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'œuvre 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.
A single mass of light will have the greatest force when brought in immediate contact with a dark background: so will a dark object tell with equal power when opposed to the strongest light. So a figure, clothed in black and white, and placed on one side of the foreground, will focus all the other lights and shadows, which will immediately keep their places in the picture—so they be less in strength. In proportion to the number of forms in the composition, this rule may be equally applied to a group, if it agree in its outline, and does not disturb the masses on which it depends for repose.
If the picture be generally light, or the greater part in half tint, a single object or point of dark will be often found sufficient to key the whole,—placed at the opposing angle on the side opposite the darkest part.
The outline of an object we would bring most forward should come out cutting and strong from its surrounding shadow, while the other masses will retire in proportion to the absence of the opposition of density employed in preventing their approach. It may not be impossible that these few words convey the impression of what we mostly intend.
The small and immaterial lights, catching the edges of objects carried into the shadow, are of the greatest usefulness in giving depth and intensity to it, while they assist the work by carrying the communicating medium through it.
Carrying the shadow across the middle of the subject is attended with many advantages; among which are, bringing the foreground into extreme vigour; furnishing ourselves with greater facilities in getting away the background; and more readily obtaining distance and repose by blending the horizon with the clouds; while the figures are brought up in cutting relief against it. ([Plate 3.])
A mass of landscape in middle tint—such as a broken common, fields, clumps of foliage, &c.—sweeping across the picture at a third, or little more, its height from the bottom, with a bold tree or group printing its dark form on the lightest part of the sky, and lifting itself from a bright sunny bank laid on the bottom edge of the design, carried on by a dark object or two, with cutting lights and intense shadows in the weeds, stones, &c., of the foreground to support it, the clouds graduating upwards from the horizon and mingling with the middle space at the opposite side of the principal group, seems to have been a favourite arrangement with Gaspar Poussan, Cuyp, and many of the Dutch, as at present it is with Turner, and many of the modern,—offering great advantages from the numerous scenes in nature for ever opening to our view through the broad masses of shadow, flung from the passing clouds across the country, and possessing every variety of tint, sobered and covered down by the extent and transparency of the shadows, while the brilliant lights come out with all the vigorous warmth the sun invests them with.
A walk into the fields, or across a heath, can scarcely be taken, when the clouds are floating along, without an effect corresponding with this being seen. A part of the principal group will sometimes be in light while the rest is in deep shadow, or may appear so from the different colours of the trees; in which case, it will blend more gently with the sky, and more intensely focus the depth of shadow, if the lighter colour be interposed between it and the sky, losing a little of its force, but gaining harmony and union, together with the advantage of carrying the warm colour of the foreground up into the foliage, and extending it more gradually through the clouds.
Three lights, differing in strength—the centre one the strongest—and placed at different angles, has universally been found an agreeable arrangement. This mode may be always pursued with a certain degree of success. The etchings and drawings after this manner are very numerous,—perhaps from its easy management.
As our senses are carried through the varieties of a tale, so the eye must be diverted from any particular object in a picture, by judiciously absorbing or bringing into notice the accessories necessary to complete the composition, without disturbing it, or prejudicing the principal. An harmonious intimacy with all the parts, and the means of that intimacy rendered as imperceptible as possible, will absorb hardness in the masses, and give distinctness and articulation to that which should predominate in acute solidity, all disjointed and unconnected appearances being carefully guarded against. Different arrangements of the same subject will be found the best means of exemplifying this.
The shadow of a cloud may accidentally be thrown over the greatest distance, while a sunbeam may suddenly illumine the middle space or foreground: the distance then would be the darkest part of the picture. Or a gleam of light may rest upon the distant mountains, while the middle space and foreground may be in shadow; then the case would be reversed, the greatest spread of light occupying the farthest distance. Even this arrangement has succeeded with some.
The highest defined light will be that which comes boldest off the darkest part of the ground. All others will decrease in proportion, as they mingle with the ground. And, as the aforesaid light is pure, so the darks will appear darker than they are. ([Plates 5], [6].)
That part of a body in light will be the brightest that is nearest to the luminary. In the theory of light, it often happens there are double and treble reflexes, which must be stronger than single ones, and the shadows of course proportionally faint. ([Plate 4.])
In proportion as reflected lights are thrown upon a darker or lighter ground, will their appearance be more or less brilliant. We deduce from this, that all those reflexes, that brighten up and play so harmoniously among the obscurity of shadows, must be in proportion to the strength of the light that occasions them. ([Plate 4.])
The light made to graduate too softly, by means of the half-tint, into the shadow, unless some part be boldly and cuttingly opposed to the other, will have a tame and insipid appearance, however sharp and forcible other portions of the work may be. ([Plates 3], [4].)
