CHAPTER IV

HOW DOURIS WORKED

Let us now watch the craftsman at work. We have said that Douris was a potter, but that usually he left to others the care of making vases according to well-known models, and reserved to himself the task of decoration. In what then does his character of painter consist?

First he must decide on the subject. The Greeks tried, as much as possible, to adapt the design to the purpose of the vase. An amphora or a krater would not usually have the same design as a kylix. There were no rules on the subject, and the utmost liberty was given the artist. Nevertheless, we notice that grave subjects and personages in attitudes of repose are given the preference on large vases, which had stable bases and were rarely moved, as harmonizing best with their broad surface and vertical lines. Animated or everyday subjects are better adapted to the horizontal sides of a kylix, which circulated freely in the hands of guests.

For the same reason, we may say that the painting of large vases remained essentially conservative, more attached to ancient methods and subjects, while the painting of the kylix constantly called forth new ideas: hence its great importance in the fifth century.

Certain archæologists claim to have discovered two distinct branches in the industry--but that is an error. The same distinguished artists produced the large krater and the kylix, as for example Euphronios. But it would be more correct to distinguish two schools side by side, and those artists who by preference decorated the kylix were more “progressive.” Douris is of this number, if not in style, at least in the choice of his subjects. He tries to create new designs; he draws from daily life, banquet scenes, dancing scenes, scenes from the palæstra (Fig. 6), amorous scenes--well adapted for a drinking cup. On the other hand, if he approaches heroic or mythical compositions, he makes use of the opportunity to draw beautiful bodies in motion, rape or battle episodes: The Nereids flying from Peleus (Fig. 13); Theseus killing the Minotaur and Attic robbers (Fig. 11); or the battles of heroes in Homer, as those of Menelaos and Paris or Ajax and Hector (Figs. 9 and 10). At other times, we find allusions to recent glorious events which had taken place in Greece, a Greek soldier striking down a Persian (Fig. 20), Hoplites and Asiatic archers at close quarters. He belonged to that group of artists who are always looking for action, for the new and the modern.

After what originals did the painter compose? We are quite ignorant here, and cannot specify without falling into fiction and hypothesis. Were there sketch books, representing the individual observations of the artist, taken from Nature or from great contemporary works? Or did πίνακες, tablets of wood or panels of terracotta, serve for preliminary sketches? Did a painter, as it were, design a “model” which he transferred to clay or gave to his workmen as a theme to work upon? All these questions remain unanswered. One is forced to surmise that the master signed only works on which he himself had worked, those which he designed and circulated as his latest productions, the _editio princeps_, so to speak, inscribed with his signature. But when a subject once composed was repeated in the workshop, copied with slight variations by workmen, the pottery, no matter what its commercial value, was no longer entitled to this personal certificate.

Subjects thus composed with free repetition must be very numerous, for there is, as it were, a strong family likeness among many of them: battle scenes, banquets, gatherings of youths, games in the palæstra. Another important fact, must be stated, no obstacle was placed against plagiarism in ancient times; on the contrary, it was the spirit and essence of industrial art. We have proof of this in the terracottas as well as in the vases. Every one copies or imitates his neighbour. There is no copyright or patent for artistic property, an idea which has become the subject of legislation only in modern times. Considering the communistic way in which these Greek craftsmen lived, at a time when production was so intense, and the personal reputation of a potter might prove so great a factor in his fortune, we can readily understand how any man may have been led to protect himself against plagiarism by means of a signature which authenticated a production. A krater by Euphronios, a kylix by Douris or Brygos, might be particularly sought after by certain customers in Greece and Etruria. Why should they not be assured that they had in their hands an original work of a great master, and not a copy made by workmen or competitors? Have we not clocks signed by Boulle, and chests of drawers by Riesener, which are thus distinguished from similar objects, sometimes very beautiful, but which, without a trade-mark, do not represent original work?

Such then is the sense in which we should understand the signature of a vase by Douris. He sought, devised and composed the design. And even more, his own hands carried out the painting.

Let us now reflect upon the material side of the painter’s trade.

