British Marine Painting

by Unknown

It is questionable whether to T. B. Hardy has as yet been assigned the position among British artists which is due to him on account of the merit of his work. A prolific and popular painter he possibly spread his energies over too wide a field and fell into the habit of over-production. But in his best pictures he reached a very high level of accomplishment, and as a sea painter he was especially successful. A Change of Wind, Boulogne Harbour (p. 77), which has been chosen to represent him, ranks among the best things of its class, on account of its accuracy of observation and its powerful realization, not only of the action of the sea, but of the weather conditions, too, by which this action was induced. In design the picture is to some degree a reversion to an earlier type, but in spirit and manner of execution it is essentially a modern effort, and brings a past tradition logically up to date.

Napier Hemy’s Boat Adrift (p. 78) owes none of its inspiration to the older sea painters, or at all events to none earlier than Hook. There is a hint of Hook’s robustness and solid realism, but the character and quality of the handling, the constructive sense, and the observation of the lift and sweep of the waves are all Hemy’s own. He took his subject far too seriously to depend upon any one else for his inspiration, and he studied it afloat under all aspects and in all sorts of weather, not as a landsman who limited himself to what he could see from the shore. His thoroughness had its full reward, for it is by his marine paintings that his reputation as one of our leading artists has been established, though in his early days he was a figure painter and made some success with landscape as well.

Another instance of a figure-painter’s judicious dealing with the subtleties of the sea is to be seen in Sir John Lavery’s Evening—the Coast of Spain from Tangier (p. 79). He has found something here well worth recording, an effect of warm evening light over still waters which ripple gently on a flat beach, a subject full of colour and delicate aerial suggestion. He has interpreted it with tenderness and sympathy, but without descending into mere prettiness, and without losing the strength of the subject. A picture so happily conceived deserves the sincerest welcome.

An entirely different class of work is exemplified in W. L. Wyllie’s ambitious composition, Blake’s Three Days Engagement with Van Tromp (p. 81). This is neither a simple piece of nature nor a representation of a normal incident in our modern life, but an imaginative reconstruction of an historical scene. To build it up a vast amount of research and consultation of authorities were needed, to carry it out convincingly a very thorough acquaintance with the sea was indispensable—both conditions have been excellently satisfied by the artist. His picture is entirely credible: he makes us believe that he has put before us what actually happened, and he treats the whole motive with a seamanlike understanding that clears it of all suspicion of artificiality. Compositions of this type were popular a century ago, when the sea painters had opportunities to witness such picturesque, yard-arm to yard-arm naval actions; the sea-fights of to-day do not lend themselves so well to the artist’s purposes. A good deal of the drama must inevitably be lost when miles of water intervene between the opposing fleets.

A sailor’s acquaintance with the sea gives a particular point to the work of Thomas Somerscales. His pictures, Off Valparaiso (p. 82) and Before the Gale (p. 83), have an unpretentious reality that can be accepted in perfect good faith. They are distinguished by an unusual straightforwardness, and by a simplicity of manner and method that is curiously effective; and they tell us, because they are so simple and straightforward, more about the sea than we can learn from paintings which are much fuller of detail and accessory incident.

R. W. Allan’s Off to the Fishing Grounds (p. 84), and C. W. Simpson’s Landing Fish (p. 85), have to do with life in home waters instead of the adventuring of ocean-going ships, but they are none the less interesting on that account. In the first picture, indeed, the chance of working out a very agreeable line composition has been used by the artist with the best of judgment, and he has entered thoroughly into the spirit of his subject. In the Landing Fish, a good illustration is given of the way in which a perfectly literal statement of a scene, for which almost any fishing-port would provide a setting, can be made artistically important by a painter who looks at it sympathetically and who can induce other people to look at it through his eyes. There are few occupations carried on so picturesquely as that of the fisherman or among surroundings so full of varied pictorial possibilities; and there are fewer still which offer so many picture subjects ready-made.

To turn from works such as these to Herbert Draper’s Flying Fish (p. 87), is to change abruptly from fact to fancy, from a frank rendering of things as they are to a fantastic suggestion of something that never existed save in the artist’s imagination. But the realities of the deep often seem so fantastic, even to the people who have had long experience of them, that the artist may surely be forgiven for building upon them fancies of his own. Indeed, this water nymph at play in the element to which she belongs appears much more credible than many of the sea monsters which have been proved to be actually in existence; and by the artist’s skill she is presented as a very pleasing embodiment of the spirit of the sea—sportive, irresponsible, and ruthless too, but beautiful and intensely alive. It is not good for us to be always material-minded and matter-of-fact, so we can allow to the mermaid a place in art even though we know that she has been classified by science as merely a species of sea-cow—a most unpoetic translation of an ancient myth.

There is nothing either mythical or fantastic about H. S. Tuke’s August Blue (p. 88); on the contrary it is a purely realistic painting of a most ordinary subject—some boys bathing from a boat on a calm sunlit sea. But out of this quite ordinary material he has built up a picture with an exceptional degree of dignity, largely felt, and with a kind of classic distinction of manner. But there is in it no coldness or want of human interest; it is living, animated, and essentially of to-day, and wholly right in its fresh, unforced naturalism. Easy, fluent draughtsmanship and strength of design help to make it a memorable exercise in descriptive painting.

The next three pictures, Sir David Murray’s The Fiend’s Weather (p. 89), Where the Somme meets the Sea, by Tom Robertson (p. 90), and Moffat Lindner’s The Storm-Cloud, Christchurch Harbour (p. 91), provide a sufficiently striking contrast in effects of atmosphere. The first suggests the turmoil of a gathering storm, threatening ruin and destruction to everything in its path and sweeping irresistibly over land and sea. In his treatment of it the artist has made the most of a dramatic opportunity to show how thorough has been his study of nature and how well he understands her ways, even when she is in one of her most perverse moods. The second picture finds her at her gentlest moment, exquisitely calm and peaceful and perfectly in repose; the third at a time when beneath her smile lies a threat, and when almost without warning a sudden outburst may break the quiet of a summer evening. All three paintings deserve attention, for they represent artists who are prominent amongst us to-day and whose work is with justice widely appreciated.

Another painter who handles coast subjects with notable ability is W. Russell Flint. His two water-colours, The Fane Islands (p. 93) and Passing Sails (p. 95), have a breadth and distinction of manner and a brilliant directness of brushwork that can be unreservedly admired. His simplified method of dealing with nature’s facts is very effective, as it gives plainly the real essentials without any labouring of detail and without diverting attention from the things that he wishes to emphasize. It has a decorative value, too, and adds a quality of style to his work. During the last few years he has produced many paintings of this type—coast scenes with figures—and he has kept them consistently at a high level of accomplishment.