'Fulness of effect is produced by melting and losing the shadows in a ground still darker than those shadows: whereas relief is produced by opposing and separating the ground from the figure; either by light, or shadow, or colour.' ([Plate 3, fig. 2.])
Any thing intercepting the line of light upon an object, will render its shadows soft, and its lights beautifully blended.
Accidental shadows are those occasioned by objects interposed between the light and the surface reflected on. Natural shadows, those which the light connects with every opaque body. ([Plate 4], consists of natural and accidental shadows.)
The outline of the shadow should partake of the forms, at its edges, of the character of the surface receiving, as well as the one giving it.
In many, otherwise, excellent pictures of Claude's, the sun is placed at, or near the point of sight: so that all the shadows, running from that point, almost mechanically carry the eye into the picture. Whatever of good may proceed from this arrangement, its purpose is too easily detected; and it has an artificial effect.
Da Vinci says, 'The appearance of motion is lessened, according to the distance, in the same proportion as objects diminish in size.'
Open the side of a book against the light, and observe the gradations of shadow on the leaf.
If you turn half a sheet of paper up against the light (in the manner of the book), it will explain, by its shadows on the parallel part, the phenomena of half or demi-tint.
In any body that has many indentures, there will be many shadows and their grades: that body will have a greenish hue over its superfice, where the light falls on it. To keep the colour of that light pure, in this instance, requires great management; as the markings of the masses of foliage, &c., receiving the light. And yet, without these markings, or as it were carrying the shadow into the light, it would look bald. As this is done cleverly, so it will have the effect of subduing the harshness of the lights; which not being in compact masses, lose their force.
I often rumple a piece of paper, to observe the infinite variety of its shadows. And place a ball against the light, on a white surface, and observe its gradations. So, if you roll up a sheet of white paper, and lay it on a white surface, against the light, or make it stand up, it will describe the gradations of a column.
It is a very excellent method to keep a solid square, a solid sphere, a cylinder or tube, a cone (make a paper one), a cup, &c., by you, and place them in various directions in the light, making various memoranda of their lights, shadows, and reflexes, in one colour. By this means, light and shade will soon become familiar, and the task get easier at every trial.
A piece of white paper folded several ways, and laid on a table against the light, will reveal all the different degrees of shade. Then, observe the highest light and the deepest shade, with their gradations.
Observe, in a room with one window, having chairs, tables, sofas, &c. in it, where and how their shadows fall. This will assuredly lead the mind into the mysteries of light and shade, which must end in knowledge. At the very least, the power to see things as they are!
To render bodies in sunshine, the shadows must be dark, and marked strongly and distinctly, and the lights extended and broad. So, in-door objects have equally strong shadows, with the lights and shades distinctly divided and precise. All should, as a peremptory rule, receive the light from above. The light should come in from a sufficient height to give a shadow on the ground the same length as the object is high.
If any projection occurs on a plain on which a shadow is thrown, the shadow takes the form of the projection, as it passes it; but, if it ends upon it, the shadow will be shaped by the object that flung it, still qualified by the section of the projection. The rough surfaces of many things would describe the same in a lesser degree.
Light objects, as they retire, become darker; and dark ones, lighter; but light ones are seen at a greater distance than dark.
The darkest opposing object brought up against the most retiring, should not extend itself to the edges of the picture, but let the half tints creep in, to bring the light down with more effect—diffusing it more extensively.
The shadow on the ground on which it is thrown, should be darker than the object projecting it; and, if the object be round, a reflected light will be found on the edge where it joins the shadow, as in a column.
I placed a chair in the shade, and the sun's reflection threw a shadow from it!
The light of every body is qualified by the ground that surrounds it.
Breadth is acquired by blending the light parts of the figures with the light of the ground; and the same rule will apply to the shadows.
When the ground of the picture is mostly dark, the lights, in my opinion, should take some one or other good decided form in composition, in their developement, as their meaning is only to be explained by themselves. ([Plate 4.])
If a single light or luminous mass be surrounded on all sides by a dark ground, one or more of its edges should be strong and cutting; and if a dark centre be placed on a light ground, if the same management be not observed, it will look like a hole.
Leonardo says 'The ground which surrounds the figures in any painting, ought to be darker than the light part of those figures, and lighter than the shadowed part.'
Great beauty is obtained by laying the shadowed part of an object against a darker ground; the light receiving increased brightness from this arrangement, and the softness of the shadow on the light side being nearly imperceptible, gives great relief and beauty. This mode is much resorted to in the management of portraits, while it equally applies to landscape.
Most repose is obtained by placing a light group or object on the light side of the picture, and dark objects on the dark side, as no interference of the one or the other then occurs to disturb the masses; but the effect will be less than when carried the one into the other, and the difficulty of uniting the two parts become greater.
