Part 2

The extremes of simplicity in composition, should not be attempted by Tyros; the long-practiced and master hand alone can accomplish that, which in others, would appear affectation.

The most powerful impressions are produced by the simplest construction. The chief interest confined to a very small portion of the work, and the larger space left in so much repose as will give value to, and dignify the subject, that should at once meet the eye and engage our energies; investing their accessories with their due portion of interest; taking care that the expression of the principal action of the picture is agreeably supported by their subordinate quality; that the object desired is obtained, to the exclusion of all others, and that its episodes be in character.

In the arrangement of figures, Mr. Burnet, in his Hints on Composition, says, 'the heads and hands, the seats of action and expression, are often referred to each other for the completion of form or extension of light, beyond which a strong point is required, as a link of communication between the figures and the background. By making this point the strongest of a secondary group of objects, either from its size, lights, or darks, the eye is carried into the most remote circumstances, which become a part of the whole, from the principal group being made to depend upon such point for the completion of its form, the extension of the light, or the repetition of colour.' Thus, in Vandyke we often see the luminous points of his picture referring to each other in the form of a _losenge_, composed of the heads and hands, the collar, ruffs, the hilt of a sword, &c., while all the other parts are absorbed in dark or half shade, and making the form of his composition complete, but differing something in their force and attraction: strong light and dark coming in cutting contrast at a single point, places the subordinate lights and darks in their proper situations; at the same time, these points should always be characteristic of meaning to the composition. (_Plate 1, figs. 5, 6._)

Nothing will teach you to compose a picture like sketching, however slightly, the different groups you encounter in walking about; never be without a little book for this purpose, as the merest draught will, when you are composing, apply itself to your picture better than any thing that may be suggested. I have invariably found this the best resource. Take first the exact outline, shape, and position of the figure, and afterwards the expression of what he is doing, carefully noticing the shadowed parts, and dividing them boldly from the light; the half-tints may be blended with comparative ease; therefore make as few lines as possible, never encumbering them. That part of the figure which is foreshortened will have the greater number of folds, while that which is not, will come out plain and bold. Such memoranda will always have a look of reality over every other means of obtaining it.

It is not unfrequently the case that, in the progress of a work, a number of circumstances, partly the result of thought, partly of accident, may occur; therefore, entire reliance on the first sketch is not always to be depended on; at the same time, the various improvements that suggest themselves, do not always interfere with the carrying out our first conceptions, and still securing the same treatment with which we commenced.

A repetition of forms can only be diverted by opposing lines being brought in somewhat strong contrast against them; and, if possible, between their recurrence. (_Plate 2, fig. 1._)

In copying, draw various lines across the original, and the same on the paper the copy is to be made on. Begin with the centre, and draw towards the sides; the objects represented will be neither too large nor too small by this means.

I have said, that variety and intricacy have many charms. In passing over our embellished lands, with all the advantages our country affords in landscape objects, we cannot but observe this infinite variety in the English oak, the birch, the ash, the abele; the magnificent white poplar, with its large and beautiful leaves; the beech, the elm, the stately horse-chestnut, &c.; their great diversity of foliage and bark; their distinct peculiarities of colour and form; the oriental plane, the hazel, sycamore, the maple; especially where the landscape-gardener was never heard of, when the universal and monotonous green of summer gives place to the glowing hues of October and _November_, the best months of all, from the large portion of pearly grey that pervades all nature at that time, and from which are brought out, as from a background of the softest neutrals, the umbrageous, rich, bitumen-looking browns, deep crimsons, reds, and golden colours of the leaves, &c.

OF THE CIRCULAR FORM IN COMPOSITION.

Circular composition is another of the best forms, and most easily adapted for the arrangement of light and shade; as it generally possesses receding hollows for the reception of the shadows, and graduated projections for the lights to rest on. (_Plate. 1, fig. 4._)

Taste is the discriminating power of selecting good from bad; and this is attainable by enquiry: there is neither instability nor uncertainty in its rules; so long as you have the good sense to place all 'inspiration' out of the question! Nothing is so pernicious as that illusion of the mind.

Grace, in my opinion, consists of lines flowing, more or less, into the ellipsis--free of constraint and affectation. Raphael, for instance, was all grace; Parmegiano degenerated into _affectation_.

In pictorial economy, the repetition of the same lines, and often of the same forms, assist and support each other; as necessarily as repetition of colours in painting. This extension of the same thing is frequently indispensable, both in preventing the individuality of form, and, when well broken up by opposing lines, adding materially to the seeming negligence and irregularity that carries with it so great a charm. (_Plate 1, fig. 4._)

The luminous spots or lights in a picture, frequently explain the _form_ of its composition.

