certainly worthy of imitation; I mean his manner of forming all the
parts of his picture together; the whole going on at the same time, in
the same manner as nature creates her works. Though this method is not
uncommon to those who have been regularly educated, yet probably it was
suggested to him by his own natural sagacity. That this custom is not
universal appears from the practice of a painter whom I have just
mentioned, Pompeio Battoni, who finished his historical pictures part
after part; and in his portraits completely finished one feature before
he proceeded to another. The consequence was, as might be expected, the
countenance was never well expressed; and, as the painters say, the
whole was not well put together.
The first thing required to excel in our art, or, I believe, in any
art, is not only a love for it, but even an enthusiastic ambition to
excel in it. This never fails of success proportioned to the natural
abilities with which the artist has been endowed by Providence. Of
Gainsborough, we certainly know, that his passion was not the
acquirement of riches, but excellence in his art; and to enjoy that
honourable fame which is sure to attend it.--That _he felt this ruling
passion strong in death_ I am myself a witness. A few days before he
died, he wrote me a letter, to express his acknowledgments for the good
opinion I entertained of his abilities, and the manner in which (he had
been informed) I always spoke of him; and desired he might see me, once
more, before he died. I am aware how flattering it is to myself to be
thus connected with the dying testimony which this excellent painter
bore to his art. But I cannot prevail on myself to suppress, that I was
not connected with him by any habits of familiarity: if any little
jealousies had subsisted between us, they were forgotten in those
moments of sincerity; and he turned towards me as one who was engrossed
by the same pursuits, and who deserved his good opinion, by being
sensible of his excellence. Without entering into a detail of what
passed at this last interview, the impression of it upon my mind was,
that his regret at losing life was principally the regret of leaving his
art; and more especially as he now began, he said, to see what his
deficiencies were; which, he said, he flattered himself in his last
works were in some measure supplied.
When such a man as Gainsborough arrives to great fame, without the
assistance of an academical education, without travelling to Italy, or
any of those preparatory studies which have been so often recommended,
he is produced as an instance, how little such studies are necessary,
since so great excellence may be acquired without them. This is an
inference not warranted by the success of any individual; and I trust it
will not be thought that I wish to make this use of it.
It must be remembered that the style and department of art which
Gainsborough chose, and in which he so much excelled, did not require
that he should go out of his own country for the objects of his study;
they were everywhere about him; he found them in the streets, and in the
fields; and from the models thus accidentally found, he selected with
great judgment such as suited his purpose. As his studies were directed
to the living world principally, he did not pay a general attention to
the works of the various masters, though they are, in my opinion, always
of great use, even when the character of our subject requires us to
depart from some of their principles. It cannot be denied, that
excellence in the department of the art which he professed may exist
without them; that in such subjects, and in the manner that belongs to
them, the want of them is supplied, and more than supplied, by natural
sagacity, and a minute observation of particular nature. If Gainsborough
did not look at nature with a poet’s eye, it must be acknowledged that
he saw her with the eye of a painter; and gave a faithful, if not a
poetical, representation of what he had before him.
Though he did not much attend to the works of the great historical
painters of former ages, yet he was well aware that the language of the
art,--the art of imitation,--must be learned somewhere; and as he knew
that he could not learn it in an equal degree from his contemporaries,
he very judiciously applied himself to the Flemish school, who are
undoubtedly the greatest masters of one necessary branch of art; and he
did not need to go out of his own country for examples of that school:
from that he learned the harmony of colouring, the management and
disposition of light and shadow, and every means which the masters of it
practised, to ornament and give splendour to their works. And to satisfy
himself as well as others, how well he knew the mechanism and artifice
which they employed to bring out that tone of colour which we so much
admired in their works, he occasionally made copies from Rubens,
Teniers, and Vandyck, which it would be no disgrace to the most accurate
connoisseur to mistake, at the first sight, for the works of those
masters. What he thus learned, he applied to the originals of nature,
which he saw with his own eyes; and imitated, not in the manner of those
masters, but in his own.
Whether he most excelled in portraits, landscapes, or fancy-pictures, it
is difficult to determine: whether his portraits were most admirable for
exact truth of resemblance, or his landscapes for a portrait-like
representation of nature, such as we see in the works of Rubens,
Ruysdaal, and others of those schools. In his fancy-pictures, whence had
fixed on his object of imitation, whether it was the mean and vulgar
form of a wood-cutter, or a child of an interesting character, as he did
not attempt to raise the one, so neither did he lose any of the natural
grace and elegance of the other; such a grace, and such an elegance, as
are more frequently found in cottages than in courts. This excellence
was his own, the result of his particular observation and taste; for
this he was certainly not indebted to the Flemish school, nor indeed to
any school; for his grace was not academical or antique, but selected by
himself from the great school of nature; and there are yet a thousand
modes of grace, which are neither theirs nor his, but lie open in the
multiplied scenes and figures of life, to be brought out by skilful and
faithful observers.
