same general principles, yet in the detail, or what may be called the
by-laws of each art, there seems to be no longer any connection between
them. The different materials upon which those two arts exert their
powers must infallibly create a proportional difference in their
practice. There are many petty excellences which the painter attains
with ease, but which are impracticable in sculpture; and which, even if
it could accomplish them, would add nothing to the true value and
dignity of the work.
Of the ineffectual attempts which the modern sculptors have made by way
of improvement, these seem to be the principal; The practice of
detaching drapery from the figure, in order to give the appearance of
flying in the air;
Of making different plans in the same bas-relievos;
Of attempting to represent the effects of perspective:--
To these we may add the ill effect of figures clothed in a modern dress.
The folly of attempting to make stone sport and flutter in the air is so
apparent, that it carries with it its own reprehension; and yet to
accomplish this seemed to be the great ambition of many modern
sculptors, particularly Bernini: his heart was so much set on overcoming
this difficulty, that he was for ever attempting it, though by that
attempt he risked everything that was valuable in the art.
Bernini stands in the first class of modern sculptors, and therefore it
is the business of criticism to prevent the ill effects of so powerful
an example.
From his very early work of Apollo and Daphne, the world justly expected
he would rival the best productions of ancient Greece; but he soon
strayed from the right path. And though there is in his works something
which always distinguishes him from the common herd, yet he appears in
his latter performances to have lost his way. Instead of pursuing the
study of that ideal beauty with which he had so successfully begun, he
turned his mind to an injudicious quest of novelty; attempted what was
not within the province of the art, and endeavoured to overcome the
hardness and obstinacy of his materials; which even supposing he had
accomplished, so far as to make this species of drapery appear natural,
the ill effect and confusion occasioned by its being detached from the
figure to which it belongs, ought to have been alone a sufficient reason
to have deterred him from that practice.
We have not, I think, in our Academy, any of Bernini’s works, except a
cast of the head of his Neptune;[19] this will be sufficient to serve us
for an example of the mischief produced by this attempt of representing
the effects of the wind. The locks of the hair are flying abroad in all
directions, insomuch that it is not a superficial view that can discover
what the object is which is represented, or distinguish those flying
locks from the features, as they are all of the same colour, of equal
solidity, and consequently project with equal force.
The same entangled confusion which is here occasioned by the hair is
produced by drapery flying off; which the eye must, for the same reason,
inevitably mingle and confound with the principal parts of the figure.
It is a general rule, equally true in both arts, that the form and
attitude of the figure should be seen clearly, and without any
ambiguity, at the first glance of the eye. This the painter can easily
do by colour, by losing parts in the ground, or keeping them so obscure
as to prevent them from interfering with the more principal objects. The
sculptor has no other means of preventing this confusion than by
attaching the drapery for the greater part close to the figure; the
folds of which following the order of the limbs, whenever the drapery is
seen, the eye is led to trace the form and attitude of the figure at the
same time.
The drapery of the Apollo, though it makes a large mass, and is
separated from the figure, does not affect the present question, from
the very circumstance of its being so completely separated; and from the
regularity and simplicity of its form, it does not in the least
interfere with a distinct view of the figure. In reality, it is no more
a part of it than a pedestal, a trunk of a tree, or an animal, which we
often see joined to statues.
The principal use of those appendages is to strengthen and preserve the
statue from accidents; and many are of opinion that the mantle which
falls from the Apollo’s arm is for the same end; but surely it answers a
much greater purpose, by preventing that dryness of effect which would
inevitably attend a naked arm, extended almost at full length; to which
we may add, the disagreeable effect which would proceed from the body
and arm making a right angle.
The Apostles, in the church of St. John Lateran, appear to me to fall
under the censure of an injudicious imitation of the manner of the
painters. The drapery of those figures, from being disposed in large
masses, gives undoubtedly that air of grandeur which magnitude or
quantity is sure to produce. But though it should be acknowledged that
it is managed with great skill and intelligence, and contrived to appear
as light as the materials will allow, yet the weight and solidity of
stone was not to be overcome.
Those figures are much in the style of Carlo Maratti, and such as we may
imagine he would have made, if he had attempted sculpture; and when we
know he had the superintendence of that work, and was an intimate friend
of one of the principal sculptors, we may suspect that his taste had
some influence, if he did not even give the designs. No man can look at
those figures without recognising the manner of Carlo Maratti. They have
the same defect which his works so often have, of being overloaded with
drapery, and that too artificially disposed. I cannot but believe, that
if Ruscono, Le Gros, Monot, and the rest of the sculptors employed in
that work, had taken for their guide the simple dress, such as we see in
the antique statues of the philosophers, it would have given more real
grandeur to their figures, and would certainly have been more suitable
to the characters of the Apostles.
