Rich, warm, and deep shadows, will support the strongest colours; and if the browns are kept cool, the greys and cold colours retain their purity better. The colours that unite the hot and cold parts of a picture require the nicest judgment: thus, white and black may be brought together by grey, (grey being made of white and black); blue and red, by the interposition of purple, (purple being formed of blue and red.)
The larger the mass employed of neutral and obscure colours, the greater will be the force and illumination in the clear ones, which, being in their natures most attractive, should always be employed in parts intended to create the greatest sensation.
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.