Upon the whole, we may justly say, that whatever he attempted he
carried to a high degree of excellence. It is to the credit of his good
sense and judgment that he never did attempt that style of historical
painting for which his previous studies had made no preparation.
And here it naturally occurs to oppose the sensible conduct of
Gainsborough in this respect to that of our late excellent Hogarth, who,
with all his extraordinary talents, was not blessed with this knowledge
of his own deficiency or of the bounds which were set to the extent of
his own powers. After this admirable artist had spent the greatest part
of his life in an active, busy, and, we may add, successful attention to
the ridicule of life; after he had invented a new species of dramatic
painting, in which probably he will never be equalled, and had stored
his mind with infinite materials to explain and illustrate the domestic
and familiar scenes of common life, which were generally, and ought to
have been always, the subject of his pencil; he very imprudently, or
rather presumptuously, attempted the great historical style, for which
his previous habits had by no means prepared him: he was indeed so
entirely unacquainted with the principles of this style, that he was not
even aware that any artificial preparation was at all necessary. It is
to be regretted that any part of the life of such a genius should be
fruitlessly employed. Let his failure teach us not to indulge ourselves
in the vain imagination, that by a momentary resolution we can give
either dexterity to the hand, or a new habit to the mind.
I have, however, little doubt but that the same sagacity which enabled
those two extraordinary men to discover their true object, and the
peculiar excellence of that branch of art which they cultivated, would
have been equally effectual in discovering the principles of the higher
style; if they had investigated those principles with the same eager
industry, which they exerted in their own department. As Gainsborough
never attempted the heroic style, so neither did he destroy the
character and uniformity of his own style, by the idle affectation of
introducing mythological learning in any of his pictures. Of this boyish
folly we see instances enough, even in the works of great painters. When
the Dutch school attempt this poetry of our art in their landscapes,
their performances are beneath criticism; they become only an object of
laughter. This practice is hardly excusable, even in Claude Lorrain, who
had shown more discretion, if he had never meddled with such subjects.
Our late ingenious Academician, Wilson, has I fear, been guilty, like
many of his predecessors, of introducing gods and goddesses, ideal
beings, into scenes which were by no means prepared to receive such
personages. His landscapes were in reality too near common nature to
admit supernatural objects. In consequence of this mistake, in a very
admirable picture of a storm which I have seen of his hand, many figures
are introduced in the foreground, some in apparent distress, and some
struck dead, as a spectator would naturally suppose, by the lightning;
had not the painter injudiciously (as I think) rather chosen that their
death should be imputed to a little Apollo, who appears in the sky, with
his bent bow, and that those figures should be considered as the
children of Niobe.
To manage a subject of this kind, a peculiar style of art is required;
and it can only be done without impropriety, or even without ridicule,
when we adapt the character of the landscape, and that too, in all its
parts, to the historical or poetical representation. This is a very
difficult adventure, and it requires a mind thrown back two thousand
years, and as it were naturalised in antiquity, like that of Nicolas
Poussin, to achieve it. In the picture alluded to, the first idea that
presents itself is that of wonder, at seeing a figure in so uncommon a
situation as that in which the Apollo is placed; for the clouds on which
he kneels have not the appearance of being able to support him; they
have neither the substance nor the form fit for the receptacle of a
human figure; and they do not possess in any respect that romantic
character which is appropriated to such an object, and which alone can
harmonise with poetical stories.
It appears to me that such conduct is no less absurd, than if a plain
man, giving a relation of a real distress, occasioned by an inundation
accompanied with thunder and lightning, should, instead of simply
relating the event, take it into his head, in order to give a grace to
his narration, to talk of Jupiter Pluvius, or Jupiter and his
thunder-bolts, or any other figurative idea; an intermixture which,
though in poetry, with its proper preparations and accompaniments, it
might be managed with effect, yet in the instance before us would
counteract the purpose of the narrator, and instead of being
interesting, would be only ridiculous.
The Dutch and Flemish style of landscape, not even excepting those of
Rubens, is unfit for poetical subjects; but to explain in what this
ineptitude consists, or to point out all the circumstances that give
nobleness, grandeur, and the poetic character to style, in landscape,
would require a long discourse of itself; and the end would be then
perhaps but imperfectly attained. The painter who is ambitious of this
perilous excellence must catch his inspiration from those who have
cultivated with success the poetry, as it may be called, of the art; and
they are few indeed.
