We here naturally raise the question: If, owing to the small quantity
of light and saturation of his colours, the artist seeks, in all
kinds of indirect ways, by imitating subjective impressions to attain
resemblance to nature, as close as possible, but still imperfect,
would it not be more convenient to seek for means of obviating these
evils? Such there are indeed. Frescoes are sometimes viewed in direct
sunlight; transparencies and paintings on glass can utilise far higher
degrees of brightness, and far more saturated colours; in dioramas and
in theatrical decorations we may employ powerful artificial light, and,
if need be, the electric light. But when I enumerate these branches of
art, it will at once strike you that those works which we admire as the
greatest masterpieces of painting, do not belong to this class; but
by far the larger number of the great works of art are executed with
the comparatively dull water or oil-colours, or at any rate for rooms
with softened light. If higher artistic effects could be attained with
colours lighted by the sun, we should undoubtedly have pictures which
took advantage of this. Fresco painting would have led to this; or the
experiments of Münich’s celebrated optician Steinheil, which he made as
a matter of science, that is, to produce oil paintings which should be
looked at in bright sunshine, would not be isolated.
Experiment seems therefore to teach, that moderation of light and of
colours in pictures is ever advantageous, and we need only look at
frescoes in direct sunlight, such as those of the new Pinakothek in
Münich, to learn in what this advantage consists. Their brightness
is so great that we cannot look at them steadily for any length of
time. And what in this case is so painful and so tiring to the eye,
would also operate in a smaller degree if, in a picture, brilliant
colours were used, even locally and to a moderate extent, which were
intended to represent bright sunlight, and a mass of light shed over
the picture. It is much easier to produce an accurate imitation of the
feeble light of moonshine with artificial light in dioramas and theatre
decorations.
We may therefore designate truth to Nature of a beautiful picture as
an ennobled fidelity to Nature. Such a picture reproduces all that is
essential in the impression, and attains full vividness of conception,
but without injury or tiring the eye by the nude lights of reality. The
differences between Art and Nature are chiefly confined, as we have
already seen, to those matters which we can in reality only estimate
in an uncertain manner, such as the absolute intensities of light.
That which is pleasant to the senses, the beneficial but not exhausting
fatigue of our nerves, the feeling of comfort, corresponds in this
case, as in others, to those conditions which are most favourable
for perceiving the outer world, and which admit of the finest
discrimination and observation.
It has been mentioned above that the discrimination of the finest
shadows, and of the modelling which they express, is the most delicate
under a certain mean brightness. I should like to direct your
attention to another point which has great importance in painting:
I refer to our natural delight in colours, which has undoubtedly a
great influence upon our pleasure in the works of the painter. In its
simplest expression, as pleasure in gaudy flowers, feathers, stones,
in fireworks, and Bengal lights, this inclination has but little to do
with man’s sense of art; it only appears as the natural pleasure of
the perceptive organism in the varying and multifarious excitation of
its various nerves, which is necessary for its healthy continuance and
productivity. But the thorough fitness in the construction of living
organisms, whatever their origin, excludes the possibility that in the
majority of healthy individuals an instinct should be developed or
maintain itself which did not serve some definite purpose.
