The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Use of a Box of Colours, by Harry Willson.

Between those works on Art which are too costly, or too old to be useful now,—those, which are too comprehensive or prolix—and those, which teach nothing,—it was suggested to the Author, that an investigation and simple arrangement of the Principles on which he has hitherto successfully taught, with useful results, would form a Practical Treatise, calculated to abridge the labours and shorten the road of the Student, by its available suggestions.

CONTENTS.

COMPOSITION.

Erroneous opinions, once formed, seldom fail to affect the taste of a man's character through his whole life. It is, therefore, of the utmost necessity that his conduct be rightly directed.

'The great art to learn much,' says Locke, 'is to undertake a little at a time.' And Dr. Johnson has very forcibly observed—'That all the performances of human art, at which we look with praise or wonder, are instances of the resistless force of perseverance: it is by this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries are united by canals. If a man were to compare the effect of a single stroke with a pickaxe, or of one impression of a spade, with the general design and last result, he would be overwhelmed with the sense of their disproportion; yet those petty operations, incessantly continued, in time surmount the greatest difficulties; and mountains are levelled, and oceans bounded, by the slender force of human beings.

'It is, therefore, of the utmost importance, that those who have any intention of deviating from the beaten roads of life, and of acquiring a reputation superior to names hourly swept away by time, among the refuse of fame, should add to their reason and spirit the power of persisting in their purposes; acquire the art of sapping what they cannot batter; and the habit of vanquishing obstinate resistance by obstinate attacks.'

To the many, of different ages, of different pursuits, of different degrees[2] of advancement, who may take up this work, it will be difficult to address myself, as the mind requires instruction adapted to its growth; but I trust to being enabled to protect industry from being misapplied.

To such as desire to shorten the path to excellence, and to whom rules appear as the 'fetters of genius,' from mere impatience of labour, if their studies be not well directed, they will, just in proportion to their industry, deviate from that right way, to which, after all their exertions, they will have to return at last. It will be time enough to destroy the bridge when we have attained the shore. To render our efforts effectual, they must be well directed; and the student will ultimately triumph over those rules which before restrained him.

When a difficulty presents itself, attack it as though you meant to overcome it, and the chances are you succeed.

Do not fancy that you have, or that you want, that illusion, inspiration; but remember Art is to be acquired by human means; that the mind is to be expanded by study; and that examples of industry abound to show the way to eminence and distinction. 'He must of necessity,' says Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'be an imitator of the works of other painters. This appears humiliating, but is equally true; and no man can be an artist, whatever he may suppose, on any other terms. For, if we did not make use of the advantages our predecessors afford us, the art would be always to begin, and consequently remain always in an infant state.' And we shall no longer require to use the thoughts of others when we have become able to think for ourselves: 'Genius is the child of Imitation.'

There are no excellencies out of the reach of the rules of art—nothing that close observation of the leading merits of others, nothing that indefatigable industry cannot acquire. Refinement in the practice of rules brings all under its dominion; and, 'as the art advances, its powers will be still more and more fixed by rules;' and, 'unsubstantial as these rules may seem, and difficult as it may be to convey them in writing, they are still seen and felt in the mind of the artist, and he works from them with as much certainty as if they were embodied upon paper. And that it is by being conversant with the inventions of others that we learn to invent. The mind becomes as powerfully affected as if it had itself produced what[3] it admires.' An habitual intercourse, to the end of our lives, with good and great examples, will invest our own inventions with their splendid qualities; and if we do not imitate others, we shall soon be found imitating ourselves, 'and repeating what we have before often repeated; while he who has treasured the most materials, has the greatest means of invention.'

It by no means appears to me impossible to overtake what we admire and imitate—or even to pass it. He 'has only had the advantage of starting before you,' while pointing the way has shortened our own labour. Life must henceforth become longer; because we now, more than ever, gain time by the experience of others: we pass on from that to our own, until every thing in nature, judiciously directed, becomes subservient to the principles and purposes of Art.

Again, 'I very much doubt,' says Sir Joshua, 'whether a habit of drawing correctly what we see will not give a proportionable power of drawing correctly what we imagine.' But practice must always be founded on good Theory; for mere correctness of drawing is, perhaps, nearly allied to mechanical; blending it with the imaginative alone, in composition, constitutes its pretensions to genius; but confidence in the one produces boldness in the other.

'All rules arise from the passions and affections of the mind, and to which they are all referrible. Art effects its purposes by their means.'

'Years,' says a modern author, 'are often spent in acquiring wealth, which eventually cannot be enjoyed for want of those stores of the mind, that should have been laid up in youth, as the best solace of declining age. The most moderate power of making a sketch from nature would have been a valuable attainment, when leisure and opportunity threw them among scenes they could but half enjoy in consequence.' Besides, true Taste does every thing in the best way at the least expense, while the want of it often appears in unmeaning decoration at a vast outlay.

'A man of polite imagination,' says Addison, 'feels greater satisfaction in the prospect of fields and meadows than another does in the possession of them: it gives him a kind of property in every thing he sees; so that he looks on the world, as it were, in another light.'

When a Painter walks out, he receives at every glance impressions that would entirely escape others, upon sensibilities refined by habits of observation[4] The art of seeing things as they appear is the art of acquiring a knowledge of drawing them. Indefinite observation and defective memory are improved in the utmost degree by this faculty of seeing things well defined. Besides, most Sciences are capable of receiving great assistance from drawing.

The road is familiar to the practised painter, whose many stages he has passed through so often, and he seldom thinks of revisiting the earlier tracks of it when he has set up his study at the farther end; therefore, it behoves us to come back, and lead the pupil through those early stages of it, until we welcome him at the end, and he becomes as familiar with the way as ourselves. The lowest steps of a ladder are as useful as the highest.

Composition, in drawing, is the art of disposing ideas, either from hints taken from nature, or from our own minds; of arranging them, with a view to subsequently dividing them into light and shade; and arraying them with judicious colour. It is the art of graphically telling a story, and should be so contrived, that the principal objects we would impress the minds of others with, should hold that just place in a picture, in relation to the minor or auxiliary parts, that may at once impress the mind, and convey our object to the view of the spectator.

To compose well, it will be necessary for the student to diligently consult the compositions of others; zealously enquiring where the best are to be found, among the numerous instances that exist both in pictures and prints, that he may carefully avoid those that would mislead him in his research, and attain his object by consulting only those that have merited the approval of the best judges, and have come down to posterity as the best examples for his imitation. By adhering to this plan, it will readily become such matter of habit with him, that a comparatively short interval of time will force upon him the conviction that he is in the right path to future success. It were useless to add how many have began, and how many have failed, for want of this precaution at setting out. A splendid and fascinating effect, or a beautiful display of colour, or something or other that the artist has dexterously contrived to invest his work with, is generally the cause to which this failure is ascribable; while in the end, our own sympathies with a composition, correct in its management, appeal to the feelings and judgment at once.[5]

In the first place, much knowledge of perspective is not necessary to the student: the leading principles are all that are required, at setting out. As he goes on, it will be time enough to extend his enquiries.

Secondly, a good manner of drawing the parts, or objects represented in a picture, with accuracy.

Thirdly, reference to the best compositions of others will enable him to compare and combine them.

Fourthly, to render some subservient to others, by a skilful distribution of Light and Shade.

Exercise the memory on various parts of objects, till you draw them well: the means of connecting them will gradually occur, until the whole is united. The constant practice of this method will lessen the difficulty at every step, until it becomes a habit of the mind, and is rendered as easy to grasp a whole scene, as before it was the parts. The fleeting nature of effects of cloud or sunshine passing before us, leave no time to meditate them; therefore, to impress the memory with them is the only resource left.

The single glance of an eye has been found sufficient to catch the passing expression of character, and fix it on the memory, when that memory has been strengthened and matured by repeated efforts: so evanescent are the features of things and forms that pass us by, that observation—discriminative observation—assisted by habits of memory, alone can fix them in our ideas: no single expression of the human countenance remains long enough to paint it by any other means. When the memory has been thus exercised, the slightest hint will be sufficient to fire it. This may account for the expression, 'that artists see things where nobody else can find them!' It is an improved perception that catches resemblances from almost ideal forms.

The most general forms of nature are the most beautiful. An enlarged comprehension sees the whole object at once, without minute attention to details, by which it obtains the ruling characteristics, and imitates it by short and dexterous methods. 'Science soon discovers the shortest and surest way to effect its own purpose;'—by an exact adequate expression, and no more, adjusts the whole. The laziness of highly finishing the parts, has been justly called the 'laborious effects of idleness:' excessive[6] labour in the detail, is always pernicious to the general effect, frittering it away; and, while you deceive yourself that you are acquiring art, your pursuit will end in mechanics, in default of more extended views—the Art of seeing Nature!

To copy well, or even tolerably, is all that most amateurs ever arrive at: to draw from nature, originally, seems placed out of the reach of all, but those who devote a great part of their existence to it; and yet, to copy nature, is a goal that all would reach if they could! Try it, and behold the miserable production that is the result! without a previous devotion to its laws.

Instead of for ever copying, it will be found of more importance to be continually exercising the memory. 'A mere imitator or copyist,' says Dagley, 'dare not lose sight of his model, lest he should lose himself!'

In sketching from nature, always survey the object at every point the nature of the ground will permit, as it prevents the disappointment arising from having completed your work, and afterwards seeing it from a point that would have given you greater advantages.

Whenever a pencil or pen is at hand, practice continually the perpendicular, horizontal, and diagonal lines; then strike circles out, or any other flowing lines, which practice will eventually give that flow to the hand which is understood by freedom. When power is acquired over these, their combinations form Drawing, in all its picturesque varieties. It is in the power of all to attain these forms and essential parts of drawing, with the same, or more facility, than the forms of writing are acquired.

'No object you can place in your picture, can possess its proper value, unless it is in its proper place;—out of that place, it can only create disorder.'

The size of a figure, or any other object, should denote the distance at which it is situated: so should the colour of it retire in the same proportion.

The most natural point of sight, is the level of a man's eye, standing up; which should be the line of the horizon, or where the sky meets it. All mountains should rise above that line.

If a figure be placed on the bottom line of the picture, it should be[7] the natural size, and all others diminish as they recede, in an exact proportion to their distance, care being taken that they never have the appearance of going up steps; all buildings, trees, &c., being governed by the same rule. Thus the second figure or object, being the same distance from the first as the first is from the eye, presuming them both to be of the same size in nature, the second will appear half the size of the first; and, if the third be removed the same distance from the second, it will appear two-thirds less; and so on they will diminish in equal proportion. At twice the distance, it will diminish three-fourths; and at one-third more, it will lose five-sixths; and so retire progressively, never varying the point of sight. One eye only should be open, in order to reduce all objects to one point of sight; the objects immediately in front, receiving alone the highest finish, that all may appear to have ground to stand on. If you look at nature with both eyes, you will never obtain the same relief upon a flat superfice.

The horizontal line should never be placed at half the height of the picture, but always above or below it.

In drawing a room, or the nave of a church, place the centre of it on one side, and never in the middle; and nearer the bottom than the top. Observe the same rule with the figures. One side should be in light, while the other is in shadow. The heads or parts of figures on the shadowed side should catch the light; while, to balance the mass, the dark groups should be placed on the light side. (See plate 1, fig. 1.)

So, in drawing any single object, always place it sufficiently on one side, to procure a greater space above it, than beneath; and more repose on one side than the other. This principle should never be lost sight of, for even in portraits it has a bad effect.

To produce pictorial effect, in composing landscape, the lines should be of unequal length, forming acute and obtuse angles. Neither should they be vertical or horizontal with the sides or bottom of the square, but always diagonal, the distant horizon and lower streaks of the bases of the clouds excepted, which should be contrasted, by the upper parts of the clouds being round. Broken banks and spreading roots of trees will effect this. An exception, in buildings and architecture, something reverses this rule, from the lines being perpendicular and horizontal, in which case,[8] the shadows must be diagonal. When a wall, for instance, is straight, a wheel, or circular object is generally placed against it, to reverse the lines by apposition.'

'Objects, whether they consist of lights, shadows, or figures, must be disposed in large masses and groups, properly varied and contrasted, that, to a certain quantity of action, a proportioned space of plain ground is required; that light is to be supported by sufficient shadow, and that a certain quantity of cold colours is necessary to give value and lustre to the warm.' Observation of the best pictures will convey those proportions to the mind, much better than the most profound demonstration, 'that the eye may not be distracted by a multiplicity of objects of equal magnitude.'

Grouping, in composition, involves in its arrangement, a combination of the parts, so that they form an agreeable and well-defined whole, in which it is essential sometimes to employ the strongest contrasts; on the other hand, if the forms be too much scattered, they will distort the harmonious combination that is the greatest beauty of art. All accessories may be included in the principal group, so that they contribute to the general breadth. Opposition to regular forms is essential; this opposition is called Relief. (See art. Light and Shade.)

Variety and intricacy have many excellencies, when managed with skill, as they exert the imagination of the beholder.

'Simplicity,' says Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'when so very inartificial as to seem to evade the difficulties of art, is a very suspicious virtue.' Simplicity might often better deserve the name of penury. 'I do not, however, wish to degrade simplicity from the high estimation in which it has been ever justly held. It is our barrier against that great enemy to truth and nature, affectation! which is ever clinging to the pencil, and ready to drop in and poison every thing it touches.'

Perseverance, in laborious application to acquire correctness, should always be preferred to a splendid negligence of manner.

The frequent practice of covering down, veiling, or concealing an object or figure, because they cannot draw it, and doing that so inexpertly as[9] not to escape detection, is frequently observable in the works of modern artists; such as clothes, baskets, &c., thrown across a horse, to conceal its deformity; unnecessary or affected drapery over a figure; a cow, half buried in weeds and dock-leaves, that its shapeless legs may not be seen, &c., with many other artifices to evade difficulties: to such he says, 'If difficulties overcome make a great part of the merit of art, difficulties evaded can deserve but little commendation.'

It is by no means an object with me, neither has this work pretension to the form of a regular treatise (too often prolix and abstruse in their investigations), but I would endeavour to bring together such useful hints as occur to me in its progress, as practically useful, without confining myself to the regularity or connexion of a lengthened dissertation, and seeking only to accomplish the end by explaining the means of contending with difficulties where they are likely to occur.

OF ANGULAR COMPOSITION.

That the angular form is one of the best adapted to composition, at least in landscape, is indisputable; the diagonal line dividing the whole into two halves, gives the largest space for the distribution of light and shade, as well as extent for the design.

When the whole composition is placed on one side, a single object—but stronger in colour than the rest—placed at the opposite side, will generally be found sufficient to balance all on the other, however complicated or extensive in its details it may be. (Plate 1, fig. 1.)

More repose and softness is obtained by uniting the composition with the darker shadows of the clouds, than by opposition.

On the other hand, an harmonious and agreeable whole is often achieved by bringing the line of the clouds in an opposing angle to the line of the landscape, the principal figures being then mostly placed at the opposite side of the mass of the composition.

The first plan embraces an advantageous union of the parts with the greatest breadth that can perhaps be obtained, while the other frequently produces a dexterous effect by the opposition of colour.

A long stretching swamp, a bog, or line of sandy waste, marshes, a[10] broken heath, the distant sea or sand-bank, with nothing but its straight horizon, are the sweetest morsels to good painters; for when nature has done nothing, they must do all; and, with these difficulties to contend with, it is something surprising to see the most broad and beautiful productions result from so barren materials by investing them with the all-controlling powers of chiaroscuro, by a careful inspection of their natural colours, the forms of their lights and shadows, and above all, the shapes and masses of the passing clouds; but variety and simplicity should ever be their leading principle, and grandeur is sure to be the result. Matter, seemingly incapable of form; wide extents of pathless and unbroken sterility, of nakedness and desolation, will become beautiful and masterly arrangements on these conditions: the torn, and ragged, and scattered fragments of the clouds in their wild and rushing fury over the sea, with its inexhaustible changes and endless variety of colour, are the objects painters often choose, from their very seeming nothingness, to invest with the beau ideal of art.

The extremes of simplicity in composition, should not be attempted by Tyros; the long-practiced and master hand alone can accomplish that, which in others, would appear affectation.

The most powerful impressions are produced by the simplest construction. The chief interest confined to a very small portion of the work, and the larger space left in so much repose as will give value to, and dignify the subject, that should at once meet the eye and engage our energies; investing their accessories with their due portion of interest; taking care that the expression of the principal action of the picture is agreeably supported by their subordinate quality; that the object desired is obtained, to the exclusion of all others, and that its episodes be in character.

