OF IDEAS OF TRUTH.
The word truth, as applied to art, signifies the faithful statement,
either to the mind or senses, of any fact of nature.
Sec. 1. Meaning of the word "truth" as applied to art.
We receive an idea of truth, then, when we perceive the faithfulness of
such a statement.
The difference between ideas of truth and of imitation lies chiefly in
the following points.
Sec. 2. First difference between truth and imitation.
First,--Imitation can only be of something material, but truth has
reference to statements both of the qualities of material things, and of
emotions, impressions, and thoughts. There is a moral as well as
material truth,--a truth of impression as well as of form,--of thought
as well as of matter; and the truth of impression and thought is a
thousand times the more important of the two. Hence, truth is a term of
universal application, but imitation is limited to that narrow field of
art which takes cognizance only of material things.
Sec. 3. Second difference.
Secondly,--Truth may be stated by any signs or symbols which have a
definite signification in the minds of those to whom they are addressed,
although such signs be themselves no image nor likeness of anything.
Whatever can excite in the mind the conception of certain facts, can
give ideas of truth, though it be in no degree the imitation or
resemblance of those facts. If there be--we do not say there is--but if
there be in painting anything which operates, as words do, not by
resembling anything, but by being taken as a symbol and substitute for
it, and thus inducing the effect of it, then this channel of
communication can convey uncorrupted truth, though it do not in any
degree resemble the facts whose conception it induces. But ideas of
imitation, of course, require the likeness of the object. They speak to
the perceptive faculties only: truth to the conceptive.
Sec. 4. Third difference.
Thirdly,--And in consequence of what is above stated, an idea of truth
exists in the statement of _one_ attribute of anything, but an idea of
imitation requires the resemblance of as many attributes as we are
usually cognizant of in its real presence. A pencil outline of the bough
of a tree on white paper is a statement of a certain number of facts of
form. It does not yet amount to the imitation of anything. The idea of
that form is not given in nature by lines at all, still less by black
lines with a white space between them. But those lines convey to the
mind a distinct impression of a certain number of facts, which it
recognizes as agreeable with its previous impressions of the bough of a
tree; and it receives, therefore, an idea of truth. If, instead of two
lines, we give a dark form with the brush, we convey information of a
certain relation of shade between the bough and sky, recognizable for
another idea of truth; but we have still no imitation, for the white
paper is not the least like air, nor the black shadow like wood. It is
not until after a certain number of ideas of truth have been collected
together, that we arrive at an idea of imitation.
Sec. 5. No accurate truths necessary to imitation.
Hence it might at first sight appear, that an idea of imitation,
inasmuch as several ideas of truth were united in it, was nobler than a
simple idea of truth. And if it were necessary that the ideas of truth
should be perfect, or should be subjects of contemplation _as such_, it
would be so. But, observe, we require to produce the effect of imitation
only so many and such ideas of truth as the _senses_ are usually
cognizant of. Now the senses are not usually, nor unless they be
especially devoted to the service, cognizant, with accuracy, of any
truths but those of space and projection. It requires long study and
attention before they give certain evidence of even the simplest truths
of form. For instance, the quay on which the figure is sitting, with his
hand at his eyes, in Claude's seaport, No. 14, in the National Gallery,
is egregiously out of perspective. The eye of this artist, with all his
study, had thus not acquired the power of taking cognizance of the
apparent form even of a simple parallelopiped. How much less of the
complicated forms of boughs, leaves, or limbs? Although, therefore,
something resembling the real form is necessary to deception, this
something is not to be called a _truth_ of form; for, strictly speaking,
there are no degrees of truth, there are only degrees of approach to it;
and an approach to it, whose feebleness and imperfection would instantly
offend and give pain to a mind really capable of distinguishing truth,
is yet quite sufficient for all the purposes of deceptive imagination.
It is the same with regard to color. If we were to paint a tree
sky-blue, or a dog rose-pink, the discernment of the public would be
keen enough to discover the falsehood; but, so that there be just so
much approach to truth of color as may come up to the common idea of it
in men's minds, that is to say, if the trees be all bright green, and
flesh unbroken buff, and ground unbroken brown, though all the real and
refined truths of color be wholly omitted, or rather defied and
contradicted, there is yet quite enough for all purposes of imitation.
The only facts then, which we are usually and certainly cognizant of,
are those of distance and projection, and if these be tolerably given,
with something like truth of form and color to assist them, the idea of
imitation is complete. I would undertake to paint an arm, with every
muscle out of its place, and every bone of false form and dislocated
articulation, and yet to observe certain coarse and broad resemblances
of true outline, which, with careful shading, would induce deception,
and draw down the praise and delight of the discerning public. The other
day at Bruges, while I was endeavoring to set down in my note-book
something of the ineffable expression of the Madonna in the cathedral, a
French amateur came up to me, to inquire if I had seen the modern French
pictures in a neighboring church. I had not, but felt little inclined to
leave my marble for all the canvas that ever suffered from French
brushes. My apathy was attacked with gradually increasing energy of
praise. Rubens never executed--Titian never colored anything like them.
I thought this highly probable, and still sat quiet. The voice continued
at my ear. "Parbleu, Monsieur, Michel Ange n'a rien produit de plus
beau!" "De plus _beau_?" repeated I, wishing to know what particular
excellences of Michael Angelo were to be intimated by this expression.
"Monsieur, on ne pent plus--c'est un tableau admirable--inconcevable:
Monsieur," said the Frenchman, lifting up his hands to heaven, as he
concentrated in one conclusive and overwhelming proposition the qualities
which were to outshine Rubens and overpower Buonaroti--"Monsieur, IL
SORT!"
This gentleman could only perceive two truths--flesh color and
projection. These constituted his notion of the perfection of painting;
because they unite all that is necessary for deception. He was not
therefore cognizant of many ideas of truth, though perfectly cognizant
of ideas of imitation.
Sec. 6. Ideas of truth are inconsistent with ideas of imitation.
We shall see, in the course of our investigation of ideas of truth, that
ideas of imitation not only do not imply their presence, but even are
inconsistent with it; and that pictures which imitate so as to deceive,
are never true. But this is not the place for the proof of this; at
present we have only to insist on the last and greatest distinction
between ideas of truth and of imitation--that the mind, in receiving one
of the former, dwells upon its own conception of the fact, or form, or
feeling stated, and is occupied only with the qualities and character of
that fact or form, considering it as real and existing, being all the
while totally regardless of the signs or symbols by which the notion of
it has been conveyed. These signs have no pretence, nor hypocrisy, nor
legerdemain about them;--there is nothing to be found out, or sifted, or
surprised in them;--they bear their message simply and clearly, and it
is that message which the mind takes from them and dwells upon,
regardless of the language in which it is delivered. But the mind, in
receiving an idea of imitation, is wholly occupied in finding out that
what has been suggested to it is not what it appears to be: it does not
dwell on the suggestion, but on the perception that it is a false
suggestion: it derives its pleasure, not from the contemplation of a
truth, but from the discovery of a falsehood. So that the moment ideas
of truth are grouped together, so as to give rise to an idea of
imitation, they change their very nature--lose their essence as ideas of
truth--and are corrupted and degraded, so as to share in the treachery
of what they have produced. Hence, finally, ideas of truth are the
foundation, and ideas of imitation the destruction, of all art. We shall
be better able to appreciate their relative dignity after the
investigation which we propose of the functions of the former; but we
may as well now express the conclusion to which we shall then be
led--that no picture can be good which deceives by its imitation, for
the very reason that nothing can be beautiful which is not true.