In landscape we see nature employing broken colours in harmonious consonance and variety, while, equally true to picturesque relations, she uses also broken forms and figures, in conjoint harmony with colours; occasionally throwing into the composition a regular form, or a primary colour, for the sake of animation and contrast. And if we inspect her works more closely, we shall find that they have no uniform tints. Whether in the animal, vegetable or mineral creation—flesh or foliage, earth or sky, flower or stone—however uniform the colour may appear at a distance, it will, when examined nearly, be found to consist of a variety of hues and shades, compounded with harmony and intelligence.
It is for this reason that no two colours are ever found discordant in nature, however much so they may be in art. Blue and green have been termed discordant, and in painting they may undoubtedly be made so. Yet those are two colours which nature seems to intend never to be separated, and never to be felt, either of them, in its full beauty, without the other—a blue sky through green leaves, or a blue wave with green lights through it, being precisely the loveliest things, next to clouds at sunrise, in this coloured world of ours. A good eye for colour will soon discover how constantly nature puts green and purple together, purple and scarlet, green and blue, yellow and neutral grey, and the like; and how she strikes these colour-concords for general tones, before working into them with innumerable subordinate ones.
Upon the more intimate union, or the blending and gradience of contrasts from one to another mutually, depend some of the most fascinating effects of colouring. The practical principle employed in producing them is important, and consists in the blending and gradating by mixture, while we avoid the compounding of contrasting colours. That is, the colours must be kept distinct in the act of blending them, or otherwise they will run into dusky neutrality and defile each other. This is the case in blending and gradating from green to red, or from hue to hue—from blue to orange, or to and from coldness and warmth—from yellow to purple, or to and from advancing and retiring colours. It is the same in light and shade, or white and black, which mix with clearness. Now, there are only two ways in which this distinctness in union of contrasts can be effected in practice: the one is by hatching or breaking them together in mixture, without compounding them uniformly; and the other is by glazing, in which the colours unite and penetrate mutually, without monotonous composition.
The former process may be said to be the carrying out of the principle of separate colours to the utmost possible refinement, by using atoms of colour in juxtaposition, instead of in large spaces. And it is to be noted, in filling up minute interstices of this kind, that if the colour with which they are filled be wanted to show brightly, a rather positive point of it had better be put, with a little white left beside or round it in the interstice. This plan is preferable to laying a pale tint of the colour over the whole interstice. Yellow or orange, for instance, will hardly show, if pale, in small spaces; but they show brightly in free touches, however small, with white beside them. The latter mode is founded on the fact, that if a dark colour be laid first, and a little blue or white body-colour struck lightly over it, a more beautiful gray will be obtained than by mixing the colour and the blue or white. Similarly, if over a solid and perfectly dry touch of vermilion there be quickly washed a little very wet carmine, a much more brilliant red will be produced than by mixing the two colours.
Transparency and opacity constitute another contrast of colouring, the former of which belongs to shade and blackness, the latter to light and whiteness. Even contrast has its contrast, for gradations or intermedia are opposed to contrasts or extremes; and, upon the right management of contrasts and gradations depend the harmony and melody, the tone, effect, and general expression of a picture. Thus, painting is an affair of judicious contrasting so far as regards colour, if even it be not such altogether.
Colour, it has already been observed, is wholly relative. In contrasting, therefore, any colour, if we wish it to have light or brilliancy, we cast its opposite into the shade; if we would have it warm, we cool its antagonist; and if transparent, we oppose it by an opaque contrary, and vice versâ: indeed, in practice, all these must be in some measure combined.
Such are some of the powers of contrast in colouring alone, and such is the diversity of art upon which skill in colouring depends. It must not be forgotten, however, that contrasts or extremes, whether of light and shade, or of colours, become violent and offensive when they are not reconciled by the interposition of their media, or intermediates, which partake of both extremes of the contrasts. Thus blue and orange in contrast become reconciled, softened in effect, and harmonized, when a broken colour composed of the two intervenes. The same may be said of other colours, shades, and contrasts.
Seeing that the management and mastery of colours are to a great extent dependent on the same principles as light and shade, it might become a point of good discipline, after acquiring the use of black and white in the chiaroscuro, to paint designs in contrast; that is, with two contrasting colours only, in conjunction with black and white—for example, with blue and orange, before attempting the whole. Indeed, black can be dispensed with in these cases, because it may be compounded, since the neutral grey and third colours always arise from the compounding of contrasting colours. In this way, even flesh may be painted—for instance, with red and green alone, as Gainsborough is said at one period to have done.
Some artists have produced pictures in the above hot and cold colours only; which, although captivating to the eye, and true in theory with respect to colour, light and shade, are generally false in practice with regard to nature, which rarely employs such extreme accordances. Colouring like this, therefore, is more beautiful than true. It is as though a painter were to execute a landscape in the full light of day, as he saw it looking through a prism, so that every object glowed with rainbow hues. Such a picture would present a beautiful fairy scene, and be true as regards colours, but as respects nature, it would be false.
Colour, and what in painting is called transparency, belong chiefly to shade. It has been a common error to ascribe those properties to light only, and hence many have employed a uniform shade tint, regarding shadows as simply darkness, blackness, or the mere absence of light; when, in truth, shadows are infinitely varied by colour, and always so by the colours of the lights which produce them. But while we incline attention toward the relation of colour to shade, both light and shade being strictly co-essential to colour, a vicious extreme must be avoided. For although, as transparent, colour inclines to shade, and, as opaque, it partakes of light; yet the general tendency of colour is to transparency and shade, all colour being a departure from light. Hence it becomes a maxim, which he who aspires to good colouring must never lose sight of, that the colour of shadow is always transparent, and only that of extreme light objects opaque. It follows, that white is to be kept as much as possible out of shadow, and black, for the same reason, out of colour. In their stead, whenever it is necessary to cover, opaque tints may be employed, glazed over with transparent colours. Such practice would also be more favourable to durability of the tones of pictures, than the shades and tints produced with black and white. The hues and shadows of nature are in no ordinary case either black or white, which, except as local colours, are always poor and frigid. The perfection of colouring is to combine harmony with brilliancy, unity with variety, and freshness with force, without violating the laws of nature.