In the arrangement of figures, Mr. Burnet, in his Hints on Composition, says, 'the heads and hands, the seats of action and expression, are often referred to each other for the completion of form or extension of light, beyond which a strong point is required, as a link of communication between the figures and the background. By making this point the strongest of a secondary group of objects, either from its size, lights, or darks, the eye is carried into the most remote circumstances, which become[11] a part of the whole, from the principal group being made to depend upon such point for the completion of its form, the extension of the light, or the repetition of colour.' Thus, in Vandyke we often see the luminous points of his picture referring to each other in the form of a losenge, composed of the heads and hands, the collar, ruffs, the hilt of a sword, &c., while all the other parts are absorbed in dark or half shade, and making the form of his composition complete, but differing something in their force and attraction: strong light and dark coming in cutting contrast at a single point, places the subordinate lights and darks in their proper situations; at the same time, these points should always be characteristic of meaning to the composition. (Plate 1, figs. 5, 6.)

Nothing will teach you to compose a picture like sketching, however slightly, the different groups you encounter in walking about; never be without a little book for this purpose, as the merest draught will, when you are composing, apply itself to your picture better than any thing that may be suggested. I have invariably found this the best resource. Take first the exact outline, shape, and position of the figure, and afterwards the expression of what he is doing, carefully noticing the shadowed parts, and dividing them boldly from the light; the half-tints may be blended with comparative ease; therefore make as few lines as possible, never encumbering them. That part of the figure which is foreshortened will have the greater number of folds, while that which is not, will come out plain and bold. Such memoranda will always have a look of reality over every other means of obtaining it.

It is not unfrequently the case that, in the progress of a work, a number of circumstances, partly the result of thought, partly of accident, may occur; therefore, entire reliance on the first sketch is not always to be depended on; at the same time, the various improvements that suggest themselves, do not always interfere with the carrying out our first conceptions, and still securing the same treatment with which we commenced.

A repetition of forms can only be diverted by opposing lines being brought in somewhat strong contrast against them; and, if possible, between their recurrence. (Plate 2, fig. 1.)

In copying, draw various lines across the original, and the same on the paper the copy is to be made on. Begin with the centre, and draw towards[12] the sides; the objects represented will be neither too large nor too small by this means.

I have said, that variety and intricacy have many charms. In passing over our embellished lands, with all the advantages our country affords in landscape objects, we cannot but observe this infinite variety in the English oak, the birch, the ash, the abele; the magnificent white poplar, with its large and beautiful leaves; the beech, the elm, the stately horse-chestnut, &c.; their great diversity of foliage and bark; their distinct peculiarities of colour and form; the oriental plane, the hazel, sycamore, the maple; especially where the landscape-gardener was never heard of, when the universal and monotonous green of summer gives place to the glowing hues of October and November, the best months of all, from the large portion of pearly grey that pervades all nature at that time, and from which are brought out, as from a background of the softest neutrals, the umbrageous, rich, bitumen-looking browns, deep crimsons, reds, and golden colours of the leaves, &c.

OF THE CIRCULAR FORM IN COMPOSITION.

Circular composition is another of the best forms, and most easily adapted for the arrangement of light and shade; as it generally possesses receding hollows for the reception of the shadows, and graduated projections for the lights to rest on. (Plate 1, fig. 4.)

Taste is the discriminating power of selecting good from bad; and this is attainable by enquiry: there is neither instability nor uncertainty in its rules; so long as you have the good sense to place all 'inspiration' out of the question! Nothing is so pernicious as that illusion of the mind.

Grace, in my opinion, consists of lines flowing, more or less, into the ellipsis—free of constraint and affectation. Raphael, for instance, was all grace; Parmegiano degenerated into affectation.

In pictorial economy, the repetition of the same lines, and often of the same forms, assist and support each other; as necessarily as repetition of colours in painting. This extension of the same thing is frequently indispensable, both in preventing the individuality of form, and, when well broken up by opposing lines, adding materially to the seeming negligence and irregularity that carries with it so great a charm. (Plate 1, fig. 4.)[13]

The luminous spots or lights in a picture, frequently explain the form of its composition.

In this repetition of lines and forms, the ground may be made to run one way, the line of buildings another, the figures another, the horizon another, the forms of the trees a different one, and the shapes of the clouds may describe another: all these may have their repeats; yet will they all seem to form and tend, though apparently all irregularity, to an agreeable arrangement we sometimes see in nature, and an harmonious whole, however intricate, without confusion. The investigation of the means pursued by Salvator Rosa will explain this fascinating system. (Plate 1, figs. 2 and 7.)

In contemplating the best regulated works of art, either in pictures or prints, by always being careful to ascertain the forms by which their effects are produced, is one of the best means of arriving at this object ourselves. Even a few memoranda of the ground plans, as an architect would say, or the form of the line on which the bases stand, will be found useful in enabling us to do this. (Plate 1, fig. 3.)

The eye must be all observation, and the mind all reflection; and it can scarcely fail to become influenced by the advantages to be derived from this practice.

It is to the almost thinking sensibility, subtleness, and feeling of the beautifully and wonderfully constructed human hand, that every thing done with it, so far outstrips all mechanical means of imitating it! It is with this solely and alone, that fine Art is, ever was, and ever will be, identified.

'The cleverness and sensibility of the hand,' says a beautiful and masterly writer in the Quarterly Review, 'is quite as essential as inventive genius.' Speaking of our showy and elaborate park-gates at Hyde Park Corner, 'what men call the police station—in the language of the gods, the triumphal arch!' and, comparing it with the bronze net-work and foliage of Verrochio, 'which seems to grow and spring like living vegetation,' he says, 'these are capital Brummagem, and nothing more.' 'Grasped by the man, the tool becomes a part of himself; the hammer is pervaded by the vitality of the hand. But in the work produced by the machinery of the founder there can be nothing of all this life! What does it give you? Correct, stiff patterns, all on the surface. Whatever is reproduced in form or colour by mechanical means, is moulded—in short, is perpetually branded by mediocrity—Brummagem[14] art! And, like the music ground by the barrel-organ, you never hear the soul of the performer—the expression and feeling, qualities, without which, harmony palls upon the ear.'

'Even in engraving, the best judges all declare that, so far from benefiting art, the harm it has done has been incalculable, substituting a general system of plagiarism in place of invention.'

'What will not be the result of the means of multiplying the metallic basis, and fixing the fleeting sunbeam, which are now opening upon us by means of chemical science? Steam-engine and furnace, the steel plate, the roller, the press, the Daguerreotype, the voltaic battery and the lens, are the antagonist principles of art; and so long as they are permitted to rule, so long must art be prevented from ever taking root again in the affections of mankind. It may continue to afford enjoyment to those who are severed in spirit from the multitude; but the masses will be quite easy without it.' 'Whilst we triumph in the "results of machinery," we must not repine if one of those results be the paralysis of the imaginative faculties of the human mind.'

Of all the application of mechanical means to effect the purposes of art, their contrast, with the operations of the hand, is as the stiffness and weight of death, compared with life, freedom, and vitality.

LIGHT AND SHADE.

Drawing gives form; Colour, its visible quality; and Light and Shade, its solidity.

If the necessary form of a figure, or any other object, be not agreeable to the eye, its whole appearance may be so altered by a skilful management of its light and shade, as to become at once the contrary by judicious arrangement.

In arranging the light and shade of a sketch I intend to paint, I usually take a piece of grey, or neutral paper, place the highest light at some point of sufficient interest (for the high light in a picture always seems to say, 'Come and look at me, to see what I am about!') and gradually lead it away, diffusing its rays, as it were, into the half light, or the half shade, and so on, until it is wholly lost in the darkest[16] point; then, with white paint, or chalk, proceed to mark all the immaterial lights, on parts of the figures, or other objects, as they occur in the design, as conductors of the more luminous one, into the shade, as repeats, to prevent its singleness of appearance, gradating until they are carried out of the work; like light 'collected to a focus by a lens, and emitting rays,' as in plate 2. The judgment being principally exerted in judiciously placing the repeats, one, or more, of these lesser lights must, of necessity, be of the same colour as the principal.

Sudden transitions, by producing too much effect, the lights being too light, and the darks too dark, produce a hard, dry, a staring, and a vulgar appearance, for want of neutralizing their qualities, and bringing the parts more in union with each other. This overwrought manner is principally the cause of that common look so identified with the modern French school, the effect of too much relief.

On the other hand, nothing but flatness and insipidity is the result of too softly blending and uniting the light with the shadow, and the parts with one another, without that distinction and solidity constituting the arrangement that should bring the near and the remote together, in the treatment of the intermediate relations.

Light should be so skilfully woven into the shadow, as not to prejudice, but assist its depth by its intrusion; this is of most essential consequence.

It is not necessary that the light should come in at one side of the picture, nor pass out at the other, as has been asserted. It is, perhaps, better to attach ourselves to no particular theory: few theorists are good painters; their works, in general, bear a contradictory proportion to the opinions set forth in their speculations.

Sketching light and shade from nature (with a single colour, or a stump), teaches us to profit by every circumstance, natural or accidental. And these sketches, studied at home, teach us, in turn, at once to compose, and to extend the sphere of our observation;—it carries us to the doctrine of probable possibilities; and invests the meanest subject with attraction; the most infinite variety becomes simplicity upon these terms.

The light and shade of a picture should never bear the same proportions; it should, in all instances, differ materially in quantity; a repetition[17] of forms should always bear a different proportion in size, the one having a decided superiority over the other, or, the inevitable consequences will be, confusion.

Unconnected lights and shadows, that are too much defined, will have a bald, a chequered, or draught-board appearance.

In sketching from nature, I usually commence by rubbing in the effect first, and adding the details, or features of the scene, afterwards; mostly beginning with the centre, or else the point of sight, and working outwards, and upwards, and downwards, to the sides of the picture. But this can only come of extensive practice, or, at least, a power of grasping the whole at once.

I have said that the first and principal part of art is Composition, or placing things together appropriately; the situation, motion, and expression of the figures; their shapes, and lights, and shadows, according. A perfect outline is of most consequence, and can only be acquired by study. Next to this, the situation, colour, and quantity of shadows; these being infinite, may be variously managed. At the same time, it requires much more observation and study to shade a picture, than to merely draw the lines of it. No fixed rule can be given for this; but, after having got the outline free and flowing, endeavour, by various trials, on other bits of paper, to leave the masses of shadow and light broad, so as to convey an appearance of space and extent. In the infinite gradations of shade, and the blending of them, nature has no determined law.

Objects out of doors, which receive the general light of the sky, and where the surrounding air gives light on all sides, will look altogether different from the same objects drawn and shaded in a room, which would give dark shadows where in nature there are none. (Plate 3, fig. 2.)

At different times of the day, objects will give shadows quite different in size and form, corresponding with the course of the sun. The difference of your own shadow exemplifies this, as well as the variation of the shadows in your room.

Direct your attention to the difference of the shadows thrown by[18] candle-light; this luminary being smaller than the object placed against it, would make a figure, cut from a card, two or three inches high, give a shadow on the wall the size of life.

Place any object in the sun, and turn it round to the north, south, east, and west, at different periods; and, observing the difference of shapes in the shadows, will be found excellent practice.

Placed in certain directions, the form of every thing may be inferred from its shadow.

The shadow of a person arriving, on an open door, will, if the sun is behind him, distinguish to the inmate the comer's identity.

Shadow is most articulate and defined when the light is brightest, by reason of the contrast formed by the light; and will always, under these circumstances, appear much stronger than it is; though it is not so strong, in reality, as shadow in cloudy weather, from its being more equalized with the light. Shadow is only, more or less, by comparison with the brightness of the light. This is best explained by making a room dark by degrees, and holding up some object against the light as it diminishes, until it is quite dark.

The light of the sun always reflects a shadow equal to the object which it projects on a parallel plane. The sun being larger than the body illumined, throws a shadow less than that body. On the contrary, the light of a candle, being less than the object reflected, produces the contrary effect, the shadow increasing as it retires, not in parallels, but in rays, thrown by the light.

The figure and shape of a shadow is strictly defined by the form of the object producing it; as light occasions the existence of shadow. An excellent and well-turned remark is made by some writer on the subject, who says, 'It must be observed, that there are two points to be made use of: one of them, the foot of the light, which is always taken on the plane the object is placed upon; the other, the luminous body, the rule being common to the sun, torch, &c. with this difference, that the sun's shadow is projected in parallels, and that of the torch in rays, from the centre, as before mentioned. But as all objects on earth are so small in comparison of the sun, the diminution of their shadows is imperceptible to the eye, which sees them all equal, neither broader nor[19] narrower than the object that forms them. On this account, all the shadows made by the sun are made in parallels.'

'To find the shadow of any object whatever opposed to the sun, a line must be drawn from the top of the luminary, perpendicular to the plane where the foot of the luminary is to be taken; and from this, an occult line, to be drawn through one of the angles of the plane of the object; and another, from the sun to the same angle. The intersection of the two lines will express how far the shadow is to go. All the other lines must be drawn parallel hereto.'

The next thing to be considered is, an appropriate effect of light or shadow, to be given to the scene, or object, treated.

Calmness and serenity are the result of horizontal lights, or shadows; while the contrary is the effect of oblique, or abrupt and irregular; such as are seen in the stormy effects of Salvator Rosa, &c.

The sky and clouds are often resorted to for effect, when the landscape does not admit of sufficient. Again, less imposition thrown into the sky, will repose the landscape, when it happens to be invested with sufficient interest of itself.

Extending the repose of a work,—by throwing into the general mass of shadow a number of objects that may appear of the least consequence to the development of its story, and bringing those which should be most prominent boldly forth into the light, by projecting their forms from the hollows of the shadows, that may appear to teem with a multitude of mysterious forms, while the cutting edges and sharp lights of those projections come out in sunshine, depending solely on their vigorous division,—is one of the greatest difficulties in composition, and is principally rendered so by the necessity of adapting its sympathies to the subject we would place before the beholder—by its agreeable disposition and management; at the same time preserving the utmost singleness of intention and simplicity, by avoiding confusion, and supporting its breadth by the shapes of the masses of one and of the other. A very small portion of the light, striking some object placed in the shadow, will carry the light into it; while some point or figure, enveloped in shade or dark local colour, will be sufficient to convey the obscure parts into the luminous, and preserve the balance of the whole. (Plate 3, fig. 2.)[20]

The most complicated outline may by this means be reduced to the broadest effect of light and shade. And simple and palpable as this principle may seem, it may be pursued until the artist is enabled to conceal entirely the art by which it is effected; until he feels that which he could not perhaps explain, but may paint in a language that all may read.

Sir Joshua Reynolds speaks of 'That breadth of light and shadow,—that art and management of uniting light to light, and shadow to shadow, so as to make the object rise out of the ground in the plenitude of effect.'

Outline is cold and determined in its appearance, and would seem so though drawn with vermilion; and, from its being defined, carries away all idea of space and extent with it. The greater the absence of outline, the greater will be the breadth. Where there is a necessity for much outline, large masses of it must be collected into broad portions of the shadows and lights, which should be well diversified in their forms. (Plate 5.)

Where light joins darkness, the light and dark are most intense at their junction, arising from affinity of contrast. It is not necessary to enter into the phenomena of vision to prove the existence of any thing that will be found in this work, its details being drawn from every-day observation.

Light and Shade should always, I think, partake of the character of the subject: a fête champetre should not be enveloped in the gloom of shadowy obscurity, any more than a storm piece should be clothed in the glories of sunshine.

When the composition consists of a number of objects, the best way is to single out those that should most attract, by giving them the highest quality of the light; while whole portions may be disposed of by connecting them in broad masses of the secondary light, and further uniting them with the trees, buildings, or any other objects that occur, to extend its quantity; while the masses of shadow are formed by the union of other several parts, the light mingling with and intersecting the shade, until the whole present an harmonious breadth. But to achieve this, so that the parts take agreeable forms—sustaining and supporting, and giving value to each other—is perhaps the chef-d'œuvre of the arduous arrangement of light and shade. (Plate 2, fig. 5.)

If we require a large space for repose, by getting the light at one or other side of the picture, the light should of necessity possess some striking[21] quality, to compensate so great a sacrifice of space; while a multitude of less important objects may find a mysterious locality in the reposing mass. (Plate 2, figs. 1, 2.)

In some of Rembrandt's etchings, a very small but brilliant point of light is carried through the composition, by the softest gradations, into the intense depth of shadow, by striking the tops only of the figures, parts of architecture, &c., until completely lost. The principal light must never be placed in the centre, but either on one side or other.

A single mass of light will have the greatest force when brought in immediate contact with a dark background: so will a dark object tell with equal power when opposed to the strongest light. So a figure, clothed in black and white, and placed on one side of the foreground, will focus all the other lights and shadows, which will immediately keep their places in the picture—so they be less in strength. In proportion to the number of forms in the composition, this rule may be equally applied to a group, if it agree in its outline, and does not disturb the masses on which it depends for repose.

