Part 4

Other men carried on ably the tradition he had established, and in a comparatively short time there grew up a by no means inconsiderable group of painters who took an effective interest in the pictorial material with which the sea provided them. Within half a century of his death he had many successors, some of whom were true sea painters, though, perhaps, the majority were landscape men who included the sea in their study of nature’s manifestations, and only turned to it, more or less frequently, in the intervals of their more usual work. Yet in this latter class were counted some of the greatest British masters whose achievements rank among the best by which our school is distinguished. To the company of these masters certainly belongs George Morland, the erratic genius who, ranging over a wide field of subjects, found that the sea was often one of the most helpful sources of his inspiration. His coast scenes--of which the _Fishermen Hauling in a Boat_ (p. 37) is a good example--have a characteristic measure of strenuous vitality and are painted with all the sureness of touch that marked his handling of the rustic motives which occupied so much of his attention. Morland, however, did not paint marine pictures so frequently as his contemporary, John Wilson, who was a consistent student of the sea and lived for some years at Folkestone. His capacity can scarcely be questioned. The picture reproduced (p. 38) has a very modern freshness of manner and shows exceptional knowledge of wave movement and atmospheric subtleties, and though there is in it something of the convention of the period, it certainly conveys the sentiment of nature.

Another master who made many digressions into sea painting was Constable; a number of sea and coast pictures are included among his more memorable performances. His _Chesil Beach_ (p. 39) has the better qualities of his art, its strength and sincerity, its robust directness, and its sense of rightly estimated reality. Without being in any way dry or dull it is singularly faithful in its statement of the facts of the subject and in its adherence to nature’s authority; and it bears decisively the stamp of the artist’s personality.

Even more personal both in point of view and in manner of interpretation are the pictures by Turner, that greatest of all painters of the sea. No one but Turner could have attained such a height of dramatic power as is reached in _Lowestoft_ (p. 45), and _The Shipwreck_ (p. 41), in which the majesty and the tragedy of the sea are expressed with overwhelming strength. Only a supreme master could have kept conception and execution in such perfect relation, or could be so vehement in conviction without lapsing into bombast. But Turner was a master without a peer, and in these two pictures--and the extraordinarily suggestive and mysterious _Farne Island_ (p. 44)--he is seen to rare advantage. Yet he was not less evidently a master when he chose to deal with less ambitious material, when he painted subjects like the _Yacht Racing in the Solent_ (p. 43), and _The Prince of Orange Landing at Torbay_ (p. 42), in which no tragic note was needed, and no greater problem was presented than the expression of the breezy freshness of a restless sea. Always, the acuteness of his vision, the depth of his understanding, and the consummate certainty of his method can be realized, whatever may have been his mood or his intention.

Beside Turner, John Thomson of Duddingston can be assigned but a minor place; yet, amateur though he was, he cannot be passed over as unworthy to be reckoned among the more accomplished of the earlier sea painters. Minister of a church in Scotland, he was able to practise his art only in the intervals of his clerical duties, but as can be judged from his _Fast Castle_ (p. 47) he had real ability and much command of technical processes. He belongs to a period of great importance in British art, a period which produced not only Turner and Constable, but other masters of high rank, two of whom, Cotman and David Cox, painted marine pictures frequently and treated them with delightful sympathy. Cotman’s broad, dignified method is well seen in _A Galiot in a Storm_ (p. 48), a composition finely designed and convincing in its large simplicity; and David Cox’s exquisite perception of beauties of atmospheric effect is rarely better evidenced than in his delicate and luminous _Calais Pier_ (p. 49), a study of sea and sky which can be unreservedly praised for its sensitiveness and truth. It is as rightly seen as it is attractively painted. There is much less freedom and spontaneity in Pyne’s _Totland Bay_ (p. 51), and yet this picture has a scholarly quality that entitles it to respect, though it is a little too formal and conscious. But at the beginning of the nineteenth century there was a fashion for elegant formality, and Pyne was, perhaps, induced to follow this fashion by his study of Italian scenery. As a sea painter he can scarcely be compared with George Chambers and Clarkson Stanfield, who were of the same date, and both of whom had much professional experience of the sea before they became artists. Chambers drew shipping with admirable accuracy--there is ample proof of this in his picture, _Off Portsmouth_ (p. 52)--and knew the ways of the sea intimately; Stanfield was also an excellent draughtsman, but on the whole was more artificial than Chambers. Both men were for some while successful scene painters, and in Stanfield’s work particularly the influence of the theatre is apparent; there is an obvious scenic quality in such pictures as the _Entrance to the Zuyder Zee_ (p. 54) and _The Port of La Rochelle_ (p. 53); and his _Coast Scene_ (p. 55) is planned and composed with the scene-painter’s feeling for construction and distribution of detail. But, despite the theatrical atmosphere of his art, Stanfield’s achievements are not to be despised, because the foundation of them was sound and the knowledge he displayed in them was acquired at first hand.

