_ART IN MINOR DIRECTIONS_
THE ART OF GRAINING
[Illustration: C]HARLES READE, in one of his smart romances, makes his
Bohemian hero learn the art of graining in an _hour or two_,
sufficiently well to be able to go about the country and make a good
living by giving lessons to and painting show panels for the master
painters.
This lively novelist, with his customary happy Hibernian manner of
jumping at conclusions, reveals his own ignorance of the subject he had
taken up, by giving the reader minute details as to the way his hero
worked. Thus, he landed at a country shop, had a panel planed and
prepared, and grained it _the same day_, getting his cash and the
admiration of the country house-painter, and striking another village or
town the next day.
I do not know who gave Charles Reade this information, but that it was
the most wanton nonsense any apprentice in the trade might have proved
to him in five minutes; indeed, if he had used his own eyes when the
painters were working in any of his residences, he must have seen that
the feat was impossible, even for the smartest hero of his collection.
Ergo, Charles Reade, on this particular occasion, sat down to write
about a matter of which he knew nothing whatever, however much he may
have probed into other subjects.
Let me explain how far he erred, for the benefit of those outside the
trade.
A panel, which is intended to be a show panel, or indeed, any panel,
when it leaves the joiner's hands planed and dressed, has to undergo the
following preparation before it can be grained.
It first gets what is called the _priming_--i.e. a thin coat of lead,
oil, and turpentine with drier, which will take, in warm weather, a full
day and night before it is in a condition for the second stage. In
winter weather it may take two or more days.
If any knots are in the wood, these have to be coated with a preparation
called _knotting_ before even this priming is put on, which makes the
delay longer.
When the first coat or priming is dry or hard enough to stand being
sand-papered, it is then made smooth by this process, the holes are
filled up with putty, and the second coat, a mixture of white lead
tinted to the colour of the intended graining-ground, and used a little
thicker than the priming, is laid on and allowed to dry thoroughly,
fifteen or twenty-four hours being the shortest space of time for this
second stage before it is ready for the third.
Again, when hard enough it is sand-papered and reputtied, and then it
gets the third coat. In cheap jobs this might be the graining-ground,
but in the case of a show panel, a fourth coat would be required, or
perhaps a fifth, before that panel would be ready for the grainer; thus
four to six or eight days would be the time wanted before that panel was
ready to operate upon.
The panel being ready, the grainer would commence with his imitation;
the first day he would grain, if oak, with oil graining; if soft woods,
he would use distemper colour, which would be thinly varnished over, and
so require at least another day to dry.
The next day would be devoted to over-graining with distemper and
varnishing. Thus that panel would take the smartest workman from six to
ten days from the hour it was planed until it was finished, as any
practical reader will bear me out in saying.
There is a legend related about one of Murillo's pictures, the 'Virgin
and Child,' of the same description, and with about as much probability.
It is related that once upon a time Murillo had been well entertained by
an abbot, and in returning his thanks for the hospitality received, he
expressed his regret that he had no canvas with him, otherwise he would
have repaid the kindness with a picture. The abbot at once presented the
painter with his own table-napkin, and told him to use that, which
Murillo did, producing in the same day a picture which for richness and
effect he never himself surpassed.
I will not say that Murillo did not use that napkin as a canvas: I only
assert positively that he never painted that picture upon it the same
day, for the simple reason that it would have to be primed, either with
distemper or oil, and receive several coatings, each coat requiring to
dry, be smoothed down, and recoated before ever he started painting,
even if a stretcher was not made for it. He may have painted the picture
in one day after the napkin had been prepared, but I venture to say,
without fear of contradiction from any practical artist-colourman, that
Murillo was the guest of that hospitable abbot for several days after
the napkin had been presented to him.
Although that autocrat of art, John Ruskin, has declared vehemently
against the imitation of woods and marbles as an art, yet as a protest
against his hasty and unprofessional verdict, and as one who has spent
years in acquiring the art and teaching it afterwards to my
house-painter students, I now take up this subject as a very important
one, and will try, as far as a practical teacher can put them upon
paper, to give a few of my own methods in this branch of art, for the
sake of those whom it may concern.
Let me suppose that my readers are students and young house-painters or
amateurs, who have not had the opportunity of getting instruction in
this highest branch of their trade. I suppose, however, that they know
enough of the preliminaries to be able to prime and prepare their
panels, and have made them all ready for the purpose of trying to grain
upon them.
