DEFINITION OF GREATNESS IN ART.
Sec. 1. Distinction between the painter's intellectual power and technical
knowledge.
In the 15th Lecture of Sir Joshua Reynolds, incidental notice is taken
of the distinction between those excellences in the painter which belong
to him _as such_, and those which belong to him in common with all men
of intellect, the general and exalted powers of which art is the
evidence and expression, not the subject. But the distinction is not
there dwelt upon as it should be, for it is owing to the slight
attention ordinarily paid to it, that criticism is open to every form of
coxcombry, and liable to every phase of error. It is a distinction on
which depend all sound judgment of the rank of the artist, and all just
appreciation of the dignity of art.
Sec. 2. Painting, as such, is nothing more than language.
Painting, or art generally, as such, with all its technicalities,
difficulties, and particular ends, is nothing but a noble and expressive
language, invaluable as the vehicle of thought, but by itself nothing.
He who has learned what is commonly considered the whole art of
painting, that is, the art of representing any natural object
faithfully, has as yet only learned the language by which his thoughts
are to be expressed. He has done just as much towards being that which
we ought to respect as a great painter, as a man who has learned how to
express himself grammatically and melodiously has towards being a great
poet. The language is, indeed, more difficult of acquirement in the one
case than in the other, and possesses more power of delighting the
sense, while it speaks to the intellect, but it is, nevertheless,
nothing more than language, and all those excellences which are peculiar
to the painter as such, are merely what rhythm, melody, precision and
force are in the words of the orator and the poet, necessary to their
greatness, but not the tests of their greatness. It is not by the mode
of representing and saying, but by what is represented and said, that
the respective greatness either of the painter or the writer is to be
finally determined.
Sec. 3. "Painter," a term corresponding to "versifier."
Speaking with strict propriety, therefore, we should call a man a great
painter only as he excelled in precision and force in the language of
lines, and a great versifier, as he excelled in precision or force in
the language of words. A great poet would then be a term strictly, and
in precisely the same sense applicable to both, if warranted by the
character of the images or thoughts which each in their respective
languages convey.
Sec. 4. Example in a painting of E. Landseer's.
Take, for instance, one of the most perfect poems or pictures (I use the
words as synonymous) which modern times have seen:--the "Old Shepherd's
Chief-mourner." Here the exquisite execution of the glossy and crisp
hair of the dog, the bright sharp touching of the green bough beside it,
the clear painting of the wood of the coffin and the folds of the
blanket, are language--language clear and expressive in the highest
degree. But the close pressure of the dog's breast against the wood, the
convulsive clinging of the paws, which has dragged the blanket off the
trestle, the total powerlessness of the head laid, close and motionless,
upon its folds, the fixed and tearful fall of the eye in its utter
hopelessness, the rigidity of repose which marks that there has been no
motion nor change in the trance of agony since the last blow was struck
on the coffin-lid, the quietness and gloom of the chamber, the
spectacles marking the place where the Bible was last closed, indicating
how lonely has been the life--how unwatched the departure of him who is
now laid solitary in his sleep;--these are all thoughts--thoughts by
which the picture is separated at once from hundreds of equal merit, as
far as mere painting goes, by which it ranks as a work of high art, and
stamps its author, not as the neat imitator of the texture of a skin, or
the fold of a drapery, but as the Man of Mind.
Sec. 5. Difficulty of fixing an exact limit between language and thought.
It is not, however, always easy, either in painting or literature, to
determine where the influence of language stops, and where that of
thought begins. Many thoughts are so dependent upon the language in
which they are clothed, that they would lose half their beauty if
otherwise expressed. But the highest thoughts are those which are least
dependent on language, and the dignity of any composition and praise to
which it is entitled, are in exact proportion to its independency of
language or expression. A composition is indeed usually most perfect,
when to such intrinsic dignity is added all that expression can do to
attract and adorn; but in every case of supreme excellence this all
becomes as nothing. We are more gratified by the simplest lines or words
which can suggest the idea in its own naked beauty, than by the robe or
the gem which conceal while they decorate; we are better pleased to feel
by their absence how little they would bestow, than by their presence
how much they can destroy.
Sec. 6. Distinction between decorative and expressive language.