If the picture be generally light, or the greater part in half tint, a single object or point of dark will be often found sufficient to key the whole,—placed at the opposing angle on the side opposite the darkest part.

The outline of an object we would bring most forward should come out cutting and strong from its surrounding shadow, while the other masses will retire in proportion to the absence of the opposition of density employed in preventing their approach. It may not be impossible that these few words convey the impression of what we mostly intend.

The small and immaterial lights, catching the edges of objects carried into the shadow, are of the greatest usefulness in giving depth and intensity to it, while they assist the work by carrying the communicating medium through it.

Carrying the shadow across the middle of the subject is attended with many advantages; among which are, bringing the foreground into extreme vigour; furnishing ourselves with greater facilities in getting away the background; and more readily obtaining distance and repose by blending the horizon with the clouds; while the figures are brought up in cutting relief against it. (Plate 3.)[22]

A mass of landscape in middle tint—such as a broken common, fields, clumps of foliage, &c.—sweeping across the picture at a third, or little more, its height from the bottom, with a bold tree or group printing its dark form on the lightest part of the sky, and lifting itself from a bright sunny bank laid on the bottom edge of the design, carried on by a dark object or two, with cutting lights and intense shadows in the weeds, stones, &c., of the foreground to support it, the clouds graduating upwards from the horizon and mingling with the middle space at the opposite side of the principal group, seems to have been a favourite arrangement with Gaspar Poussan, Cuyp, and many of the Dutch, as at present it is with Turner, and many of the modern,—offering great advantages from the numerous scenes in nature for ever opening to our view through the broad masses of shadow, flung from the passing clouds across the country, and possessing every variety of tint, sobered and covered down by the extent and transparency of the shadows, while the brilliant lights come out with all the vigorous warmth the sun invests them with.

A walk into the fields, or across a heath, can scarcely be taken, when the clouds are floating along, without an effect corresponding with this being seen. A part of the principal group will sometimes be in light while the rest is in deep shadow, or may appear so from the different colours of the trees; in which case, it will blend more gently with the sky, and more intensely focus the depth of shadow, if the lighter colour be interposed between it and the sky, losing a little of its force, but gaining harmony and union, together with the advantage of carrying the warm colour of the foreground up into the foliage, and extending it more gradually through the clouds.

Three lights, differing in strength—the centre one the strongest—and placed at different angles, has universally been found an agreeable arrangement. This mode may be always pursued with a certain degree of success. The etchings and drawings after this manner are very numerous,—perhaps from its easy management.

As our senses are carried through the varieties of a tale, so the eye must be diverted from any particular object in a picture, by judiciously absorbing or bringing into notice the accessories necessary to complete the composition, without disturbing it, or prejudicing the principal. An harmonious[23] intimacy with all the parts, and the means of that intimacy rendered as imperceptible as possible, will absorb hardness in the masses, and give distinctness and articulation to that which should predominate in acute solidity, all disjointed and unconnected appearances being carefully guarded against. Different arrangements of the same subject will be found the best means of exemplifying this.

The shadow of a cloud may accidentally be thrown over the greatest distance, while a sunbeam may suddenly illumine the middle space or foreground: the distance then would be the darkest part of the picture. Or a gleam of light may rest upon the distant mountains, while the middle space and foreground may be in shadow; then the case would be reversed, the greatest spread of light occupying the farthest distance. Even this arrangement has succeeded with some.

The highest defined light will be that which comes boldest off the darkest part of the ground. All others will decrease in proportion, as they mingle with the ground. And, as the aforesaid light is pure, so the darks will appear darker than they are. (Plates 5, 6.)

That part of a body in light will be the brightest that is nearest to the luminary. In the theory of light, it often happens there are double and treble reflexes, which must be stronger than single ones, and the shadows of course proportionally faint. (Plate 4.)

In proportion as reflected lights are thrown upon a darker or lighter ground, will their appearance be more or less brilliant. We deduce from this, that all those reflexes, that brighten up and play so harmoniously among the obscurity of shadows, must be in proportion to the strength of the light that occasions them. (Plate 4.)

The light made to graduate too softly, by means of the half-tint, into the shadow, unless some part be boldly and cuttingly opposed to the other, will have a tame and insipid appearance, however sharp and forcible other portions of the work may be. (Plates 3, 4.)

'Fulness of effect is produced by melting and losing the shadows in a ground still darker than those shadows: whereas relief is produced by opposing and separating the ground from the figure; either by light, or shadow, or colour.' (Plate 3, fig. 2.)[24]

Any thing intercepting the line of light upon an object, will render its shadows soft, and its lights beautifully blended.

Accidental shadows are those occasioned by objects interposed between the light and the surface reflected on. Natural shadows, those which the light connects with every opaque body. (Plate 4, consists of natural and accidental shadows.)

The outline of the shadow should partake of the forms, at its edges, of the character of the surface receiving, as well as the one giving it.

In many, otherwise, excellent pictures of Claude's, the sun is placed at, or near the point of sight: so that all the shadows, running from that point, almost mechanically carry the eye into the picture. Whatever of good may proceed from this arrangement, its purpose is too easily detected; and it has an artificial effect.

Da Vinci says, 'The appearance of motion is lessened, according to the distance, in the same proportion as objects diminish in size.'

Open the side of a book against the light, and observe the gradations of shadow on the leaf.

If you turn half a sheet of paper up against the light (in the manner of the book), it will explain, by its shadows on the parallel part, the phenomena of half or demi-tint.

In any body that has many indentures, there will be many shadows and their grades: that body will have a greenish hue over its superfice, where the light falls on it. To keep the colour of that light pure, in this instance, requires great management; as the markings of the masses of foliage, &c., receiving the light. And yet, without these markings, or as it were carrying the shadow into the light, it would look bald. As this is done cleverly, so it will have the effect of subduing the harshness of the lights; which not being in compact masses, lose their force.

I often rumple a piece of paper, to observe the infinite variety of its shadows. And place a ball against the light, on a white surface, and observe its gradations. So, if you roll up a sheet of white paper, and lay it on a white surface, against the light, or make it stand up, it will describe the gradations of a column.

It is a very excellent method to keep a solid square, a solid sphere, a[25] cylinder or tube, a cone (make a paper one), a cup, &c., by you, and place them in various directions in the light, making various memoranda of their lights, shadows, and reflexes, in one colour. By this means, light and shade will soon become familiar, and the task get easier at every trial.

A piece of white paper folded several ways, and laid on a table against the light, will reveal all the different degrees of shade. Then, observe the highest light and the deepest shade, with their gradations.

Observe, in a room with one window, having chairs, tables, sofas, &c. in it, where and how their shadows fall. This will assuredly lead the mind into the mysteries of light and shade, which must end in knowledge. At the very least, the power to see things as they are!

To render bodies in sunshine, the shadows must be dark, and marked strongly and distinctly, and the lights extended and broad. So, in-door objects have equally strong shadows, with the lights and shades distinctly divided and precise. All should, as a peremptory rule, receive the light from above. The light should come in from a sufficient height to give a shadow on the ground the same length as the object is high.

If any projection occurs on a plain on which a shadow is thrown, the shadow takes the form of the projection, as it passes it; but, if it ends upon it, the shadow will be shaped by the object that flung it, still qualified by the section of the projection. The rough surfaces of many things would describe the same in a lesser degree.

Light objects, as they retire, become darker; and dark ones, lighter; but light ones are seen at a greater distance than dark.

The darkest opposing object brought up against the most retiring, should not extend itself to the edges of the picture, but let the half tints creep in, to bring the light down with more effect—diffusing it more extensively.

The shadow on the ground on which it is thrown, should be darker than the object projecting it; and, if the object be round, a reflected light will be found on the edge where it joins the shadow, as in a column.

I placed a chair in the shade, and the sun's reflection threw a shadow from it!

Breadth is acquired by blending the light parts of the figures with the light of the ground; and the same rule will apply to the shadows.[26]

When the ground of the picture is mostly dark, the lights, in my opinion, should take some one or other good decided form in composition, in their developement, as their meaning is only to be explained by themselves. (Plate 4.)

If a single light or luminous mass be surrounded on all sides by a dark ground, one or more of its edges should be strong and cutting; and if a dark centre be placed on a light ground, if the same management be not observed, it will look like a hole.

Leonardo says 'The ground which surrounds the figures in any painting, ought to be darker than the light part of those figures, and lighter than the shadowed part.'

Great beauty is obtained by laying the shadowed part of an object against a darker ground; the light receiving increased brightness from this arrangement, and the softness of the shadow on the light side being nearly imperceptible, gives great relief and beauty. This mode is much resorted to in the management of portraits, while it equally applies to landscape.

Most repose is obtained by placing a light group or object on the light side of the picture, and dark objects on the dark side, as no interference of the one or the other then occurs to disturb the masses; but the effect will be less than when carried the one into the other, and the difficulty of uniting the two parts become greater.

In some of the best works of Ostade, and many of the Dutch school, a dark figure or group is brought out from a darker background, with great brilliance, and even force, when the colour of the one is cold, and the other warm.

Corregio's management of light and shade placed him in the highest sphere of this department of the art.

An object or figure, having a dark and a light side, the dark side being opposed to the light part of the ground, and the light side coming off the darker part, will have great effect.

When a dark body terminates on a light ground, it will detach itself. If a round object, it will not carry its light to the extremity of its outline, but finish in a half shade, darker than the ground.

A large mass of light in the middle of the picture, surrounded by[27] shadow, is a rule; and, when reversed, has an equally imposing effect. (Plate 2, fig. 5.)

The largest division of the light and the dark parts of a picture, so they differ in quantity, will of necessity produce the greatest breadth; but the extent and magnitude of that breadth will be entirely qualified by the judicious management employed in producing a union between them.

One greatly approved method of producing this effect is, by bringing the light up to a brilliant focus, and absorbing the shadows into the darkest obscurity; while the larger portion of the work is pervaded by the half light and the half dark, as well as their shadows by strong local colour; while those in the shadow should come out sharp and distinct. The vigour of the light will dissolve all chance of influence in the half tints; while the extreme depth of the shadow, carried perhaps to a little excess, will gather up and absorb all the subordinate shadows. (Plate 1, figs. 5 and 6.)

Marking, with a stump and bit of black lead, when we are abroad, the principal points, in sketching from nature; and noticing in what manner those points refer to, and assist each other; tracing their effects, and ascertaining the laws that bring them harmoniously, or by contrast, together, is the best method to be pursued for the arrangement of our own ideas in composing. Sketches so obtained, should be preserved as models to exercise the invention by.

A more distinct idea of light and shade is best obtained by the use of one colour only, as many only tend to perplex the eye, and divert the attention from the great object that should be distinctly kept in view.

In laying on the tints (of one colour only), the method to be pursued is as follows:—Mix the separate shades in separate saucers, three, four, or five, as may be required; keep the board you have previously strained the paper on inclined at moderate elevation, that the colour may flow freely; lay in the sky first; the farthest distance next; then all those masses of shadow which principally influence the division and interest of the picture; working downwards to the foreground from the middle distance, using a large brush, filled with colour, to produce clearness and transparency. Then proceed to delicately touch upon the lights, in order to blend them with the shadows, that they may not[28] appear too abrupt, as well as to break down their asperity, and prevent the work looking bald. Now a darker shade than any should be mixed up, to put in the markings of the foliage and foreground, rocks, or whatever the composition may consist of. Lay the whole on with freedom and boldness; and, if any parts require strength, they may be lightly floated over again, when quite dry.

Do not disturb the surface of the paper more than can be avoided; and endeavour to keep all the tints even, or flat, in the first instance, without attention to the details. Always mind to take up enough of the colour at once to cover down the space intended, without sweeping it contrary ways. Thick rough paper is the best.

The power of making large masses of flat tints, commonly comes of great practice; it is, therefore, necessary that this difficulty is conquered, before attempting to blend them.

The use of that important thing, in the hands of an artist, the sponge, must be taught and seen to be understood.

The most forcible arrangement in the composition of light and shade is, where it is spread and diffused, until reaching the strongest point; which point, opposed immediately to the most retiring part, and clothed in strong colour, will have the effect of balancing and combining the most complicated forms, that, but for this method, had been all confusion.

If a sketch be too outliny, it will want solidity; if too much filled in, it will be heavy.

Do not let the lights be too scattered, or too equal, lest the struggle for precedence be observed.

When clouds are interposed between the sun and the object, the shadows will be soft, and their terminations almost imperceptible.

In conclusion, the concentration, the diffusion, or the contrast of light and shade, is best understood from a few blots made from the pictures of those great masters, who strike us as having excelled most in this department of the art, carefully preserving their arrangements, and applying them to our own compositions, until we feel and think like them. And a very little practice, in pursuing this method, will place the student in as quick a habit of effecting it, as of writing down[29] his thoughts, together with the immeasurable advantage of snatching from Nature her faultless effects of chiaroscuro—let them be as fleeting as they may—and the lights and shades of our own minds will influence the effect they have on the minds of others.

Is there not practical wisdom in commencing every day with the steady effort to make as much of it as if it were to be our whole existence? If we have duties to perform, in themselves severe and laborious, we may enquire if there be not some way by which to invest them with pleasant associations? How many men find their pleasure in what would be the positive horror and torment of the indolent, whose inefficient and shrinking spirit recoils from these tasks as insupportable burdens?

In exact proportion as you have cultivated your taste and education in this, as in all other things, will be your happiness and enjoyment in your productions.

In a work of this nature, tautology is not altogether unavoidable, as that which occurs in one division of it, equally applies to another.

I shall revert to the subject of light and shade again, under the head of its application to Colour.

ON COLOUR.

'Style in painting,' says Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'is, the same as in writing, a power over materials, whether words or colours, by which conceptions or sentiments are conveyed.

'When an opportunity offers, paint your studies, instead of drawing them. This will give you such a facility in using colours, that in time they will arrange themselves under the pencil.

'If painting comprises both drawing and colouring, and if, by a short struggle of resolute industry, the same expedition is attainable in painting as in drawing on paper, I cannot see what objection can justly be made to the practice, or why that should be done in parts which may be done altogether.

'Of all branches of the Art, Colouring is the least mechanical.' We cannot measure colour by lines as we can drawing.

Art is not a thing merely to be admired, and with which the spectator has nothing to do, however much he may suppose it: he has perhaps, unconsciously, as much to do with it as it may have to do with him. A man, wholly regardless of art, will remember having seen a picture twenty years ago, when shown him again: its influence on his memory, his taste, or his passions, could alone effect this.

'Colouring,' says Mr. Burnet, 'must either add to, or diminish the effect of any work upon the imagination; it must add to it by increasing, or[31] diminish it by destroying the deception.' And he farther quotes this passage from Addison: 'We cannot, indeed, have a single image in the fancy that did not make its first entrance through the sight; but we have the power of retaining, altering, and compounding those images, which we have once received, into all the varieties of picture and vision that are most agreeable to the imagination.'

'We can form no idea of colouring beyond what has an existence in nature. From this source all our materials must be drawn.' And again:—'The artist must never forget that the mind is composed of ideas received from early impressions, from perceptions frequently occurring, and from reflections founded on such perceptions. Painting can reach the mind only through the medium of the eye, which must be gratified sufficiently to interest it in the communication.'

There should always exist a corresponding feeling between the subject and the manner of treating it.

The student should at least make himself acquainted with the leading principles of every variety of art; because, 'that which would be applicable to one style, would, in some measure, be destructive to another.' It matters nothing how low the branch or particular walk he has chosen; for it will acquire quite another accent from his acquaintance with the higher, whose powers of fascination will in time imperceptibly infuse something of their own dignity into his works.

Something of this infusion has come down from the greatness, the grandeur, and severity of the Roman and Florentine schools, through all varieties they have passed, to the modern. To reach this, however, the mind must habituate itself to become quite 'disdainful of vulgar criticism,' before it can well feel a congenial sympathy with these high latitudes, as well as having to unlearn much it has acquired.

There are many excellencies in painting not at all compatible with each other, and that should never occur together—not even to gratify that fastidious disposition that is dissatisfied with every thing short of perfection: lightness would seem to want solidity, while precision will have dryness and hardness. The excellencies of others frequently corrupt ourselves: just as one coat, however well made, will not adapt itself to two persons, any more than their talents will blend with and lessen our defects.[32]

There is no particular style or branch of art, that the student may be in pursuit of, that does not possess some excellence or other—that is not alone, or at all, perhaps, to be found in the great manner of the Roman or Florentine schools of colour: in composition, breadth and arrangement (particularly of light and shade), and masterly treatment of colour, the Flemish and Dutch, as will our own school, furnish sufficient instances.

Light and shade, colour, novelty, variety, contrast, and even simplicity, all become defects in their excess!—the spirit of the rules by which they are regulated is to be more observed than their literal sense. It will generally be found sufficient to preserve this spirit of their laws alone, to which our ideas may be proportioned and accommodated.