In this repetition of lines and forms, the ground may be made to run one way, the line of buildings another, the figures another, the horizon another, the forms of the trees a different one, and the shapes of the clouds may describe another: all these may have their repeats; yet will they all seem to form and tend, though apparently all irregularity, to an agreeable arrangement we sometimes see in nature, and an harmonious whole, however intricate, without confusion. The investigation of the means pursued by Salvator Rosa will explain this fascinating system. (_Plate 1, figs. 2_ and _7._)

In contemplating the best regulated works of art, either in pictures or prints, by always being careful to ascertain the _forms_ by which their effects are produced, is one of the best means of arriving at this object ourselves. Even a few memoranda of the ground plans, as an architect would say, or the form of the line on which the bases stand, will be found useful in enabling us to do this. (_Plate 1, fig. 3._)

The eye must be all observation, and the mind all reflection; and it can scarcely fail to become influenced by the advantages to be derived from this practice.

It is to the almost thinking sensibility, subtleness, and feeling of the beautifully and wonderfully constructed human _hand_, that every thing done with _it_, so far outstrips all _mechanical_ means of imitating it! It is with this _solely_ and alone, that _fine Art_ is, ever was, and ever will be, identified.

'The cleverness and sensibility of the hand,' says a beautiful and masterly writer in the Quarterly Review, 'is quite as essential as inventive genius.' Speaking of our showy and elaborate park-gates at Hyde Park Corner, 'what men call the police station--in the language of the gods, the triumphal arch!' and, comparing it with the bronze net-work and foliage of Verrochio, 'which seems to grow and spring like _living_ vegetation,' he says, 'these are capital _Brummagem_, and nothing more.' 'Grasped by the man, the tool becomes a part of himself; the hammer is pervaded by the _vitality_ of the _hand_. But in the work produced by the _machinery_ of the founder there can be nothing of all this _life_! What does it give you? Correct, stiff _patterns_, all on the surface. Whatever is reproduced in form or colour by _mechanical_ means, is _moulded_--in short, is perpetually branded by mediocrity--_Brummagem art_! And, like the music ground by the barrel-organ, you never hear the _soul_ of the performer--the expression and feeling, qualities, without which, harmony palls upon the ear.'

'Even in engraving, the best judges all declare that, so far from benefiting art, the harm it has done has been incalculable, substituting a general system of _plagiarism_ in place of _invention_.'

'What will not be the result of the means of multiplying the metallic basis, and fixing the fleeting sunbeam, which are now opening upon us by means of chemical science? Steam-engine and furnace, the steel plate, the roller, the press, the _Daguerreotype_, the voltaic battery and the lens, are the antagonist principles of _art_; and so long as they are permitted to rule, so long must art be prevented from ever taking root again in the affections of mankind. It may continue to afford enjoyment to those who are severed in spirit from the multitude; but the masses will be quite easy without it.' 'Whilst we triumph in the "results of machinery," we must not repine if one of those results be the paralysis of the imaginative faculties of the human mind.'

Of all the application of mechanical means to effect the purposes of art, their contrast, with the operations of the hand, is as the stiffness and weight of death, compared with life, freedom, and vitality.

LIGHT AND SHADE.

----Shadows, to-night, Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers Armed in proof.

THE inexhaustible and unceasingly varying beauties of art begin to develope themselves most when the study of Light and Shade commences; and the student is amply recompensed for the time he has devoted to obtaining a knowledge of correctness in outline. It is now that he sees Nature with other and improved vision--with clearer conceptions of her character--in her sunny and joyous revellings, as in her vast and awful sublimity.

Drawing gives form; Colour, its visible quality; and Light and Shade, its solidity.

If the necessary form of a figure, or any other object, be not agreeable to the eye, its whole appearance may be so _altered_ by a skilful management of its light and shade, as to become at once the contrary by judicious arrangement.

In arranging the light and shade of a sketch I intend to paint, I usually take a piece of grey, or neutral paper, place the highest light at some point of sufficient interest (for the high light in a picture always seems to say, 'Come and look at me, to see what I am about!') and gradually lead it away, diffusing its rays, as it were, into the half light, or the half shade, and so on, until it is wholly lost in the darkest point; then, with white paint, or chalk, proceed to mark all the _immaterial_ lights, on parts of the figures, or other objects, as they occur in the design, as conductors of the more luminous one, into the shade, as repeats, to prevent its singleness of appearance, gradating until they are carried out of the work; like light 'collected to a focus by a lens, and emitting rays,' as in _plate 2_. The judgment being principally exerted in judiciously placing the repeats, one, or more, of these lesser lights must, of necessity, be of the _same colour_ as the principal.