THE ART OF OAK IMITATION--OAK GRAINING
We will take oak first, as it is the most generally used in the
business, as well as one of the hardest to master, although as an
imitation it is more mechanical and less truly artistic than any of the
other imitations.
The ground required for oak is buff colour, either light or dark,
according as the age of the wood is intended to be represented. To make
this light tint, a little yellow ochre, with white lead, drier, oil, and
turpentine, are all that are required; while if it is very new wood, the
ground should be the colour of rich cream; if old oak, the ground colour
can be darkened according to taste with Roman ochre, light red, and
burnt umber.
One precaution must be strictly observed if the grainer wishes to
produce clean work, and that is, to be sure that his ground is perfectly
firm and dry before he begins, so that this ground is not likely to be
torn or rubbed off with the combing or veining. I like a ground to be
dry but not too hard or oily, as when dry, but soft, it will produce
more feeling work, particularly if the grainer is using the most useful
of all his tools, the thumb-nail.
A grainer's thumb, like a miller's, has a great deal to do with the
making of sham oak; therefore you may easily distinguish a professional
oak-grainer by the length, strength, and tender care which he lavishes
on his thumb-nail. It ought for this purpose to be kept long, and
carefully rounded and smoothed.
The tools required for this work are a box of assorted combs, two or
three pieces of soft cork cut with notches, plenty of soft cotton or
linen rags, and that properly trimmed thumb-nail. He will also require
for oak-over-graining the same brushes which he uses in the soft woods;
camel-hair softeners, grainers and over-grainers, with wipers-out and
sash-tools, &c.
The next thing he will make up is his scumble. This is composed of burnt
umber, yellow ochre, drier, boiled oil, a little beat-up putty or
whiting, and a small quantity of water. By mixing all this up together
you produce something like a stained megilp, and may thin it with oil
and water as you go on. A little of this goes a long way, as it has to
be spread over very sparingly and equally.
Get a good specimen of real oak, well coursed with _champs_ or 'veins,'
and set it up before you where the light will fall best upon it; then,
after rubbing down your grounded panel with fine sandpaper, and dusting
it carefully, you will put a little 'scumble' upon it with your
sash-tool, and spread that over equally and thinly with a larger brush
until the panel is covered. Take your largest toothed comb, and trail it
steadily down the panel from top to bottom, wiping the comb carefully
after every passage. It is better to trail the large comb in straight
lines, and afterwards use the smaller or finer toothed combs with a
shake to produce wavy lines. When you have passed the combs over the
panel in this way, first the coarse comb straight, next the medium size
with a wave, and lastly, in portions, the finest size comb, your panel
is ready for the artistic portion of the work.
Combing does not take long to learn if the worker is cleanly in his
habits, but to make a natural and pleasing variety in 'champing' or
veining takes a great deal of practice; indeed, unless the worker has
artistic gifts, he will never be able to master this part of the work
perfectly.
A young grainer ought to keep a sketch-book always in his pocket, and
wherever he sees a fine bit of work, make a careful drawing with his
pencil of it; he will thus be able to get variety in the markings of his
wood. He ought also to practise constantly when he is at home on a panel
with his thumb-nail at _rat tails_, so as to get dexterity and grace,
because there is a vast amount of freehand drawing required in this
portion of the work.
The first thing he has to study is the composition of that panel; the
large markings come first. Here he may linger tenderly for a time with
his rag-covered nail wiping out square, oblong, and round patches, and
softening and half cleaning out parts with his narrowest and finest
toothed comb, also rag-covered. At this portion of the work the true
artist comes in with his manipulations, like the manipulations of the
etching printer with his ink on the plate; and I am positive that if
John Ruskin had but tried to copy a piece of real oak with the same
tenderness and patience with which he has so often copied old masters,
he would never have dared to decry the art of graining.
As in etching, perfect cleanliness and an unlimited supply of white,
well-worn rags are indispensable to a grainer if he wishes to succeed in
his art; yet, as the professional grainer is generally a dashing-looking
fellow with artistically long and bushy tresses and Vandyke beard and
moustachios, the maid-servant's heart generally succumbs to his charms
before even he has unpacked his traps, so that he is not at all likely
to run short of clean rags during his campaign.
