Naturalistic Photography for Students of the Art.

by P. H. Emerson

III. “It is false in perspective, and consequently in the proportions of forms.” It is not. This remark convicts Mr. Hamerton of ignorance of optics and the proper use of photographic lenses. Vide Cap. II.

IV. “Its literalness, incapacity of selection, and emphasis, are antagonistic to the artistic spirit.” Photography is not literal, as the flexible technique shows; it is capable of selection almost to any extent, though, of course, it is incapable of leaving out a tree, and putting in an imaginary man. What an incapacity for emphasis means, we neither know nor care to know.

Answers to other criticisms.

Following in Mr. Hamerton’s steps other critics have raised their objections to photography, and these we shall discuss briefly.

“A photograph,” it has been said, “shows the art of nature rather than the art of the artist.” This is mere nonsense, as the same remark might be applied equally well to all the fine arts. Nature does not jump into the camera, focus itself, expose itself, develop itself, and print itself. On the contrary, the artist, using photography as a medium, chooses his subject, selects his details, generalizes the whole in the way we have shown, and thus gives his view of nature. This is not copying or imitating nature, but interpreting her, and this is all any artist can do, and how perfectly he does it, depends on his technique, and his knowledge of this technique; and the resulting picture, by whatever method expressed, will be beautiful proportionately to the beauty of the original and the ability of the artist. These remarks apply equally to the critics who call pictures “bits of nature cut out.” There is no need to slay the slain, and give any further answer to the objection that photography is a mechanical process, if there were, it would be enough to remind the objectors that if twenty photographers were sent to a district of limited area, and told to take a given composition, the result would be twenty different renderings. Photographs of any artistic quality have individuality as much as any other works of art, and of the few photographers who send artistic work to our exhibitions, we would wager to tell by whom each picture is done. Of course, the ordinary art-craftsman has no individuality, any more than the reproducer of an architectural or mechanical drawing. But where an artist uses photography to interpret nature, his work will always have individuality, and the strength of the individuality will, of course, vary in proportion to his capacity.

Photography has been called an “irresponsive medium.” This is much the same as calling it a mechanical process, and, therefore, disposed of, we venture to think. A great paradox which has to be combatted, is the assumption that because photography is not “hand-work,” as the public say,—though we find there is very much “hand-work and head-work” in it—therefore, it is not an Art language. This is a fallacy born of thoughtlessness. The painter learns his technique in order to speak, and as more than one painter has told us, “painting is a mental process,” and as for the technique they could almost do that with their feet. So with photography, speaking artistically of it, it is a very severe mental process, and taxes all the artist’s energies even after he has mastered his technique. The point is, what you have to say, and how to say it. It would be as reasonable to object to a poet printing his verse in type instead of writing it in old Gothic with a quill pen on asses' skin. Coupled with this accusation, goes that of want of originality. The originality of a work of art, it should be needless to say, refers to the originality of the thing expressed and the way it is expressed, whether it be in poetry, photography, or painting, and the original artist is surely he who seizes new and subtle impressions from nature, “tears them forth from nature,” as Durer said, and lays them before the world by means of the technique at his command. That one technique is more difficult than another to learn, no one will deny, but the greatest thoughts have been expressed by means of the simplest technique—namely writing.

