ON THE LIGHT AND SHADE OF COLOUR: AND REFLEXES.
Colour is called in aid of Light and Shade, to dress and ornament it; but not to distort and disfigure it.
Extending either the light or shadow by means of colour, is perhaps one of the best ways of combining both.
Breadth of light and shade may involve many colours in its arrangement, so they are divided into imposing masses; variety of colour is often necessary to explain the localities of a work; and, that they may not appear confused, light colours should be sociable with light colours; and dark ones with others of equal density: their repetitions invading each other throughout the chain.
Great intimacy of union, in the colour of the lights, will likewise produce breadth; so as to make a large and connected mass appear, at a little distance, as one graduated light.
Colours may stand either for colours or shadows; so that they be of sufficient density, and sufficiently opposed to light ones.
But, if you do not depend on the colour of the picture for effect of light and shade, much less intensity of colours will be sufficient.
The strongest colours are sometimes most successfully employed in uniting the light with the shade.
In the conduct of light, I conceive the objects which receive its influence, should, of all things, as much as possible, partake of the colour of that light, as seeming more like an extension of it, and looking more natural:—thus, in a church, all the parts receiving the light from a painted glass window, would partake of its varieties of colour. The rising and setting of the sun turns all to gold, by the same alchymy, while it acts as an uniting link in carrying the colour through the picture: these, in their turn, throw their radiating reflects in a thousand other directions, keeping up and sustaining the communicative principle of the whole—imparted by the primitive cause and its agency.
The colouring of a picture should always be in harmony with its light and shade.
The lights will require to be overcharged with colour, if the shadows are too heavy and loaded; on their transparency depends the beauty of both.
The shadows must be darker than the shadowed sides of the objects which project them; for the reason explained in the article on Light and Shade.
The masses of light should be of warm colours, yellow or red, supported by blue or grey in the shadows; a very small proportion of which will generally be found sufficient.
The real colour of an object is only seen in the light. All shadows should partake, more or less, of the colour of the light. That shadow will appear the darkest that is surrounded by the brightest light.
The nearer a colour is to the eye, the purer it will appear; arraying itself as it retires, with the colour of the air interposed between it; consequently, the purest colours should only occur in foregrounds,—where the shadows, for the same reason, would likewise be darkest.
The colour of a light will be stopped at the part where any reflex reaches it. We see mountains covered with snow, at sunset, from the effulgence of its rays, make the horizon appear all on fire.
Distant mountains appear more deeply blue, according to the extent of the azure of the air interposed between them and the eye. All masses in the distance partake, more or less, of this quality.
'The vapours mixing with the air, in the lower region near the earth, render it thick, and apt to reflect the sun's rays on all sides, while the air above remains dark; and because light (white) and darkness (black) mixed together, compose the azure that becomes the colour of the sky—which is lighter or darker, in proportion as the air is more or less mixed with damp vapours.'
Shadows produced by the redness of the setting sun, will be blue; from the reflexes of that part of the air not illumined by its rays.
If the sun is overcast, the lights will be general; so will the shadows. If the sunbeams burst out, and strike the objects in a landscape, the shadows will then be dark in proportion to the lights. The brilliant edges of the clouds all assist the general illumination; and all objects in the light, will participate of their colour from reflexion. On the contrary, those parts not included in the range of rays, remain the colour of the air.
The air partakes less of the azure of the sky as it approaches the horizon, being more remote from the sun than that part of it above our heads, which receives a larger portion of its rays. The horizon will be light, while, in ascending to the meridian, it becomes, from this cause, deeper and bluer. So the nature of all colours diminish in proportion as density of air is interposed between them and the eye.
Reflected colours, thrown from, and upon, equal angles, will be the strongest: the most distinct, being produced by the shortest ray.
No reflected colour will have the brilliance of a direct one. For, if a reflected light from a blue object be thrown on a yellow one, the result would be green:—green being composed of blue and yellow. This circumstance refers to most mixtures.
It only happens to those colours which are on a level with the eye, that their gradation is in proportion to their distance. As to those of elevation, they are influenced by the quality of the air they are seen through.
Colours, whose nearest approach is to black, as they retire into distance, partake most of the azure of the air:—and those colours most dissimilar to black, preserve their proper colour as they recede. The golden lights on distant mountains or fields will best explain this. 'The green, therefore, of the fields will change sooner into blue, than yellow or white, which will preserve their natural colour at a greater distance than that, or even red.'
'It may happen that a colour does not alter, though placed at different distances, when the thickness of the air and the distance are in the same inverse proportion.'