We have not far to seek for the delight in light and in colours, and
for the dread of darkness; this coincides with the endeavour to see
and to recognise surrounding objects. Darkness owes the greater part
of the terror which it inspires to the fright of what is unknown and
cannot be recognised. A coloured picture gives a far more accurate,
richer, and easier conception than a similarly executed drawing, which
only retains the contrasts of light and shade. A picture retains the
latter, but has in addition the material for discrimination which
colours afford; by which surfaces which appear equally bright in the
drawing, owing to their different colour, are now assigned to various
objects, or again as alike in colour are seen to be parts of the same,
or of similar objects. In utilising the relations thus naturally given,
the artist, by means of prominent colours, can direct and enchain the
attention of the observer upon the chief objects of the picture; and by
the variety of the garments he can discriminate the figures from each
other, but complete each individual one in itself. Even the natural
pleasure in pure, strongly saturated colours, finds its justification
in this direction. The case is analogous to that in music, with the
full, pure, well-sounding tones of a beautiful voice. Such a one is
more expressive; that is, even the smallest change of its pitch, or its
quality--any slight interruption, any tremulousness, any rising or
falling in it--is at once more distinctly recognised by the hearer than
could be the case with a less regular sound; and it seems also that
the powerful excitation which it produces in the ear of the listener,
arouses trains of ideas and passions more strongly than does a feebler
excitation of the same kind. A pure, fundamental colour bears to small
admixtures the same relation as a dark ground on which the slightest
shade of light is visible. Any of the ladies present will have known
how sensitive clothes of uniform saturated shades are to dirt, in
comparison with grey or greyish-brown materials. This also corresponds
to the conclusions from Young’s theory of colours. According to this
theory, the perception of each of the three fundamental colours arises
from the excitation of only one kind of sensitive fibres, while the two
others are at rest; or at any rate are but feebly excited. A brilliant,
pure colour produces a powerful stimulus, and yet, at the same time,
a great degree of sensitiveness to the admixture of other colours, in
those systems of nerve-fibres which are at rest. The modelling of a
coloured surface mainly depends upon the reflection of light of other
colours which falls upon them from without. It is more particularly
when the material glistens that the reflections of the bright places
are preferably of the colour of the incident light. In the depth of the
folds, on the contrary, the coloured surface reflects against itself,
and thereby makes its own colour more saturated. A white surface, on
the contrary, of great brightness, produces a dazzling effect, and is
thereby insensitive to slight degrees of shade. Strong colours thus, by
the powerful irritation which they produce, can enchain the eye of the
observer, and yet be expressive for the slightest change of modelling
or of illumination; that is, they are expressive in the artistic sense.
If, on the other hand, we coat too large surfaces, they produce fatigue
for the prominent colour, and a diminution in sensitiveness towards it.
This colour then becomes more grey, and on all surfaces of a different
colour the complementary tint appears, especially on grey or black
surfaces. Hence therefore clothes, and more particularly curtains,
which are of too bright a single colour, produce an unsatisfactory and
fatiguing effect; the clothes have moreover the disadvantage for the
wearer that they cover face and hands with the complementary colour.
Blue produces yellow, violet gives greenish yellow, bright purple
gives green, scarlet gives blue, and, conversely, yellow gives blue,
etc. There is another circumstance which the artist has to consider,
that colour is for him an important means of attracting the attention
of the observer. To be able to do this he must be sparing in the
use of the pure colours, otherwise they distract the attention, and
the picture becomes glaring. It is necessary, on the other hand, to
avoid a one-sided fatigue of the eye by too prominent a colour. This
is effected either by introducing the prominent colour to a moderate
extent upon a dull, slightly coloured ground, or by the juxtaposition
of variously saturated colours, which produce a certain equilibrium
of irritation in the eye, and, by the contrast in their after-images,
strengthen and increase each other. A green surface on which the green
after-image of a purple one falls, appears to be a far purer green
than without such an after-image. By fatigue towards purple, that is
towards red and violet, any admixture of these two colours in the green
is enfeebled, while this itself produces its full effect. In this way
the sensation of green is purified from any foreign admixture. Even the
purest and most saturated green, which Nature shows in the prismatic
spectrum, may thus acquire a higher degree of saturation. We find thus
that the other pairs of complementary colours, which we have mentioned,
make each other more brilliant by their contrast, while colours which
are very similar are detrimental to each other, and acquire a grey tint.
These relations of the colours to each other have manifestly a great
influence on the degree of pleasure which different combinations of
colours afford. Two colours may, without injury, be juxtaposed, which
indeed are so similar as to look like varieties of the same colour,
produced by varying degrees of light and shade. Thus, upon scarlet the
more shaded parts appear of a carmine, or on a straw-colour they appear
of a golden-yellow.