If any of my readers will take up and examine a piece of polished oak,
they will be surprised to see what a multitude of strange devices there
are in it; cabalistic signs and figures which are for ever varying as
they shift about in the light; strong markings in places, with a crowd
of slender flourishes trailing away from the bolder designs. These
slender flourishes are vulgarly termed '_rat-tails_.'
Now, to comb a panel properly requires some practice and taste, but to
be able to wipe out these rat-tails requires a great deal of practice
and a greater degree of discretion, so as neither to crowd the panel nor
make it appear meagre; the bolder figures with the softened parts
require about as much real talent as is expended upon making an original
sketch from nature, and a great deal more than would be wanted over the
copying of an old master.
The comber and rat-tail draughtsman might easily qualify himself to copy
an old master, but the adroit inventor of the bolder '_champs_,' which
occupy the centre of the panel, is already qualified to produce a
monochrome direct from nature; if gifted with the colour-faculty, and if
his power of making these 'champs' prove that he has mastered form, he
might aspire to any height on the artistic ladder.
The panel being combed, grained, and cleaned, is left to dry, probably
one or two days, as the weather chances to be, after which the grainer
proceeds with the finishing off.
If he has been imitating a piece of real wood, like the artist with his
picture, he will select one of the many changes which the different
lights reveal to him on that bit of wood: thus, where the light strikes
direct, the figures will shine out whitely; but out of the range of
light they will appear dark. The grainer who is an artist will take as
his guide the light falling from the windows, and where they touch
directly upon the doors or dadoes or skirting-boards, there he will
place his highest lights, leaving the darker portions to be put on
during the second stage.
If it is a door he is graining, he will put the 'champs' and rat-tails
in the panels, plain comb the upright 'styles' or sides, and make
knot-work on the cross-bars; to make knots he uses his finger with a dab
first, then with his notched cork _draws_ the outer waves which recede
from the central knot, finishing off with a few flourishes with his
nail. When this is done he will soften the whole effect by trailing his
finest comb over the cork-work. To do this with more artistic effect he
will use a comb of which he has purposely broken the teeth at intervals.
Every grainer breaks his own combs and cuts his own peculiar notches in
his corks to suit his own fancy, and, like a good painter with his
brushes, he does not like any other worker to use them.
The over-graining may be finished in one working, or if the job is an
expensive one, continued, in a very subtle spirit, over several
workings.
For this he requires in water-colour Vandyke brown, raw and burnt
siennas, a little blue-black, some stale beer, a sponge, a piece of
chamois leather, one over-grainer or more, a couple of wipers,
sash-tool, camel-hair softener, and a few sable or camel-hair pencils or
'riggers.'
The stale beer he uses as a medium to keep the door or panel from
'sissing,' or running off in globules--i.e. to make the distemper
colours lie flat and cover the oil paint below; also to act as a
fixative when the pigments dry.
Before the grainer begins to work he soaks his chamois leather in the
stale beer and washes his work carefully over; this stops the 'sissing'
tendency. He next dips his sash-tool charged with beer into his
water-colours. Vandyke brown will be the tint mostly used in oak,
although as he proceeds he may require in portions touches of raw or
burnt sienna, or where he wants to represent the effect of damp and
green in the wood, a little blue-black or even a touch of Antwerp blue.
The over-grainer must be an artist, or he had better shade his work
plainly with Vandyke brown, and do as little over-graining as possible.
He will next with his sponge wipe out lights here and there, and with
his scumblers or over-grainers trail them over the underwork, softening
the harshnesses out discreetly with his softener. With his wipers--i.e.
short stumpy flat brushes--he will take out straight horizontal lights
here and there on the styles, draw shadows together with his softener on
the cross-bars, and generally work or _fake_ about so as to produce the
effect of light and shadow.
When this is dry, which will be in about half an hour, the work is ready
for the finishing stages, the pencilling of shadow veins and 'champs,'
and loose over-graining.
He uses his riggers or long-haired pencils with a free but careful hand,
still keeping in his mind how the lights from the windows are likely to
strike upon his work. After this is dry, he takes his longest
over-grainer, and having charged it with a thin wash of colour, he first
draws a hair comb through it to separate the hairs, and next passes this
wash in tremulous lines over his work, _where required_, softening the
lines adroitly with his softener as he goes along. The work is now ready
for the final stage of all, the coat of varnish.
This is how a piece of imitation oak is wrought up by a skilful workman,
very similar to the way in which a drawing or a painting is produced.