Colour, in my opinion, is as useful in composition as lines: a few colours, scientifically woven together, will form agreeable composition of themselves.

Warm and cold colours, with their gradations and contrasts, lights and shadows with theirs, agreeing with and opposing each other, all struggling together (but that struggle unseen—the art concealed!) to the accomplishment of one object—the sweetness of harmony and union of the whole to one end.

OF THE THREE PRIMITIVE COLOURS.

Yellow is the light; Red, the medium; and Blue, darkness;—colours of themselves, that cannot be produced by the mixture of any other.

Hayter says, in his Compendium: 'Secondly—Yellow, red, and blue contain the sole properties of producing all other colours whatsoever, as to colour, by mixtures arising entirely among themselves, without the aid of a fourth.

'Thirdly—Because, by mixing proper portions of the Three Primitives together, black is obtained, providing for every possible degree of shadow.

'Fourthly—And every practical degree of light is obtained by diluting any of the colours, as above producible; or, in oil painting, by the mixture of white paint.

'Fifthly—All transient or prismatic effects can be imitated with such coloured materials as are of the Three Primitive Colours, but only in the same degree of comparison as white bears to light.

'Sixthly—There are no other materials, in which colour is found, that are possessed of any of the foregoing perfections.

'Thus it will be seen, that Yellow, Red, and Blue produce—first, Orange, Green, and Purple; and these produce Olive, Brown, and Slate, making nine.

'And this is the compendium and whole of the system of the degradation of colours into Black, or perfect darkness.

The Three Primitive Colours, by the endless varieties of their solvents, regulate, more or less, the whole economy of a picture; and the abundant stores of nature are faithfully imitated by their agency. Thus, the Primitives being red, blue, and yellow, the colours produced by their combination are purple, orange, and green; these, in their turn, may be extended to every tint that exists. The junction of the Three Primitives absorb all, and form neutral tint, which, by the addition of quantity, produces black.

And here it may not be out of place to remark how men will devote themselves to many idle pursuits that return them nothing, while a little study of the noble theory of colour would enable them, without pushing the matter far, to bring to their firesides reminiscences of their travels, or, otherwise, spots endeared by circumstances, together with a thousand other agreeable associations. They would learn in time to look at nature through the medium of art, and find a delightful interest in it they never anticipated; while every hour so spent would more and more exercise and mature the judgment.

A knowledge of the natural chalks, or colours of black, white, and red, is indispensably necessary. So, a perfect acquaintance with the Three Primitives, blue, red, and yellow, is of equal consequence; that blue and yellow are brought together by red; and that all mixtures are the scientific result of the union of these three, no two of which will produce the third. The result of the mixture of any two gives the contrast to the absent one:—as[35] red and blue, producing purple, is the opposite to yellow; blue and yellow make green, the contrast to red; red and yellow, producing orange, contrasts blue; the three, blended together, gives us black: neutral tint is the result of the same mixture. A perfect knowledge of mixing tints, from this scale, will produce all the compounds necessary to art, and their admixtures may be varied ad infinitum.

The neutral tint mentioned may be so varied, as to act in perfect union as the shadow to any one of the colours composing it.

The modes or systems of obtaining these results of colour, as practised by the greatest schools, are exceedingly different. Sir Joshua Reynolds says: 'They may be reduced to three. The first may be called the Roman manner, where the colours are of a full and strong body, such as are found in the Transfiguration. The next is that harmony which is produced by what the ancients called the corruption of colours, by mixing and breaking them till there is a general union in the whole: this may be called the Bolognian style. The last manner belongs properly to the ornamental style, which we call the Venetian, being first practised at Venice; but it is perhaps better learned from Rubens. Here the brightest colours possible are admitted with the two extremes of warm and cold, and those reconciled by being dispersed over the picture, till the whole appears like a bunch of flowers.

'As it is from the Dutch school the art of breaking colour may be learned, so we may recommend here an attention to the works of Watteau, for excellence in the florid style of painting.

'To all these manners there are some general rules, that never must be neglected. First, that the same colour which makes the largest mass be diffused, and appear to revive in different parts of the picture; for a single colour will make a spot or blot. Even the dispersed flesh-colour, which the faces and hands occasion, requires a principal mass, which is best produced by a naked figure. But where the subject will not allow of this, a drapery, approaching to flesh colour, will answer the purpose; as in the Transfiguration, where a woman is clothed in drapery of this colour, which makes a principal to all the heads and hands of the picture. And for the sake of harmony, the colours, however distinguished in their light, should be nearly of the same simple unity in their shadows; and to give the utmost force, strength, and solidity to the work, some part of the picture should be as light, and some as dark as possible. These two extremes are, then, to be[36] harmonized and reconciled to each other. Pure black, in these instances, is opposed to the contrary extreme of brightness.

'If to these different manners we add one more, that in which a silvery grey, or pearly tint, is predominant, I believe every kind of harmony that can be produced by colours will be comprehended. To see this style in perfection we must again have recourse to the Dutch school, particularly to the works of the younger Vandervelde, and the younger Teniers, whose pictures are valued by connoisseurs in proportion as they possess this excellence of a silver tint.

'Which of these different styles ought to be preferred, so as to meet every man's ideas, would be difficult to determine, from the predilection which every man has to the mode which is practised by the school in which he has been educated; but, if any pre-eminence is to be given, it must be to that manner which stands in the highest estimation with mankind in general, and that is the Venetian style, or rather the manner of Titian, which simply considered as producing an effect of colours, will certainly eclipse, with its splendour, whatever is brought in competition with it.'

In landscape painting, the routine of placing one colour by the side of another according to any known or understood systems, is not so imperative as when applied to historical painting, and where the manner and effect of any particular school is to be produced.

To institute a comparison between all who have excelled in colouring, would be useless here, differing so entirely. But of Tone:—The rich, and the mellow, and the silvery grey, are cared most for, as regards this expression. It involves all colours in its meaning, as well as the depth and power of the light and shade, when divested of colour. It is frequently produced after the picture is painted, by glazing or toning over it until the required depth and expression of colour is obtained, and mostly adding richness, splendour and variety. In water colour it is highly and essentially prized.

A beautiful quality of tone is obtained from drawing on grey or coloured paper, with black, white, and red chalks, the colour of the paper supplying the middle tint, (which should always pervade the largest space). It is likewise an admirable principle to adopt in water colour, as it qualifies the whole appearance of the work, and the student will proceed with greater certainty.[37]

Of the situations in which a colour appears most beautiful, Leonardo says, 'Black is the most so in the shade; white, in the strongest light; blue and green in the half tint; yellow and red in the principal light; gold in the reflexes, and lake in the half tint:' and 'the lighter a colour is in its nature, the more so it will appear when removed to some distance; but with dark colours it is quite the reverse.'

Some colours are rather unsociable, and, not mixing well with others, are best used by themselves, producing the required tint by glazing one over the other.

When any transparent colour is laid over an opaque one, or another of its own quality, it produces a mixture different to either of those that compose it; as lake over blue gives purple; yellow on blue produces green, and so on. In many cases this is a superior method to that of mixing them at once to the colour desired.

Any single colour appears most beautiful and brilliant when near the same colour, but not having so much density in it. Observe how colours are blended or contrasted in the plumage of birds, the wings of butterflies, &c.

The shifting, blending, and comparing a number of coloured cards, has always been found a useful and amusing way of instructing children in a knowledge of colours.

Different coloured pieces of glass held up against a landscape, will serve to show, through their medium, the varieties of hot and cold effects.

Certain colours impart value to others, principally by contrast; thus, the brilliant and rich glow of an autumnal evening is rendered most intense when the dark brown and neutral masses of foliage are brought up against it: it is only to their relative situations that they owe their power.

That part of a white object which is nearest to a dark one, will appear the whitest, and the less so as it is removed from it. The same occurs by a dark one.

All colours will appear most perfect in themselves when contrasted with their opposites—a green against red; blue against yellow; black against white, &c.

Where one colour terminates on another, that is its contrast, there will be greater strength exhibited at the junction than in the middle.

Great darkness is only obtained by the opposition of bright light, and bright light by contrasting it with density of shadow.[38]

Colours should recede in proportion to the size of objects, as they retire from the eye.

Too frequent a repetition of the same colour will produce monotony; so will too much contrast.

Contrasts in colouring must be used with great caution, or the absence of all keeping will be the result. At the same time, the beauty of a colour is only fully developed by being placed by the side of its opposite, or the one from which it is farthest removed.

If the blacks in a picture are kept firm and decided, they clear up the general effect, and give lightness and buoyancy to the whole work.

A colour is often left single, and standing by itself, in some principal object; in which case, it is so contrived, by its density, or some other quality, to bring together and harmonize all the rest.

If colours are not placed in harmony with each other, they must be in contact with such as give them value; as red against a cold, or green against a warm colour. In short, the grand principle, in all its constituent parts, simply amounts to this.

The strongest darks, brought in contact with the strongest lights, increase their brilliance, by giving to the lights the utmost force and clearness they can receive.

Richness of colouring can only be adopted when the general tone of the picture is sufficiently dark to support it.

All colours retire in proportion to their negative or neutral character; and as they develope themselves, gradually approaching to their brightest point, so they reach the prominent parts of the foreground.

Rich, warm, and deep shadows, will support the strongest colours; and if the browns are kept cool, the greys and cold colours retain their purity better. The colours that unite the hot and cold parts of a picture require the nicest judgment: thus, white and black may be brought together by grey, (grey being made of white and black); blue and red, by the interposition of purple, (purple being formed of blue and red.)

The larger the mass employed of neutral and obscure colours, the greater will be the force and illumination in the clear ones, which, being in their natures most attractive, should always be employed in parts intended to create the greatest sensation.

ON GENERAL NATURE.

The magic of art does not consist in an exact resemblance of an object:—'An exact resemblance,' says Sir Joshua, 'may be even disagreeable. The effect of figures in wax-work, for instance, is disgusting to the eye accomplished to judge of Fine Art, yet it approaches reality. We are pleased, on the contrary, by seeing ends accomplished by seemingly inadequate means; but to express distances on a plain surface, softness by hard bodies, and particular colouring by materials which are not singly of that colour, produces that magic which is the prize and triumph of Art. The power of a few well-chosen strokes, which supersede labour by judgment and direction, produce a complete impression of all that the mind demands in an object; we are charmed with such an unexpected happiness of execution, and begin to be tired with superfluous diligence, which, in vain solicits an appetite already satiated.'

We do not desire those who look on our pictures to suppose them real men and women, or that they are real landscapes; but to admire the art through the means by which it is performed.

I have always observed the most exact imitations of nature to be peculiarly within the sphere of the illiterate and uninformed; and the more debased and vulgar the mind, the more will it admire such productions. On the other hand, Fine Art has its own peculiar modes of imitating Nature and of deviating from it, for the attainment of its own purpose—'Nature to advantage dressed:' the great end of Art is to make an impression on the imagination and the feelings. The imitation of nature frequently does this; sometimes it fails, and sometimes else succeeds. 'I think, therefore,[40]' says Sir Joshua, 'the true test of all Art is not solely whether the production is a true copy of Nature, but whether it answers the end of Art, which is to produce a pleasing effect upon the mind.'

Of the contracted ideas of high-finishers, I think excessive labour is excessive weakness, and vigour can never come from such a source: making every brick of a house appear, has nothing to do with the harmony of the architecture; nothing is so monotonous as these detail and 'bit painters;' their works, taken collectively, are universally effectless and good for nothing; it is, at best, overwrought ingenuity—not Art. The combinations must be generalized; some object in the foreground may partake of this quality of finish, but if other parts of the composition be not proportionably slighted, there will be a want of general harmony. No separate part should possess any preponderance sufficient to absorb the interest of the rest. An analogous combination will alone invest the whole with the charm it conveys collectively, and infinite labour is saved. The high excellencies of painting belong invariably to harmonious combinations.

We frequently observe in the best works, the great effect produced by slightness, which, by a sort of magic, at a distance, assumes complete forms: this is scarcely ever the effect of chance or accident, however it may be made to appear so, but the result of deep and matured study, and a steady attention to the general effect, produced, perhaps, by a few happy scratches, and is 'more laborious to the mind than the highest finishing would be,' accomplishing the purpose intended by a seemingly intuitive perception of what was required, and communicating a lively and vigorous impression to the minds of others by the energies of their own. Extreme labour seldom fails to produce heaviness, while that fascinating lightness of effect is universally occasioned by the absence of it. The slightest and most undetermined manner of treatment often succeeds in producing the best general effect, which effect is as often wholly defeated in the attempt at finishing and blending the colours and details. Some morsel or other is beautifully preserved, but the whole is lost.

The general effect of the stars is all order—all repose; but the means by which this effect is produced is nowhere to be traced!

'The highest style has the least common nature in it:' 'Good sense is not always common sense.'[41]

'We may depart from Nature for a greater advantage. Nature is frequently narrow and confined in her principles, and must as frequently be departed from. Pictures should be painted to give pleasure, and every object which stands in the way of that pleasure must be removed!'

Rubens thought the eye should be satisfied above all other considerations; he, therefore, painted his reflects stronger than Nature would warrant; thereby producing harmony from contrast and variety.

Reynolds, speaking of Claude Lorraine, says, 'Claude Lorraine was convinced that taking nature as he found it seldom produced beauty: his pictures are a composition of the various draughts which he had previously made from various beautiful scenes and prospects.'

The harmony proceeding from contrast and variety of colour is more conspicuous in the landscapes of Rubens, and the gorgeous colouring of the landscapes of Titian, than in Claude—'departing from Nature for a greater advantage!' As in the moonlights of Vanderneer, the pictures of Cuyp and Both, and our own glorious Wilson, Gainsborough, &c. In choosing from among these great manners, we must lean on the observation of Reynolds, when he says, 'An artist is obliged for ever to hold the balance in his hand, by which he must decide the value of different qualities; that when some fault must be committed, he may choose the least.'

There is, beyond all doubt, a grandeur in general ideas, that the narrow conceptions of individual nature can never attain to.

Any subject, however mean or degraded in itself, but painted on a great principle, will acquire splendour and dignity from association.

'Look at Nature! Nature is the true school of Art!' is the universal cry of the vulgar and uneducated. But before their perception is capable of even seeing Nature, as it is spread out before them, they will have much to acquire of Art: for although Nature is before their eyes, to them it is a closed book! This is no new position, for, says Sir Joshua, 'If our judgment is to be directed by narrow, vulgar, untaught, or rather ill-taught reason, we must prefer a portrait by Denner, or any other high finisher, to those of Titian or Vandyck; and a landscape by Vanderheyden to those of Titian or Rubens; for they are certainly more exact representations of Nature. If we suppose a view of nature represented with all the truth of the camera[42] obscura, and the same scene represented by a great artist, how little and mean will the one appear in comparison of the other, when no superiority is supposed from the choice of the subject.'

And again,—'Amongst the painters, and writers on painting, there is one maxim universally admitted and continually inculcated. Imitate Nature is the invariable rule; but I know none who have explained in what manner this rule is to be understood: the consequence of which is, that every one takes it in the most obvious sense, that objects are represented naturally when they have such relief that they seem real. It may appear strange perhaps to hear this rule disputed; but it must be considered that, if the excellence of a painter consisted only in this kind of imitation, painting must lose its rank, and be no longer considered as a liberal art, and sister to poetry—this imitation being merely mechanical, in which the slowest intellect is always sure to succeed best! for the painter of genius cannot stoop to drudgery, in which the understanding has no part;—and what pretence has the art to claim kindred with poetry, but its powers over the imagination? To this power the painter of genius directs his aim; in this sense he studies Nature, and often arrives at the end, even by being unnatural, in the confined sense of the word. The grand style of painting requires this minute attention to be carefully avoided, and must be kept as separate from it as the style of poetry from that of history. Poetical ornaments destroy that air of truth and plainness which ought to characterize history; but the very being of poetry consists in departing from this plain narration, and adopting every ornament that will warm the imagination.

'The Italian attends only to the invariable—the great and general ideas which are fixed and inherent in universal Nature; the Dutch, on the contrary, to literal truth, and a minute exactness in the detail, as I may say, of Nature modified by accident. The attention to these petty peculiarities is the very cause of this naturalness, so much admired in the Dutch pictures, which, if we suppose to be a beauty, is certainly of a lower order, that ought to give place to a beauty of a superior kind, since one cannot be obtained but by departing from the other.'

With the most practised hands, in painting from Nature on the spot, the[43] hue and character of the artist will frequently pervade all his efforts to paint nothing but what he sees spread out before him; and his system, prevailing even to this extent, has this advantage, that accustomed as he is to consider Nature generally, his performance may resemble Nature more at another time than that one he painted it at! as Nature seldom looks the same two hours together.