There is therefore a distinction to be made between what is ornamental
in language and what is expressive. That part of it which is necessary
to the embodying and conveying the thought is worthy of respect and
attention as necessary to excellence, though not the test of it. But
that part of it which is decorative has little more to do with the
intrinsic excellence of the picture than the frame or the varnishing of
it. And this caution in distinguishing between the ornamental and the
expressive is peculiarly necessary in painting; for in the language of
words it is nearly impossible for that which is not expressive to be
beautiful, except by mere rhythm or melody, any sacrifice to which is
immediately stigmatized as error. But the beauty of mere language in
painting is not only very attractive and entertaining to the spectator,
but requires for its attainment no small exertion of mind and devotion
of time by the artist. Hence, in art, men have frequently fancied that
they were becoming rhetoricians and poets when they were only learning
to speak melodiously, and the judge has over and over again advanced to
the honor of authors those who were never more than ornamental
writing-masters.
Sec. 7. Instance in the Dutch and early Italian schools.
Most pictures of the Dutch school, for instance, and excepting always
those of Rubens, Vandyke, and Rembrandt, are ostentatious exhibitions of
the artist's power of speech, the clear and vigorous elocution of
useless and senseless words: while the early efforts of Cimabue and
Giotto are the burning messages of prophecy, delivered by the
stammering lips of infants. It is not by ranking the former as more than
mechanics, or the latter as less than artists, that the taste of the
multitude, always awake to the lowest pleasures which art can bestow,
and blunt to the highest, is to be formed or elevated. It must be the
part of the judicious critic carefully to distinguish what is language,
and what is thought, and to rank and praise pictures chiefly for the
latter, considering the former as a totally inferior excellence, and one
which cannot be compared with nor weighed against thought in any way nor
in any degree whatsoever. The picture which has the nobler and more
numerous ideas, however awkwardly expressed, is a greater and a better
picture than that which has the less noble and less numerous ideas,
however beautifully expressed. No weight, nor mass, nor beauty of
execution can outweigh one grain or fragment of thought. Three
penstrokes of Raffaelle are a greater and a better picture than the most
finished work that ever Carlo Dolci polished into inanity. A finished
work of a great artist is only better than its sketch, if the sources of
pleasure belonging to color and realization--valuable in
themselves,--are so employed as to increase the impressiveness of the
thought. But if one atom of thought has vanished, all color, all finish,
all execution, all ornament, are too dearly bought. Nothing but thought
can pay for thought, and the instant that the increasing refinement or
finish of the picture begins to be paid for by the loss of the faintest
shadow of an idea, that instant all refinement or finish is an
excrescence, and a deformity.
Sec. 8. Yet there are certain ideas belonging to language itself.
Sec. 9. The definition.
Yet although in all our speculations on art, language is thus to be
distinguished from, and held subordinate to, that which it conveys, we
must still remember that there are certain ideas inherent in language
itself, and that strictly speaking, every pleasure connected with art
has in it some reference to the intellect. The mere sensual pleasure of
the eye, received from the most brilliant piece of coloring, is as
nothing to that which it receives from a crystal prism, except as it
depends on our perception of a certain meaning and intended arrangement
of color, which has been the subject of intellect. Nay, the term idea,
according to Locke's definition of it, will extend even to the sensual
impressions themselves as far as they are "things which the mind
occupies itself about in thinking," that is, not as they are felt by the
eye only, but as they are received by the mind through the eye. So that,
if I say that the greatest picture is that which conveys to the mind of
the spectator the greatest number of the greatest ideas, I have a
definition which will include as subjects of comparison every pleasure
which art is capable of conveying. If I were to say, on the contrary,
that the best picture was that which most closely imitated nature, I
should assume that art could only please by imitating nature, and I
should cast out of the pale of criticism those parts of works of art
which are not imitative, that is to say, intrinsic beauties of color and
form, and those works of art wholly, which, like the arabesques of
Raffaelle in the Loggias, are not imitative at all. Now I want a
definition of art wide enough to include all its varieties of aim: I do
not say therefore that the art is greatest which gives most pleasure,
because perhaps there is some art whose end is to teach, and not to
please. I do not say that the art is greatest which teaches us most,
because perhaps there is some art whose end is to please, and not to
teach. I do not say that the art is greatest which imitates best,
because perhaps there is some art whose end is to create, and not to
imitate. But I say that the art is greatest, which conveys to the mind
of the spectator, by any means whatsoever, the greatest number of the
greatest ideas, and I call an idea great in proportion as it is received
by a higher faculty of the mind, and as it more fully occupies, and in
occupying, exercises and exalts, the faculty by which it is received.
If this then be the definition of great art, that of a great artist
naturally follows. He is the greatest artist who has embodied, in the
sum of his works, the greatest number of the greatest ideas.