Dyce’s _Pegwell Bay_ (p. 57) is interesting for two reasons, as a digression by a successful figure painter into open-air work, and as an illustration of the influence exercised by the Pre-Raphaelite movement upon the painters of the time. It is an extraordinary piece of precise statement, photographic in its accuracy, and is painted with a careful regard for reality that deserves recognition. Indeed, its simple honesty makes it of more account than such a picture as Cooke’s _Dutch Boats in a Calm_ (p. 58), which, capable though it is, has more than a suspicion of artificiality; or than E. T. Crawford’s _Closehauled, Crossing the Bar_ (p. 59), in which the spirited treatment of the sea is to some extent discounted by a certain clumsiness in the drawing of the sailing-boats and by the somewhat mechanical manner in which they are used to help out the composition. There is artificiality, too, in the design of Müller’s _Dredging on the Medway_ (p. 60), but it is more cleverly disguised, and the handling is more accomplished. All three of these men, however, contributed something to the sequence of paintings which stands to the credit of the British school, and all were serious observers of the sea.

So, too, was Copley Fielding, though other subject-matter than the sea engaged much of his attention. But he spent a good deal of his time on the coast and used his opportunities there with considerable discretion. As a result his sea paintings have a sympathetic quality that is undeniably persuasive, and they derive an additional charm from their dexterity of brushwork and from their pleasant management of colour and tone. The _Coast Scene_ (p. 61) represents him well; it is an eminently skilful technical exercise, and it conveys correctly an impression of gathering storm and of the force of a rising wind. The suggestion, also, of cold, gleaming light when the sky is partly veiled by dark clouds is sufficiently true and is made with due restraint--without that over-accentuation of tone contrasts which is so apt to destroy breadth and unity of effect.

From Copley Fielding to Edwin Hayes is a wide step--a jump from the methods of the past to those of the present day. Yet in actual time the two men were not so widely separated, for Hayes was born some while before Fielding died, and counted several of the earlier British masters among his older contemporaries. Fielding, however, was brought up in a tradition which had a strong hold upon the painters who were working at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and he made no real effort to break away from it, though in his interpretation of it he was, in some respects, less narrow than his fellows. But the formula influenced him as it did nearly all the other men of that date, and it gave a sort of set pattern to the paintings even of those artists who had the sincerest possible desire to be faithful to nature and to study her seriously and persistently.

The effect of this formula was to regulate the composition and to prescribe the introduction of shipping in certain specified positions so as to conform to an accepted pictorial convention. To its dominance is due the general similarity which can be perceived between the works of John Wilson, Chambers, Crawford, and Müller, here illustrated, and which could be followed out in many other pictures by the lesser painters of the time--a similarity which was neither accidental nor unconscious, but directly induced by adherence to what were held to be the correct principles of picture designing. Moreover, there seems to have been a belief then that a painting of the sea must have some added interest to assure it of popularity, for a sea without shipping prominently placed upon it was hardly ever attempted; an incident was almost always introduced or a story suggested.

When Edwin Hayes began his career the earlier tradition was losing its authority and was being replaced by a less limited conception of the sea-painter’s mission. To some extent he came under it in his youth, but he was naturally responsive to new ideas and kept pace with the more modern developments. Anyhow, in his _Sunset at Sea_ (p. 63) there is no hint of the old convention, and there is no trace of the belief that an added interest was required to make a sea picture attractive. He was content to give faithfully his impression of the sea as it appeared before him, to tell no story save nature’s own, and to take for his incident the gleam of sunlight upon tossing waves stirred into movement by the wind--a poor subject, perhaps, according to the old standards, but one which to-day appeals to us as admirably satisfying and essentially complete.

From the middle of the nineteenth century onwards there has been a steadily growing tendency to enlarge the scope of marine painting and to allow to the men who practise it more and more freedom in the assertion of their personal feeling in art matters. That is why so much material of the most varied character is available now for the illustration of this branch of pictorial production, and why so many artists seek in it opportunities for the display of their capacities. They can approach it from the point of view that suits them best, they can interpret what they find there in the way that seems to them most appropriate, and they can, if their study is sincere, get most closely into touch with nature’s secrets.

