ON GENERAL NATURE.
The magic of art does not consist in an exact resemblance of an object:—'An exact resemblance,' says Sir Joshua, 'may be even disagreeable. The effect of figures in wax-work, for instance, is disgusting to the eye accomplished to judge of Fine Art, yet it approaches reality. We are pleased, on the contrary, by seeing ends accomplished by seemingly inadequate means; but to express distances on a plain surface, softness by hard bodies, and particular colouring by materials which are not singly of that colour, produces that magic which is the prize and triumph of Art. The power of a few well-chosen strokes, which supersede labour by judgment and direction, produce a complete impression of all that the mind demands in an object; we are charmed with such an unexpected happiness of execution, and begin to be tired with superfluous diligence, which, in vain solicits an appetite already satiated.'
We do not desire those who look on our pictures to suppose them real men and women, or that they are real landscapes; but to admire the art through the means by which it is performed.
I have always observed the most exact imitations of nature to be peculiarly within the sphere of the illiterate and uninformed; and the more debased and vulgar the mind, the more will it admire such productions. On the other hand, Fine Art has its own peculiar modes of imitating Nature and of deviating from it, for the attainment of its own purpose—'Nature to advantage dressed:' the great end of Art is to make an impression on the imagination and the feelings. The imitation of nature frequently does this; sometimes it fails, and sometimes else succeeds. 'I think, therefore,' says Sir Joshua, 'the true test of all Art is not solely whether the production is a true copy of Nature, but whether it answers the end of Art, which is to produce a pleasing effect upon the mind.'
Of the contracted ideas of high-finishers, I think excessive labour is excessive weakness, and vigour can never come from such a source: making every brick of a house appear, has nothing to do with the harmony of the architecture; nothing is so monotonous as these detail and 'bit painters;' their works, taken collectively, are universally effectless and good for nothing; it is, at best, overwrought ingenuity—not Art. The combinations must be generalized; some object in the foreground may partake of this quality of finish, but if other parts of the composition be not proportionably slighted, there will be a want of general harmony. No separate part should possess any preponderance sufficient to absorb the interest of the rest. An analogous combination will alone invest the whole with the charm it conveys collectively, and infinite labour is saved. The high excellencies of painting belong invariably to harmonious combinations.
We frequently observe in the best works, the great effect produced by slightness, which, by a sort of magic, at a distance, assumes complete forms: this is scarcely ever the effect of chance or accident, however it may be made to appear so, but the result of deep and matured study, and a steady attention to the general effect, produced, perhaps, by a few happy scratches, and is 'more laborious to the mind than the highest finishing would be,' accomplishing the purpose intended by a seemingly intuitive perception of what was required, and communicating a lively and vigorous impression to the minds of others by the energies of their own. Extreme labour seldom fails to produce heaviness, while that fascinating lightness of effect is universally occasioned by the absence of it. The slightest and most undetermined manner of treatment often succeeds in producing the best general effect, which effect is as often wholly defeated in the attempt at finishing and blending the colours and details. Some morsel or other is beautifully preserved, but the whole is lost.
The general effect of the stars is all order—all repose; but the means by which this effect is produced is nowhere to be traced!
'The highest style has the least common nature in it:' 'Good sense is not always common sense.'
'We may depart from Nature for a greater advantage. Nature is frequently narrow and confined in her principles, and must as frequently be departed from. Pictures should be painted to give pleasure, and every object which stands in the way of that pleasure must be removed!'
Rubens thought the eye should be satisfied above all other considerations; he, therefore, painted his reflects stronger than Nature would warrant; thereby producing harmony from contrast and variety.
Reynolds, speaking of Claude Lorraine, says, 'Claude Lorraine was convinced that taking nature as he found it seldom produced beauty: his pictures are a composition of the various draughts which he had previously made from various beautiful scenes and prospects.'
The harmony proceeding from contrast and variety of colour is more conspicuous in the landscapes of Rubens, and the gorgeous colouring of the landscapes of Titian, than in Claude—'departing from Nature for a greater advantage!' As in the moonlights of Vanderneer, the pictures of Cuyp and Both, and our own glorious Wilson, Gainsborough, &c. In choosing from among these great manners, we must lean on the observation of Reynolds, when he says, 'An artist is obliged for ever to hold the balance in his hand, by which he must decide the value of different qualities; that when some fault must be committed, he may choose the least.'
There is, beyond all doubt, a grandeur in general ideas, that the narrow conceptions of individual nature can never attain to.
Any subject, however mean or degraded in itself, but painted on a great principle, will acquire splendour and dignity from association.
