of the mind, as distinct
from those of sense, may be considered as an inferior school of
morality, where the mind is polished and prepared for higher
attainments.
Let us for a moment take a short survey of the progress of the mind
towards what is, or ought to be, its true object of attention. Man, in
his lowest state, has no pleasures but those of sense, and no wants but
those of appetite; afterwards, when society is divided into different
ranks, and some are appointed to labour for the support of others, those
whom their superiority sets free from labour begin to look for
intellectual entertainments. Thus, whilst the shepherds were attending
their flocks, their masters made the first astronomical observations;
so music is said to have had its origin from a man at leisure listening
to the strokes of a hammer.
As the senses, in the lowest state of nature, are necessary to direct us
to our support, when that support is once secure there is danger in
following them further; to him who has no rule of action but the
gratification of the senses, plenty is always dangerous: it is therefore
necessary to the happiness of individuals, and still more necessary to
the security of society, that the mind should be elevated to the idea of
general beauty, and the contemplation of general truth; by this pursuit
the mind is always carried forward in search of something more excellent
than it finds, and obtains its proper superiority over the common senses
of life, by learning to feel itself capable of higher aims and nobler
enjoyments. In this gradual exaltation of human nature, every art
contributes its contingent towards the general supply of mental
pleasure. Whatever abstracts the thoughts from sensual gratifications,
whatever teaches us to look for happiness within ourselves, must advance
in some measure the dignity of our nature.
Perhaps there is no higher proof of the excellence of man than
this,--that to a mind properly cultivated whatever is bounded is little.
The mind is continually labouring to advance, step by step, through
successive gradations of excellence, towards perfection, which is dimly
seen, at a great though not hopeless distance, and which we must always
follow because we never can attain; but the pursuit rewards itself: one
truth teaches another, and our store is always increasing, though nature
can never be exhausted. Our art, like all arts which address the
imagination, is applied to somewhat a lower faculty of the mind, which
approaches nearer to sensuality; but through sense and fancy it must
make its way to reason; for such is the progress of thought, that we
perceive by sense, we combine by fancy, and distinguish by reason: and
without carrying our art out of its natural and true character, the more
we purify it from everything that is gross in sense, in that proportion
we advance its use and dignity; and in proportion as we lower it to mere
sensuality, we pervert its nature, and degrade it from the rank of a
liberal art; and this is what every artist ought well to remember. Let
him remember also, that he deserves just so much encouragement in the
State as he makes himself a member of it virtuously useful, and
contributes in his sphere to the general purpose and perfection of
society.
The art which we profess has beauty for its object; this it is our
business to discover and to express; the beauty of which we are in quest
is general and intellectual; it is an idea that subsists only in the
mind; the sight never beheld it, nor has the hand expressed it: it is an
idea residing in the breast of the artist, which he is always labouring
to impart, and which he dies at last without imparting; but which he is
yet so far able to communicate, as to raise the thoughts, and extend the
views of the spectator; and which, by a succession of art, may be so far
diffused, that its effects may extend themselves imperceptibly into
public benefits, and be among the means of bestowing on whole nations
refinement of taste: which, if it does not lead directly to purity of
manners, obviates at least their greatest depravation, by disentangling
the mind from appetite, and conducting the thoughts through successive
stages of excellence, till that contemplation of universal rectitude and
harmony which began by taste may, as it is exalted and refined, conclude
in virtue.
DISCOURSE X
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution of
the Prizes, December 11, 1780._
Sculpture:--Has but One Style.--Its Objects, Form, and
Character.--Ineffectual Attempts of the Modern Sculptors to improve
the Art.--Ill Effects of Modern Dress in Sculpture.
GENTLEMEN,
I shall now, as it has been customary on this day, and on this occasion,
communicate to you such observations as have occurred to me on the
theory of art.
If these observations have hitherto referred principally to painting,
let it be remembered that this art is much more extensive and
complicated than sculpture, and affords therefore a more ample field for
criticism; and as the greater includes the less, the leading principles
of sculpture are comprised in those of painting.
However, I wish now to make some remarks with particular relation to
sculpture; to consider wherein, or in what manner, its principles and
those of painting agree or differ; what is within its power of
performing, and what it is vain or improper to attempt; that it may be
clearly and distinctly known what ought to be the great purpose of the
sculptor’s labours.