The artist begins with a simple sketch made by means of a hard point, it may simply be the sharpened end of a bit of wood, which scratches the unbaked clay, leaving decided traces after the final painting, baking and glazing. There is hardly a beautiful vase of this period, signed or not, which does not show these traces. This sketch sufficiently proves the absolute independence of the worker in regard to his model, and contradicts the opinion of those who maintain that the transfer was made with compasses. On the contrary, one feels how free the work is, and that the arrangement was invented entirely to suit the object decorated. And what enables us to follow the method of sketching still more closely, is the fact that the stroke of the brush, coming after, has not always exactly followed its lines. There have been alterations at the last moment, a lowered arm has been raised, a foot advanced, etc. It is impossible to doubt the spontaneous character, in some respects the improvisation of the design. It is, besides, rare to outline completely every person in a sketch. Frequently the outlines of one or two, with their chief characteristics, are drawn, and these determine the rest.

When the sketch is finished, the painter begins to put in his colour. He first takes a broad brush and rapidly indicates in black the outlines of the figures which compose his picture: this broad stroke of the brush charged with more colour and forming a projection round the figures can be easily distinguished. Next come the fine brushes, composed of only one bristle, giving in accurate and precise strokes the chief lines of the bodies and the folds of the garments; others, a little heavier, are used to indicate the hair, the beard, ornaments on the garments, etc. The black may be used in a variety of tones. By diluting it a more fluid matter was obtained, rather grey, which was frequently used for the under sides of objects, for rendering muscular details, the wavy folds in drapery, locks of hair, etc. Usually this diluted black would turn yellow in the baking. An unobtrusive polychrome is the result which the painters used with ingenuity; they were thus able to produce blonde hair or slightly golden folds of garments.

We have already stated that, in order to carry out these very fine lines, the artist probably held his brush firmly, not only with the tips of his fingers, but with closed hand as the Japanese painters still do (Figs. 2 and 25). He must move slowly and firmly in tracing these fine lines. Constantly obliged to take fresh colour, he sometimes had to break a line two or three times; but these joinings are only visible with a magnifying glass. It is said that it was impossible to make any correction of the stroke, and that the faultless execution of the lines proves the wonderful skill of the Greeks. We believe this to be an error. A wet sponge probably sufficed to remove any drawings or parts of them from the clay, and when it was dry the artist could begin work again. It was a question of patience and skill. It is because correction was so easy, that the results attained are usually perfect.

The painting finished, the pot was handed over to a workman to fill in the background between the figures with black as well as the foot and the edges of the handles.

After the black had dried, the pot was returned to the artist’s hands to be retouched with colour. In the sixth century, in the black-figured style, many colours were used, as violet-red and white. At the time of Douris, the red figured vases displayed very few complementary colours. Great simplicity characterized the taste of the times. A few red lines sufficed to indicate fillets tied in the hair, belts holding swords, the reins of horses, etc. Red was likewise used to trace inscriptions or the signature of the artist (Fig. 8). Others preferred to inscribe it in black on the foot of handle (Fig. 15). Others again incised it with a style in the thick colour. White only returns again to favour after the Persian wars. About the time of Douris, in the workshop of one of his rivals--Brygos--who may have been a little younger, attempts were made to heighten the effect of the red figures by a little gilding cautiously placed on the outlines of the armour, helmets and vases for libations. It is a return to the rich polychromy, which later continues to develop, and ends in those pretty little gilt vases devoted to scenes of child life, beloved by Attic customers towards the end of the fifth century. As far as we know, Douris does not seem to have taken part in the manufacture of the beautiful drinking cups with a white background and fresco tones of brown, red and violet, with which the workshops of Euphronios and his successors were busy (Fig. 7). He adheres to the classical method of figures left in the red clay, and only retouched by a few wine-coloured lines. It may be said that he is not a colourist. To his eyes, as to those of Ingres, drawing is the very foundation of the art.