I cannot quit this subject without mentioning two examples which occur
to me at present, in which the poetical style of landscape may be seen
happily executed; the one is Jacob’s Dream, by Salvator Rosa, and the
other the Return of the Ark from Captivity, by Sebastian Bourdon.[25]
With whatever dignity those histories are presented to us in the
language of Scripture, this style of painting possesses the same power
of inspiring sentiments of grandeur and sublimity, and is able to
communicate them to subjects which appear by no means adapted to receive
them. A ladder against the sky has no very promising appearance of
possessing a capacity to excite any heroic ideas; and the Ark, in the
hands of a second-rate master, would have little more effect than a
common waggon on the highway; yet those subjects are so poetically
treated throughout, the parts have such a correspondence with each
other, and the whole and every part of the scene is so visionary, that
it is impossible to look at them without feeling, in some measure, the
enthusiasm which seems to have inspired the painters.
By continual contemplation of such works, a sense of the higher
excellences of art will by degrees dawn on the imagination; at every
review that sense will become more and more assured, until we come to
enjoy a sober certainty of the real existence (if I may so express
myself) of those almost ideal beauties; and the artist will then find no
difficulty in fixing in his mind the principles by which the impression
is produced, which he will feel and practise, though they are perhaps
too delicate and refined, and too peculiar to the imitative art, to be
conveyed to the mind by any other means.
To return to Gainsborough: the peculiarity of his manner, or style, or
we may call it the language in which he expressed his ideas, has been
considered by many as his greatest defect. But without altogether
wishing to enter into the discussion--whether this peculiarity was a
defect or not, intermixed, as it was, with great beauties, of some of
which it was probably the cause--it becomes a proper subject of
criticism and inquiry to a painter.
A novelty and peculiarity of manner, as it is often a cause of our
approbation, so likewise it is often a ground of censure; as being
contrary to the practice of other painters, in whose manner we have been
initiated, and in whose favour we have perhaps been prepossessed from
our infancy; for, fond as we are of novelty, we are upon the whole
creatures of habit. However, it is certain, that all those odd scratches
and marks, which on a close examination are so observable in
Gainsborough’s pictures, and which even to experienced painters appear
rather the effect of accident than design; this chaos, this uncouth and
shapeless appearance, by a kind of magic, at a certain distance assumes
form, and all the parts seem to drop into their proper places; so that
we can hardly refuse acknowledging the full effect of diligence, under
the appearance of chance and hasty negligence. That Gainsborough himself
considered this peculiarity in his manner, and the power it possesses of
exciting surprise, as a beauty in his works, I think may be inferred
from the eager desire which we know he always expressed, that his
pictures, at the exhibition, should be seen near, as well as at a
distance.
The slightness which we see in his best works cannot always be imputed
to negligence. However they may appear to superficial observers,
painters know very well that a steady attention to the general effect
takes up more time, and is much more laborious to the mind, than any
mode of high finishing or smoothness, without such attention. His
_handling, the manner of leaving the colours_, or, in other words, the
methods he used for producing the effect, had very much the appearance
of the work of an artist who had never learned from others the usual and
regular practice belonging to the art; but still, like a man of strong
intuitive perception of what was required, he found out a way of his own
to accomplish his purpose.
It is no disgrace to the genius of Gainsborough, to compare him to such
men as we sometimes meet with, whose natural eloquence appears even in
speaking a language which they can scarce be said to understand; and
who, without knowing the appropriate expression of almost any one idea,
contrive to communicate the lively and forcible impressions of an
energetic mind.
I think some apology may reasonably be made for his manner, without
violating truth, or running any risk of poisoning the minds of the
younger students, by propagating false criticism, for the sake of
raising the character of a favourite artist. It must be allowed, that
this hatching manner of Gainsborough did very much contribute to the
lightness of effect which is so eminent a beauty in his pictures; as, on
the contrary, much smoothness, and uniting the colours, is apt to
produce heaviness. Every artist must have remarked, how often that
lightness of hand which was in his dead-colour, or first painting,
escaped in the finishing, when he had determined the parts with more
precision: and another loss he often experiences, which is of greater
consequence; whilst he is employed in the detail, the effect of the
whole together is either forgotten or neglected. The likeness of a
portrait, as I have formerly observed, consists more in preserving the
general effect of the countenance, than in the most minute finishing of
the features, or any of the particular parts. Now Gainsborough’s
portraits were often little more, in regard to finishing, or determining
the form of the features, than what generally attends a dead-colour;
but as he was always attentive to the general effect, or whole together,
I have often imagined that this unfinished manner contributed even to
that striking resemblance for which his portraits are so remarkable.