If the workman is hurried, through cheapness of price, or ignorance, the
work may be like the abominations which so often greet us on common
doors, or those awful oleographs which decorate the walls of workmen's
cottages; but if well done the result is such that it must gratify the
eye of any lover of nature, because he can then look upon the very best
sample, or rather translation, of the wood, in the same sense that a
fine picture is the translation of the finest and most select portions
of nature.
My friend, and in many points my revered master, John Ruskin, writes
about the degradation of work of this description. I protest against
this view as erroneous. There can be no more degradation in imitating a
brass kettle or a cut cabbage than there can be in imitating the Alps or
the ocean in its different phases, if the imitation is a conscientious
one; and certainly, if this is permitted on a canvas, why should it be
condemned on a door, or a mantelpiece?
Get the very best of the real article if it is possible, of course, in
preference to the imitation; but rather than get a faulty slab of marble
or an uninteresting panel of wood, try to rest content with the
imitation and selection of the rarest and best. I would personally much
sooner live with sham virtue than open vice; we may live on and glean
happiness from the first, but we can get nothing save disgust and misery
from the last.
Besides, if truth and reality are to be the standards set up, art must
be abolished at one fell swoop, for art is the embodiment of falsehood,
as falsehood is the imitation of truth. The portrait is not the man or
woman any more than that false oak panel is the wood it represents, or
the shilling any more than the symbol of the pleasure or comfort it
stands for. We are all dealing in shams and equivalents; even the
outside landscape which charms us so greatly is not reality--it is only
a combination of light and optical illusion.
THE IMITATION OF SOFT WOODS
Under this heading I take maple, walnut, mahogany, satin-wood, and all
the other foreign and home woods which serve to decorate our houses and
ornaments, for the same materials and tools are required in them all.
MAPLE WOOD
The ground of this wood, like light oak, should be of a delicate cream
tint. I think the imitation of maplewood is one of the most delightful
and artistic of all; there is so much variety in it and so much play for
the fancy; it also liberates the hand of an artist as much as
scene-painting.
Some painters do this work with oil-colours and spoil the whole pleasure
of the work. I must insist that all soft woods ought to be worked in
water-colour, because oil cannot give the delicacy of the more
transparent medium.
Begin as I have already written about over-graining, with the stale beer
and chamois leather.
Then dash in your ground, composed of a thin mixture of Vandyke brown
and raw sienna. You will have your colours placed in separate pots, so
as to dip your sash-tool into one or the other tint, always using your
stale beer as a medium. Pitch your sash-tool, fully charged with
moisture, about your panel with free and reckless splashes, twirling it
about in parts, until the whole effect appears like a thunderstorm in
sepia. Then, while it is still wet, fold your hand in a loose way and
knock the backs of the fingers slackly and flatly against the panel,
making long dabs all over it, yet more leading to the centre towards
which you have drawn your shadows with your sash-tool, somewhat after
the form of a tree with the branches spreading out. Soften these flat
dabs, and also the coarse work of the sash-tool, lightly and delicately
with your softener; then take the tips of your four fingers and dab the
'eyes' about, softening these off still more delicately with the
'badger' or softener.
After this is dry, proceed to over-grain it as I have described in the
oak, only with your pencils accentuate some of the eyes where you think
it is needful.
The styles and cross-styles you must do according to fancy, wiping out
parts, trailing the over-grainer over other portions, putting in an eye
where wanted for variety, or a knot, yet taking great care not to crowd
the work; and always bear in mind that, although knots may look
attractive to you, they are considered blemishes from a cabinet-maker's
point of view. When you have done as much as you can, varnish.
MAHOGANY AND WALNUT
These two woods are manipulated in exactly the same way, a groundwork
dashed in with the sash-tool in the form of a tree, and wiped out and
over-grained. Mahogany is simpler in the over-graining and softer than
walnut. For mahogany you require burnt sienna and Vandyke brown over a
salmon-tinted ground; for walnut, Vandyke brown alone, over a yellow or
buff ground. In mahogany most of your work is done with the badger or
camel-hair softener, with just a little over-graining. With walnut most
of the work will be accomplished with the over-grainer and riggers or
pencils, after the groundwork is dry; if portions are stippled with the
badger in the first working it will be all the better.
To stipple is to hold the badger or sash-tool firmly sideways, and
strike smartly against the panel with it; this gives the appearance of a
great deal of minute work. When over-graining, study how the lines run
in a real piece of walnut, and try to imitate them closely with the
knots. Satin-wood and most other woods are imitated in the same way,
with distemper colour and stale beer. Practice, with perhaps a few
practical lessons, is all that is required, provided the worker has
adaptability, to produce a good grainer.