Masses of shadow carry the strongest part of their colour to the greatest distance; as when trees appear thick together, accumulating the shadow on each other, they become darker by multiplying those shadows.
'The darker a mountain is in itself,' says Leonardo, 'the bluer it will appear at a great distance. The highest part will be the darkest, being more woody; because woods cover a great many shrubs and other plants, which never receive the light. Near the tops of those mountains, where the air is thinner and purer, the darkness of the woods will make it appear of a deeper azure than at the bottom, where the air is thicker.'
'In general, all objects that are darker or lighter than the air are discoloured by distance, which changes their quality, so that the lighter appears darker, and the darker lighter.'
Colours are more or less entirely lost at a great distance from the eye, according to the purity or density of the air through which they are revealed, or as they are more or less elevated from the earth, merging as they retire into a general grey, occasioned by the quantity of the intervening air. In countries where the air is thin, colours are discernible at great distances, but still tinged with the colour of that air.
The darkest colours, in distance, will be most of all impregnated with the colour of the air. So will the strongest real or accidental shadows.
Colours and outline are best defined on objects placed out of the strong light of the sun, and its reflexes. In sunshine, both are operated on by refraction, which occasions that chaotic indistinctness so painful for the eye to dwell on long together.
Every body, on which light falls, reflects a part of it back again. Any thing red, held before a looking-glass, gives back a portion of its own colour with great vividness; as a glass would throw the sun's ray on a wall.
The real colour of polished surfaces are lost in the colour of the light that falls on them. This likewise applies to all metals.
All smooth or shining surfaces repel the light they receive, throwing their reflexes on any thing opposed to them.
Polished surfaces, as in plate or armour, do not show their real colours. The reflected colours of the sun or air that shines on them confuse their own. Rough surfaces, on the contrary, retain their natural colours most.
Suppose the sun to equally illumine two sides of a street, as it passes its centre, and on one side is a red house, and opposite to it a white one, the white one would be impinged with the reflection from the action of the light on the red one: thus, all proximity of colours affect each other, in the light, in the manner of reflexes, declining as they recede. The reflected lights in folds of silk draperies illustrate this phenomenon best.
Compare the shadows thrown on different colours with each other, by placing a number of coloured materials in a dark place, the colours of shadows being regulated by the objects giving and receiving them.
Examine well the colours in the shadows of flowers; they present the most excellent combinations.
All colours, as at night, may be lost in that of the general shadow, presuming it dark enough to destroy all reflexes.
Colours reflected on by their opposites will become neutralized; as green against red, purple against yellow, &c.
The shadows on all objects partake of the colour of the light, or are qualified by other lights throwing their reflects into them.
The lightness or darkness of shadows are entirely regulated by the colour of the objects on which they fall.
An object painted in a light colour will be more or less light, according to the strength of its shadow, from the consequences attending opposition.
So a light figure, laid upon a light background, but differing in colour—as a warm object on a grey sky—assists, in the greatest degree, the preservation of the breadth. Opposition of colour is, perhaps, of most use under these circumstances.
Colours on the figures or parts brought into notice by opposition may be sometimes applied with sufficient depth and intensity as to advantageously take the place of shadows or darks.
Light and shade may be produced by the influence of colours alone, judiciously applied; the reds and yellows supporting the lights, while the blues, greys, and cold colours form the retiring portions, or such as would otherwise be in shadow.
Suppose a picture, composed of one part shade and the other light—the light being warm, and the shadow composed of cold colours—a red or warm-coloured figure laid against the shadowed side, and a blue one brought out from the light, would, in addition to possessing the greatest force of colour, have a spirited and imposing effect. But the contrary treatment would possess the greatest breadth and repose;—a dark figure laid on the mass of shadow (a point of which, being darker than the rest, would gather it together), and a light one on the light, having a point still higher in colour than the ground.
Rich, deep, and warm shadows are required to support strong coloured lights. So, strong colours are equally useful in focussing the shadows, or in giving them variety.
That beautiful diffusion of æriel and fluctuating pearly reflections, that play equally over the surfaces of the strongest colours, shadows, and lights, in the tenderest hues and forms, and with which all nature appears invested, should engage our deepest attention and enquiry, as their properties so softly blend and break down the harshness and influence of positive colour, and the asperity of opposing tints, by tempering them with their airy and luminous sweetness.
