Part 3

But any one who is interested in executive problems which demand concentrated attention and sustained investigation will find plenty to tax his fullest energies--problems of drawing, of colour and tone management, of imitative suggestion, and of technical application. As an example of a complex motive which would present a series of difficulties a picture might be imagined of the sea washing in among rocks, some of which are submerged while others stand up above the surface, the water clear and transparent and neither smooth nor much agitated. Through the water the objects beneath would be clearly seen and the surface would reflect the rocks above and catch gleams of light from the sky, and the movement of the small waves swinging towards the rocks and rebounding from them, and eddying over the shallow places, would make a pattern of lines and planes set at all sorts of angles. To realize such a subject adequately an almost perfect balance of observation would be needed. Too much attention given to the under-water details would destroy the suggestion of the surface; too much concentration on the surface lights and reflections would make the water seem opaque; exaggeration of the lines and planes of the ripples would diminish the breadth of effect and alter the character of the subject. The painter must perceive that this problem has many sides, and that each one must receive exactly its right amount of consideration if the pictorial solution is to be correct; if he has to make a compromise with reality the most subtle judgment will be required of him to create an illusion that will look like truth.

To multiply such examples would be easy, for there is no phase of sea painting in which difficulties do not abound. It is difficult to paint a breaking wave, to preserve its architectural quality of design and its appearance of massive strength, and yet to show that it is a moving and momentary thing disappearing as quickly as it is formed. It is difficult to represent the confusion of a stormy sea, churned into foam and tossing in the wildest turmoil, and yet to make intelligible the order and regularity of its movement and the right sequence of its changing forms. It is as difficult to render the smoothness of calm, quiet water without making it look solid and opaque, dull and lifeless, as it is to suggest the liveliness of a breezy day without lapsing into meaningless repetition and restless pattern-making. Every successful sea picture is a difficulty overcome and a problem solved, and every successful sea painter is a man who has struggled earnestly with intractable material and has built his achievement on a foundation of laboriously acquired knowledge. Probably that is why there have been comparatively few great sea painters; it is certainly a reason why the few who can be accounted great should be regarded as masters of the highest rank with places of distinction in the history of art.

Next in importance to the study of the sea itself comes the acquisition of a capacity to paint shipping, the two do not necessarily go together. There have been many capable painters of the sea who could not draw a ship and did not know how to set it on the water; and there have been many men with an accurate technical knowledge of shipping whose treatment of the sea from the pictorial point of view left much to be desired. As a matter of fact, a ship provides one of the severest tests of draughtsmanship; it is such a complicated collection of lines and curves and so hard to put in proper perspective that it makes exceptional demands upon the artist’s powers. Moreover, every ship has its own individuality, a character peculiar to itself, and to express this individuality as much analytical effort is needed as to draw the right distinction between the differing types of humanity. Details which to the unprofessional eye seem of no significance must be carefully attended to because each one of them contributes something to the sum total of fact and helps to make the character intelligible, and to slur over these details is a fatal mistake. A ship treated conventionally and without personal insight is as uninspiring pictorially as a portrait which has missed all the little human characteristics which made the sitter interesting.

The painter of shipping has, too, a very wide field to cover. He has to range from the yacht to the warship, from the liner to the rusty, weather-beaten tramp; he has to show how the lively movement of the sailing ship differs from the steady, methodical progression of the steamer; he has to understand the behaviour of all sorts of craft under all sorts of weather conditions; and to make this varied assortment of knowledge intelligible in his pictures he has to depend almost entirely upon his powers of drawing. By bad drawing he will not only miss the specific character of the ship, but he will also fail to explain the part that this ship is intended to play in the story which his picture seeks to tell. The introduction of shipping into a painting of the sea is usually to increase the dramatic strength of the subject, but if through technical inefficiency the added incident does not carry conviction or explain itself properly the point of the drama is obscured rather than accentuated.