When the drawings were finished, his chief task was done; but his position as manufacturer did not permit him to remain indifferent to the rest. He had to carry his painted pottery to the drying place, and, after the required time, to have it baked. This is a very delicate part of the manufacture of vases, on which its success greatly depends. Ancient ovens were probably very imperfect. There are many examples of oxidization by contact with the flame, which improperly reddens the side of a vase or turns half a figure orange. The supports on which vases were placed, while drying, sometimes left round marks. In one known instance, in consequence of two freshly painted vases touching one another, the hoofs of a horse have become impressed upon the face of a youth.

Defects in the material were more liable then than now to expose the ceramist to breakage and various accidents, which at all times have been the despair of the manufacturer, and which an Homeric singer already ascribed to special demons, “Syntrips, Smaragos, Asbetos, Sabaktes, Omodamos, gods fatal to the furnace.” We have already described a kiln adorned with a head of Silenus, a prophylactic fetish, destined to cast out evil influences (Fig. 4).

At last the pottery is taken out of the oven. The master can contemplate his work, test the delicacy of its sides, examine the fusion of the colours, study the change of tone in the baking. Other workmen come to immerse the vases in a prepared bath, which will glaze the entire visible surface, brighten the red of the clay, the background and all the black lines, but will leave the retouching dull. We are quite ignorant of the ingredients of the bath which so thoroughly accomplished all this and gave the pottery its splendour. We only know that a red precipitate was formed, traces of which are frequently visible under the foot and upon the clay which had remained uncovered. Among vases of the decline, this red overruns the entire drawing and gives an unpleasant appearance to the whole; in this case, as with the black, either the recipe of the glaze had been lost, or else the work was badly executed. Possibly a dry rubbing with leather or some other substance added finish to the glaze.

We must not even yet regard the potter’s work as finished. He had to superintend the sale, attract customers, confer with shipowners in regard to the export. Nor was advertising unknown to the ancients. It adopted many devices. Some potters contrived to paint on the vase subjects or inscriptions alluding to the products therein. There are scenes of wine and oil sales, with sentences, praising the merchandise or the honesty of the merchant. There are incentives to the pleasure of drinking, friendly greetings and wishes of good health to him who will use the kylix or kantharos. Even the details of the potter’s trade have served as matter for representation, to recall to the customer the fame of Attic workshops. The prettiest allegory is the one we mentioned above, where we saw Athene accompanied by two little Victories entering a workshop of painters and placing crowns on the heads of the workmen (Fig. 2).

But the means most frequently adopted to attract buyers was to inscribe on the body of a vase the name of some young man of distinguished family in Athens, known either for his beauty or his fortune, and in this way to gain the good-will of a rich customer, who would bring the patronage of all his family and friends. We have a large number of such inscriptions wherein the manufacturer invokes “the handsome Leagros,” “the handsome Glaukon,” or “the handsome Megakles,” etc., and we recognize in these names well-known members of the Athenian aristocracy (Figs. 5, 7, 8).

It will be remembered that the Italian potters of the sixteenth century put into circulation _coppe amatorie_, bearing portraits of beautiful women, surrounded by inscriptions celebrating _Lucrezia diva_ or “the fair Camilla.” This is a similar idea.

Lastly, we have one example of a personal advertisement in rather an aggressive form, coming from Euthymides, a contemporary and rival of Euphronios. Upon an amphora in the Museum at Munich, the boastful craftsman has written this defiant apostrophe: “Euphronios has never done so well!”

These minute details enable us to penetrate into the material life of the workshop. We catch a glimpse of the greedy struggles for gain, the ambitions and rivalries involved in all commercial enterprise. It is the seamy side of this beautiful art, which to-day appears to us so pure and free from all material considerations. As in all human efforts, there were undoubtedly in reality many competing interests, many cruel cares, much deceit and hatred. But time has done its work; has thrown a veil over the mean and petty things in life, and only allowed those to survive which are truly sane and useful. Let us rejoice in not knowing whether Douris was a successful business man, whether he honestly made a fortune, or whether he died miserably in debt. That which remains of his work is the spiritual, the true and fruitful part of his life. His drawings teach us what he was, not as an individual, but as an artist, as a member of the great Athenian family, and this it is which interests us above all.