Sir J. Reynolds, in his discourses, is continually urging the student of composition to think how the old masters would have treated the subject he is engaged upon, and advises him to imitate their style and manner. Indeed, the sixth discourse is devoted entirely to this principle of imitation. Now, if we were vastly superior to M. Angelo, Raffaelle, and Titian, and held the same relative position to them that they did to their predecessors, I could understand our occasionally adopting their figures, after greatly improving them; but as we should not be likely to improve any figure we had appropriated, we had much better leave the old masters alone. Plagiarism, or, to use a plainer word, “stealing,” can only be excused when the plagiarist makes a better use of the property he has appropriated than the original possessor did.
Sir Joshua certainly says that you should “imitate,” and not copy servilely. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and if Philippino Lippi could have seen Raffaelle transferring his St. Paul into the famous cartoon of the saint preaching at Athens, no doubt he would have felt flattered. But how about Raffaelle? Is it not true that this plagiarism on Raffaelle’s part detracts somewhat from his fame? Does not every one, on seeing the Carmine Chapel at Florence, and recognizing the familiar figure of St. Paul, think somewhat more of Philippino Lippi and somewhat less of Raffaelle? I believe that nothing can be more fatal to the career of an artist than intentional imitation of another man’s work. I say “intentional,” because we are all more or less imitators quite unconsciously. We often confound a reminiscence of something we have seen in a picture with a reminiscence of nature, and so become unconscious imitators; but this is a very different thing from deliberately setting aside our own ideas and endeavoring to fancy what would be the ideas of some one else.
It may be argued that Sir J. Reynolds addressed his advice to students and not to mature artists, but the habit of imitating others, when once acquired, is not easily got rid of. A certain degree of excellence may doubtless be attained by following this method, provided the masters imitated are excellent, but, after all, it is only a kind of reflected light, and not to be compared to the electric light of original genius. Besides, the student who follows Sir Joshua’s advice may begin by honestly attempting to paint his pictures in the style of Raffaelle without downright imitation of the figures, but he soon learns to adopt Raffaelle’s attitudes, Raffaelle’s expression, and even Raffaelle’s mannerisms. He becomes, in short, a mere copyist. If this be deplorable in the case of the imitator of Raffaelle, how much more deplorable is it to adopt the modes of thought and expression of an inferior master! It may be thought by some that in these lectures I often speak disrespectfully of the old masters, but it is certainly not my intention so to do. I have the greatest respect for many of them, though not for all; but I respect nature and truth still more, and it appears to me that the true artist should go to the fountain-head for his ideas and inspiration, and not to second-hand sources.
It may be answered that it is all very well saying that an artist should go to nature and rely on his own powers of creation and invention, but supposing he is relying on a broken reed; suppose he cudgels his brain in vain for ideas, what is he to do? In this case I should advise him, instead of borrowing from the old masters, that he should turn his attention to portrait-painting, landscape, or some branch of the profession where the creative and imaginative faculties are not much required. He may have great imitative power with a dexterous execution; he may be a charming colorist, or, again, he may be a refined and accomplished draughtsman, and yet be totally unable to give dramatic vitality to a scene he has not himself witnessed.
It has always been the fashion to apply the term “high art” to heroic or Scriptural figure-subjects, but I think there is almost as much high art in a noble portrait of Titian or a fine landscape by Claude as in any historical painting whatever. I object to the term altogether; but if it means any thing, it ought to mean a dignified and poetic view of nature, in contradistinction to a trivial or prosaic view. It ought certainly never to be applied to a pasticcio of the old masters, however plausible such an imitation may be.
In my opinion there is high art in Turner’s early pictures, because in them we get the man’s own poetic interpretation of nature, but in those works where he attempts to rival Claude I can see nothing but the labor of a skilful imitator.
I have wandered away from the proper subject of this lecture, and have but little time left; but before concluding I should wish to explain that although I am continually urging the extreme importance of originality in painting, I do not mean forced singularity or oddity. I mean by the word, the expression of the painter’s own sober ideas. A sane man should produce sane work. It may not be very powerful, it may in no way recall Michael Angelo, but it will have qualities of its own. How charming, simple, and unaffected are Flaxman’s designs until he got inoculated with the Sistine Chapel lymph! After this inoculation we notice (at least I do) a great change for the worse in his compositions. To graft successfully, the parent stem ought to be of the same nature as the scion or graft. Now Flaxman’s nature was gentle, and very appreciative of beauty and grace. With such a nature he ought to have abstained from attempting the grand and the terrible.
If Flaxman erred in grafting Michael Angelo’s manner on his own, what shall we say about Blake? Flaxman was at any rate a good draughtsman, but Blake’s ignorance of the first principles of drawing makes his Michael Angelesque imitations simply ludicrous. The successful attempts which have been made of late years to rehabilitate Blake, and to elevate him into a kind of British Michael Angelo, make me almost despair of high art in this country. I do not wish to speak contemptuously of Blake as a poet, but in his pictures (even supposing he had grand ideas) I cannot accept the will for the deed. The frog in the fable had grand ideas when he wished to rival the ox in size, and yet he only made himself ridiculous. Were I to express all I think about the Blake revival, I could hardly confine myself to parliamentary language. I will, therefore, in closing my lecture, simply protest to the best of my power against this strange infatuation.
LECTURE XII.
COMPOSITION OF INCIDENT PICTURES.
In my last lecture I treated the art of composition as applied to decorative or semi-decorative work—of work intended rather to cover a given wall-space with noble and picturesque forms than to give a dramatic version of any particular incident. My present lecture will be devoted to the composition and arrangement of figure-pictures, whether Biblical, historical, or anecdotic, whose object is to represent in the most forcible way any given incident.