ON THE IMITATION OF MARBLES--BLACK AND GOLD
I take this marble first, partly because it is my favourite marble, and
partly because it leads directly from the working in of soft woods, as I
like to see it done.
Many painters lay in their ground with black in oil, and when dry go
over that again with yellow and white, also in oil. This is the way to
do it cheaply and inartistically, and, therefore, not the way that I
would recommend as an artist.
My groundwork for this marble would be exactly the same as that used for
oak--a rich cream colour.
Over this I would splash and stipple about roughly in water, or rather
stale beer, colour, a changing coat of raw and burnt sienna, with an
adroit blending of Vandyke brown; in fact, produce the wild
thunderstorm effect in warm tones that I did on my maple panel in the
first working.
Then, while the water-colour hurricane was drying, I would get my hen's
feathers and hog-haired softener in order, with the fitches and colours
required; for the next stage, as it is done in oil-colour, a hog-hair
softener is required.
Then for materials. A hog-hair softener, two or three small flat
brushes--i.e. fitches, with a small sable brush, half a dozen stiff
hen's feathers, a mixture of Japan gold size, turpentine and oil, and
some lamp-black and white-lead.
The black and white spread upon your palette separately from each other,
the medium make thin with the turpentine, something in this proportion:
one-third oil, two-thirds turpentine, and a sixth portion of Japan gold
size.
The rust markings or gold-tinted veins in this marble usually take the
form of a shallow, half-dried stream of water meandering amongst
boulders and pebbles; fill in these boulders and pebbles, large and
small, with your black paint, leaving the underground like a rich golden
stream to follow its course between them. Then, when you have done this
to your satisfaction, blend a little white with the black so as to
produce an unequal grey over the black markings; soften very slightly so
as not to break the sharp edges, which must be kept firm and hard at
this stage; next take a sharp-pointed stick--i.e. your brush-handle will
do if it is pointed like a blunt pencil, and scratch out some small
veins through the larger masses.
By using the Japan gold size the paint will very soon _set_ and become
'tacky'--that is, when you touch it with your finger it will be found
sticky, therefore dry enough for the next working, the scumbling with
the feathers.
Dip a feather into the thin mixture and draw it across the white so as
to get a thin film; flip this in a free way over the marble, half
obscuring some parts, leaving others clear and hard, and only a thin
semi-transparent and milky-like film over other portions; soften these
films as they run, and the result will be an exceedingly rich effect,
like shells and fossils and grey veins passing over and through the
black and gold.
When this is dry, varnish it, and you will have produced a marble which
for richness and lucidity cannot well be surpassed. The method which I
describe is old-fashioned, and rather slow, but where time and prices
are not to be considered, it is well worth the extra labour in the
satisfaction it gives to the worker, and its infinite superiority over
the other method, which will always lack purity, richness of detail, and
all the other added beauties of variety; for to paint light colours over
black is always bad form, and a mistake, as the black absorbs the light
colours and gives them a dull and heavy appearance.
DOVE MARBLE
This is another lovely marble if properly done, as it is filled with
fossils of all kinds, and the imitation of these natural curiosities is
an artistic task which brings out the best qualities of the grainer.
Generally the ground for this is stone-colour, and the materials are the
same as for the black and gold marble--i.e. black and white in
oil-colour.
Spread over the slab or mantelpiece a thin and carelessly mixed blending
of the black, white, and medium, so that when it is covered the ground
shines generally through that scumbly coating with portions all
irregular; then take a long studying look at your work, and with your
sash-tool put in the dark grey portions loosely, leaving the covered
ground for the light as you might if painting a picture; rub in your
larger masses roughly; soften these off lightly, and next proceed with a
feather smeared with white to put on your light veins; again soften with
your hog-hair tool, and with another feather, dipped amongst the black,
make dark veins, crossing light and dark where needful, until the effect
is all filmy and delicate.
Finish off with little touches and flecks of black and white on your
feather-tips, so as to produce stronger veins, remains of fish, shells,
and the other fossilised life with which this marble is crowded.
The Italian marbles, such as sienna and other varieties, are done in a
similar way, with the difference of colour. All marbles, with the
exception of the first working of black and gold, are worked in
oil-colour, although, of course, as in wall-papers, they may be worked,
after a style, in body colours, and when done in distemper they are
finished off while the colour is wet.
