Art-science.
A compound term applied by some writers to photography, and by others to all crafts founded upon science. It is an absurd term, and its use should be strongly discouraged. It is to be found in no good dictionary. It is an unmeaning expression, because photography is an art founded upon science, just as is etching, and to call photography an “art-science” is to show imperfect knowledge of the English language, and especially of the meaning of the two words of which the compound is formed—art and science.
Artistic.
A word greatly misused by photographers. When applied to a person, it means one trained in art, and when applied to a work, it means leaving the impression of an artist’s handiwork; and this photographers should not forget, neither should they forget that an artist has been trained in art. This should especially be borne in mind by those who dub themselves “artist-photographers,” whatever they may mean by that compound. Photographers should wait for other people to call them artists, and when artists call a photographer a brother artist, he will probably deserve the title, and not before. In the same way they should refrain from calling things artistic or inartistic, for it must be remembered that to use these words aright implies that the speaker possesses a knowledge of art.
Breadth.
Is a term used to describe simple arrangements of light and shade of colour, which produce a sense of the largeness and space of nature. All great work has breadth, all petty work is devoid of it; for petty minds cannot see the breadth in nature, so they are naturally unable to get it into their work.
Colour.
“This theory of what constitutes fine colour is one of the peculiar traits of the old-time painters, and of the landscape critic who studies nature in the National Gallery. If one may judge by their remarks or by the examples they worship, a painting to be fine in colour must first of all be brown, or at least yellow; the shadows must all be hot and transparent; lakes and crimsons must be used freely, while a certain amount of very deep blue should be introduced somewhere, that the rest of the picture may appear the warmer by the contrast. Above all things it must not be natural, or it ceases to be fine and sinks to the level of the commonplace. In fact, these colourists appear to admire a picture from just the same point of view they would an Indian carpet, a Persian rug, old tapestry, or any other conventional design, and seem to judge of it by similar standards; if one suggests that it has no resemblance to what it claims to represent, they reply, ‘Ah, but it is a glorious frame, full of colour!’ But colour in painting can only be really fine so far as it is true to nature. A grey picture may be just as fine in colour as the most gorgeous. Beauty in colour, as in form, depends on its fitness and truth.”—T. F. Goodall.
The vulgar view of fine colour is easily explained on evolutionary grounds, it is but a harking back to the instincts of the frugivorous apes—our ancestors.
Creative artist.