This paragraph, we cannot but think, proceeds altogether on a false estimate: it is a misdirection to the student. In following up the principles here laid down, the artist’s life would not only be short, but misspent. Is there no medium, in our critic’s view of this matter, between a ‘slight observation’ of nature, and scientific demonstration? If so, we will say there can be no fine art at all: For mere abstract and formal rules cannot produce truth, force, and pathos in individual forms; and it is equally certain that ‘slight observation’ will not answer the end, if all but learned pedantry is to be accounted casual and superficial. This is to throw a slur on the pursuit, and an impediment in the way of the art itself. Mr. Flaxman seems here to suppose that our observation is profound and just, not according to the delicacy, comprehensiveness, or steadiness of the attention we bestow upon a given object: but depends on the discovery of some other object which was before hid; or on the intervention of mechanical rules, which supersede the exercise of our senses and judgments—as if the outward appearance of things was concealed by a film of abstraction, which could only be removed by the spectacles of books. Thus, anatomy is said to be necessary ‘to represent the bones, muscles tendons, and veins, as they appear on the surface of the human body;’ so that it is to be presumed, that the anatomist, when he has with his knife and instruments laid bare the internal structure of the body, sees at a glance what he did not before see; but that the artist, after poring over them all his life, is blind to the external appearance of veins, muscles, &c., till the seeing what is concealed under the skin enables him for the first time to see what appears through it. We do not deny that the knowledge of the internal conformation helps to explain and to determine the meaning of the outward appearance; what we object to as unwarrantable and pernicious doctrine, is substituting the one process for the other, and speaking slightly of the study of nature in the comparison. It shows a want of faith in the principles and purposes of the Art itself, and a wish to confound and prop it up with the grave mysteries and formal pretensions of Science; which is to take away its essence and its pride. The student who sets to work under such an impression, may accumulate a great deal of learned lumber, and envelope himself in diagrams, demonstrations, and the whole circle of the sciences; but while he is persuaded that the study of nature is but a ‘slight’ part of his task, he will never be able to draw, colour, or express a single object, farther than this can be done by a rule and compasses. The crutches of science will not lend wings to genius. Suppose a person were to tell us, that if he pulled off his coat and laid bare his arm, this would give us (with all the attention we could bestow upon it) no additional insight into its form, colour, or the appearance of veins and muscles on the surface, unless he at the same time suffered us to flay it; should we not laugh in his face as wanting common sense, or conclude that he was laughing at us? So the late Professor of Sculpture lays little stress in accounting for the progress of Grecian art on the perfection which the human form acquired, and the opportunities for studying its varieties and movements in the Olympic exercises; but considers the whole miracle as easily solved, when the anatomist came with his probe and ploughed up the surface of the flesh, and the geometrician came with his line and plummet, and demonstrated the centre of gravity. He sums up the question in these words: ‘In the early times of Greece, Pausanias informs us the twelve Gods were worshipped in Arcadia, under the forms of rude stones; and before Dædalus the statues had eyes nearly shut, the arms attached to their sides, and the legs close together! but as geometry, mechanics, arithmetic, and anatomy improved, painting and sculpture acquired action, proportion and detailed parts.’ As to the slight account that is made in this reasoning of the immediate observation of visible objects, the point may be settled by an obvious dilemma: Either the eye sees the whole of any object before it; or it does not. If it sees and comprehends the whole of it with all its parts and relations, then it must retain and be able to give a faithful and satisfactory resemblance, without calling in the aid of rules or science to prevent or correct errors and defects; just as the human face or form is perfectly represented in a looking-glass. But if the eye sees only a small part of what any visible object contains in it,—has only a glimmering of colour, proportion, expression &c., then this incipient and imperfect knowledge may be improved to an almost infinite degree by close attention, by study and practice, and by comparing a succession of objects with one another; which is the proper and essential province of the artist, independently of abstract rules or science. On further observation we notice many details in a face which escaped us at the first glance; by a study of faces and of mankind practically, we perceive expressions which the generality do not perceive; but this is not done by rule. The fallacy is in supposing that all that the first naked or hasty observation does not give, is supplied by science and general theories, and not by a closer and continued observation of the thing itself, so that all that belongs to the latter department is necessarily casual and slight.
Mr. Flaxman enforces the same argument by quoting the rules laid down by Vitruvius, for ascertaining the true principles of form and motion. This writer says, ‘If a man lies on his back, his arms and legs may be so extended, that a circle may be drawn round, touching the extremities of his fingers and toes, the centre of which circle shall be his navel: also, that, a man standing upright, the length of his arms when fully extended is equal to his height; thus that the circle and the square equally contain the general form and motion of the human figure.’ From these hints, and the profound mathematical train of reasoning with which Leonardo da Vinci has pursued the subject, the author adds, that a complete system of the principles followed by the ancient Greek sculptors may be drawn out: that is to say, that because all the inflections of figure and motion of which the human body is susceptible, are contained within the above-mentioned circle or square, the knowledge of all this formal generality includes a knowledge of all the subordinate and implied particulars. The contortions of the Laocoon, the agony of the Children, the look of the Dying Gladiator, the contours of the Venus, the grace and spirit of the Apollo, are all, it seems, contained within the limits of the circle or the square! Just as well might it be contended, that having got a square or oval frame, of the size of a picture by Titian or Vandyke, every one is qualified to paint a face within it equal in force or beauty to Titian or Vandyke.