The simple music of a bird may as well be compared to the most refined compositions of the Italian school, that requires the most industrious efforts to reach: both originate in Nature, but the latter is 'Nature to advantage dressed.'

Nature, the best source we can go to for instruction, is 'always at hand!'—'but Nature herself is not to be too closely copied. There are excellencies in the art of painting beyond what is commonly called the imitation of Nature. A mere copyer of Nature can never produce any thing great; for the works of Nature are full of disproportion.' It is the beau ideal of the mind alone that reaches this great end. It is comparing our observations on Nature, that enables us to acquire this ideal perfection. It is to skill in selection, and the separating her beauties from her defects, that qualifies us to reach this grand acquisition, which cannot be reduced to practical principles; but, by being enabled to discover those defects, we learn the art of supplying her wants. 'Correcting Nature by herself—her imperfect state by her more perfect,'—'and Nature denies her instructions to none who desire to become her pupils.'

Young people, and even men and women, who make respectable, and often very excellent copies from the works of others, frequently show me their 'sketches from Nature;'—Oh, if Nature could see them—for, to say they are in general perfectly frightful, is to use the gentlest expression. I invariably trace, in these productions, their individuality is the cause of their unsuccess; and the incapacity to even see Nature generally, which must be necessary before they can paint her so.

Thus to abstract as it were her beauties, and to form one general idea of them, in that abstract, is to enlarge the sphere of our understandings, and invest our works with that intellectual grandeur which alone lifts them above the efforts of common minds, by the nobleness of conception, and a higher[44] degree of excellence: while the student may be assured that his reputation will become permanent and universal, from this system of contemplating Nature in the abstract, and ennoble all he undertakes. His picture will have a mental effect over all that is mechanical.

Dr. Johnson has most ably explained the hypothesis, so much urged by his friend, of the necessity of generalizing our ideas of Nature, when he says, 'It is not to examine the individual, but the species; to remark general properties and large appearances: he does not number the streaks of the tulip, nor describe the different shades of the forest; he is to exhibit in his portraits of nature such permanent and striking features, as recall the original to every mind; and must neglect the minuter discriminations, which are alike obvious to vigilance and carelessness.'

The idleness of laborious finish, opposed to the overwhelming majesty of breadth, cannot be better explained.

ON RULES.

A foreign philosopher says, 'A thinking man is a depraved animal.' Both rules and principles are the healthy results of thought, notwithstanding.—Condensation and simplification—shorter methods, and conclusive deductions, are among the results obtained from them.

'There are rules for the conduct of the artist, which are fixed and invariable. The arts would lie open for ever to caprice and casualty, if those who are to judge of their excellencies had no settled principles by which they are to regulate their decisions, and their merits or defects were to be determined by unguided fancy;' which, in the end, would deprive art of its existence.

Reynolds says, 'Whatever is done well is done by some certain rule, otherwise it could not be repeated.'

Rules, pursued beyond their intention, become the fetters of the mind: among architects for instance—whose very profession should be a matter of light and shade—I have never known, nor heard of one in my life, who ever obtained even the veriest mediocrity in painting, however otherwise talented. This can only be attributable to their adherence[46] to the rigidity of their rules in their details, beyond their general intention.

Much should oftentimes be conceded to the suggestions of strong inclination in an ingenious and intelligent mind, whose impulses are irresistible, and which any peculiar method would only clog and fetter, by thwarting its particular turn—which, after all succeeds best its own way; and arrives at the same end by its own impulses. Rules apply more properly to such as are not invested with these powers: or, with the same incentives, have not the strength.

ON COPYING.

By the contemplation of what is good in others, 'a sense of the higher excellencies of art will by degrees dawn on the imagination; at every review that sense will become more and more assured, and the artist will then find no difficulty in fixing in his own mind the principles by which the impression is produced; which he will feel and practice, though they are perhaps too delicate and refined to be conveyed to the mind by any other means.'

Sir Joshua, speaking of the great examples of Art, says, 'These are the materials on which Genius is to work, and without which the strongest intellect may be fruitlessly or deviously employed. By studying these authentic models, that idea of excellence which is the result of the accumulated experience of past ages, may be at once acquired; and the tardy and obstructed progress of our predecessors may teach us a shorter and easier way. The student perceives at one glance the principles which many artists have spent their whole lives in ascertaining; and, satisfied with their effect, is spared the painful investigation by which they came to be known and fixed.'[48]

The greatest painters are continually making such memoranda as may be called copying, either from the works of antiquity, or those of their cotemporaries.

'The sagacious imitator does not content himself with merely remarking what distinguishes the different manner or genius of each master; he enters into the contrivance in the composition, how the masses of lights are disposed, the means by which the effect is produced, how artfully some parts are lost in the ground, others boldly relieved, and how all these are mutually altered and interchanged, according to the reason and scheme of the work. He admires not the harmony of colouring alone, but examines by what artifice one colour is a foil to its neighbour; he looks close into the tints, examines of what colours they are composed, till he has formed clear and distinct ideas, and has learnt to see in what harmony and good colouring consists. What is learned in this manner from the works of others becomes really our own, sinks deep, and is never forgotten.

'If the excellence of a picture consists in its general effect, it would be proper to make slight sketches of the machinery and general management of the work. Those sketches should be kept always by you for the regulation of your style. Instead of copying the touches of those great masters, copy only their conceptions. Instead of treading in their footsteps, endeavour only to keep the same road. Labour to invent on their general principles and way of thinking. Possess yourself with their spirit: and work yourself into a belief that your picture is to be seen and criticised by them, when completed. Even an attempt of this kind will rouse your powers.' Again—'But as mere enthusiasm will carry you but a little way, what I propose is, that you should enter into a kind of competition, by painting a similar subject, and making a companion to any picture that you consider as a model; place them together and compare them carefully, and you will detect the deficiencies in your own more sensibly than by any other means of instruction. The true principles of painting will mingle with your thoughts, which will be certain and definitive, and sink deep into the mind. This method of comparing your own efforts with those of some great master, is indeed a severe and mortifying task; to go voluntarily to a tribunal where he knows his vanity must[49] be humbled, and all self-approbation must vanish, requires not only great resolution, but great humility! but it is attended with this alleviating circumstance, which abundantly compensates for the mortification of present disappointment, every discovery he makes, every acquisition to knowledge he attains, seems to proceed from his own sagacity, and thus he acquires confidence in himself, sufficient to keep up the resolution of perseverance. And we prefer those instructions which we have given to ourselves, from our affection to the instructor.'

The perception of errors shortens the road to truth. 'Cease to follow any master when he ceases to excel.' Avoid that narrowness and poverty of conception which attends a bigoted admiration of a single master! We will suppose 'those perfections which lie scattered among various masters, are now united in one general idea, which is henceforth to regulate his taste and enlarge his imagination, extending his capacity to more general instructions, he must now consider the art itself as his master. At all times, and in all places, he should be employed in laying up materials for the exercise of his art, to be combined and varied as occasion may require; seeking only to know and combine excellence, wherever it is to be found, into one idea of perfection; and employing the most subtle disquisition to discriminate perfections that are incompatible with each other. The habitual dignity which long converse with the greatest minds has imparted to him, will display itself in all his attempts, and he will stand among his instructors, not as an imitator, but a rival. The more extensive your acquaintance is with the works of those who have excelled, the more extensive will be your powers of invention; and, what will appear still more like a paradox, the more original will be your conceptions.'

Again:—'By the devotion with which many study a particular master, they acquire a habit of thinking the same way; therefore, let his faults always be your best instructors.'

The firm, correct and determined pencil of many of the Dutch masters, cannot be too strongly recommended for imitation. I speak of the mechanism of painting: the expression, force and energy they gave to their works, from the decision of touch and handling, which enabled them to give that look of nature and freshness of reality to their studies, that forms so great an excellence in their performances. The study of Ostade,[50] Teniers, and many others of that school, cannot fail to enrich our own works with variety of invention, and 'those who have not looked out for themselves in this manner from time to time, have not only ceased to advance and improve, but have invariably gone backward, from being left without resources;' and having gathered nothing, have nothing to work upon—from an inability to infuse into their own works what they have neglected to learn from the contemplation of the works of others. It places you under the guidance of your own judgment and discretion by comparison with the best efforts of others; it enables you 'to criticise, compare, and rank their works in your own estimation, as they approach to, or recede from, the standard of perfection which you have formed in your own mind—but which those masters themselves have taught you to make, and which you will cease to make with correctness when you cease to study them. It is their excellencies which have taught you their defects, and you will, henceforth, be your own teacher.' Be cautious against the 'imaginary powers of native genius, and sufficiency in yourself, which seldom fails to produce either a vain confidence or a sluggish despair, both equally fatal to all proficiency.

'Study, therefore, the great masters for ever: study nature attentively, but always with those masters in your company; consider them as models which you are to imitate, and, at the same time, as rivals with whom you are to contend;' and you will insensibly come to feel and reason like them, and find taste imperceptibly formed in your own mind.

By the industry of the hand you will acquire good manner, but it is to the industry of the mind you will be indebted for any solid reputation.

Wrongly directed industry is a dangerous delusion. Too much copying will, on the other hand, greatly tend to impair our mental exertions, render them servile and mechanical, and confine, at the most, our aspirings to a very limited sphere, while it is utterly at variance in establishing any claim of our own to originality or distinction. Studying the genius of a fine work of art, its general forms, its combinations, its chiaroscuro, its colour and effect; and with all these on our minds, going home and making a companion to it, is a noble and lofty aim, frequently attended with entire success. This excellent practice, diligently persevered in, at length brings[51] our sympathies into a corresponding train of ideas with those we would emulate; and if we cannot reach them in their various excellencies, so we succeed in lighting our torch at those glorious beams of old, our advances are at least entitled to that respect they universally meet with. An abject imitation is of all things that I should avoid. But that reading of, and conversing with a picture, that almost places us under a delusion, during the time we are under its influence; that associating our feelings and ideas—that blending of our aspirations with the master mind that thought and wrought so well, is the surest hemisphere in which we can hope to think and paint like them. The student's perceptions become annealed by the influence of the charm that invests him: he aspires to a higher latitude of excellence: he beholds before him the ripest fruit on the topmost palm, and he knows the principles and the laws by which he can reach it, and does reach it, by the agency of, and the gradual developement of the simple rules he commenced with.

It often happens, and it is my opinion, that a careless scribbler, who dashes at everything, stands quite as good a chance of becoming original, as the most careful copyist ever will; after the very first attempts, too much precision stands sadly in the way of boldness, freedom and dexterity. After being enabled to draw with some degree of accuracy, mannerism will invariably be the result of the extreme care so universally recommended by most writers on the subject; and hence that excess of it we daily observe; for it requires but a very common-place observer, on entering an exhibition, to point to a picture and name the painter at the same moment: presuming he had ever seen a work by the same artist before.

Reynolds says of copying, 'I consider general copying as a delusive kind of industry; the student falls into the dangerous habit of imitating, without selecting, and of labouring without any determinate object; as it requires no effort of the mind, he sleeps over his work, and those powers of invention and composition which ought particularly to be called out, and put in action, lie torpid and lose their energy for want of exercise. How incapable those are of producing anything of their own who have spent much of their time in making finished copies, is well known to all who are conversant with our art.'

ON THE LIGHT AND SHADE OF COLOUR: AND REFLEXES.

Extending either the light or shadow by means of colour, is perhaps one of the best ways of combining both.

Breadth of light and shade may involve many colours in its arrangement, so they are divided into imposing masses; variety of colour is often necessary to explain the localities of a work; and, that they may not appear confused, light colours should be sociable with light colours; and dark ones with others of equal density: their repetitions invading each other throughout the chain.

Great intimacy of union, in the colour of the lights, will likewise produce breadth; so as to make a large and connected mass appear, at a little distance, as one graduated light.

Colours may stand either for colours or shadows; so that they be of sufficient density, and sufficiently opposed to light ones.

But, if you do not depend on the colour of the picture for effect of light and shade, much less intensity of colours will be sufficient.

The strongest colours are sometimes most successfully employed in uniting the light with the shade.

In the conduct of light, I conceive the objects which receive its influence, should, of all things, as much as possible, partake of the colour of that light, as seeming more like an extension of it, and looking more[53] natural:—thus, in a church, all the parts receiving the light from a painted glass window, would partake of its varieties of colour. The rising and setting of the sun turns all to gold, by the same alchymy, while it acts as an uniting link in carrying the colour through the picture: these, in their turn, throw their radiating reflects in a thousand other directions, keeping up and sustaining the communicative principle of the whole—imparted by the primitive cause and its agency.

The colouring of a picture should always be in harmony with its light and shade.

The lights will require to be overcharged with colour, if the shadows are too heavy and loaded; on their transparency depends the beauty of both.

The shadows must be darker than the shadowed sides of the objects which project them; for the reason explained in the article on Light and Shade.

The masses of light should be of warm colours, yellow or red, supported by blue or grey in the shadows; a very small proportion of which will generally be found sufficient.

The real colour of an object is only seen in the light. All shadows should partake, more or less, of the colour of the light. That shadow will appear the darkest that is surrounded by the brightest light.

The nearer a colour is to the eye, the purer it will appear; arraying itself as it retires, with the colour of the air interposed between it; consequently, the purest colours should only occur in foregrounds,—where the shadows, for the same reason, would likewise be darkest.

The colour of a light will be stopped at the part where any reflex reaches it. We see mountains covered with snow, at sunset, from the effulgence of its rays, make the horizon appear all on fire.

Distant mountains appear more deeply blue, according to the extent of the azure of the air interposed between them and the eye. All masses in the distance partake, more or less, of this quality.

'The vapours mixing with the air, in the lower region near the earth, render it thick, and apt to reflect the sun's rays on all sides, while the air above remains dark; and because light (white) and darkness (black) mixed together, compose the azure that becomes the colour of the sky—which[54] is lighter or darker, in proportion as the air is more or less mixed with damp vapours.'

Shadows produced by the redness of the setting sun, will be blue; from the reflexes of that part of the air not illumined by its rays.

If the sun is overcast, the lights will be general; so will the shadows. If the sunbeams burst out, and strike the objects in a landscape, the shadows will then be dark in proportion to the lights. The brilliant edges of the clouds all assist the general illumination; and all objects in the light, will participate of their colour from reflexion. On the contrary, those parts not included in the range of rays, remain the colour of the air.

The air partakes less of the azure of the sky as it approaches the horizon, being more remote from the sun than that part of it above our heads, which receives a larger portion of its rays. The horizon will be light, while, in ascending to the meridian, it becomes, from this cause, deeper and bluer. So the nature of all colours diminish in proportion as density of air is interposed between them and the eye.

Reflected colours, thrown from, and upon, equal angles, will be the strongest: the most distinct, being produced by the shortest ray.

No reflected colour will have the brilliance of a direct one. For, if a reflected light from a blue object be thrown on a yellow one, the result would be green:—green being composed of blue and yellow. This circumstance refers to most mixtures.

It only happens to those colours which are on a level with the eye, that their gradation is in proportion to their distance. As to those of elevation, they are influenced by the quality of the air they are seen through.

Colours, whose nearest approach is to black, as they retire into distance, partake most of the azure of the air:—and those colours most dissimilar to black, preserve their proper colour as they recede. The golden lights on distant mountains or fields will best explain this. 'The green, therefore, of the fields will change sooner into blue, than yellow or white, which will preserve their natural colour at a greater distance than that, or even red.'

'It may happen that a colour does not alter, though placed at different[55] distances, when the thickness of the air and the distance are in the same inverse proportion.'

Masses of shadow carry the strongest part of their colour to the greatest distance; as when trees appear thick together, accumulating the shadow on each other, they become darker by multiplying those shadows.

'The darker a mountain is in itself,' says Leonardo, 'the bluer it will appear at a great distance. The highest part will be the darkest, being more woody; because woods cover a great many shrubs and other plants, which never receive the light. Near the tops of those mountains, where the air is thinner and purer, the darkness of the woods will make it appear of a deeper azure than at the bottom, where the air is thicker.'

'In general, all objects that are darker or lighter than the air are discoloured by distance, which changes their quality, so that the lighter appears darker, and the darker lighter.'

Colours are more or less entirely lost at a great distance from the eye, according to the purity or density of the air through which they are revealed, or as they are more or less elevated from the earth, merging as they retire into a general grey, occasioned by the quantity of the intervening air. In countries where the air is thin, colours are discernible at great distances, but still tinged with the colour of that air.

The darkest colours, in distance, will be most of all impregnated with the colour of the air. So will the strongest real or accidental shadows.

Colours and outline are best defined on objects placed out of the strong light of the sun, and its reflexes. In sunshine, both are operated on by refraction, which occasions that chaotic indistinctness so painful for the eye to dwell on long together.