As we have shown, all arts are limited, some in one way, some in another, two limitations of photography are that it “cannot express an intention” and “it must take whatever is before it.” We shall endeavour to answer these objections, which we frankly allow are the only serious objections to be brought against it. “It cannot express an intention.” This, at first sight, seems an insuperable objection, but on reflection it is no real objection at all when the object of photography is artistic expression. As we pointed out in Book I., it is our opinion that all the best art has been done direct from nature, and that no “intention” requires expression. No artist worthy of the name ever drew a picture evolved from his inner consciousness; if it is a brief note to see how a thing will come; it is either from nature, or from his remembrance of nature. The photographer then must compose on his ground glass or in nature, or if he wants to see how it will come, he too can draw the lines on his ground glass. But the great point is, such drawing is perfectly unnecessary for artistic purposes; only for architectural uses is it necessary, for the architect must draw a plan of his building before it can be built. This distinction has either been overlooked or speciously suppressed by Mr. Hamerton. But then we have nothing to do with architectural drawing; and if in this instance photography cannot help the architectural draughtsman, yet there are hundreds of instances in scientific studies in which nothing can help so well as photography, for example, in astronomy, spectral analysis, bacteriology, &c., &c. Finally, we are not aware that sculpture can help the architectural draughtsman. The second objection that the camera will take everything before it, is not of any vital importance. It only makes the field to select from more limited, and gives the artist greater credit when he does a good thing. And if we are true to one of our principles, namely, that the subject should so strike the artist that he wishes only to reproduce it, it is no objection at all, for a subject with an eyesore marring it would not, or should not, appeal to the artist sufficiently to make him wish to reproduce it. We will also give the opinion of a painter on this point. Mr. Goodall writes:—“These two subjects serve well to illustrate how unnecessary it is to alter the natural arrangement of things in order to make a picture. Although they are literal transcripts, it is hard to find a line in them which could be altered with advantage. The designs presented by nature ready made, always interest us far more than the artificial compositions of painters who pick and choose, arrange and alter, the material around them in constructing their pictures. When a picture is patched together, as it were, a bit here and a bit there, whatever the gain in composition, there is always a more than corresponding loss in those little subtleties which give quality to the work. If the beauty of a subject in nature does not appeal to the painter with sufficient force to make him wish to paint it exactly as it is, he had better leave it alone altogether, and seek some other that does. A man must be moved too deeply by something to dream of improving it by alterations, before he can possibly paint a really good picture.” But has not this very limitation its advantages as well as its disadvantages? There can be no scamping or dishonest work, and the artist must always go to nature. Had the ancient Greeks known and handed down photography—and a sculptor friend of ours is inclined to think they did have something of the kind—there would not have followed the terrible decadence in art which came after them owing to the neglect of nature, as we have shown. Again, an immense power which photography possesses over any other art is the rapidity with which an effect can be secured. The painter is limited to a portion of the day—his effect is only present at certain times, or his model tires; but the artist working with photography, when he sees his effect is right, can secure it in the twinkling of an eye. This advantage over all the other arts far outweighs the limitation of the field of selection.

It has been said, “The camera sees far more than the eye takes in at any given moment, and sees it with an impartiality for which there is no parallel in the human vision.” This objection has been answered in the body of the work; it only holds true with bad work, and with that we are in no way concerned.

A kindly critic, who did us the honour of reviewing us in the Spectator, said if our “contention were true, painting would have said its last word, and sculpture would no doubt soon be superseded by some mechanical contrivance, which would be to clay and marble what the camera is to plane surfaces.” Now we must break a lance with this reviewer and gentleman; we wish all reviewers deserved the last title. We fail to see why painting should have said its last word—for our contention is true—pace our reviewer. The great fact of colour alone places true painting as a method of expression far above any other method. When photographs can be taken in natural colours, then will be the time to discuss the probable dying groans of painting. As to sculpture, it seems to us useless to discuss the merits of “probable mechanical contrivances;” when they are invented the time will come to discuss them. At present the only comparison that can be made is that between a cast of, say, a hand from life, and a modelled hand. When this comparison is made, the “cast from life” will be found poor and mean—it is not a true impression. The modelled hand may be so, if the sculptor is good. It is of course needless to point out that the principle of tone holds in sculpture as in painting, but the cast from life cannot have subtleties of tone for a very obvious physiological reason, namely, reflex action. If you touch a hand with a foreign substance, reflex action is set up, and there is an alteration in the heights and depths of the modelling, and the play of light gives a different impression. Now, when a living hand is covered with plaster a rough model is obtained—a model of its structure merely, and all the subtleties of tone are lost. Those subtleties would, however, all be given in a photograph, for nothing is touched, and a true impression is rendered of the hand. What more hideous travesty of nature is there than a cast taken from a dead subject—the cast being merely an exaggeration of the faults in a cast taken from life?

Here, then, we must leave photography at the head of the methods for interpreting nature in monochrome, and we feel sure that any one who comes to the study of photography with a rational and an unbiassed mind will admit there is no case to be made out against it as a means of artistic expression. This much has been allowed by very many of our friends, who are at the same time accomplished artists—etchers, painters, and sculptors.