Sculpture is an art of much more simplicity and uniformity than
painting; it cannot with propriety, and the best effect, be applied to
many subjects. The object of its pursuit may be comprised in two words,
form and character; and those qualities are presented to us but in one
manner, or in one style only; whereas the powers of painting, as they
are more various and extensive, so they are exhibited in as great a
variety of manners. The Roman, Lombard, Florentine, Venetian, and
Flemish schools, all pursue the same end by different means. But
sculpture, having but one style, can only to one style of painting have
any relation; and to this (which is indeed the highest and most
dignified that painting can boast) it has a relation so close, that it
may be said to be almost the same art operating upon different
materials. The sculptors of the last age, from not attending
sufficiently to this discrimination of the different styles of painting,
have been led into many errors. Though they well knew that they were
allowed to imitate, or take ideas for the improvement of their own art
from the grand style of painting, they were not aware that it was not
permitted to borrow in the same manner from the ornamental. When they
endeavour to copy the picturesque effects, contrasts, or petty
excellences of whatever kind, which not improperly find a place in the
inferior branches of painting, they doubtless imagine themselves
improving and extending the boundaries of their art by this imitation;
but they are in reality violating its essential character, by giving a
different direction to its operations, and proposing to themselves
either what is unattainable, or at best a meaner object of pursuit. The
grave and austere character of sculpture requires the utmost degree of
formality in composition; picturesque contrasts have here no place;
everything is carefully weighed and measured, one side making almost an
exact equipoise to the other: a child is not a proper balance to a
full-grown figure, nor is a figure sitting or stooping a companion to an
upright figure.
The excellence of every art must consist in the complete accomplishment
of its purpose; and if by a false imitation of nature, or mean ambition
of producing a picturesque effect or illusion of any kind, all the
grandeur of ideas which this art endeavours to excite be degraded or
destroyed, we may boldly oppose ourselves to any such innovation. If the
producing of a deception is the summit of this art, let us at once give
to statues the addition of colour; which will contribute more towards
accomplishing this end, than all those artifices which have been
introduced and professedly defended, on no other principle but that of
rendering the work more natural. But as colour is universally rejected,
every practice liable to the same objection must fall with it. If the
business of sculpture were to administer pleasure to ignorance, or a
mere entertainment to the senses, the Venus of Medicis might certainly
receive much improvement by colour; but the character of sculpture makes
it her duty to afford delight of a different, and, perhaps, of a higher
kind; the delight resulting from the contemplation of perfect beauty:
and this, which is in truth an intellectual pleasure, is in many
respects incompatible with what is merely addressed to the senses, such
as that with which ignorance and levity contemplate elegance of form.
The sculptor may be safely allowed to practise every means within the
power of his art to produce a deception, provided this practice does not
interfere with or destroy higher excellences; on these conditions he
will be forced, however loth, to acknowledge that the boundaries of his
art have long been fixed, and that all endeavours will be vain that hope
to pass beyond the best works which remain of ancient sculpture.
Imitation is the means, and not the end, of art; it is employed by the
sculptor as the language by which his ideas are presented to the mind of
the spectator. Poetry and elocution of every sort make use of signs, but
those signs are arbitrary and conventional. The sculptor employs the
representation of the thing itself; but still as a means to a higher
end,--as a gradual ascent always advancing towards faultless form and
perfect beauty. It may be thought at the first view, that even this
form, however perfectly represented, is to be valued and take its rank
only for the sake of a still higher object, that of conveying sentiment
and character, as they are exhibited by attitude, and expression of the
passions. But we are sure from experience, that the beauty of form
alone, without the assistance of any other quality, makes of itself a
great work, and justly claims our esteem and admiration. As a proof of
the high value we set on the mere excellence of form, we may produce the
greatest part of the works of Michael Angelo, both in painting and
sculpture; as well as most of the antique statues, which are justly
esteemed in a very high degree, though no very marked or striking
character or expression of any kind is represented.
But, as a stronger instance that this excellence alone inspires
sentiment, what artist ever looked at the Torso without feeling a warmth
of enthusiasm, as from the highest efforts of poetry? From whence does
this proceed? What is there in this fragment that produces this effect,
but the perfection of this science of abstract form?
A mind elevated to the contemplation of excellence perceives in this
defaced and shattered fragment, _disjecti membra poetæ_, the traces of
superlative genius, the relics of a work on which succeeding ages can
only gaze with inadequate admiration.
It may be said that this pleasure is reserved only to those who have
spent their whole life in the study and contemplation of this art; but
the truth is, that all would feel its effects, if they could divest
themselves of the expectation of _deception_, and look only for what it
really is, a _partial_ representation of nature. The only impediment of
their judgment must then proceed from their being uncertain to what
rank, or rather kind of excellence, it aspires; and to what sort of
approbation it has a right. This state of darkness is, without doubt,
irksome to every mind; but by attention to works of this kind the
knowledge of what is aimed at comes of itself, without being taught, and
almost without being perceived.
The sculptor’s art is limited in comparison of others, but it has its
variety and intricacy within its proper bounds. Its essence is
correctness: and when to correct and perfect form is added the ornament
of grace, dignity of character, and appropriated expression, as in the
Apollo, the Venus, the Laocoon, the Moses of Michael Angelo, and many
others, this art may be said to have accomplished its purpose.
What grace is, how it is to be acquired or conceived, are in speculation
difficult questions; but _causa latet, res est notissima:_ without any
perplexing inquiry, the effect is hourly perceived. I shall only
observe, that its natural foundation is correctness of design; and
though grace may be sometimes united with incorrectness, it cannot
proceed from it.