One entirely legitimate point of view is given adequate demonstration in the two pictures, _The Kyles of Bute_ by C. Parsons Knight (p. 65), and _From the Dorsetshire Cliffs_ by John Brett (p. 67). Both pictures are records, plain and uncompromising statements of fact, and in neither of them is anything unaccounted for or any detail left for the imagination of the spectator to supply. Frankly, the intention of both painters was to put in everything that the most acute vision could detect in the scene represented and to attain completeness by painstaking effort; and undeniably both painters have justified themselves by the thoroughness with which they have carried out this intention. Yet to many people so much labour to prove the sincerity of the artist would seem to be unnecessary and to savour somewhat of pedantry; knowledge so lavishly displayed--and with such scrupulous regard for accuracy--is not always persuasive. But such pictures have every right to exist, and there is a place for them in art.

So there is, too, for conceptions of such a totally different type as _The Wreck_ by C. E. Holloway (p. 68), and the _Marine_ by Whistler (p. 69). These go to the opposite extreme, eliminating detail, avoiding precise and careful explanations, conceding nothing to the unimaginative man who can only believe what is made perfectly clear to his limited vision. They demand from every one who sees them a full measure of thought and intelligent analysis so that the shrewd understanding which controls their apparent carelessness of method can be estimated at its proper worth. Holloway’s painting is, in fact, only a rapid note in which he has visualized a momentary impression, but visualized it so surely that he has been able to make other people see just what he himself saw in the subject. Whistler’s _Marine_ is an impression, too, a summary of movement and wave action; but it is something more than a simple realization of the fundamental things in nature because into the treatment of it a decorative intention has been definitely admitted. By the painter’s skill the formality of the design has been cleverly concealed, and by the spontaneity of his method the deliberate processes of his art are kept from being too apparent; but formality and deliberation have both contributed to the successful evolution of a very significant picture.

Quite a different kind of sentiment pervades Hook’s vigorous canvas, _The Seaweed Raker_ (p. 71). He was not concerned with subtleties of suggestion or with problems of decorative adjustment, but with the robust representation of nature’s ruggedness, and there was a simple honesty in his virile, forcible work. He understood the sea, and though he looked at it in rather a literal way he never made his paintings of it commonplace. Partly this was due, no doubt, to the unaffected directness of his executive devices and to the frankness of his craftsmanship--he never resorted to any graceful artifices to soften off the bare facts of his subjects--but there came in also the influence of a temperament which was by no means insensible to the romance of the sea and to the sombre poetry of the seaman’s life. That Hook was one of the greatest of British marine painters can fairly be claimed.

But greater still was Henry Moore, greater because his insight was even more acute and because, while he equalled Hook in robustness, he used his powers with more reserve. He was a finer colourist, a truer judge of tone relations, and more sensitive to refinements of atmospheric effect; and as an executant he had a lighter and more flexible touch. A lifelong painter of the open air, he began to study the sea almost at the outset of his career, and for some years alternated between landscapes and marine pictures, but eventually devoted himself almost exclusively to the branch of practice in which, as he plainly proved, he was without a serious rival. The particular charm of his work--a charm that is very apparent in the two examples reproduced--is in its suggestion of space and wide expansiveness, and of the recession of the surface of the sea to the far horizon. From such a picture as _A Breezy Day_--which forms a frontispiece to this article--many lessons are to be learned in the management of tone values to express distance, and in the treatment of clouds not as a background but as an overhanging canopy in true perspective; and both this and the _Break in the Cloud_ (p. 72) show most clearly the certainty with which he could draw the form of different kinds of waves and give to them their proper movement. And all this he did without appearance of labour and without exaggerated display of technical facility, but invariably with the quiet confidence that comes from exact and well-tried knowledge.

Colin Hunter’s _Farewell to Skye_ (p. 73) seems, somehow, to have about it a touch of sentimentality and to be lacking in force. Perhaps this impression comes partly from the title, but it is encouraged also by the sweetness of the composition with its flow of curving lines and its carefully balanced distribution of lights and darks. But as a study of a picturesque coast scene the picture is pleasing, and as a note of an effect of evening illumination it has much merit. It represents well an artist who possessed his full share of the Scottish feeling for romance and whose methods were sound, and it can justly claim a place among the more popular of modern marine paintings. There is a place, too, for W. McTaggart’s _Sounding Sea_ (p. 74), a picture very different in inspiration and technical manner and yet as definitely expressive of the Scottish temperament. Like all McTaggart’s works, it arrests attention by the strength of its personal conviction and by the characteristic method of handling that he has employed, and to this attention it is fully entitled.