Though there is no remedy for the ill effect of those solid projections
which flying drapery in stone must always produce in statues, yet in
basso-relievos it is totally different; those detached parts of drapery
the sculptor has here as much power over as the painter, by uniting and
losing it in the ground, so that it shall not in the least entangle and
confuse the figure.
But here again the sculptor, not content with this successful imitation,
if it may be so called, proceeds to represent figures or groups of
figures on different plans; that is, some on the foreground, and some
at a greater distance, in the manner of painters in historical
compositions. To do this he has no other means than by making the
distant figures of less dimensions, and relieving them in a less degree
from the surface; but this is not adequate to the end; they will still
appear only as figures on a less scale, but equally near the eye with
those in the front of the piece.
Nor does the mischief of this attempt, which never accomplishes its
intention, rest here: by this division of the work into many minute
parts, the grandeur of its general effect is inevitably destroyed.
Perhaps the only circumstance in which the modern have excelled the
ancient sculptors is the management of a single group in basso-relievo;
the art of gradually raising the group from the flat surface, till it
imperceptibly emerges into alto-relievo. Of this there is no ancient
example remaining that discovers any approach to the skill which Le Gros
has shown in an altar in the Jesuits’ Church at Rome. Different plans or
degrees of relief in the same group have, as we see in this instance, a
good effect, though the contrary happens when the groups are separated,
and are at some distance behind each other.
This improvement in the art of composing a group in basso-relievo was
probably first suggested by the practice of the modern painters, who
relieve their figures, or groups of figures, from their ground, by the
same gentle gradation; and it is accomplished in every respect by the
same general principles; but as the marble has no colour, it is the
composition itself that must give it its light and shadow. The ancient
sculptors could not borrow this advantage from their painters, for this
was an art with which they appear to have been entirely unacquainted;
and in the basso-relievos of Lorenzo Ghiberti, the casts of which we
have in the Academy, this art is no more attempted than it was by the
painters of his age.
The next imaginary improvement of the moderns is the representing the
effects of perspective in bas-relief. Of this little need be said; all
must recollect how ineffectual has been the attempt of modern sculptors
to turn the buildings which they have introduced as seen from their
angle, with a view to make them appear to recede from the eye in
perspective. This, though it may show indeed their eager desire to
encounter difficulties, shows at the same time how inadequate their
materials are even to this their humble ambition.
The ancients, with great judgment, represented only the elevation of
whatever architecture they introduced into their bas-reliefs, which is
composed of little more than horizontal or perpendicular lines; whereas
the interruption of crossed lines, or whatever causes a multiplicity of
subordinate parts, destroys that regularity and firmness of effect on
which grandeur of style so much depends.
We come now to the last consideration; in what manner statues are to be
dressed, which are made in honour of men, either now living, or lately
departed.
This is a question which might employ a long discourse of itself: I
shall at present only observe, that he who wishes not to obstruct the
artist, and prevent his exhibiting his abilities to their greatest
advantage, will certainly not desire a modern dress.
The desire of transmitting to posterity the shape of modern dress must
be acknowledged to be purchased at a prodigious price, even the price of
everything that is valuable in art.
Working in stone is a very serious business; and it seems to be scarce
worth while to employ such durable materials in conveying to posterity a
fashion of which the longest existence scarce exceeds a year.
However agreeable it may be to the antiquary’s principles of equity and
gratitude, that as he has received great pleasure from the contemplation
of the fashions of dress of former ages, he wishes to give the same
satisfaction to future antiquaries: yet methinks pictures of an inferior
style, or prints, may be considered as quite sufficient, without
prostituting this great art to such mean purposes.
In this town may be seen an equestrian statue in a modern dress, which
may be sufficient to deter future artists from any such attempt: even
supposing no other objection, the familiarity of the modern dress by no
means agrees with the dignity and gravity of sculpture.
Sculpture is formal, regular, and austere; disdains all familiar
objects, as incompatible with its dignity; and is an enemy to every
species of affectation, or appearance of academical art. All contrast,
therefore, of one figure to another, or of the limbs of a single figure,
or even in the folds of the drapery, must be sparingly employed. In
short, whatever partakes of fancy or caprice, or goes under the
denomination of picturesque (however to be admired in its proper place),
is incompatible with that sobriety and gravity which is peculiarly the
characteristic of this art.