Unfortunately it is rather too easy to produce instances of the wrong handling of ships in sea pictures, which otherwise are quite acceptable, and of imperfect understanding of the action of vessels afloat. Some of the earlier masters who had studied the sea and knew its ways well made curious mistakes when they brought in a ship as a central feature in their composition. They would fairly often poise a craft of much solidity and considerable tonnage on the very crest of a wave where there was certainly not a sufficient body of water to support it; or they would put a ship so close to a gently shelving beach that there was an obvious and immediate danger of its running aground, a position that would alarm even the boldest of sailors. They were as a rule cheerfully ignorant of the intricacies of rigging and of the set of sails, and occasionally they seemed to credit a ship with an uncanny power of progressing at full speed in the teeth of a stiff breeze. All this resulted from inadequate study of technicalities that a seafaring man would treat as a matter of course--from insufficient acquaintance with things that, after all, scarcely came within the scope of a landsman’s experience.

But the present-day painter is expected to be more precise; and if he does not fulfil this expectation he will find that there are plenty of people who are ready and willing to call him to account. He has to face a more critical generation than his predecessors knew, a generation which travels more and has much wider opportunities of acquiring knowledge of many subjects, and he has to reckon with a familiarity with marine details that has become an eminently British characteristic. Picturesque improbabilities would not be left unquestioned now; there would be scathing comments by nautical experts, and even the ordinary man would not hesitate to voice his doubts. Perhaps we have grown a little pedantic in this demand for strict reality, but, all the same, it is not unreasonable to require from the painter who puts a ship into his picture evidence that he knows a fair amount about that ship’s construction and how it should behave in the situation he assigns to it. Even a piece of imaginative fantasy is none the worse for being based judiciously on solid fact.

Beside the purely marine painting, the picture that is concerned solely with the sea and ships that sail on it, there is a place for the coast subject. It is true that the coast scene is, more often than not, only a landscape into which the sea is introduced as a subsidiary interest, but under this heading can be included also those views of harbours, estuaries, cliffs, and beaches, which many painters have treated with distinction of style and charm of sentiment. Yet even the coast scene in which the actual nearness of the sea is only suggested owes its character to the sea. Only the sea could have carved those cliffs into their impressive shapes, or could have piled up those masses of huge rocks. Only the winds which blow in from the sea could have moulded that range of sand dunes or could have twisted those stunted trees into their curiously picturesque forms. Only as a protection against the savage strength of the sea has that breakwater been built behind which the fleet of fishing boats lies in shelter. And from the sea come those driving mists and slow-moving banks of fog which throw a veil of mystery over the landscape and give a new aspect to even the most familiar objects. The scent of the sea is in the air, the sound of its waves is unceasing, its influence is all about; the coast is, indeed, but the subject of the sea and owes to it allegiance.

It is in this spirit, unquestionably, that many artists have painted the coast, with a sense of the dominating power of the sea and a conscious acknowledgement of its influence. They have appreciated the dramatic value of the persistent struggle between the sea and the land, a struggle of which the evidences are not to be mistaken; and they have felt the nature of the resistance which the land, an unwilling subject, offers to the encroachments of its tyrant. Even in pictures which represent the coast in its most peaceful moments, when the sea ripples lazily round the rocks under the light of the summer sun, the scars left by the assaults of waves driven by past storms cannot be concealed. Fragments torn from the cliffs strew the shore, the wreckage of the land is heaped up waiting for the inevitable moment when the sea, renewing its attack, will swallow up what it has already half destroyed. The note of tragedy is always present, there is always a suggestion that the sea is merely waiting its opportunity and that when the time comes it will rend and overwhelm and assert its ruthlessness without mercy or restraint.

The same kind of sentiment marks the picture of the harbour subject in which man’s conflict with the sea is illustrated. Humanity is perpetually at war with the forces of nature, and is always seeking to keep them in check, with, at best, only partial success. Incessant watchfulness is necessary, constant effort to repair what is as constantly wrecked and overthrown, unwearying patience and unceasing toil. Often man sees something he has done blotted out utterly by nature’s act, and he has to start again and build up anew from the very beginning, knowing as he builds that he is defying a power stronger than himself, more patient than he is and more serenely confident of ultimate success. Yet he goes on with his work, patching, renewing, rebuilding, and fighting stubbornly every step forward or back.