Every body, on which light falls, reflects a part of it back again. Any thing red, held before a looking-glass, gives back a portion of its own colour with great vividness; as a glass would throw the sun's ray on a wall.

The real colour of polished surfaces are lost in the colour of the light that falls on them. This likewise applies to all metals.

All smooth or shining surfaces repel the light they receive, throwing their reflexes on any thing opposed to them.

Polished surfaces, as in plate or armour, do not show their real colours.[56] The reflected colours of the sun or air that shines on them confuse their own. Rough surfaces, on the contrary, retain their natural colours most.

Suppose the sun to equally illumine two sides of a street, as it passes its centre, and on one side is a red house, and opposite to it a white one, the white one would be impinged with the reflection from the action of the light on the red one: thus, all proximity of colours affect each other, in the light, in the manner of reflexes, declining as they recede. The reflected lights in folds of silk draperies illustrate this phenomenon best.

Compare the shadows thrown on different colours with each other, by placing a number of coloured materials in a dark place, the colours of shadows being regulated by the objects giving and receiving them.

Examine well the colours in the shadows of flowers; they present the most excellent combinations.

All colours, as at night, may be lost in that of the general shadow, presuming it dark enough to destroy all reflexes.

Colours reflected on by their opposites will become neutralized; as green against red, purple against yellow, &c.

The shadows on all objects partake of the colour of the light, or are qualified by other lights throwing their reflects into them.

The lightness or darkness of shadows are entirely regulated by the colour of the objects on which they fall.

An object painted in a light colour will be more or less light, according to the strength of its shadow, from the consequences attending opposition.

So a light figure, laid upon a light background, but differing in colour—as a warm object on a grey sky—assists, in the greatest degree, the preservation of the breadth. Opposition of colour is, perhaps, of most use under these circumstances.

Colours on the figures or parts brought into notice by opposition may be sometimes applied with sufficient depth and intensity as to advantageously take the place of shadows or darks.

Light and shade may be produced by the influence of colours alone,[57] judiciously applied; the reds and yellows supporting the lights, while the blues, greys, and cold colours form the retiring portions, or such as would otherwise be in shadow.

Suppose a picture, composed of one part shade and the other light—the light being warm, and the shadow composed of cold colours—a red or warm-coloured figure laid against the shadowed side, and a blue one brought out from the light, would, in addition to possessing the greatest force of colour, have a spirited and imposing effect. But the contrary treatment would possess the greatest breadth and repose;—a dark figure laid on the mass of shadow (a point of which, being darker than the rest, would gather it together), and a light one on the light, having a point still higher in colour than the ground.

Rich, deep, and warm shadows are required to support strong coloured lights. So, strong colours are equally useful in focussing the shadows, or in giving them variety.

That beautiful diffusion of æriel and fluctuating pearly reflections, that play equally over the surfaces of the strongest colours, shadows, and lights, in the tenderest hues and forms, and with which all nature appears invested, should engage our deepest attention and enquiry, as their properties so softly blend and break down the harshness and influence of positive colour, and the asperity of opposing tints, by tempering them with their airy and luminous sweetness.

If the general harmony or hue of a picture is warm, the deepest shadows should be warm also; while the strongest colour, being brought into the middle space, will serve to connect both the light and the shadow. Indian red, in most instances, should be the mixing medium, using cold colours sparingly, and only where they are wanted as a foil; as the greens of trees are set off from the rich brown shadows, producing a splendid effect, and bringing the hot and cold colours into harmony.

Colours, forming the middle tint and shadows, should always be warm; though the light may be cold, the effect will be beautiful.

I generally observe that Titian, Rubens, and the best colourists, use their reds in the shadows, at once to support and give them brilliance;—for when it happens that the shadows of a picture are wholly made[58] up of warm colours, the effect is sure to be splendid, though the lights are cold;—considering red, perhaps, too strong a colour to interfere with the light, at the risk of destroying its breadth. Their manner was often that of deepening the colour as it lost or absorbed itself in the background.

Every object receiving the light of the sun, receives likewise the general light, producing two shadows, the darkest one being occasioned by the sun.

When the horizon is tinged with red by the rays of the setting sun, the distant shadows, being blue or azure, mingling with the red, produces purple.

The air between the earth and the sun, when it rises or sets, invests all objects with a degree of obscurity, which is whiter on the earth than towards the zenith.

When the vapours descend to the earth at sunset, all objects that the sun's rays do not reach become confused and dark; but those that are tinged with its light will appear of the colour of that light, and distinctly marked in their outlines, though surrounded by obscurity.

The magnificence of the setting sun, gilding with its rays the slopes of mountains and tops of forests, towns, villages, and waters, while all below is lost in deep brown, grey, and purple masses, has ever been a favourite subject with painters of all schools.

The inferior or lower parts of all objects, when the air is thickest on the earth, will appear farther from the eye than the tops.

In looking down from an eminence on a street or town when the air is thick, the tops of the buildings will be darker, more distinct and articulate than the objects placed at the bottom, which, being filled with air, the tops come off it (as a ground) with more decision.

When the sun is veiled by clouds, in a landscape, the trees receiving a general light, the darkest parts will be the lowest.

Although the trees and fields may be of the same colour, the trees will always seem darker than the fields, from their quantity of shadow, notwithstanding every blade of grass has its shadow.

The tops of all mountains will be more clearly defined than their bases, becoming more and more so as they rise into the thinner and[59] purer regions of the air; and, as they still rise to their highest summits, the more they develope their form and colours.

All buildings will appear darker at the top than the bottom, from the lower parts being surrounded with thicker air of a lighter colour.

Buildings, or other objects, seen through a fog, only develope those sides which are reflected on by the sun; the other parts remain the colour of the fog. Beautiful combinations of silvery grey and golden reflections, on foliage, windows, boats, water, &c. may be made under these circumstances. As the outline becomes confused or lost, so the objects seen through it acquire magnitude. The fog and the object being both near the eye, its density will occasion the object to appear at a great distance.

Objects of all sorts, seen through rain, have an indistinct and undetermined outline, sometimes becoming greatly confused.

If the observer is placed between the sun and a cloud of dust or smoke, they will appear dark. If they are seen between the sun and the eye, they will be light and transparent. This equally applies to the effects produced by fog.

Some artists represent water very dark or very light. It can neither be darker nor lighter than the surrounding objects which occasion its shadows.

If water is muddy or thick, the shadows of a bridge or boat would be projected on it, as it would be on the ground. But if, on the contrary, the water is clear and transparent, all reflections are formed in it, as they would be in a looking-glass, and no lateral shadows occur.

How much bluer the sea appears from on board ship than it does from the shore; because, at sea, the blue of the waves is reflected on the eye.

All objects in the distance, which are near a river or water, will appear less distinct than those that are remote from it.

All distances should have their outlines confused and unfinished, while foreground objects should be bold and determined.

Objects appear most remote that are divested of their outline, as in Turner's pictures—giving the idea of space and largeness.[60]

Of the beauty of reflexes, Da Vinci says: 'If you mean the proximity of one colour should give beauty to another that terminates near it, observe the rays of the sun in the composition of the rainbow, the colours of which are generated by the falling rain, when each drop in its descent takes every colour of the bow.'

Displaying the various colours that compose either the light or the shade, or lights and darks, that are to stand as such, into large and subtly interwoven portions,—the blending and the opposition of hot and cold colours, and of light with dark, together with strict attention to their strength and relations (for the most discordant and opposite properties will produce harmony, under certain circumstances and arrangement), so that the masses of light and shade, and the breadth of the whole, are not disturbed,—are the leading circumstances that should engage the anxious attention.

HARMONY AND CONTRAST.

The exact degree of strength, or of tone, greatly tend to reconcile the harmony of a picture.

Harmony consists more in the power of bringing colours together, than in the mere arrangement of the colours themselves.

Burnet, in his excellent Treatise, says—'When a picture is composed of the two extremes of hot and cold, we are certain of having employed the whole strength of the palette; and, if judiciously used to assist the chiaroscuro, an harmonious union will be kept up between these opposite qualities, more forcible and splendid than by the intervention of middle tint;' but immediately after he adds—'In producing variety and contrast, we ought never to lose sight of that imperceptible harmony arising from the union of two colours in producing a third, composed of both. Whether this be founded on any law existing in optics, or is merely the result of that sympathy which one colour has to another in producing harmony, we know not.'

Any colour too often repeated, will destroy its value in proportion to its repetition; but a continuation of the same colour carried with tact[62] through the picture, from the highest light to the deepest shade, and strongly relieved by some colour of a different nature, produces the beautiful effect so admired in the Dutch and Flemish sketches of Vandyke and others; arising from the rich brown gradations, brought up to a 'high pitch' of red or yellow, or yellowish white, and subdued by a little cool grey, merging into blue or green.

Strong colours are generally more usefully applied in supporting the general whole, than by being employed on the more prominent parts of it. They are equally useful in focussing the shadows, or in giving them variety.

If the mixture of many colours be unharmonious and disturbed, perplexity and confusion will be the result.

When the general character of a picture is of a cool grey, its influence upon the eye is of a very agreeable description, from its tender and soft transitions; but its spirit is roused into energy at once by the introduction of a warm colour; increasing, by its opposition of character, the harmony of the whole. A red cloak on a figure crossing a field will explain this.

In Du Fresney I find we 'are not to let two hostile colours meet without a medium to unite them.' Notwithstanding which, we see the contrary practised with the greatest success;—blue brought against red, for instance, the value of each increasing as they antipathize.

The hot and cold colours—the balancing power produced by their combinations—the arrangement that gives to every object its place and value, are the principal circumstances that should engage the attention, when contemplating the works of the best colourists, or on gazing at a scene in Nature.

EFFECT, ACCIDENT, RELIEF, AND KEEPING.

In Effect, the means are widely different indeed which lead to the same result! Rembrandt, with his concentrated light and wide diffusion of shade—Rubens, and his school, with his splendid extension of light and of colour—Vandyke, with the Dutch and Flemish painters—Titian—all arrive at the same end, although by the most opposite means. Some aim at a particular effect; others at a general one, proceeding from different combinations, and different views and ideas. All effects should be consistent with the subject treated. The effect will be more or less bad as the parts which are to constitute it are more or less scattered or diffused. Masses of light, supported and brought out by masses of shadow, are the surest means of producing it. Effect is procured by the strongest opposition, and sometimes by the reverse. Arrangement and Expression is, in historical composition, much the same thing that Effect is in landscape-painting. On the other hand, particular effects mostly arise from circumstance. Sudden and startling effects are not unfrequently produced by a piece of charcoal on brown or grey paper; beautiful ones by the simple operation of the black lead pencil or stump, until we trace it up to the whole range of the palette, in the most splendid and magnificent efforts of colour.

Every part of a picture should occasion pleasure in detail! If we are fascinated with the colour of the highest or prevailing light, the most anxious care should be exercised that its influence does not destroy our admiration of the others: to avoid this prejudice, the principal[64] light, or colour of it, should not be so influential as to prevent the eye being gently led away from it, by the repetition of a softer grade of its own, to others of a less imposing quality: that must of necessity be there, to give value to, and influence the importance of the principal.

Effect consists in either lights and shadows, or colours, so massed and blended in their arrangement, as to produce breadth.

The greatest power of Effect is often produced from the most simple materials. All the force of the palette, and all the strength of the master, is not unfrequently called into action by no other materials than a straight horizon meeting the sky, supported by an undulating line or two; and exemplifying the most scientific manœuvres in the management of breadth, and in diversity of colour, on which the eye loves to dwell, and repose from the fatigue occasioned by a repetition of forms.

A dark object, placed against the most retiring or lightest part of the picture, while it acquires all the startling effect to be derived from great force, and is a resource so much adopted by the greatest landscape-painters, often, in my opinion, destroys the whole keeping of the work. Bringing such strong objects up against the sun, was the great vice of Claude; Cuyp and Both managed it better, but certainly not always with success.

Keeping is a term in art which implies that every object and colour should be in its place;—the object, its exact space to stand on, and the colours in strict harmony and accordance; each possessing the exact strength which belongs to its situation in the picture.

Relief, and occasionally Chiaro-Scuro, which, by its arrangement of light and shade, describes the necessary forms that are to be revealed: this may likewise be effected by light and dark colours alone, or by opposition of colours and sharp contrasts.

The highest point or mass of the light, from which the gradations radiate, should be kept very pure, allowing as little of the shade tint to insinuate itself as possible.

If the lights of a picture are few, it will mainly contribute to its breadth and repose:—if many, or scattered, the result will be confusion. I say, to keep the leading mass of light pure and clean, should employ our deepest attention.[65]

When the attention is to be fixed to a particular object, the degree of power given to the accessories will alone establish its degree of consequence: but it must not be wholly insulated; those accessories, being the medium of its own importance, must contribute all to assist it to its place, without weakening its force or imparing its character; as the middle tints find their value and clearness only by the strength of the lights, and the depths of the darks.

Great breadth of Effect is produced by placing the principal mass of shadow on, or rather immediately under, the horizon; graduating upwards into the clouds, and downwards, in a long angle, to a broad light on the base line; on which a figure or any other object, however small, but darker than the rest, being placed, will produce an effect that has become extremely popular of late. This is equally applicable to landscape or sea pieces; and was a favourite arrangement of A. Vandervelde. When the picture is mostly made up of half tint, his manner was to throw all the power of the palette into his figures; bringing them out strong, dark, and cutting on the foreground; and, in the retiring groups, diminishing the force as little as possible; keeping the shadows flat, and a little weaker in colour. This management produces one of the most powerful daylight effects, though not so ærial; but the sacrifice of the last is as nothing to the want of the former. Atmospheric effect is scarcely missed when the whole is on so light a key, as the quantity of half tint employed renders it.

Most of the Dutch landscape painters seem universally agreed on this arrangement, as having that beautiful contrast of force and softness we so often see in coast scenes, and leaving so large a space as two-thirds of the picture for the luminous forms of the clouds.

Broken heaths, road scenes, corn-fields, boats on the water, with their forcible and deep shadows, fishermen on the sands, all readily adapt themselves to this manner; which, likewise, from the light tone that pervades the whole, requires the strongest opposition and contrast of colour—so that the colours be carried well through the picture; that is, if the ground be warm, a figure in blue placed in the foreground[66] may be carried out by being repeated in the blue of the water, and so into parts of the sky, &c. And, on the other hand, if the ground be cool grey, as in a river scene, the boats may be yellow, and the figures red, carried up and diffused into the warm lights of the sky, or striking on the sandy shore and distant buildings, and even reaching the birds in the air—all will help to convey the colours through the work.

In working out this system, let the lights be bright, and their shadows strong and forcible, keeping the middle tints tender, airy, and delicate. A few trials on this plan will soon convince the student of the beauty and real look of daylight it has over many others.

In examining the works of Cuyp, when the picture is painted on a light key, he is sure to make use of very strong colour, to clear up and give vigour to the whole, in his figures; serving, at the same time, to invest the general mass with air, breadth, and extent.

Rembrandt thought it of more consequence to paint light, than the objects seen by it.

'Titian's great care was to express the general colour, to preserve the masses of light and shade, and to give, by opposition, the idea of that solidity which is inseparable from natural objects. When these are preserved, though the work should possess no other merit, it will have, in a proper place, its complete effect; but where any of these are wanting, however minutely laboured the picture may be in detail, the whole will have a false, and even an unfinished appearance, at whatever distance, or in whatever light it can be shown. It is in vain to attend to the variations of tints, if in that attention, the general hue is lost, or to finish ever so minutely the parts, if the masses are not observed, or the whole not well put together. And those who will examine into the artifice, will find it to consist in the power of generalizing, and the shortness and simplicity of the means employed;' and in fixed principles, our general ideas predominating over our individual.

Rubens, in his splendid manner, involved all the schools—Roman, Dutch, and Venetian! yet, with all this magnificence and variety, possessed repose.

Accident.—Accident often comes in aid of invention. In nature,[67] all objects by daylight are equally illumined; the painter has, therefore, always found it necessary to avail himself of accident, whenever it may occur: shadows, in particular, reflected upon one object by another; large floating masses of light or shade thrown across a mountain, a flat country, or an open sea, by the passing clouds as they sail by; flashes and streaks of light, as they struggle from between them, &c., are all adapted to work out the general effect. Where the forms of a composition are insufficient, this is the usual resource, these accessories generally supplying grandeur and elevation to the scene. All catching lights should be laid hold of with equal tenacity. The clearing off of a shower is particularly favourable to this useful auxiliary.

DEXTERITY AND AFFECTATION.

It is 'natural to be more captivated with what is brilliant than with what is solid, and to prefer splendid negligence to painful and humiliating exactness.'