'Look at Nature! Nature is the true school of Art!' is the universal cry of the vulgar and uneducated. But before their perception is capable of even seeing Nature, as it is spread out before them, they will have much to acquire of Art: for although Nature is before their eyes, to them it is a closed book! This is no new position, for, says Sir Joshua, 'If our judgment is to be directed by narrow, vulgar, untaught, or rather ill-taught reason, we must prefer a portrait by Denner, or any other high finisher, to those of Titian or Vandyck; and a landscape by Vanderheyden to those of Titian or Rubens; for they are certainly more exact representations of Nature. If we suppose a view of nature represented with all the truth of the camera obscura, and the same scene represented by a great artist, how little and mean will the one appear in comparison of the other, when no superiority is supposed from the choice of the subject.'
And again,—'Amongst the painters, and writers on painting, there is one maxim universally admitted and continually inculcated. Imitate Nature is the invariable rule; but I know none who have explained in what manner this rule is to be understood: the consequence of which is, that every one takes it in the most obvious sense, that objects are represented naturally when they have such relief that they seem real. It may appear strange perhaps to hear this rule disputed; but it must be considered that, if the excellence of a painter consisted only in this kind of imitation, painting must lose its rank, and be no longer considered as a liberal art, and sister to poetry—this imitation being merely mechanical, in which the slowest intellect is always sure to succeed best! for the painter of genius cannot stoop to drudgery, in which the understanding has no part;—and what pretence has the art to claim kindred with poetry, but its powers over the imagination? To this power the painter of genius directs his aim; in this sense he studies Nature, and often arrives at the end, even by being unnatural, in the confined sense of the word. The grand style of painting requires this minute attention to be carefully avoided, and must be kept as separate from it as the style of poetry from that of history. Poetical ornaments destroy that air of truth and plainness which ought to characterize history; but the very being of poetry consists in departing from this plain narration, and adopting every ornament that will warm the imagination.
'The Italian attends only to the invariable—the great and general ideas which are fixed and inherent in universal Nature; the Dutch, on the contrary, to literal truth, and a minute exactness in the detail, as I may say, of Nature modified by accident. The attention to these petty peculiarities is the very cause of this naturalness, so much admired in the Dutch pictures, which, if we suppose to be a beauty, is certainly of a lower order, that ought to give place to a beauty of a superior kind, since one cannot be obtained but by departing from the other.'
With the most practised hands, in painting from Nature on the spot, the hue and character of the artist will frequently pervade all his efforts to paint nothing but what he sees spread out before him; and his system, prevailing even to this extent, has this advantage, that accustomed as he is to consider Nature generally, his performance may resemble Nature more at another time than that one he painted it at! as Nature seldom looks the same two hours together.
The simple music of a bird may as well be compared to the most refined compositions of the Italian school, that requires the most industrious efforts to reach: both originate in Nature, but the latter is 'Nature to advantage dressed.'
Nature, the best source we can go to for instruction, is 'always at hand!'—'but Nature herself is not to be too closely copied. There are excellencies in the art of painting beyond what is commonly called the imitation of Nature. A mere copyer of Nature can never produce any thing great; for the works of Nature are full of disproportion.' It is the beau ideal of the mind alone that reaches this great end. It is comparing our observations on Nature, that enables us to acquire this ideal perfection. It is to skill in selection, and the separating her beauties from her defects, that qualifies us to reach this grand acquisition, which cannot be reduced to practical principles; but, by being enabled to discover those defects, we learn the art of supplying her wants. 'Correcting Nature by herself—her imperfect state by her more perfect,'—'and Nature denies her instructions to none who desire to become her pupils.'
Young people, and even men and women, who make respectable, and often very excellent copies from the works of others, frequently show me their 'sketches from Nature;'—Oh, if Nature could see them—for, to say they are in general perfectly frightful, is to use the gentlest expression. I invariably trace, in these productions, their individuality is the cause of their unsuccess; and the incapacity to even see Nature generally, which must be necessary before they can paint her so.
Thus to abstract as it were her beauties, and to form one general idea of them, in that abstract, is to enlarge the sphere of our understandings, and invest our works with that intellectual grandeur which alone lifts them above the efforts of common minds, by the nobleness of conception, and a higher degree of excellence: while the student may be assured that his reputation will become permanent and universal, from this system of contemplating Nature in the abstract, and ennoble all he undertakes. His picture will have a mental effect over all that is mechanical.
Dr. Johnson has most ably explained the hypothesis, so much urged by his friend, of the necessity of generalizing our ideas of Nature, when he says, 'It is not to examine the individual, but the species; to remark general properties and large appearances: he does not number the streaks of the tulip, nor describe the different shades of the forest; he is to exhibit in his portraits of nature such permanent and striking features, as recall the original to every mind; and must neglect the minuter discriminations, which are alike obvious to vigilance and carelessness.'
The idleness of laborious finish, opposed to the overwhelming majesty of breadth, cannot be better explained.