Frank Brangwyn’s _In Port_ (p. 75) has a story to tell, the story of a voyage ended and of the safe arrival of a homeward-bound ship. The artist has not embroidered his subject with any touches of fancy; he has dealt with it as a simple matter of fact and as an everyday incident in the concerns of a seaport town--an incident which excites hardly more than momentary interest among the idlers on the quay. Yet by this very reticence he seems to give point to his story and to emphasize the British attitude towards sea life as something to which the people are accustomed and which they treat as an obvious part of the national heritage. It is, perhaps, because he has been at sea himself that he has no inclination to be either sensational or sentimental in painting what a sailor would regard as a very ordinary occurrence; it is undoubtedly to his experience afloat that can be ascribed the air of intimacy which pervades the picture and the sterling accuracy with which every detail of it is rendered. Of course, as a painter he is exceptionally distinguished, but even the painter of distinction is none the worse for possessing an expert technical understanding of the material which he proposes to depict upon his canvas. In this instance the combination of nautical experience and high artistic ability has been productive of unusually satisfying results.

It is questionable whether to T. B. Hardy has as yet been assigned the position among British artists which is due to him on account of the merit of his work. A prolific and popular painter he possibly spread his energies over too wide a field and fell into the habit of over-production. But in his best pictures he reached a very high level of accomplishment, and as a sea painter he was especially successful. _A Change of Wind, Boulogne Harbour_ (p. 77), which has been chosen to represent him, ranks among the best things of its class, on account of its accuracy of observation and its powerful realization, not only of the action of the sea, but of the weather conditions, too, by which this action was induced. In design the picture is to some degree a reversion to an earlier type, but in spirit and manner of execution it is essentially a modern effort, and brings a past tradition logically up to date.

Napier Hemy’s _Boat Adrift_ (p. 78) owes none of its inspiration to the older sea painters, or at all events to none earlier than Hook. There is a hint of Hook’s robustness and solid realism, but the character and quality of the handling, the constructive sense, and the observation of the lift and sweep of the waves are all Hemy’s own. He took his subject far too seriously to depend upon any one else for his inspiration, and he studied it afloat under all aspects and in all sorts of weather, not as a landsman who limited himself to what he could see from the shore. His thoroughness had its full reward, for it is by his marine paintings that his reputation as one of our leading artists has been established, though in his early days he was a figure painter and made some success with landscape as well.

Another instance of a figure-painter’s judicious dealing with the subtleties of the sea is to be seen in Sir John Lavery’s _Evening--the Coast of Spain from Tangier_ (p. 79). He has found something here well worth recording, an effect of warm evening light over still waters which ripple gently on a flat beach, a subject full of colour and delicate aerial suggestion. He has interpreted it with tenderness and sympathy, but without descending into mere prettiness, and without losing the strength of the subject. A picture so happily conceived deserves the sincerest welcome.

An entirely different class of work is exemplified in W. L. Wyllie’s ambitious composition, _Blake’s Three Days Engagement with Van Tromp_ (p. 81). This is neither a simple piece of nature nor a representation of a normal incident in our modern life, but an imaginative reconstruction of an historical scene. To build it up a vast amount of research and consultation of authorities were needed, to carry it out convincingly a very thorough acquaintance with the sea was indispensable--both conditions have been excellently satisfied by the artist. His picture is entirely credible: he makes us believe that he has put before us what actually happened, and he treats the whole motive with a seamanlike understanding that clears it of all suspicion of artificiality. Compositions of this type were popular a century ago, when the sea painters had opportunities to witness such picturesque, yard-arm to yard-arm naval actions; the sea-fights of to-day do not lend themselves so well to the artist’s purposes. A good deal of the drama must inevitably be lost when miles of water intervene between the opposing fleets.

A sailor’s acquaintance with the sea gives a particular point to the work of Thomas Somerscales. His pictures, _Off Valparaiso_ (p. 82) and _Before the Gale_ (p. 83), have an unpretentious reality that can be accepted in perfect good faith. They are distinguished by an unusual straightforwardness, and by a simplicity of manner and method that is curiously effective; and they tell us, because they are so simple and straightforward, more about the sea than we can learn from paintings which are much fuller of detail and accessory incident.

R. W. Allan’s _Off to the Fishing Grounds_ (p. 84), and C. W. Simpson’s _Landing Fish_ (p. 85), have to do with life in home waters instead of the adventuring of ocean-going ships, but they are none the less interesting on that account. In the first picture, indeed, the chance of working out a very agreeable line composition has been used by the artist with the best of judgment, and he has entered thoroughly into the spirit of his subject. In the _Landing Fish_, a good illustration is given of the way in which a perfectly literal statement of a scene, for which almost any fishing-port would provide a setting, can be made artistically important by a painter who looks at it sympathetically and who can induce other people to look at it through his eyes. There are few occupations carried on so picturesquely as that of the fisherman or among surroundings so full of varied pictorial possibilities; and there are fewer still which offer so many picture subjects ready-made.