Mere novelty and peculiarity, having no other merits, when it ceases to be new, it ceases to have value.

That which is solely addressed to the eye, is certainly inferior to that which is addressed to the imagination.

If too much indulgence is given to peculiarity, mannerism will be sure to be the result!

'A facility in composing, a lively and masterly handling, are captivating qualities to young minds: they endeavour to imitate these dazzling excellencies, and, after much time spent in the frivolous pursuit, find, when too late, the difficulty of retreat; and there is scarce an instance of return to scrupulous labour, after the mind has been deceived by this fallacious mastery. By this useless industry, whilst boys, they have arrived at their utmost perfection; they have taken the shadow for[69] the substance; and make the mechanical felicity the chief excellence of the art, whilst it is one of the most dangerous sources of corruption. They wish to find some shorter path to excellence, and hope to obtain the reward of eminence by other means than those, which the indispensable rules of art have prescribed. But whatever the force of genius may be, there is no easy method of becoming a good painter.'

There is no mechanism in painting; for those, who by a clever handling, possess this quality to the greatest perfection, are rarely found to excel in the higher realities of art.

It is to the whole—the absolute and entire impression—the disposition of pictorial matter and auxiliaries, that imply ability and power in their treatment.

Do not let the love of novelty induce you to leave the beaten path of excellence; for all endeavours to surprise and please by that which is uncommon or new, will be attended with defeat; a matter, oftener the result of idleness and caprice, than the striking effect of a mind well-regulated and devoted to study.

Style, manner, handling, are for the most part matters of tact, distinguishing one painter from another, quite as much as one man's manners are known from another's. Where the inferior and subordinate pursuit of skill in handling or execution is aimed at, it tends universally to form a mannerist; and this is the greatest evil of our time. Instead of elevating the mind to the quality of the whole, it degenerates into an abject and curious species of imitation of the parts, or of some one thing in particular the artist feels he can do cleverly; sacrificing to this 'industrious idleness,' correctness of drawing, character, expression, and elevation of style. In a word, it is mechanics, and not art! Grandeur, sublimity, simplicity, all fly from this one evil.

Style comprehends the whole of a picture, in all its mysterious or simple workings—its moral character—its elevation, or its degeneracy.

Decision, spirit, and freedom of execution and expertness of handling, opposed to feeble uncertainty, have great charms, in common with all excellencies; yet, so delusive is this species of fascination, that it becomes imperious to be guarded against it. The end must not be sacrificed to the means!

OF BACKGROUNDS.

Different colours, or degrees of light in the background, can alone separate the object from it. They will become more detached as they differ from the colour of the object to be relieved.

The greatest relief is acquired by a ground of a neutral, or undetermined colour. But the object that is to stand out from it, depends wholly on its light and shade for relief.

According to the ground which surround colours, they will appear different to their natures. Flesh will look palest on a red ground: and a pale colour, redder on a yellow ground: and so on, always deriving their character from the surrounding one.

If any object in a composition does not sufficiently assert its place, instead of heightening the colour of it, it is generally more advisable, as the case may be, to subdue the power of its background.

The outlines of figures should be sketched with either the shadow-colour, or the colour of the ground, on which they are laid; strengthening them according to their situations.

A very useful resource, in painting, is often to look at your picture in a looking-glass, whose reflection is a copy of the picture; and the picture, being a copy from nature, a kind of analogy is established:[71] they are both on even superfices, and both give the idea of something beyond their superfices. In viewing your picture in this manner, keep one eye shut: seeing from both eyes surround the objects too much.

Looking at your picture through the medium of a glass, blackened on one side, will, in divesting it of colour, show only its light and shade. This is a capital way of ascertaining if the latter is right.

In painting, it is a good plan to leave all you can to the imagination! it is flattering to the beholder; it gives him latitude for the exertion of his own mind; and he will supply, better than you, what you wanted, entirely to his own satisfaction—and, of course, to yours: deprive him of this, and you seldom fail to imbue him with apathy. His imagination assumes characters and forms of its own; you have set it painting: he finishes your picture, and is happy, because he has had something to do with it; and he will not quarrel with you, lest he should blame himself.

Painting should possess 'brilliancy without gaudiness, solidity without harshness, truth without familiarity, and sweetness without insipidity; all conjoined in the greatest breadth of colour.'

If a work possess the known and admitted excellencies of painting, although in the smallest and most moderate degree, it will have the peculiar appearance of looking well, which the want of them would quite invest with another character. The faults of a great mind, capable of the greatest beauties, will never appear to have a vulgar origin.

It is just possible a picture may possess no defects, nor any beauties; but he who thinks entirely for himself, will give to his work an appearance of originality; he will be consistent with himself! even faults will appear with some lustre in those to whom they are quite natural.

In conclusion, jealously endeavour to ascertain if any thing has been admitted, or omitted, that, consistent with these rules, may prejudice the general harmony of the work in the ensemble.

If I have made use of any contradictory observations, it was because I was impressed with the usefulness of their application to the principle described; in which matter I may take shelter under the noblest authorities of the Italian, English, or French, who have written on art. I likewise trust I have said nothing the student will have to unlearn.

In a word, the grandest, the most exalted principle requires no more[72] time to become master of than the lowest and the worst! And, 'As no school ever excelled the Dutch—combining in itself all the excellencies of the Italian—painters should go to the Dutch and Flemish schools to learn the art of painting, as they would go to a grammar-school to learn languages.'—'A close examination of their works will give us that experience of the principles on which they wrought, in a very short space of time, which cost them ages to ascertain.

'The frequent allusions which every one, who treats of any art, is obliged to make to others, in order to illustrate and confirm his principles, sufficiently show their near connexion and inseparable relation.'

However, 'The great business of study is to form a mind, adapted and adequate to all times, and to all occasions; to which all nature is then laid open.'

'The highest point of art is to conceal itself: and the very praises we lavish on works that are 'true to nature,' only prove the perfection of art.'

I have taken up the art as I found it in the practice of the most approved methods: nor have I attempted to support any paradoxes for the sake of novelty.

Theories herein investigated, and many rules here laid down, many loose and scattered suggestions and successful results, that 'pass current from one to another,' I have endeavoured to place in the readiest manner before the student, that they may become immediately available to his purpose, or occasionally refresh his memory, without caring whence they may be derived. Even in the collecting of disjointed materials, a structure is formed every way calculated to abridge his labours and shorten the road, however carelessly thrown together; and will, in all probability, stimulate him to further investigation.

Improve every hour, and the mind will become variously enriched by systematic study: it will look through Nature with a discriminating power, even to her minutest productions, but with a refinement of taste and skill of selection that will reject all that is unworthy. When small pretension finds a welcome, it usually arises from ignorance in those who patronize. These persons, in their turn, generally pay the penalty their errors or conceit bring upon them.

ON WATER-COLOUR.

After soaking and laying the paper,—an operation that must be seen to be learned,—and assuming you have proceeded to the colouring, it will be essential that you use two palettes, or tiles; set one with the colours required separately, not allowing them to run together; then take sufficient colour up in the brush from each, and mix the tints on another, kept a little wet that they may mix well together;—cleaning this tile, as occasion may require, to make fresh tints on.

In the management of the greys, allowing the colours to run into one another, will produce many accidental and useful tints.

When too much colour has got on the paper, dip a thick short-haired brush in clean water, and wash into the paper with it, with sufficient force to blend them more, and remove the superfluous colour. If this method be not found sufficient, take a sponge, with very little clean water in it, and pass it lightly over, which will remove all hard edges, and greatly assist the atmospheric effect:—if this too much generalizes the colours, supply the sharp markings, as may be required, with a fine pointed sable, in their positive colours.

This method is not only the quickest way of bringing a drawing into a finished state, but adds materially to its transparency and solidity; and may be done at any period of the work.

A good master of the sponge will make several drawings, while one[74] may be done with the brush alone. The colour will remove most easily when the surface of the drawing is previously wetted; taking great care, by keeping the sponge very clean, that none of the green tints float into the sky.

One colour laid over another, to produce the required tint, is in most cases better than mixing the tint at once, as it tends more to procure that 'internal light' so desirable in water-colour painting—taking care the under colour is dry before the other is floated over it; and always allowing for the density of the colour beneath qualifying the hue of the one laid over it. Thus, blue laid upon yellow, produces green; green over red, grey; and so on.

The slightest quantity of prepared ox-gall will make the colours wash free from grease; triflingly reducing the brilliancy, but fixing the wash more permanently.

Flatness of tint is a matter of great consequence, and of equal difficulty; and is considered a great excellence, as the clearness and beauty of the gradations mainly depend on it. All mechanical means to produce it will betray themselves;—regulated by any such principle, a blue sky would become a tea-tray! Nature distinctly rejects all that is mechanical: skill alone will enable the student to overcome this difficulty, in addition to observing its process by a professor.

Meditate well the mixture before applying it; then dash it on with the greatest decision,—always at once, and not backwards and forwards, and the greatest clearness will be the result.

The greater the diversity of colour, from the transparency of most colours in water, so much more will be its resemblance to nature.

Wiping out the lights, such as the foliage of trees, or any other forms required, is performed by first wetting the part or form to be taken out, with the brush—applied as it would be in painting—and, after the gloss on the water has subsided, with a clean piece of cotton rag or the pocket handkerchief, folded on the fore finger, the colour intended to be removed must be whisked out with some smart degree of force: and in the event of the light not coming out clean and sharp enough (from perhaps being too dry), the application of the India-rubber to the part will effect it. The colours intended are then laid over the parts so wiped out.

OF TINTS.

To obviate this,—to save the student's time, that he may devote the more to the attainment of his pursuit,—that he may be enabled to tint a drawing in half an hour, when he would have spent three in making a good tint or two (presuming his capability to do it at all),—induced the Author of this work, at a considerable outlay of time and expense, to form a Box of Tints, in permanent cakes, ready at once for use, and all the necessary purposes of landscape or other painting, and for sketching from nature without inconvenience or difficulty.

As water-colour painting has experienced so much revolution of late, arising from its extensive capabilities,—the best drawings, or rather water-colour paintings, being produced by the balance of opaque and transparent colours,—those tints and mixtures that are found most useful in oil-painting, and most wanting in water, has engaged his particular attention.[76]

He has confided the making them solely to Mr. Charles Smith, of Marylebone-street, Piccadilly. The tints are expressed on the cakes in numbers, which have reference to the coloured plates. In addition to which the following colours are those mostly used:—

Indigo; to which may be added cobalt and French blue. Indian red. Venetian red. Purple lake. Madder lake. Vermilion. Burnt sienna. Raw sienna. Yellow ochre. Gamboge, Brown pink. Raw umber. Vandyke brown. Ivory black.

REFERENCE TO THE PLATES ON COLOUR.

Plate 7.—The sky is laid with tint No. 10;—the walls and foreground are covered down with No. 1, varied here and there with burnt sienna;—the tiles and roof with No. 4;—tints 6, 7 and 8 are mixed together, varied and floated over for the cool greys;—the figure, Indigo and No. 10; vermilion, ochre and burnt sienna. The greens are composed of indigo, gamboge and burnt sienna, with brown pink. The gallery is tint No. 6, floated over Vandyke brown. Cobalt and Vandyke brown in the hollows.

Plate 8.—The sky is done with No. 9, and thin cobalt floated over: the horizon with No. 4, varied with Venetian red: the orange brought down into the trees, and worked together with gamboge; the shadowed parts of which are put in with No. 7—repeated in the bases of the clouds. No. 9 is worked into the cool greys of the middle space. The greens are varied with indigo, burnt sienna, gamboge and brown pink;—the brightest lights with yellow ochre: foreground with No. 5.

Plate 9.—The sky French blue and madder-lake;—distance with No. 1, heightened here and there with ochre;—middle space worked in with 9 and 8—the greys with No. 7. Cobalt in the hollows; warmed, in parts, with No. 4. Boats done with No. 9, strengthened with Vandyke brown;—the water slightly washed with No. 5, varied with the same and indigo;—steps and railing with Nos. 1 and 5.

Plate 10.—The sky is washed with indigo and madder-lake, kept grey towards the horizon;—the distant buildings with Nos. 7, 8;—No. 7 is mixed with burnt sienna for the greys of the trees: the greens are composed of indigo, burnt sienna, raw sienna, Venetian red, and gamboge;—the[77] gravel with No. 5, a little burnt sienna, and white;—the shadows with No. 7;—figures with positive colours;—foreground slightly washed with No. 1, varied with No. 5;—the pedestal with No. 5, varied at the base with Nos. 6 and 9.

Plate 11.—The sky, indigo and madder lake: the clouds varied with Nos. 8 and 9, and floated over with cobalt: the warm lights with yellow ochre and burnt sienna;—horizon with cobalt and indigo;—the sands with No. 1, shaded with 2 and 6;—the mill with No. 1, lightly floated over with No. 6, and touched in parts with No. 3;—the foreground brought down with brown pink;—the mill, on the left, painted into with Vandyke brown, Indian-red, and No. 5; the lights with No. 4, and roof with No. 3; the sail, Indian red and Vandyke brown; figures, cobalt and vermilion, subdued with No. 6.

Plate 12.—The walls and pavement floated down with No. 1, and toned over with No. 6;—the architectural markings with No. 6 and cobalt, with a little No. 9 in the darkest parts, to give them point;—hollows of the arches with No. 9, and No. 7 worked in;—the window is all laid in with positive colours, brought down on the figures, which are subdued with No. 6;—the altar, banners, priests' robes, books, &c., with chrome and white: their shadows with No. 3;—the curtain with Vandyke brown, Venetian red, and burnt sienna.

And here I cannot but express how much the arts and the public are indebted to the highly inventive genius of Mr. Hullmandel, for his numerous inventions and improvements in lithography; having, in a few years, by the most determined perseverance, industry, and singleness of purpose, brought the first hard, dry, and uncertain drawing on stone, through all its various improvements, until the introduction of the now well-known printing of the tint with modified lights; to which we are indebted for the many beautiful productions that have appeared of late; and thence to the extraordinary invention, now dawning on us, of making a painting on stone, from which an impression is procured that may scarcely be articulated from a sepia drawing: enabling painters to multiply their sketches ad infinitum, instead of being confined, as before, to the merely practiced pencil draughtsman. The plates of this work are indebted to his invention.

DESCRIPTION OF THE PLATES.

Plate 1.—Has been described in reference to the article on Composition; as Plates 2 and 3 have, in the one on Light and Shade.

Plate 4.—The Porch of Chartres Cathedral, has been referred to under the inquiry into accidental Shadows.

Plate 5.—The Temple of Jupiter Tonans, and the Forum of Nerva, have been noticed in like manner: as has likewise Plate 6, an ancient Wine-store in the Rhætian Alps.

Plate 7.—Here are the extremes of hot and cold. The strongest colours are placed in the darks, from which they derive all the power of the palette, while the point is preserved by the figure in red. A warm light, surrounded by warm tints, has the greatest brilliancy when ably supported by the intervention of a cold one. The cool grey centre is repeated in the hollow of the door, the lower part of the figure, and carried out by the blue of the sky; while the warm colours are dispersed and diffused on the wooden gallery, the walls, the ground, and gathered up by the rich red of the woman's gown and the warm brown of the figure behind; the dark colour of which, being laid on the dark background, helps the woman into her forward position;—the warm colour, projected by the red gown, is again carried up by the cap and brown of the figure behind into the balcony, tiles, &c., until, after mingling in every possible way with the cool greys, it escapes by the walls; spreading its influence every where, and investing the greens of the vine and the[79] foreground with its character. The high light on the wall is repeated on the linen, carried across by the figure in the gallery, and brought down by the figure and flowers in the foreground. The general tone of the work is warm;—the blues, greys and greens are used as a foil to give value to the warm colours, the shadows and middle tints: the greys are glazed warm, to preserve the richness of the general effect throughout. The reds and blues are combined of colours possessing the properties of each. The quantity of warm and cold colours are to be principally observed—the union of one part with another—preservation of the breadth, and the general harmony.

Plate 8.—A View in Belgium.—The disturbed and heavy clouds sweeping across the country are kept of a low, subdued, but warm grey; intersecting the distant trees, and invading the middle space, until it is found among the greens of the foliage and grass of the foreground; the stones, the chalky road, &c., ending in the darks of the figures. The warm lights are scattered over the tops of the trees and sunny browns of the middle space and foreground, repeated in the lower part of the sky, and brought forward in the foliage and grass on the left; while the reds are gathered up in the branches and stems of the trees, and brought to a point in the figure on the right:—the white of the chalky road is carried into their trunks, the rock, and up into the clouds by the birds. The breadth is divided into two wedge-shaped forms, carried at an angle across the work, and up into the bank and trees on the left; opposed by the long stretching line of the horizon and round forms of the clouds and foliage,—balanced by the mass of rock on the other side. The harsh opposition of the cutting-lines of the foreground serves to attract the eye, while it reposes the distance.

