Notice, it is not the exact and faithful portrayal of objects that creates the emotions instanced, for if you closely observe the manner in which a good painting is done you will find that rude splashes of paint, broad brush strokes, and the like stand for foliage or water, or corn stalks as the case may be, when we know that had the painter desired he could have produced his likeness of nature with a good deal more of the precise detail and fidelity to outlines which photography excels in, had he wished. But if the painter or other pictorial artist needs not to trouble about accuracy to details to secure the effect aimed at he must be faithful to general facts. There is a great difference between not recognising things or having no particular wish to do so, and feeling conscious that a portrayal is so utterly unlike anything in our past experience of nature that we should not recognise the objects even if we were acquainted with them. To take an extreme case—our enjoyment of the effect and sentiment of a beautiful landscape picture is not enhanced by our being able to recognise whether the trees are oaks or elms, but it would be distinctly disturbed if the palm trees were represented as growing on the slopes of a Welsh mountain. Innumerable examples and instances might be given to show that the artist, whatsoever his medium, be it colour or monochrome, may depart from truth, or may be indifferent to precise details, only so far as he avoids palpable untruth.
Why is this?
When we look at a powerful and impressive picture we feel at once the sentiment, our emotions are at once stirred, subsequently we recognise objects and facts portrayed, but only when we begin to look for them or think about them; but a gross exaggeration or a very obvious error strikes us at once before we begin to receive sentiments and ideas, and that error or exaggeration once seen is never lost sight of, and whole enjoyment of the picture is hopelessly marred.
Now, from the foregoing (for want of space I am aware that the argument is incomplete, and must therefore ask the student to think the matter out and grasp the side issues by reading between the lines) we may formulate the broad definition that a picture does not depend for its excellence on the faithful representation of objects, and is not chiefly valuable on account of our immediate recognition of things portrayed, yet on the other hand it must not let us feel that there is obvious inaccuracy.
Here then we have two opposite positions in both of which the mere objects employed to build up the picture are subordinated to the effect or impression of the picture. In one case the spectator must not be allowed to feel that the representation is wrong, in the other success will not directly depend on the representation being very right, neither startling rightness or truth nor the obvious wrongness or untruth should thrust the objects composing the picture upon the beholder's attention, he should be left free to receive the expression or sentiment of it.
I hope the reader is following me in this line of thought closely. I am aware that it may seem dry and uninteresting, but I see no other way of placing the student in a proper position at the outset than by explaining the essential elements of pictorial work, and I will make this introductory part as brief as possible.
Reverting now to our argument, I have in other words suggested that obvious violation of truth will prevent the sentiment or effect of the picture from being paramount, and now I will submit that an excess of accuracy to detail is equally detrimental to the success of a picture as a picture.
If by now the reader is prepared to admit that the chief purpose of a picture is the feelings, emotions, ideas which it suggests or creates, and not the facts it portrays, he will be able to go further and perceive that in a landscape, for instance, cottages, trees, or what not are introduced, not for their own intrinsic interest but as vehicles of light and shade, which go to express the picture's sentiments.
If we stand before a good picture with closed eyes and suddenly open them, our first impression (precluding any question of colour) is that of masses of light and shade pleasingly and harmoniously arranged; if we retreat to such a distance that the objects constituting those lights and shades are unrecognisable the balance and pleasing arrangement should still be felt, and our æsthetic sense is satisfied, although we do not see fully of what the picture is composed. This is the quality which is termed breadth and which is admittedly of very great value.
If on the other hand the shadow masses are filled with innumerable details, and are thus broken up into tiny lights and shadows they no longer exist as broad masses of dark, but if before retreating as proposed from the picture, the lights or shadows appear so blank as to prompt particular investigation, and upon examination we find detail absent which we know must have been present, then we encounter an instance of untruth and exaggeration which is obvious and which disturbs our appreciation of other fine qualities. Thus we require sufficient detail to avoid giving the idea that detail is left out.