Something should now be said of Sargent's method--of that which is
spoken of as his technique. And of method, it is not something to be
separated from the painter's temperament, it is always autographic.
Somehow, temperament shows even in a person's handwriting, giving it
what is really its style, though the fashion of writing imposed upon a
pupil by his master is also called a style. In art there is no word that
is oftener debated. And of those who speak most of style in their own
work, the measure of their self-consciousness in the matter is often the
measure of their distance from it. They are in the position of a
schoolboy taking writing lessons, and their style, if ever they are to
have one, does not begin until thinking and painting have become for
them almost one process. But this is a difficult matter to make clear,
and apology should perhaps be forthcoming for touching on so debatable a
point thus hurriedly. I may have said something perhaps to convey to the
lay reader the significance of the particular method of treating his
subjects which we identify with Sargent. The pupil of Carolus Duran, his
method was formed under the most modern influences; whatever effect
quite another kind of training might have had on Sargent, still nothing
but the traceable element of self would have determined for us his
style. The method of applying paint to canvas has always resolved itself
into more or less a personal question, though certain schools are to be
identified with different ways of seeing; every method is a convention,
and the difference of conventions always one of vision, affecting
handling only in the sense that it has to be accommodated to the vision.
It would be out of place here, perhaps, and far too technical, to define
the difference between such a method as Sargent's and say that of
Pre-Raphaelitism. But roughly, the Pre-Raphaelite concentrates on each
object. For each object, say in a room, is in turn his subject as he
paints that room. The impressionist, Sargent, only has the one subject,
that room, the different objects in it explaining themselves only in so
far as their surfaces and character are defined in the general
impression by the way they take the light--in short, almost an
impression as it would be received on a lens. If we remember all this we
can appreciate the extreme sensitiveness both of Sargent's vision and
touch. For his brush conveys almost with the one touch--so spontaneous
in feeling is his work--not only the amount but the shape of the light
on any surface. Thus the shapes of everything in the picture are finally
resolved, and we might also say without curiosity as to their causes. We
are given the impression, which would have been our own impression:
since in regard to a portrait, for instance, when we meet a person our
curiosity does not immediately extend to such details as the character
and number of buttons on his coat. With this method always goes
spontaneity, Sargent's pre-eminent gift. He values it so highly that he
does not scruple to recommence a picture more than once and carry it
through again in the one mood, if in the first instance his art may have
miscarried, not permitting himself to doctor up the first attempt. To
the constant sense of freshness in his work which such a way of working
must imply, I think a great measure of his vogue is to be attributed,
though others have coloured more prettily, flattered more, and
subordinated themselves to the amiable ambitions of their sitters.