That is why there is an element of romance in the picture which has for its motive something that men have constructed to protect themselves against the inroads of the sea, some piece of work that suggests the shifts and contrivances used to secure a measure of shelter from the violence of the waves and the fury of the storm. The story which such a picture has to tell is full of significance because the facts presented by the artist sum up a series of human activities and throw light upon the conditions under which these activities have been carried on. It is a story, too, with an appeal because it shows a phase of human endurance which deserves sympathy and respect, sympathy for the difficulties encountered, and respect for the way in which they have been overcome; and it has its full measure of picturesqueness and artistic fitness by which its claim to serious treatment is amply justified.

Indeed, the paintings of the fringe and surrounding of the sea which have been produced by British artists uphold worthily the best traditions of our school; they include much that proves indisputably the powers of our greater masters, and certainly they are more numerous than the pictures of the open sea. That this should be is scarcely surprising for, after all, the painters who risk the perils of the deep even for brief excursions are much fewer than those who wander along the coast in search of material, and to most men the combination of land and sea offers more attractive problems than the less-known waste of waters. Moreover, there is a wider public for the coast scene (and few artists can afford to disregard the popular demand), because the great majority of people gain their impressions of the sea by looking at it from the land and but rarely seek for experiences afloat. The purely marine subject seen intimately and interpreted finely offers opportunities for a higher type of achievement, and in some respects calls for more concentrated study; but where the land and sea meet there is a more obvious variety of pictorial suggestions and the touch of romantic sentiment is more apparent. It is not given to many people, artists or laymen, to feel the profound mystery and the dramatic grandeur of the open sea; there are plenty, however, who can sense the appeal of the broken and battered coast and find romance in the harbours and tidal inlets.

From a purely technical standpoint the coast picture is also more convenient than the painting of the open sea; it is easier to compose satisfactorily and to arrange in proper order. As a matter of space-filling and pattern-making it is much less difficult to construct a design with the vertical or sloping lines of cliffs or rocks contrasting with the horizontals of the sea than it is when the picture is divided into sea and sky with nothing to break the severe simplicity of the composition. This technicality has evidently perplexed many sea painters, and has not infrequently led them into rather strained devices to obtain variety--into exaggeration of the tones of the sky and over-accentuation of cloud forms, or into the introduction of shipping where the subject was already too complicated to require an added interest. Such evasions of a difficulty by artificial means are, however, not to be defended, and the artist who feels that the purely marine picture is too great a tax upon his powers had better not stray from the coast where there is plenty of more amenable pictorial material at his disposal. He is a wise man who recognizes his own limitations and does not invite trouble by trying to conceal his deficiencies in a branch of practice for which he is unsuited.

There is another type of art which can be brought legitimately under the heading of marine painting--the representation of the life of the people who have dealings with the sea and obtain from it their means of existence. The sailors, the fisher-folk, the many who work by and on the sea have their part in its story and provide the artist with ample matter by which this story can be appropriately illustrated. They live picturesquely and they are admirably in harmony with their surroundings; they work hard, but in the freedom of the open air, and they are not cramped within the walls of the shop or factory. In their occupation there is always the spice of adventure and there are many moments of danger, many tragic happenings, and many incidents which test severely both mind and body. But all this develops character and sets its stamp upon the seaman’s personality, marking with signs that cannot be mistaken his place in the community.

Of the figure pictures by British artists which are popular to-day, and for which continued appreciation can safely be prophesied, a large number have for subject something that refers to the sea. _The North-West Passage_, by Sir John Millais, is, for instance, an inspiring reminder in its spirit and sentiment of a series of sea adventures which must for ever stand to the credit of the British race; and Bramley’s _Hopeless Dawn_ tells eloquently the story of a tragedy only too sadly common where men seek a precarious livelihood on the treacherous sea. Other pictures like the Hon. John Collier’s _Last Voyage of Henry Hudson_, and H. S. Tuke’s _All Hands to the Pumps_, give us full opportunity to judge the nature of the dangers to which seamen are exposed; while others again, like Napier Hemy’s _Pilchards_, and Colin Hunter’s _Their Only Harvest_, show us what kind of work occupies the fisher-folk and the other coast dwellers whose necessities the sea supplies. Another aspect of the subject is seen in Tuke’s _August Blue_, and C. W. Wyllie’s _Digging for Bait_, which suggest those pleasanter moments when life by the sea has its genial and enjoyable side and the stress and turmoil of the winter storms are for a while forgotten.