Granites may be imitated either by sparking the colours on by striking
the charged brush lightly with a stick, or else dabbing them on with a
sponge; a nice blending of the two methods produces the most natural
effects.
I often pass painters producing on shop fronts marbles of green, blue,
and red, which, although pretty, represent no earthly stones. I have
stopped to ask them what they were making, but they could not classify
it or give it a name. They had learnt to work from other grainers, and
never paused to inquire what they were producing. Many of these grainers
never studied a piece of real marble in their lives, and possibly would
not like the sober reality if they did come across a specimen or so in a
museum. The subtleties and time-markings would mean nothing to them, in
the same sense that a real bit of Nature would not appeal to the man who
had spent his efforts in copying flashy oleographs.
Now, this sort of graining is very abominable to me, as I dare say it
would be to John Ruskin, or any other diligent searcher after truth.
Every grainer ought to know where the specimen he is imitating or
reproducing comes from, and what has caused those veins and markings
which he is putting in; then he will be able to instruct the masses and
satisfy the botanist and geologist: for as he paints he will be
preaching a sermon on the stone, and writing out a record of the world's
history before man came on the scene. He will not then put meaningless
figures into his marble, but every flick and curl of his feather will
sketch in the broken remains of an extinct race: and in this way we
distinguish between the artist-grainer and the unreasoning mechanic.
Alma Tadema has shown how an artist can imitate marble, in his Roman
masterpieces, by his care and tender manipulation. He has raised the art
of the grainer to a very lofty pedestal indeed. In the Royal Academy
Exhibition, where crowds gather round his antique revivals, it is not so
much the noble Roman men and maidens who force the cries of admiration
from them, as the broad spaces of white and coloured marbles which
predominate in these compositions; those time-stained, rusted blocks,
with the slight suggestion of a flaw here and there; the iron-stains
showing through the subdued lustre of the Roman limestone; the polished
pillars and inlaid floors all kept under control, with the veins offered
only as an apology at rare intervals. This art of fidelity to nature
and rigid restraint have made him the grand master-grainer of the age.
And yet I have seen as fine specimens of imitation marble as ever Tadema
produced on his canvases wrought upon a show panel, only that I have not
seen the same masterly modesty and restraint. The producer of the show
panel, as a rule, exerts himself too much, and attempts to put into one
panel the results of a whole palace, and that is the mistake which makes
his work appear superficial and unreal. Alma Tadema puts no more work in
his slab than what appeared in the slab he copied so literally, because
he never permits his imagination to run away with him, while he has
nature to guide him, and that is the secret of his wonderful success.
And this example I would impress upon every grainer, young and old, who
may aspire to produce something great in his own line of life; for the
work on a door, a dado, shutter, skirting-board, or mantelpiece, is of
as much importance as the fresco on the plaster above--those frescoes
which have been the pride and glory of the best of our old masters.
The grainer who desires to be remembered must possess himself with the
true diffidence of the uncompromising realist.
After he has mastered the freehand of his craft--i.e. the technicality
and manipulation, he must set diligently to learn the causes for those
effects which he has been trying to imitate, and aim at giving a
specimen as free from blemishes as possible--that is, he must give his
patron only the most perfect specimens of the stone or wood which he is
striving to realise.
He must learn that a block of white marble which has stains and veins in
it is rejected by the sculptor and the monumental mason as faulty. In
the cemetery at Stirling there is a very lovely piece of sculpture-work,
representing an angel watching over Margaret Wilson, the virgin martyr,
which was purchased comparatively cheap by the donor, William Drummond,
because it had a flaw or vein in the knee. If this statue had not been
thus blemished, it would have been considered perfect, and much more
valuable.
Veins and blemishes in white marble are often caught at by the grainer
to emphasise his work and make it more marble-like, but the great
grainer will try his hardest to make his work look like marble without
introducing this blemish. The other marbles are easy if he will but be
faithful to his copy, and guard himself from exaggeration and the
crowding in of details--the rocks upon which so many split.
But when the grainer can produce a panel of white marble to look so like
marble that it can deceive the spectator and yet be flawless, then he
may take his seat amongst those immortals who painted fruit to deceive
the birds; and whatever any other critic may say against it, I hold that
he is a great and a true painter.
[Illustration]