Sudden transitions, by producing _too much effect_, the lights being _too_ light, and the darks too dark, produce a hard, dry, a staring, and a vulgar appearance, for want of neutralizing their qualities, and bringing the parts more in _union_ with each other. This overwrought manner is principally the cause of that common look so identified with the modern French school, the effect of too much relief.

On the other hand, nothing but flatness and _insipidity_ is the result of too softly _blending_ and uniting the light with the shadow, and the parts with one another, without that distinction and solidity constituting the arrangement that should bring the near and the remote together, in the treatment of the intermediate relations.

Light should be so skilfully woven into the shadow, as not to prejudice, but _assist_ its depth by its intrusion; this is of most essential consequence.

It is not necessary that the light should come in at one side of the picture, nor pass out at the other, as has been asserted. It is, perhaps, better to attach ourselves to no particular theory: few theorists are good painters; their works, in general, bear a contradictory proportion to the opinions set forth in their speculations.

Sketching light and shade from nature (with a single colour, or a stump), teaches us to profit by every circumstance, natural or accidental. And these sketches, studied at home, teach us, in turn, at once to _compose_, and to extend the sphere of our observation;--it carries us to the doctrine of probable possibilities; and invests the meanest subject with attraction; the most infinite variety becomes simplicity upon these terms.

The light and shade of a picture should never bear the _same_ proportions; it should, in all instances, differ materially in quantity; a repetition of forms should always bear a different proportion in size, the one having a decided superiority over the other, or, the inevitable consequences will be, confusion.

Unconnected lights and shadows, that are too much defined, will have a _bald_, a chequered, or draught-board appearance.

In sketching from nature, I usually commence by rubbing in the _effect first_, and adding the details, or features of the scene, _afterwards_; mostly beginning with the centre, or else the point of sight, and working outwards, and upwards, and downwards, to the sides of the picture. But this can only come of extensive practice, or, at least, a power of grasping the _whole_ at once.

I have said that the first and principal part of art is Composition, or placing things together appropriately; the situation, motion, and expression of the figures; their shapes, and lights, and shadows, according. A perfect outline is of most consequence, and can only be acquired by study. Next to this, the situation, colour, and quantity of shadows; these being infinite, may be variously managed. At the same time, it requires much more observation and study to _shade_ a picture, than to merely draw the lines of it. No fixed rule can be given for this; but, after having got the outline free and flowing, endeavour, by various trials, on other bits of paper, to leave the _masses_ of shadow and light _broad_, so as to convey an appearance of _space_ and extent. In the infinite gradations of shade, and the blending of them, nature has no determined law.

Objects out of doors, which receive the general light of the sky, and where the surrounding air gives light on _all_ sides, will look altogether different from the same objects drawn and shaded in a room, which would give dark shadows where in nature there are none. (_Plate 3, fig. 2._)

Without shadows, the forms of things would be unrevealed.

At different times of the day, objects will give shadows quite different in size and form, corresponding with the course of the sun. The difference of your own shadow exemplifies this, as well as the variation of the shadows in your room.

Direct your attention to the difference of the shadows thrown by candle-light; this luminary being _smaller_ than the object placed against it, would make a figure, cut from a card, two or three inches high, give a shadow on the wall the size of life.

Place any object in the sun, and turn it round to the north, south, east, and west, at different periods; and, observing the difference of shapes in the shadows, will be found excellent practice.

Placed in certain directions, the form of every thing may be inferred from its shadow.

The shadow of a person arriving, on an open door, will, if the sun is behind him, distinguish to the inmate the comer's identity.

Shadow is most articulate and defined when the light is brightest, by reason of the _contrast_ formed by the light; and will always, under these circumstances, appear much stronger than it is; though it is not so strong, in reality, as shadow in cloudy weather, from its being more equalized with the light. Shadow is only, more or less, by _comparison_ with the brightness of the light. This is best explained by making a room dark by _degrees_, and holding up some object against the light as it _diminishes_, until it is quite dark.

The light of the sun always reflects a shadow _equal_ to the object which it projects on a parallel plane. The sun being larger than the body illumined, throws a shadow less than that body. On the contrary, the light of a candle, being less than the object reflected, produces the contrary effect, the shadow _increasing_ as it retires, not in parallels, but in _rays_, thrown by the light.

