Lectures on Painting, Delivered to the Students of the Royal Acadamy

by Edward Armitage

Designing a subject is like drawing a figure. In figure-drawing you do not begin (at least you ought not) with sketching the eyes, nose, and mouth. It is sheer waste of time to do so, as the chances are ten to one in favor of your having to shift the head or to alter its inclination. You make a simple oval with a line down the centre to indicate the inclination, and then you go on with the rest of the figure. If you have to change the head, you can do so in two or three strokes. The same method applies to the hands and feet. Students will often draw the fingers and toes, and when the master comes round he finds that the hands and feet are in their wrong places, and the work has to be done again. Never begin the detail of a figure until you feel sure that every thing is in its right place, and that the general proportions are correct. In the same way, in composition never begin to elaborate the figures until you feel sure that your groups are in their right places and of the proper size.

To return to our subject. I will suppose now that I have got my figures where I want them to be. I can go ahead now in all confidence. I can try various attitudes for my striking and prostrate figures. I can try different modes of giving to Moses the kind of expression I wish him to have. I stick to the ground plan of my design, and also to the general features of the arrangement, but I select my details as I go on.

Now let us suppose that I have elected to take the other view of the subject. In this case the picture would be reversed; that is, the struggling figures would be in the foreground, and the Moses behind. I proceed always in the same manner. I make a very rough indication of my two figures, an indication which need not define either arms, bodies, or legs, but which gives me an approximate idea of the size and general shape of the group. This being done, it remains to place the Moses. It is clear I must not put him very far off, or his action and expression would be lost. On the other hand, I must not place him very near, or the interest would be equally divided between him and the other figures.

I might perhaps, by merely introducing his head with a pair of angry eyes glaring at the Egyptian, do something which would be original and telling; and in this case, with the head only seen, he might be quite close to the struggling group. All these different versions of the subject should be carefully considered before I finally adopt any one of them; but when once I have made my choice, I ought to stick to it. There will be plenty of modifications to carry out in the individual action of the figures without again disturbing the general arrangement of the picture.

Another of my old illustrations of the reasoning an artist ought to bring to bear on his subject, was “The Return of a Crusader.” Now here the first question which suggests itself is: Where shall we place our returning warrior? On the road, catching a first glimpse of his home? on his threshold? or fairly inside his house and surrounded by his family?

Something may be said in favor of all three readings, but if we place him at a distance on the road he will be alone, or at best accompanied only by a retainer or two, and we shall lose the best and most pathetic element in the subject.

If we place him inside the house and surrounded by his family, we shall certainly avoid the objection to the first treatment, but I think that the best moment to choose is when he has just crossed his threshold, with the open door behind him.

Admitting that we place him here, our first and most obvious idea would be to make him the centre of a group, his wife clinging to his neck, his children to his legs, his old dog licking his hand, and the ancient retainer blubbering for joy in a corner. On second thoughts, however, it might strike us that this treatment would be a little theatrical; it would savor too much of the tableau vivant. Could not something more true to nature (and therefore better) be devised?

Let us remember that our crusader has not been away for merely a month or two on a foraging expedition; he has been away for years. The boy he left has become a young man; the infant a young girl, and she, of course does not remember him at all. Time and the sun of Palestine have also changed him greatly; his ruddy British complexion has vanished, his hair is grizzled, his polished armor is rusty, and hardly holds together.

Then again his arrival is totally unexpected. He has not (as a more modern warrior would have done) telegraphed to his wife to expect him by the next train. All these causes tend to make it probable that on presenting himself on his own threshold, there would be a short period of uncertainty, of suspense, and of hope in the air, before he would be fully recognized. With the daylight at his back, his face would be in the shade, which would be an additional reason for his wife not rushing into his arms at once. Her face would, of course, be in the full light, and ought to express a yearning, eager hope. This expression would be difficult to depict, but all emotional expressions which are not downright sensational are difficult.