These particular pictures are quoted because, being all in a national collection, they are accessible to every one and are permanently available to illustrate the varying relation of humanity with the sea. They represent a class of production within which is comprehended a wide range of subjects and to which a host of distinguished artists have made important contributions; they point the direction in which there is still much to be found that is worthy of the most serious consideration and the most carefully applied treatment; and they mark the lines along which men who have the faculty of observation and a capacity for personal interpretation can travel to great accomplishment. There is, indeed, hardly any kind of sentiment that does not, in this connexion, lend itself well to the artist’s purpose: tragedy, domestic drama, romance, pure fantasy, comedy even, are all permissible, and often a picture with the most attractive qualities can be made out of a plain statement of everyday facts, so picturesque is the setting which the sea life provides for the people who lead it. During recent years, indeed, many painters have established themselves by the sea with the express intention of seeking there material for important works, and many others have paid long visits to our coasts for the sake of studying at close quarters the subjects which are so plentifully available; and these men have not found it necessary to depart from strict reality to give interest and convincing strength to their pictures. By being true to fact, by recording faithfully what they saw around them, they have added to British art much that is well worth possessing, and they have proved that realism under suitable conditions is a factor of infinite value in pictorial production. They have had ample scope for the exercise of their selective sense and for the use of their powers of observation, and even though they have chosen to deal with a clearly defined class of material they have not been hampered by limitations which checked the free expression of their temperamental preferences. This is because the sea life is so abounding in action, and because the people who lead it are of so many types and so unstereotyped in their ways, that to the painter who works by the sea a constant succession of new motives is presented, and motives, too, which by their picturesqueness and human interest satisfy completely the artistic demand.

Clearly, in marine painting there is no lack of opportunities. In its various branches it offers to the artist room for the most divergent activities and it allows him a spacious field for the exercise of his powers. If he aspires to conquer difficulties they are there in plenty, difficulties which have to be met with courage and handled with discretion. If he is content with simple tasks there are many which will occupy him agreeably and be well worth working out. If he is a serious student of nature’s manifestations they are set before him in profusion, and the whole array of her mysteries is paraded for his instruction; and if humanity is his subject, all the actors in the drama of sea life are there to inspire him with their doings and to stir his imagination with the record of their achievements. Always the contact with the sea brings him something fresh that leads him into new trains of thought and suggests to him new ways of applying his technical skill; but always the demand is made upon him that he should put forth the whole of his effort to reach and maintain the highest standard of artistic practice. There is no place in marine painting for the man who, taking the line of least resistance, seeks by compromise and convention to gloss over his want of knowledge and tries by superficial cleverness of handling to divert attention from the incompleteness of his analysis. An artist of this sort had better let the sea alone and choose something simpler and less abounding with pitfalls for his inexperience.

NOTES ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS

This series of reproductions of paintings by artists who have given particular attention to marine painting in its various aspects has been made as comprehensive as possible so that it may illustrate adequately a subject capable of the widest application. Examples belonging to different periods have been included to show what have been the changes and developments during a term of nearly two hundred years, and what has been the nature of the appeal of the sea to men of widely differing temperaments. The conventional arrangement, the poetic transcription of fact, the realistic study, the decorative interpretation, and the frank expression of the modern idea are all presented and are available for intelligent comparison. The capabilities, too, of marine painting are made clear, and the extent of opportunity it affords to the serious student of art. There are illustrations which have a specially instructive significance because of the technical knowledge of the subject displayed in them; there are others which are interesting on account of their imaginative quality; and there are others again which reveal the inspiration of the sea life and reflect the spirit by which it is guided. All these have their part in the record of British marine painting, and are both valuable historically and worthy of consideration for artistic reasons.

Rightly, an early place in this record must be assigned to Charles Brooking, because in his works can be seen for the first time the clear intention to study marine subjects with a perception of their inherent characteristics. Brooking’s intimate knowledge of shipping, acquired during his early days at Deptford Dockyard, is plainly shown in such a picture as _The Calm_ (p. 35), which has an attractive truth and precision of statement. It is a matter for much regret that his early death should have cut short a career which was so full of promise, and in which he accomplished so much that deserves to be remembered; but honour is due to him as the painter who gave to our school of marine painting its foundation of accurate observation and careful regard for the actualities of the subject.