If we pass beyond these limits, we arrive at unpleasant combinations,
such as carmine and orange, or orange and straw-yellow. The distance
of the colours must then be increased, so as to create pleasing
combinations once more. The complementary colours are those which
are most distant from each other. When these are combined, such, for
instance, as straw-colour and ultramarine, or verdigris and purple,
they have something insipid but crude; perhaps because we are prepared
to expect the second colour to appear as an after-image of the first,
and it does not sufficiently appear to be a new and independent element
in the compound. Hence, on the whole, combinations of those pairs are
most pleasing in which the second colour of the complementary tint
is near the first, though with a distinct difference. Thus, scarlet
and greenish blue are complementary. The combination produced when
the greenish blue is allowed to glide either into ultramarine, or
yellowish green (sap green), is still more pleasing. In the latter
case, the combination tends towards yellow, and in the former, towards
rose-red. Still more satisfactory combinations are those of three
tints which bring about equilibrium in the impression of colour, and,
notwithstanding the great body of colour, avoid a one-sided fatigue of
the eye, without falling into the baldness of complementary tints.
To this belongs the combination which the Venetian masters used so
much--red, green, and violet; as well as Paul Veronese’s purple,
greenish blue, and yellow. The former triad corresponds approximately
to the three fundamental colours, in so far as these can be produced
by pigments; the latter gives the mixtures of each pair of fundamental
colours. It is however to be observed, that it has not yet been
possible to establish rules for the harmony of colours with the
same precision and certainty as for the consonance of tones. On the
contrary, a consideration of the facts shows that a number of accessory
influences come into play,[22] when once the coloured surface is also
to produce, either wholly or in part, a representation of natural
objects or of solid forms, or even if it only offers a resemblance with
the representation of a relief, of shaded and of non-shaded surfaces.
It is moreover often difficult to establish, as a matter of fact,
what are the colours which produce the harmonic impression. This is
pre-eminently the case with pictures in which the aërial colour, the
coloured reflection and shade, so variously alter the tint of each
single coloured surface when it is not perfectly smooth, that it is
hardly possible to give an indisputable determination of its tint. In
such cases, moreover, the direct action of the colour upon the eye
is only a subordinate means; for, on the other hand, the prominent
colours and lights must also serve for directing the attention to
the more important points of the representation. Compared with these
more poetical and psychological elements of the representation,
considerations as to the pleasing effect of the colours are thrown into
the background. Only in the pure ornamentation on carpets, draperies,
ribbons, or architectonic surfaces is there free scope for pure
pleasure in the colours, and only there can it develop itself according
to its own laws.
[Footnote 22: Conf. E. Brücke, _Die Physiologie der Farben für
die Zwecke der Kunstgewerbe_. Leipzig, 1866. W. v. Bezold, _Die
Farbenlehre, ein Hinblick auf Kunst und Kunstgewerbe_. Braunschweig,
1874.]
In pictures, too, there is not, as a general rule, perfect equilibrium
between the various colours, but one of them preponderates to an extent
which corresponds to the dominant light. This is occasioned, in the
first case, by the truthful imitation of physical circumstances. If
the illumination is rich in yellow light, yellow colours will appear
brighter and more brilliant than blue ones; for yellow bodies are
those which preferably reflect yellow light; while that of blue is
only feebly reflected, and is mainly absorbed. Before the shaded
parts of blue bodies, the yellow aërial light produces its effect,
and imparts to the blue more or less of a grey tint. The same thing
happens in front of red and green, though to a less extent, so that, in
their shadows, these colours merge into yellow. This also is closely
in accordance with the æsthetic requirements of artistic unity of
composition in colour. This is caused by the fact that the divergent
colours show a relation to the predominant colour, and point to it most
distinctly in their shades. Where this is wanting, the various colours
are hard and crude; and, since each one calls attention to itself, they
make a motley and disturbing impression; and, on the other hand, a cold
one, for the appearance of a flood of light thrown over the objects is
wanting.
We have a natural type of the harmony which a well-executed
illumination of masses of air can produce in a picture, in the light of
the setting sun, which throws over the poorest regions a flood of light
and colour, and harmoniously brightens them. The natural reason for
this increase of aërial illumination lies in the fact, that the lower
and more opaque layers of air are in the direction of the sun, and
therefore reflect more powerfully; while at the same time the yellowish
red colour of the light which has passed through the atmosphere
becomes more distinct as the length of path increases which it has to
traverse, and that further, this coloration is more pronounced as the
background falls into shadow.