There is no circumstance which more distinguishes a well-regulated and
sound taste, than a settled uniformity of design, where all the parts
are compact, and fitted to each other, everything being of a piece. This
principle extends itself to all habits of life, as well as to all works
of art. Upon this general ground therefore we may safely venture to
pronounce, that the uniformity and simplicity of the materials on which
the sculptor labours (which are only white marble) prescribes bounds to
his art, and teaches him to confine himself to a proportionable
simplicity of design.
DISCOURSE XI
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the
Distribution of the Prizes, December 10, 1782._
Genius.--Consists principally in the Comprehension of a
whole; in taking General Ideas only.
GENTLEMEN,
The highest ambition of every artist is to be thought a man of genius.
As long as this flattering quality is joined to his name, he can bear
with patience the imputation of carelessness, incorrectness, or defects
of whatever kind.
So far indeed is the presence of genius from implying an absence of
faults, that they are considered by many as its inseparable companions.
Some go such lengths as to take indication from them, and not only
excuse faults on account of genius, but presume genius from the
existence of certain faults.
It is certainly true, that a work may justly claim the character of
genius, though full of errors; and it is equally true, that it may be
faultless, and yet not exhibit the least spark of genius. This naturally
suggests an inquiry, a desire at least of inquiring, what qualities of a
work and of a workman may justly entitle a painter to that character.
I have in a former discourse[20] endeavoured to impress you with a fixed
opinion, that a comprehensive and critical knowledge of the works of
nature is the only source of beauty and grandeur. But when we speak to
painters, we must always consider this rule, and all rules, with a
reference to the mechanical practice of their own particular art. It is
not properly in the learning, the taste, and the dignity of the ideas,
that genius appears as belonging to a painter. There is a genius
particular and appropriated to his own trade (as I may call it)
distinguished from all others. For that power, which enables the artist
to conceive his subject with dignity, may be said to belong to general
education; and is as much the genius of a poet, or the professor of any
other liberal art, or even a good critic in any of those arts, as of a
painter. Whatever sublime ideas may fill his mind, he is a painter only
as he can put in practice what he knows, and communicate those ideas by
visible representation.
If my expression can convey my idea, I wish to distinguish excellence of
this kind by calling it the genius of mechanical performance. This
genius consists, I conceive, in the power of expressing that which
employs your pencil, whatever it may be, _as a whole_; so that the
general effect and power of the whole may take possession of the mind,
and for a while suspend the consideration of the subordinate and
particular beauties or defects.
The advantage of this method of considering objects is what I wish now
more particularly to enforce. At the same time I do not forget, that a
painter must have the power of contracting as well as dilating his
sight; because, he that does not at all express particulars, expresses
nothing; yet it is certain, that a nice discrimination of minute
circumstances, and a punctilious delineation of them, whatever
excellence it may have (and I do not mean to detract from it), never did
confer on the artist the character of genius.
Besides those minute differences in things which are frequently not
observed at all, and when they are, make little impression, there are in
all considerable objects great characteristic distinctions, which press
strongly on the senses, and therefore fix the imagination. These are by
no means, as some persons think, an aggregate of all the small
discriminating particulars: nor will such an accumulation of particulars
ever express them. These answer to what I have heard great lawyers call
the leading points in a case or the leading cases relative to those
points.
The detail of particulars, which does not assist the expression of the
main characteristic, is worse than useless; it is mischievous, as it
dissipates the attention, and draws it from the principal point. It may
be remarked, that the impression which is left on our mind, even of
things which are familiar to us, is seldom more than their general
effect; beyond which we do not look in recognising such objects. To
express this in painting is to express what is congenial and natural to
the mind of man, and what gives him by reflection his own mode of
conceiving. The other presupposes _nicety_ and _research_, which are
only the business of the curious and attentive, and therefore does not
speak to the general sense of the whole species; in which common, and,
as I may so call it, mother tongue, every thing grand and comprehensive
must be uttered.
I do not mean to prescribe what degree of attention ought to be paid to
the minute parts; this it is hard to settle. We are sure that it is
expressing the general effect of the whole, which alone can give to
objects their true and touching character; and wherever this is
observed, whatever else may be neglected, we acknowledge the hand of a
master. We may even go further, and observe, that when the general
effect only is presented to us by a skilful hand, it appears to express
the object represented in a more lively manner than the minutest
resemblance would do.
These observations may lead to very deep questions, which I do not mean
here to discuss; among others, it may lead to an inquiry, why we are not
always pleased with the most absolute possible resemblance of an
imitation to its original object. Cases may exist in which such a
resemblance may be even disagreeable. I shall only observe that the
effect of figures in waxwork, though certainly a more exact
representation than can be given by painting or sculpture, is a
sufficient proof that the pleasure we receive from imitation is not
increased merely in proportion as it approaches to minute and detailed
reality; we are pleased, on the contrary, by seeing ends accomplished by
seemingly inadequate means.