If the general harmony or hue of a picture is warm, the deepest shadows should be warm also; while the strongest colour, being brought into the middle space, will serve to connect both the light and the shadow. Indian red, in most instances, should be the mixing medium, using cold colours sparingly, and only where they are wanted as a foil; as the greens of trees are set off from the rich brown shadows, producing a splendid effect, and bringing the hot and cold colours into harmony.
Colours, forming the middle tint and shadows, should always be warm; though the light may be cold, the effect will be beautiful.
Warm shadows will support the strongest colours.
I generally observe that Titian, Rubens, and the best colourists, use their reds in the shadows, at once to support and give them brilliance;—for when it happens that the shadows of a picture are wholly made up of warm colours, the effect is sure to be splendid, though the lights are cold;—considering red, perhaps, too strong a colour to interfere with the light, at the risk of destroying its breadth. Their manner was often that of deepening the colour as it lost or absorbed itself in the background.
Every object receiving the light of the sun, receives likewise the general light, producing two shadows, the darkest one being occasioned by the sun.
When the horizon is tinged with red by the rays of the setting sun, the distant shadows, being blue or azure, mingling with the red, produces purple.
The air between the earth and the sun, when it rises or sets, invests all objects with a degree of obscurity, which is whiter on the earth than towards the zenith.
When the vapours descend to the earth at sunset, all objects that the sun's rays do not reach become confused and dark; but those that are tinged with its light will appear of the colour of that light, and distinctly marked in their outlines, though surrounded by obscurity.
The magnificence of the setting sun, gilding with its rays the slopes of mountains and tops of forests, towns, villages, and waters, while all below is lost in deep brown, grey, and purple masses, has ever been a favourite subject with painters of all schools.
The inferior or lower parts of all objects, when the air is thickest on the earth, will appear farther from the eye than the tops.
In looking down from an eminence on a street or town when the air is thick, the tops of the buildings will be darker, more distinct and articulate than the objects placed at the bottom, which, being filled with air, the tops come off it (as a ground) with more decision.
When the sun is veiled by clouds, in a landscape, the trees receiving a general light, the darkest parts will be the lowest.
Although the trees and fields may be of the same colour, the trees will always seem darker than the fields, from their quantity of shadow, notwithstanding every blade of grass has its shadow.
The tops of all mountains will be more clearly defined than their bases, becoming more and more so as they rise into the thinner and purer regions of the air; and, as they still rise to their highest summits, the more they develope their form and colours.
All buildings will appear darker at the top than the bottom, from the lower parts being surrounded with thicker air of a lighter colour.
Buildings, or other objects, seen through a fog, only develope those sides which are reflected on by the sun; the other parts remain the colour of the fog. Beautiful combinations of silvery grey and golden reflections, on foliage, windows, boats, water, &c. may be made under these circumstances. As the outline becomes confused or lost, so the objects seen through it acquire magnitude. The fog and the object being both near the eye, its density will occasion the object to appear at a great distance.
Objects of all sorts, seen through rain, have an indistinct and undetermined outline, sometimes becoming greatly confused.
If the observer is placed between the sun and a cloud of dust or smoke, they will appear dark. If they are seen between the sun and the eye, they will be light and transparent. This equally applies to the effects produced by fog.
Some artists represent water very dark or very light. It can neither be darker nor lighter than the surrounding objects which occasion its shadows.
If water is muddy or thick, the shadows of a bridge or boat would be projected on it, as it would be on the ground. But if, on the contrary, the water is clear and transparent, all reflections are formed in it, as they would be in a looking-glass, and no lateral shadows occur.
How much bluer the sea appears from on board ship than it does from the shore; because, at sea, the blue of the waves is reflected on the eye.
All objects in the distance, which are near a river or water, will appear less distinct than those that are remote from it.
All distances should have their outlines confused and unfinished, while foreground objects should be bold and determined.
Objects appear most remote that are divested of their outline, as in Turner's pictures—giving the idea of space and largeness.
Of the beauty of reflexes, Da Vinci says: 'If you mean the proximity of one colour should give beauty to another that terminates near it, observe the rays of the sun in the composition of the rainbow, the colours of which are generated by the falling rain, when each drop in its descent takes every colour of the bow.'
Displaying the various colours that compose either the light or the shade, or lights and darks, that are to stand as such, into large and subtly interwoven portions,—the blending and the opposition of hot and cold colours, and of light with dark, together with strict attention to their strength and relations (for the most discordant and opposite properties will produce harmony, under certain circumstances and arrangement), so that the masses of light and shade, and the breadth of the whole, are not disturbed,—are the leading circumstances that should engage the anxious attention.