* * * * *
In summing up once more these considerations, we have first seen what
limitations are imposed on truth to Nature in artistic representation;
how the painter links the principal means which nature furnishes of
recognising depths in the field of view, namely binocular vision,
which indeed is even turned against him, as it shows unmistakably the
flatness of the picture; how therefore the painter must carefully
select, partly the perspective arrangement of his subject, its position
and its aspect, and partly the lighting and shading, in order to give
us a directly intelligible image of its magnitude, its shape, and
distance, and how a truthful representation of aërial light is one of
the most important means of attaining the object.
We then saw that even the scale of luminous intensity, as met with
in the objects, must be transformed in the picture to one differing
sometimes by a hundredfold; how here, the colour of the object cannot
be simply represented by the pigment; that indeed it is necessary to
introduce important changes in the distribution of light and dark, of
yellowish and of bluish tints.
The artist cannot transcribe Nature; he must translate her; yet this
translation may give us an impression in the highest degree distinct
and forcible, not merely of the objects themselves, but even of the
greatly altered intensities of light under which we view them. The
altered scale is indeed in many cases advantageous, as it gets rid
of everything which, in the actual objects, is too dazzling, and too
fatiguing for the eye. Thus the imitation of Nature in the picture is
at the same time an ennobling of the impression on the senses. In this
respect we can often give ourselves up more calmly and continuously, to
the consideration of a work of art, than to that of a real object. The
work of art can produce those gradations of light, and those tints in
which the modelling of the forms is most distinct and therefore most
expressive. It can bring forward a fulness of vivid fervent colours,
and by skilful contrast can retain the sensitiveness of the eye in
advantageous equilibrium. It can fearlessly apply the entire energy of
powerful sensuous impressions, and the feeling of delight associated
therewith, to direct and enchain the attention; it can use their
variety to heighten the direct understanding of what is represented,
and yet keep the eye in a condition of excitation most favourable and
agreeable for delicate sensuous impressions.
If, in these considerations, my having continually laid much weight on
the lightest, finest, and most accurate sensuous intelligibility of
artistic representation, may seem to many of you as a very subordinate
point--a point which, if mentioned at all by writers on æsthetics, is
treated as quite accessory--I think this is unjustly so. The sensuous
distinctness is by no means a low or subordinate element in the action
of works of art; its importance has forced itself the more strongly
upon me the more I have sought to discover the physiological elements
in their action.
What effect is to be produced by a work of art, using this word in
its highest sense? It should excite and enchain our attention, arouse
in us, in easy play, a host of slumbering conceptions and their
corresponding feelings, and direct them towards a common object,
so as to give a vivid perception of all the features of an ideal
type, whose separate fragments lie scattered in our imagination and
overgrown by the wild chaos of accident. It seems as if we can only
refer the frequent preponderance, in the mind, of art over reality,
to the fact that the latter mixes something foreign, disturbing,
and even injurious; while art can collect all the elements for the
desired impression, and allow them to act without restraint. The
power of this impression will no doubt be greater the deeper, the
finer, and the truer to nature is the sensuous impression which is
to arouse the series of images and the effects connected therewith.
It must act certainly, rapidly, unequivocably, and with accuracy if
it is to produce a vivid and powerful impression. These essentially
are the points which I have sought to comprehend under the name of
intelligibility of the work of art.
Then the peculiarities of the painters’ technique (_Technik_), to which
physiological optical investigation have led us, are often closely
connected with the highest problems of art. We may perhaps think that
even the last secret of artistic beauty--that is, the wondrous pleasure
which we feel in its presence--is essentially based on the feeling of
an easy, harmonic, vivid stream of our conceptions, which, in spite of
manifold changes, flow towards a common object, bring to light laws
hitherto concealed, and allow us to gaze in the deepest depths of
sensation of our own minds.