To express protuberance by actual relief, to express the softness of
flesh by the softness of wax, seems rude and inartificial, and creates
no grateful surprise. But to express distances on a plain surface,
softness by hard bodies, and particular colouring by materials which are
not singly of that colour, produces that magic which is the prize and
triumph of art.
Carry this principle a step further. Suppose the effect of imitation to
be fully compassed by means still more inadequate; let the power of a
few well-chosen strokes, which supersede labour by judgment and
direction, produce a complete impression of all that the mind demands in
an object; we are charmed with such an unexpected happiness of
execution, and begin to be tired with the superfluous diligence, which
in vain solicits an appetite already satiated.
The properties of all objects, as far as a painter is concerned with
them, are the outline or drawing, the colour, and the light and shade.
The drawing gives the form, the colour its visible quality, and the
light and shade its solidity.
Excellence in any one of these parts of art will never be acquired by an
artist, unless he has the habit of looking upon objects at large, and
observing the effect which they have on the eye when it is dilated, and
employed upon the whole, without seeing any one of the parts distinctly.
It is by this that we obtain the ruling characteristic, and that we
learn to imitate it by short and dextrous methods. I do not mean by
dexterity a trick or mechanical habit, formed by guess, and established
by custom; but that science, which, by a profound knowledge of ends and
means, discovers the shortest and surest way to its own purpose.
If we examine with a critical view the manner of those painters whom we
consider as patterns, we shall find that their great fame does not
proceed from their works being more highly finished than those of other
artists, or from a more minute attention to details, but from that
enlarged comprehension which sees the whole object at once, and that
energy of art which gives its characteristic effect by adequate
expression.
Raffaelle and Titian are two names which stand the highest in our art;
one for drawing, the other for painting. The most considerable and the
most esteemed works of Raffaelle are the cartoons and his fresco works
in the Vatican; those, as we all know, are far from being minutely
finished: his principal care and attention seems to have been fixed upon
the adjustment of the whole, whether it was the general composition, or
the composition of each individual figure; for every figure may be said
to be a lesser whole, though in regard to the general work to which it
belongs, it is but a part; the same may be said of the head, of the
hands, and feet. Though he possessed this art of seeing and
comprehending the whole, as far as form is concerned, he did not exert
the same faculty in regard to the general effect, which is presented to
the eye by colour, and light and shade. Of this the deficiency of his
oil pictures, where this excellence is more expected than in fresco, is
a sufficient proof.
It is to Titian we must turn our eyes to find excellence with regard to
colour, and light and shade, in the highest degree. He was both the
first and the greatest master of this art. By a few strokes he knew how
to mark the general image and character of whatever object he attempted;
and produced, by this alone, a truer representation than his master
Giovanni Bellini, or any of his predecessors, who finished every hair.
His great care was to express the general colour, to preserve the masses
of light and shade, and to give by opposition the idea of that solidity
which is inseparable from natural objects. When those are preserved,
though the work should possess no other merit, it will have in a proper
place its complete effect; but where any of these are wanting, however
minutely laboured the picture may be in the detail, the whole will have
a false and even an unfinished appearance, at whatever distance, or in
whatever light, it can be shown.
It is vain to attend to the variation of tints, if, in that attention,
the general hue of flesh is lost; or to finish ever so minutely the
parts, if the masses are not observed, or the whole not well put
together.
Vasari seems to have had no great disposition to favour the Venetian
painters, yet he everywhere justly commends _il modo di fare, la
maniera, la bella pratica_; that is, the admirable manner and practice
of that school. On Titian, in particular, he bestows the epithets of
_giudicioso_, _bello_, _e stupendo_.
This manner was then new to the world, but that unshaken truth on which
it is founded, has fixed it as a model to all succeeding painters: and
those who will examine into the artifice, will find it to consist in the
power of generalising, and in the shortness and simplicity of the means
employed.
Many artists, as Vasari likewise observes, have ignorantly imagined they
are imitating the manner of Titian, when they leave their colours rough,
and neglect the detail; but, not possessing the principles on which he
wrought, they have produced what he calls _goffe pitture_, absurd
foolish pictures; for such will always be the consequence of affecting
dexterity without science, without selection, and without fixed
principles.
Raffaelle and Titian seem to have looked at nature for different
purposes; they both had the power of extending their view to the whole;
but one looked only for the general effect as produced by form, the
other as produced by colour.