But to come nearer to our present subject. It has been said that the
grace of the Apollo depends on a certain degree of incorrectness; that
the head is not anatomically placed between the shoulders; and that the
lower half of the figure is longer than just proportion allows.
I know that Correggio and Parmegiano are often produced as authorities
to support this opinion; but very little attention will convince us,
that the incorrectness of some parts which we find in their works, does
not contribute to grace, but rather tends to destroy it. The Madonna,
with the sleeping Infant, and beautiful group of angels, by Parmegiano,
in the Palazzo Piti, would not have lost any of its excellence, if the
neck, fingers, and indeed the whole figure of the Virgin, instead of
being so very long and incorrect, had preserved their due proportion.
In opposition to the first of these remarks, I have the authority of a
very able sculptor of this Academy, who has copied that figure,
consequently measured and carefully examined it, to declare, that the
criticism is not true. In regard to the last, it must be remembered,
that Apollo is here in the exertion of one of his peculiar powers, which
is swiftness; he has therefore that proportion which is best adapted to
that character. This is no more incorrectness than when there is given
to a Hercules an extraordinary swelling and strength of muscles.
The art of discovering and expressing grace is difficult enough of
itself, without perplexing ourselves with what is incomprehensible. A
supposition of such a monster as grace, begot by deformity, is poison to
the mind of a young artist, and may make him neglect what is essential
to his art, correctness of design, in order to pursue a phantom, which
has no existence but in the imagination of affected and refined
speculators.
I cannot quit the Apollo without making one observation on the character
of this figure. He is supposed to have just discharged his arrow at the
python; and, by the head retreating a little towards the right shoulder,
he appears attentive to its effect. What I would remark, is the
difference of this attention from that of the Discobolus, who is engaged
in the same purpose, watching the effect of his discus. The graceful,
negligent, though animated, air of the one, and the vulgar eagerness of
the other, furnish a signal instance of the judgment of the ancient
sculptors in their nice discrimination of character. They are both
equally true to nature, and equally admirable.
It may be remarked that grace, character, and expression, though words
of different sense and meaning, and so understood when applied to the
works of painters, are indiscriminately used when we speak of sculpture.
This indecision we may suspect to proceed from the undetermined effects
of the art itself; those qualities are exhibited in sculpture rather by
form and attitude than by the features, and can therefore be expressed
but in a very general manner.
Though the Laocoon and his two sons have more expression in the
countenance than perhaps any other antique statues, yet it is only the
general expression of pain; and this passion is still more strongly
expressed by the writhing and contortion of the body than by the
features.
It has been observed in a late publication, that if the attention of the
father in this group had been occupied more by the distress of his
children, than by his own sufferings, it would have raised a much
greater interest in the spectator. Though this observation comes from a
person whose opinion, in everything relating to the arts, carries with
it the highest authority, yet I cannot but suspect that such refined
expression is scarce within the province of this art; and in attempting
it, the artist will run great risk of enfeebling expression, and making
it less intelligible to the spectator.
As the general figure presents itself in a more conspicuous manner than
the features, it is there we must principally look for expression or
character; _patuit in corpore vultus_; and, in this respect, the
sculptor’s art is not unlike that of dancing, where the attention of the
spectator is principally engaged by the attitude and action of the
performer; and it is there he must look for whatever expression that art
is capable of exhibiting. The dancers themselves acknowledge this, by
often wearing masks, with little diminution in the expression. The face
bears so very inconsiderable a proportion to the effect of the whole
figure, that the ancient sculptors neglected to animate the features,
even with the general expression of the passions. Of this the group of
the Boxers is a remarkable instance; they are engaged in the most
animated action with the greatest serenity of countenance. This is not
recommended for imitation (for there can be no reason why the
countenance should not correspond with the attitude and expression of
the figure), but is mentioned in order to infer from hence, that this
frequent deficiency in ancient sculpture could proceed from nothing but
a habit of inattention to what was considered as comparatively
immaterial.
Those who think sculpture can express more than we have allowed, may
ask, by what means we discover, at the first glance, the character that
is represented in a bust, cameo, or intaglio? I suspect it will be
found, on close examination, by him who is resolved not to see more than
he really does see, that the figures are distinguished by their
_insignia_ more than by any variety of form or beauty. Take from Apollo
his lyre, from Bacchus his thyrsus and vine-leaves, and Meleager the
board’s head, and there will remain little or no difference in their
characters. In a Juno, Minerva, or Flora, the idea of the artist seems
to have gone no further than representing perfect beauty, and afterwards
adding the proper attributes, with a total indifference to which they
gave them. Thus John De Bologna, after he had finished a group of a
young man holding up a young woman in his arms, with an old man at his
feet, called his friends together, to tell him what name he should give
it, and it was agreed to call it The Rape of the Sabines;[18] and this
is the celebrated group which now stands before the old Palace at
Florence. The figures have the same general expression which is to be
found in most of the antique sculpture; and yet it would be no wonder if
future critics should find out delicacy of expression which was never
intended; and go so far as to see, in the old man’s countenance, the
exact relation which he bore to the woman who appears to be taken from
him.