In some of the best works of Ostade, and many of the Dutch school, a dark figure or group is brought out from a darker background, with great brilliance, and even force, when the colour of the one is cold, and the other warm.
Corregio's management of light and shade placed him in the highest sphere of this department of the art.
An object or figure, having a dark and a light side, the dark side being opposed to the light part of the ground, and the light side coming off the darker part, will have great effect.
When a dark body terminates on a light ground, it will detach itself. If a round object, it will not carry its light to the extremity of its outline, but finish in a half shade, darker than the ground.
A large mass of light in the middle of the picture, surrounded by shadow, is a rule; and, when reversed, has an equally imposing effect. ([Plate 2, fig. 5.])
The largest division of the light and the dark parts of a picture, so they differ in quantity, will of necessity produce the greatest breadth; but the extent and magnitude of that breadth will be entirely qualified by the judicious management employed in producing a union between them.
One greatly approved method of producing this effect is, by bringing the light up to a brilliant focus, and absorbing the shadows into the darkest obscurity; while the larger portion of the work is pervaded by the half light and the half dark, as well as their shadows by strong local colour; while those in the shadow should come out sharp and distinct. The vigour of the light will dissolve all chance of influence in the half tints; while the extreme depth of the shadow, carried perhaps to a little excess, will gather up and absorb all the subordinate shadows. ([Plate 1, figs. 5] and [6.])
Marking, with a stump and bit of black lead, when we are abroad, the principal points, in sketching from nature; and noticing in what manner those points refer to, and assist each other; tracing their effects, and ascertaining the laws that bring them harmoniously, or by contrast, together, is the best method to be pursued for the arrangement of our own ideas in composing. Sketches so obtained, should be preserved as models to exercise the invention by.
A more distinct idea of light and shade is best obtained by the use of one colour only, as many only tend to perplex the eye, and divert the attention from the great object that should be distinctly kept in view.
In laying on the tints (of one colour only), the method to be pursued is as follows:—Mix the separate shades in separate saucers, three, four, or five, as may be required; keep the board you have previously strained the paper on inclined at moderate elevation, that the colour may flow freely; lay in the sky first; the farthest distance next; then all those masses of shadow which principally influence the division and interest of the picture; working downwards to the foreground from the middle distance, using a large brush, filled with colour, to produce clearness and transparency. Then proceed to delicately touch upon the lights, in order to blend them with the shadows, that they may not appear too abrupt, as well as to break down their asperity, and prevent the work looking bald. Now a darker shade than any should be mixed up, to put in the markings of the foliage and foreground, rocks, or whatever the composition may consist of. Lay the whole on with freedom and boldness; and, if any parts require strength, they may be lightly floated over again, when quite dry.
Do not disturb the surface of the paper more than can be avoided; and endeavour to keep all the tints even, or flat, in the first instance, without attention to the details. Always mind to take up enough of the colour at once to cover down the space intended, without sweeping it contrary ways. Thick rough paper is the best.
The power of making large masses of flat tints, commonly comes of great practice; it is, therefore, necessary that this difficulty is conquered, before attempting to blend them.
The use of that important thing, in the hands of an artist, the sponge, must be taught and seen to be understood.
The most forcible arrangement in the composition of light and shade is, where it is spread and diffused, until reaching the strongest point; which point, opposed immediately to the most retiring part, and clothed in strong colour, will have the effect of balancing and combining the most complicated forms, that, but for this method, had been all confusion.
If a sketch be too outliny, it will want solidity; if too much filled in, it will be heavy.
Do not let the lights be too scattered, or too equal, lest the struggle for precedence be observed.
When clouds are interposed between the sun and the object, the shadows will be soft, and their terminations almost imperceptible.
In conclusion, the concentration, the diffusion, or the contrast of light and shade, is best understood from a few blots made from the pictures of those great masters, who strike us as having excelled most in this department of the art, carefully preserving their arrangements, and applying them to our own compositions, until we feel and think like them. And a very little practice, in pursuing this method, will place the student in as quick a habit of effecting it, as of writing down his thoughts, together with the immeasurable advantage of snatching from Nature her faultless effects of chiaroscuro—let them be as fleeting as they may—and the lights and shades of our own minds will influence the effect they have on the minds of others.
Is there not practical wisdom in commencing every day with the steady effort to make as much of it as if it were to be our whole existence? If we have duties to perform, in themselves severe and laborious, we may enquire if there be not some way by which to invest them with pleasant associations? How many men find their pleasure in what would be the positive horror and torment of the indolent, whose inefficient and shrinking spirit recoils from these tasks as insupportable burdens?
In exact proportion as you have cultivated your taste and education in this, as in all other things, will be your happiness and enjoyment in your productions.
In a work of this nature, tautology is not altogether unavoidable, as that which occurs in one division of it, equally applies to another.
I shall revert to the subject of light and shade again, under the head of its application to Colour.