In the same spirit of a determination to make art a handmaid attendant upon Science, the author thus proceeds: ‘Pliny says, lib. xxxiv. c. 8, Leontius, the contemporary of Phidias, first expressed tendons and veins—primus nervos et venas expressit—which was immediately after the anatomical researches and improvements of Hippocrates, Democritus, and their disciples; and we shall find in the same manner all the improvements in art followed improvements in science.’ Yet almost in the next page, Mr. Flaxman himself acknowledges, that even in the best times of Grecian sculpture, and the era of Phidias and Praxiteles, dissections were rare, and anatomy very imperfectly understood, and cites ‘the opinion of the learned Professor of Anatomy, that the ancients artists owed much more to the study of living than dead bodies.’ Sir Anthony Carlisle, aware of the deficiencies of former ages in this branch of knowledge, and yet conscious that he himself would be greatly puzzled to carve the Apollo or the Venus, very naturally and wisely concludes, that the latter depends upon a course of study, and an acquaintance with forms very different from any which he possesses. It is a smattering and affectation of science that leads men to suppose that it is capable of more than it really is, and of supplying the undefined and evanescent creations of art with universal and infallible principles. There cannot be an opinion more productive of presumption and sloth.
The same turn of thought is insisted on in the Fourth Lecture, On Science; and indeed nearly the whole of that Lecture is devoted to a fuller developement and exemplification of what appears to us a servile prejudice. It would be unjust, however, to Mr. Flaxman, to suppose, or to insinuate, that he is without a better sense and better principles of art, whenever he trusted to his own feelings and experience, instead of being hoodwinked by an idle theory. Nothing can be more excellent than the following observations which occur towards the conclusion of the Lecture on Composition:
‘What has been delivered comprises some of the rules for composing, and observations on composition, the most obvious, and perhaps not the least useful. They have been collected from the best works and the best writings, examined and compared with their principles in nature. Such a comprehensive view may be serviceable to the younger student, in pointing his way, preventing error, and showing the needful materials; but after all, he must perform the work himself! All rules, all critical discourses, can but awaken the intelligence, and stimulate the will, with advice and directions, for a beginning of that which is to be done. They may be compared to the scaffolding for raising a magnificent palace; it is neither the building nor the decoration, but it is the workman’s indispensable help in erecting the walls which enclose the apartments, and which may afterwards be enriched with the most splendid ornaments. Every painter and sculptor feels a conviction that a considerable portion of science is requisite to the productions of liberal art; but he will be equally convinced, that whatever is produced from principles and rules only, added to the most exquisite manual labour, is no more than a mechanical work. Sentiment is the life and soul of fine art; without which it is all a dead letter! Sentiment gives a sterling value, an irresistible charm to the rudest imagery or most unpractised scrawl. By this quality a firm alliance is formed with the affections in all works of art. With an earnest watchfulness for their preservation, we are made to perceive and feel the most sublime and terrific subjects, following the course of sentiment, through the current and mazes of intelligence and passion, to the most delicate and tender ties and sympathies.’
From the account of Grecian sculpture, in the third Lecture, which is done with care and judgment, we select the following descriptions of the Minerva and Jupiter of Phidias:—
‘Within the temple (at the Acropolis of Athens) stood the statue of Minerva, thirty-nine feet high, made by Phidias, of ivory and gold, holding a victory, six feet high, in her right hand, and a spear in her left, her tunic reaching to her feet. She had her helmet on, and the Medusa’s head on her ægis; her shield was adorned with the battle of the gods and giants, the pedestal with the birth of Pandora. Plato tells us that the eyes of this statue were precious stones. But the great work of this chief of sculptors, the astonishment and praise of after ages, was the Jupiter at Elis, sitting on his throne, his left hand holding a sceptre, his right extending victory to the Olympian conquerors, his head crowned with olive, and his pallium decorated with birds, beasts, and flowers. The four corners of the throne were dancing victories, each supported by a sphinx, tearing a Theban youth. At the back of the throne, above his head, were the three horns, or seasons, on one side, and on the other the three Graces. On the bar, between the legs of the throne, and the panels, or spaces, between them, were represented many stories—the destruction of Niobe’s children, the labours of Hercules, the delivery of Prometheus, the garden of Hesperides, with the different adventures of the heroic ages. On the base, the battle of Theseus with the Amazons; on the pedestal, an assembly of the gods, the sun and moon in their cars, and the birth of Venus. The height of the work was sixty feet. The statue was ivory, enriched with the radiance of golden ornaments and precious stones, and was justly esteemed one of the seven wonders of the world.
‘Several other statues of great excellence, in marble and in bronze, are mentioned among the works of Phidias, particularly a Venus, placed by the Romans in the forum of Octavia; two Minervas, one named Callimorphus, from the beauty of its form; and it is likely that the fine statue of this goddess in Mr. Hope’s gallery is a repetition in marble of Phidias’s bronze, from its resemblance in attitude, drapery, and helmet, to the reverse of an Athenian coin. Another statue by him was an Amazon, called Eutnemon, from her beautiful legs. There is a print of this in the Museum Pium Clementinum.’
With the name of Phidias, Mr. Flaxman couples that of Praxiteles, and gives the following spirited sketch of him and his works:—
‘Praxiteles excelled in the highest graces of youth and beauty. He is said to have excelled not only other sculptors, but himself, by his marble statues in the Ceramicus of Athens; but his Venus was preferable to all others in the world, and many sailed to Cnidos for the purpose of seeing it. This sculptor having made two statues of Venus, one with drapery, the other without, the Coans preferred the clothed figure, on account of its severe modesty, the same price being set upon each. The citizens of Cnidos took the rejected statue, and afterwards refused it to King Nicomedes, who would have forgiven them an immense debt in return; but they were resolved to suffer any thing, so long as this statue, by Praxiteles, ennobled Cnidos. The temple was entirely open in which it was placed, because every view was equally admirable. This Venus was still in Cnidos during the reign of the Emperor Arcadius, about 400 years after Christ. Among the known works of Praxiteles are his Satyr, Cupid, Apollo, the Lizard-killer, and Bacchus leaning on a Faun.’