Though this opinion may be considered as fanciful, yet I think a
plausible reason may be given, why such a mode of painting should have
such an effect. It is pre-supposed that in this undetermined manner
there is the general effect; enough to remind the spectator of the
original; the imagination supplies the rest, and perhaps more
satisfactorily to himself, if not more exactly, than the artist, with
all his care, could possibly have done. At the same time it must be
acknowledged there is one evil attending this mode: that if the portrait
were seen, previous to any knowledge of the original, different persons
would form different ideas, and all would be disappointed at not finding
the original correspond with their own conceptions, under the great
latitude which indistinctness gives to the imagination to assume almost
what character or form it pleases.
Every artist has some favourite part, on which he fixes his attention,
and which he pursues with such eagerness, that it absorbs every other
consideration; and he often falls into the opposite error of that which
he would avoid, which is always ready to receive him. Now Gainsborough,
having truly a painter’s eye for colouring, cultivated those effects of
the art which proceed from colours; and sometimes appears to be
indifferent to or to neglect other excellences. Whatever defects are
acknowledged, let him still experience from us the same candour that we
so freely give upon similar occasions to the ancient masters; let us not
encourage that fastidious disposition, which is discontented with
everything short of perfection, and unreasonably require, as we
sometimes do, a union of excellences, not perhaps quite compatible with
each other.--We may, on this ground, say even of the divine Raffaelle,
that he might have finished his picture as highly and as correctly as
was his custom, without heaviness of manner; and that Poussin might have
preserved all his precision without hardness or dryness.
To show the difficulty of uniting solidity with lightness of manner, we
may produce a picture of Rubens in the Church of St. Judule, at
Brussels, as an example; the subject is _Christ’s charge to Peter_,
which, as it is the highest, and smoothest, finished picture I remember
to have seen of that master, so it is by far the heaviest; and if I had
found it in any other place, I should have suspected it to be a copy;
for painters know very well that it is principally by this air of
facility, or the want of it, that originals are distinguished from
copies.--A lightness of effect, produced by colour, and that produced by
facility of handling, are generally united; a copy may preserve
something of the one, it is true, but hardly ever of the other; a
connoisseur therefore finds it often necessary to look carefully into
the picture before he determines on its originality. Gainsborough
possessed this quality of lightness of manner and effect, I think, to an
unexampled degree of excellence; but it must be acknowledged, at the
same time, that the sacrifice which he made to this ornament of our art
was too great; it was, in reality, preferring the lesser excellences to
the greater.
To conclude. However we may apologise for the deficiencies of
Gainsborough (I mean particularly his want of precision and finishing),
who so ingeniously contrived to cover his defects by his beauties; and
who cultivated that department of art, where such defects are more
easily excused; you are to remember, that no apology can be made for
this deficiency, in that style which this Academy teaches, and which
ought to be the object of your pursuit. It will be necessary for you, in
the first place, never to lose sight of the great rules and principles
of the art, as they are collected from the full body of the best general
practice, and the most constant and uniform experience; this must be the
groundwork of all your studies; afterwards you may profit, as in this
case I wish you to profit, by the peculiar experience and personal
talents of artists living and dead; you may derive lights, and catch
hints, from their practice; but the moment you turn them into models,
you fall infinitely below them; you may be corrupted by excellences, not
so much belonging to the art, as personal and appropriated to the
artist; and become bad copies of good painters, instead of excellent
imitators of the great universal truth of things.
DISCOURSE XV
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution of
the Prizes, December 10, 1790._
The President takes Leave of the Academy.--A Review of the
Discourses.--The Study of the Works of Michael Angelo recommended.
GENTLEMEN,
The intimate connection which I have had with the Royal Academy ever
since its establishment, the social duties in which we have all mutually
engaged for so many years, make any profession of attachment to this
Institution, on my part, altogether superfluous; the influence of habit
alone in such a connection would naturally have produced it.
Among men united in the same body, and engaged in the same pursuit,
along with permanent friendship occasional differences will arise. In
these disputes men are naturally too favourable to themselves, and
think perhaps too hardly of their antagonists. But composed and
constituted as we are, those little contentions will be lost to others,
and they ought certainly to be lost amongst ourselves, in mutual esteem
for talents and acquirements: every controversy ought to be, and I am
persuaded will be, sunk in our zeal for the perfection of our common
art.
In parting with the Academy, I shall remember with pride, affection, and
gratitude, the support with which I have almost uniformly been honoured
from the commencement of our intercourse. I shall leave you, gentlemen,
with unaffected cordial wishes for your future concord, and with a
well-founded hope, that in that concord the auspicious and not obscure
origin of our Academy may be forgotten in the splendour of your
succeeding prospects.
My age, and my infirmities still more than my age, make it probable that
this will be the last time I shall have the honour of addressing you
from this place. Excluded as I am, _spatiis iniquis_, from indulging my
imagination with a distant and forward perspective of life, I may be
excused if I turn my eyes back on the way which I have passed.