The figure and shape of a shadow is strictly defined by the form of the object producing it; as light occasions the existence of shadow. An excellent and well-turned remark is made by some writer on the subject, who says, 'It must be observed, that there are _two_ points to be made use of: one of them, the foot of the light, which is always taken on the plane the object is placed upon; the other, the luminous body, the rule being common to the sun, torch, &c. with this difference, that the sun's shadow is projected in parallels, and that of the torch in _rays_, from the centre, as before mentioned. But as all objects on earth are so small in comparison of the sun, the diminution of their shadows is imperceptible to the eye, which sees them all _equal_, neither broader nor narrower than the object that forms them. On this account, all the shadows made by the sun are made in parallels.'

'To find the shadow of any object whatever opposed to the sun, a line must be drawn from the top of the luminary, perpendicular to the plane where the foot of the luminary is to be taken; and from this, an occult line, to be drawn through one of the angles of the plane of the object; and another, from the sun to the same angle. The intersection of the two lines will express how far the shadow is to go. All the other lines must be drawn parallel hereto.'

The next thing to be considered is, an _appropriate_ effect of light or shadow, to be given to the scene, or object, treated.

Calmness and serenity are the result of _horizontal_ lights, or shadows; while the contrary is the effect of oblique, or abrupt and irregular; such as are seen in the stormy effects of Salvator Rosa, &c.

The sky and clouds are often resorted to for _effect_, when the landscape does not admit of sufficient. Again, less imposition thrown into the sky, will repose the landscape, when it happens to be invested with sufficient interest of itself.

Extending the repose of a work,--by throwing into the general mass of shadow a number of objects that may appear of the least consequence to the development of its story, and bringing those which should be most prominent boldly forth into the light, by projecting their forms from the hollows of the shadows, that may appear to teem with a multitude of mysterious forms, while the cutting edges and sharp lights of those projections come out in sunshine, depending solely on their vigorous _division_,--is one of the greatest difficulties in composition, and is principally rendered so by the necessity of adapting its sympathies to the subject we would place before the beholder--by its agreeable disposition and management; at the same time preserving the utmost singleness of intention and simplicity, by avoiding confusion, and supporting its breadth by the shapes of the masses of one and of the other. A very small portion of the light, striking some object placed in the shadow, will carry the light into it; while some point or figure, enveloped in shade or dark local colour, will be sufficient to convey the obscure parts into the luminous, and preserve the balance of the whole. (_Plate 3, fig. 2._)

The most complicated outline may by this means be reduced to the broadest effect of light and shade. And simple and palpable as this principle may seem, it may be pursued until the artist is enabled to _conceal_ entirely the art by which it is effected; until he feels that which he could not perhaps explain, but may paint in a language that all may read.

Sir Joshua Reynolds speaks of 'That breadth of light and shadow,--that art and management of uniting light to light, and shadow to shadow, so as to make the object rise out of the ground in the plenitude of effect.'

Outline is _cold_ and determined in its appearance, and would seem so though drawn with vermilion; and, from its being defined, carries away all idea of space and extent with it. The greater the absence of outline, the greater will be the breadth. Where there is a necessity for much outline, large masses of it must be collected into broad portions of the shadows and lights, which should be well diversified in their forms. (_Plate 5._)

Where light _joins_ darkness, the light and dark are most intense at their _junction_, arising from affinity of contrast. It is not necessary to enter into the phenomena of vision to prove the existence of any thing that will be found in this work, its details being drawn from every-day observation.

Light and Shade should always, I think, partake of the character of the subject: a _fête champetre_ should not be enveloped in the gloom of shadowy obscurity, any more than a storm piece should be clothed in the glories of sunshine.

When the composition consists of a number of objects, the best way is to single out those that should most attract, by giving them the highest quality of the light; while whole portions may be disposed of by connecting them in broad masses of the secondary light, and further uniting them with the trees, buildings, or any other objects that occur, to extend its quantity; while the masses of shadow are formed by the union of other several parts, the light mingling with and intersecting the shade, until the whole present an harmonious _breadth_. But to achieve this, so that the parts take agreeable forms--sustaining and supporting, and giving value to each other--is perhaps the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of the arduous arrangement of light and shade. (_Plate 2, fig. 5._)

If we require a large space for repose, by getting the light at one or other side of the picture, the light should of necessity possess some striking quality, to compensate so great a sacrifice of space; while a multitude of less important objects may find a mysterious locality in the reposing mass. (_Plate 2, figs. 1, 2._)

In some of Rembrandt's etchings, a very small but brilliant point of light is carried through the composition, by the softest gradations, into the intense depth of shadow, by striking the tops only of the figures, parts of architecture, &c., until completely lost. The principal light must never be placed in the centre, but either on one side or other.