There is much conjecture as to how Whistler acquired his knowledge of Velasquez. Joseph Pennell claims that Whistler never went to the Prado in Madrid. Duret tells us, that during a trip to Spain in 1882, he intended to go to Madrid, but on the way was fascinated by the scenery around Guethary (north of Biarritz) to such an extent that he prolonged his stay until it was time to return, without having crossed the Pyrenees. Others, with a quizzical mien, say that he might have gone without letting anybody know of it. It is hardly credible that he did not see the "Dwarfs," the "Spinners," the "Mercury and Argus," the "Maria Theresa," "La Meninas," "Æsop," the "Menippus" and the "Surrender of Breda."
However it really matters little. He had seen the portraits of the Hermitage at an early age, and was thoroughly acquainted with the various portraits of Philip II at the London National Gallery. In this age of handbooks one can study Gozzoli in a New York garret. Of course a trip to Florence might prove profitable, but the right man, with the proper amount of imagination, knows no obstacle. His intuition will help him to get thoroughly imbued with any subject he is bent upon knowing.
The portraits are all single figure studies, with a plain or simple background. They do nothing. They merely convey the charm of a personality as seen in an arrangement of colour. Whistler was a keen observer of facial expression and gesticulation and still more so of that other no less telling kind of expression, which depends upon our general bearing, and upon the way we move our limbs and body while we are trying to convey our thoughts and intentions to our neighbours. But this was not the principal theme, as it is of so many portrait painters. To him the very soul of art was elimination: to leave out all that could be left out. He realized that he could not proceed in the elimination process as gaily and liberally as in his nocturnes. He needed a more convincing sense of form, a certain regard for detail—no matter how broadly rendered—and a feeling for accurate line. This fragmentary representation of a human being requires the keenest artistic feeling, to know exactly when one has to stop in the process of reducing the multiplicity of nature to simple forms, of discarding superficial traits of the figure and retaining only the essential ones. For elimination is only half the game; selection makes up the rest. The sureness with which Whistler stops just upon the border line proves his genius. However vague and enveloped his line may have become, it has never been pushed beyond the point where it falls into meaningless and spiritless formlessness.
Whistler's portraiture may be summed up as a never-ceasing study to express a human personality in the subtlest way imaginable. At bottom of all that he creates, there lies the desire to make his figures betray their character, emotions, and their whole personality by means of a tonal vision.
In the portrait of Frederick Leyland, the "Medici of Liverpool" (painted 1873), Whistler, for the first time, introduced the plain background without accessories, endeavouring to subordinate it to the figure. In the portrait the figure occupies the entire length of the canvas, and yet is enveloped in atmosphere. I believe this is largely due to the vagueness of outline and the accentuation of the principal points of the human form by touches of light, as the headlights on the silver buckle of the shoe, the hand on the hip and the gray overcoat over the left arm. The blacks in this picture have a marvellous quality. The painting of a black evening suit against a pitch black background is one of the masterpieces of modern technique, over which future ages will not cease to marvel. Also the shadow on the grey floor helps. The pose is dignity itself, but it seems to me that the artist did not quite succeed in carrying out his own ideal. The figure makes the impression as if it were stepping out of the picture, like a Rubens.
The same problem occupied him for years. He succeeded much better in the "Rose Corder" and "The Fur Jacket;" and in the "Lady Archibald Campbell," also called the "Yellow Buskin," he actually solved the problem. The picture is at the Wilstach Gallery, Philadelphia, and everybody who has seen it will realize, or feel, at least, that the figure is represented as if actually moving in space.
Most of his pictures were painted in ordinary rooms, without a top light, partly, no doubt, because he wanted to paint his sitters under natural, not artificial conditions. Also the "Rose Corder" portrait, painted in 1876, carries out this sensation. This portrait, which was purchased by Richard A. Canfield from its former owner, Graham Robertson, is entitled "An Arrangement in Black and Brown." The differentiation of brown in the hair, fur, felt hat, feather and floor are so subtle and beautiful, that it would be almost impossible to go any further in the exploitation of one colour. The person who can appreciate the subtleties of these cool, almost neutral colours, appreciates Whistler. It was his main ambition, even to that extent that he wished the beholder to know of his intention. And that is no doubt the main reason why he called his portraits "Arrangements and Harmonies," even as other artists call their portraits "Interpretations," and their sculptured busts "Versions." Titles are really of no importance. They are, at the best, only annotations, but, as long as they are deemed necessary, they ought to give a vague suggestion of the subject matter or reveal the technical aim of the painter. Whistler's titles are frequently too long, but they generally convey some direct and valuable information to the beholder.