Plate 9.—In this example, the darkest dark being of a warm brown, is brought up, by contrast, against the half dark in the distance, which is of a cold grey: it is then carried up into the dark markings of the houses, the roofs at the sides, and repeated on the right; brought down by the scaffolding over the steps, and woven throughout into the cool greys of the half shade, occupying nearly two-thirds of the subject, and carried, by the reflections of the boats, into the grey of the water and the blue of the sky;—the density of the barge, deepened by positive[80] colour, clearing up all the half tints. The highest light, near the centre, is gradated along the distant buildings, and repeated in the warm red and yellow lights, catching at different intervals on the houses, until lost in the water.

Plate 10.—St. James's Park and the Horse Guards.—This view was taken from the side of the Column, looking from the steps towards the Treasury. The two great masses, thrown at the boldest angle across the picture, the opposing lines broken up and varied by the round forms of the trees, and cutting it nearly in half, are divided between the bustle of the middle distance and the repose of the sky, the steps, the terraces, and the base of the column;—the colours employed in one division are made to invade the province of the other, until all are placed by the bright red of the soldier's dress and darker markings of the figures in the foreground, repeated here and there as uniting links, and carried through by the figures in the distance; while the communicating principle is sustained between the reds, blues and yellows, by the colour of the sky and distant buildings being composed of all three.

Plate 11.—Mills on a Sea Coast.—The large and varied portion of shadow, principally thrown into the wild uproar of the scudding clouds, is gathered together, and focussed by the strong and positive colour in the mill on the left, the stranded vessel, the horizon, the figures and dark markings in the foreground; and brought gradually down by the half shade into the cliff, the cottage, and the principal mill; and again carried up, by the agency of its primitive cause, to the highest parts of the clouds. The highest light is gathered up on the wall of the cottage, repeated in the accidental light on the retiring mill, the horizon, the figures on the sands, the birds in the air, &c., until it comes down to the chalky rocks and stones, mingling with the weedy greens of the foreground; the blues are carried down by the figures, and on which the reds are centred, and repeated in the unities of the tiles, collecting its force in the retiring mill, and insinuating itself into the distant figures, the sail and flag of the vessel, until lost in the warm colours of the clouds. The middle tints are kept much of the same strength to sustain the breadth, while the dark line of the horizon is graduated upwards and downwards for the same purpose. The shadow on the[81] steps in the cliff is brought up against the light on the cottage to give it point; and the quantity of half shade that pervades the work is gathered up by the depths of the darks. This effect was observed at Cayeux, in Normandy.

Plate 12.—The Chancel of a Flemish Church.—In this instance a number of positive, harmonizing and opposing colours, are thrown together and collected in the middle space; diffused, and carried out, by the intimacy of the union of their attributes, in the figures, the altar, the banners, &c., forming a cone of colour surrounded and reposed by warm grey. The greys are lost and found among the browns, insinuating themselves into the recesses and tracery on the walls, and every where influencing the warm colours. The figures, in red and blue, are placed in the gallery to disturb the form of the cone: while the highest light of the window intersects the deepest dark, which is repeated in the hollow of the porch, cutting the arch at the side.

HARRY WILLSON'S
GENERAL LANDSCAPE TINTS.

CHARLES SMITH'S, late SMITH & WARNER'S,

SUPERIOR IMPROVED MOIST WATER COLOURS,

Suitable for sketching from Nature, which retain their moisture for a length of time, freely and readily give their full force without the usual delay attending the Cake Colours; they dry instantly on paper, and are free from mildew or cracking.

C. SMITH'S WATER COLOURS, FINELY PREPARED IN CAKES.

C. SMITH'S PERMANENT MOIST WHITE,

WILLSON'S PRACTICAL LANDSCAPE TINTS.

C. Smith, being of opinion that a Set of Practical Landscape Tints were required, apart from the above positive Colours, engaged the services of the Author of this Work to assist in forming them, which is intended to accompany his instructions for their use, already printed. See page 83.

They are now ready, and can be had by themselves, in a box, price 12s.; or, with Sixteen other general Colours added, inclusive of French Blue, Pink Madder, Cobalt, &c., £1: 6s.

WATER COLOUR, FITTED UP IN BOXES, ETC.

	£.	s.	d.
Mahogany Slide Box, with 6 Colours and Brushes	0	6	0
—— 12 Ditto	0	12	0
—— 18 Ditto	0	18	0
—— 24 Ditto	1	4	0
Mahogany Lock Box, with 12 Colours, Brushes, &c.	0	16	0
—— 12 Colours, Drawer, &c.	1	0	0
—— 18 Ditto	1	7	0
—— 24 Ditto	1	12	0
Mahogany Lock Box, with 12 Colours, Slab, Glass, &c.	1	1	0
—— 12 Colours, Drawer, &c.	1	6	0
—— 18 Ditto	1	15	0
—— 24 Ditto	2	2	0
Mahogany Best Box, with 12 Colours, Glass Slab, &c.	1	12	0
—— 18 Ditto	2	12	6
—— 24 Ditto	3	3	0
Mahogany Best Box, with 12 Colours, Chalks, &c.	2	2	0
—— 18 Ditto	3	3	0
—— 24 Ditto	3	13	6
Rosewood Best Box, with 12 Colours, Brushes, &c.	2	12	6
—— 12 Colours, Chalk, &c.	3	3	0
—— 18 Ditto	4	14	6
—— 24 Ditto	5	5	0
Inlaid Rose and Satin Wood Boxes, 12 Colours, &c.	4	10	0
—— 18 Ditto	5	10	0
—— 24 Ditto	6	6	0
Mahogany Miniature Desk, with 12 Colours, Brushes, &c.	2	2	0
Portable Ditto, Extra Colours	4	4	0
Boxes and Cabinets fitted up with every requisite for Painting in Oil and Water, from £6 6s. to	20	0	0
Mahogany Boxes, fitted up with Oil, Powder and Body Colours
Mahogany Boxes of Liquid Colours, for Velvet and Poonah Painting
Mahogany Boxes, with Slab and Indian Ink
Mahogany and Tin Boxes, with Chalks &c., complete
Tin Boxes fitted up with Moist Colours, &c.

SUPERIOR HAIR PENCILS AND BRUSHES,

Made of the Finest Sable Hair, Camel's Hair, &c., by the most perfect English and French artists. The largest possessing the Fine Elastic Points of the smallest, and with the advantage of containing a much greater quantity of Colour.

C. SMITH'S INDELIBLE COLOURED INKS,

Sketches made in these Inks can be made Drawings, coloured over at any time without fear of disturbing the Original Sketch; particularly adapted for Prout's Architectural Subjects, such as the elaborate work of Churches, Cathedrals, and Buildings of Venice, &c.

C. SMITH'S PURE CUMBERLAND LEAD PENCILS,

SOLID SKETCH BOOKS.

With Compressed Leaves, made of thin and thick White, Drab, Yellow, and Grey Drawing Papers, forming a solid packet of thirty or forty leaves, each of which can be easily separated from the others by the introduction of a pen-knife underneath.

WOVE AND CARTRIDGE DRAWING PAPERS.

HARDING'S NEW DRAWING PAPER,

Made pure and perfectly free from any chemical agency that will tend to fade the Colours or alter their Tint. Recommended to those who paint with Body Colours, &c.

C. SMITH'S MATERIALS FOR SKETCHING IN WATER COLOURS.

Compressed Paper, in Packets

Sketching Books of all kinds

Sketching Folios and Portfolios

Albums and Scrap Books

Sketching Books, with Boxes attached

Sketching Desks for the Neck

Parlour's Patent Sketching Instrument and Camera Lucidas and Obscuras

Desks, with Colours, &c., for ditto

Stands and Tables for ditto

Camp and other Seats for Sketching

Japanned Tin Boxes, with Moist Colours, Cups, Bottles, &c., for Sketching

Fixed Sketching Inks and Reed Pens

Ditto, in Cases for Travelling, &c.

Drawing and Sketching Boards

Liquid Sepia, for Drawing

Leather Cases, for Colours, Brushes, &c.

Creta Lævis Crayons, or different Colours that work dry or with water

Portable Cases, containing a Seat, Book, Box, &c. for Sketching

Artists' Umbrellas, to shade the sun

Seat and Table combined, for Sketching

India Rubber Water Bottles

India Ink of the finest quality, warranted genuine

C. SMITH'S SUPERIOR NEW DRAWING BOARDS,

For straining thick or thin Drawing Paper more efficiently, and much more easily, without pasting or cutting; also fitted up with Colours, Brushes, Saucers, &c.

C. SMITH'S MATERIALS FOR SKETCHING AND PAINTING IN OIL COLOURS.

Prepared Paper and Millboards, for Sketching from Nature, &c.

Prepared Panels and Cloths, and Tickens on or off frames

Tin Boxes for Oil Colours, &c.

Portable ditto for Sketching

Oil Colours in Cakes and Bottles (see Wilson's Letter)

Tin Oil Cups, and Cups for Washing Brushes

Steel, Ivory, and Horn Palette Knives

Mahogany and Satin Wood Palettes

Bladder Colours, Powder Colours, and Raw Colours

Rack, Folding, and Upright Easels

Desk and Table Easels

Nut, Poppy, Linseed, and Drying Oils

Mastic, Copal, and Spirit Varnishes

Turpentine Gold Size, Asphaltum and M'Guelph

Glass, Stone, and Earthen Slabs and Mullers

Maul or Rest Sticks

Charcoal and Pipe Clay

Bladder Colour Nobs

Oil Box and Easel combined

C. Smith's new invented Telescope portable Cane Easels, extremely light, for Sketching

Compressed Oil Papers for Sketches

NEW CAMERA OBSCURAS.

For Sketching, so contrived, that any person with a slight knowledge of Drawing can use them without difficulty, straining the sight, or previous practice. The images, being reflected on paper, require nothing more than tracing their outlines.

MISCELLANEOUS MATERIALS.

Mathematical Instruments

Dividers and Compasses

Tee Squares and Triangles

Flat, Parallel and Stationer's Rulers

Tracers, Erasing and Pen Knives

Drawing Pins and Indian Glue

Crow Quills and Pens

Deal and Mahogany Clamped Boards

Boxes of Juvenile Colours, &c.

Conte's Black, White, and Red Chalks

Vancouver's Cement for mending China

Black Lead Powder, and Crayons for Stumping

Best Italian Black, White, and Red Chalks, in Crayons and Pencils

Lithographic and French Chalks

Cabinet Saucers in Cases

Indian Rubber and Sponge

Black Lead, in Cakes, for Mezzotinting

Indelible Marking Ink, for Linen

Ox Gall, in Pots and Liquid

Gold and Silver, in Shells, Saucers, and Leaves

Gold, Silver, Copper, and Green Bronzes

Ivories for Miniature Painting

Gum Water for ditto, &c.

Leather, Paper, and Cork Stamps

Improved Holders and Portcrayons

Harding's Silver Crayon Holders

Oriental Tinting Paper

White and Coloured Tissue Paper

Sponge Pencils

C. SMITH'S NEW INVENTED WATER-COLOUR CREAM.

A M'Guelph, or Medium, for using with Water-Colours, either transparent or semi-opaque, for obtaining opaque masses of colour or glazing. Drying slower than water, and not so fluid, enables the touch to be preserved where required without hard ridges.

Soft Swiss and French Crayons

Harding's Lithographic Drawing Books

Sketches, Tinted Paper, &c.

Fixing Liquid for Chalk Drawings, &c.

Varley's and Hayter's Perspectives

Cooper's Studies of Cattle

Modelling Tools

Leather and Paper Pencil Cases

Finest Quality Indian Ink

Best Clear Vellum

Ink Stones and Saucers

Slabs, Tiles, and Palettes in great variety

Ivory and other Pencil Racks

Glass Frames for Tracing

Graining Combs

Photogenic Materials

Patterns for Irregular Lines

Fixing Liquid for Chalk Drawings, &c.

New Perspective Parallel Rulers

Prout's Hints on Light, Shadow, &c.

—— Figures for Landscapes, &c.

Merimeé's Oil Painting

Cawse's ditto

Howard's Sketcher's Manual

—— on Colour

Laporte's Studies of Trees

A great variety of Juvenile Lithographic Drawing Books of Landscapes, Animals, and the Human Figure, and other Popular Works on Drawing and Painting.

SHADE'S DRAWING AND PERSPECTIVE MODELS.

For the practice of young students in obtaining a knowledge of the first rudiments of Perspective Drawing, Light and Shade, &c. with numerous illustrations explanatory of the infinite variety of useful Drawing Studies they are capable of forming together. To be had complete in boxes, price 10s. 6d. and £1 1s.

A variety of Miniature Models of Churches, Cottages, Castles, &c. &c.; lent out for the use of early in-door Landscape Students, as a substitute for Nature.

Wholesale, Retail, and for Exportation.

J. D. HARDING'S WORKS,

PUBLISHED BY TILT AND BOGUE.

HARDING'S DRAWING BOOK, 1841. Sketches in Sepia and Chalk, partly original and partly selected. Six Nos. 3s. 6d. each; half morocco, 24s.

SKETCHES AT HOME AND ABROAD, containing more than Sixty Views, tinted in imitation of the Original Drawings. Imperial folio, half-bound morocco, £6. 6s.

_*^*_* This splendid work has been entirely drawn on Stone by Mr. Harding himself, and printed under his immediate inspection. The resemblance to the Original Sketches is complete, and each Subject may be considered as a bonâ fide and first-rate Drawing.

ELEMENTARY ART: THE USE OF THE LEAD-PENCIL ADVOCATED AND EXPLAINED. New Edition. Imperial 4to. cloth, price £2. 2s.

_*^*_* The object of this work is to teach the young Student and the Amateur, by the practical use of the simplest (but most valuable) instrument in art—the Lead-pencil—how they may study Nature and acquire Art with the certainty of eventual success, and also to furnish them with assistance to which they may continually refer in the absence of their Master. The work is illustrated by Twenty-eight Lithographic Drawings by Mr. Harding, and he has followed as nearly as possible the course which his experience in actual instruction has suggested to him.

HARDING'S DRAWING BOOK, 1837. Each Number of this Work contains Four Studies, including in the whole a great variety of subjects. The whole are printed on India Paper, price 3s. each Part; or 21s. neatly half-bound.

HARDING'S DRAWING BOOK, 1838. A Series of advanced Studies, printed in Mr. Harding's new tinted style. Imperial 4to. Six Nos. 3s. each; or, neatly half-bound morocco, 21s.

HARDING'S PORTFOLIO. Twenty-four highly-finished Sketches, tinted in exact imitation of the Original Drawings. Half-morocco, price 21s.; or, coloured, 31s. 6d.

HARDING'S EARLY DRAWING BOOK, consisting entirely of Elementary Studies for Beginners. Six Nos. 1s. 6d. each; or, bound in cloth, 10s. 6d.

NEW AND POPULAR DRAWING-BOOKS,

PUBLISHED BY TILT AND BOGUE.

PROUT'S MICROCOSM; or Artist's Sketch-Book of Groups of Figures, Shipping, and other Picturesque Objects. By Samuel Prout, F.S.A. Printed in tints. Imperial 4to. Six Nos. 4s. each, or, neatly bound, 24s.

PROUT'S ELEMENTARY DRAWING BOOK of Landscapes, Buildings, &c. Six Nos. 1s. 6d.; cloth, 10s. 6d.

SKETCH BOOK OF SHIPPING AND CRAFT. By W. M. Grundy. In Progressive Studies. Six Nos. 1s. 6d.; cloth, 10s. 6d.

ANDREW'S PROGRESSIVE DRAWING BOOK OF FLOWERS. Six Nos. coloured, 1s. 6d.; cloth, very neat, 9s.

BARRAUD'S STUDIES OF ANIMALS. Lithographed by Fairland. Six Nos. large 4to. 3s.; or coloured, 5s.

JULIEN'S STUDIES OF HEADS. Selected or Drawn from Nature. Six Nos. 2s,; cloth, 14s.

WORSLEY'S LITTLE DRAWING BOOK. Easy Studies in Landscapes, Houses, &c. Fourteen Nos. 6d.; or two vols, cloth, 4s. each.

THE LITTLE SKETCH BOOK. Very easy Studies in Landscapes, Figures, &c. By G. Childs. New and improved Edition, Fourteen Nos. 6d.; or in 2 vols, cloth, 4s. each.

FAIRLAND'S JUVENILE ARTIST. Figures, Landscapes, and Shipping. Eight Nos. 1s.; or cloth, 8s.

LESSONS IN FLOWER PAINTING. Drawn and coloured after Nature, by James Andrews. Six Nos. 2s. 6d.; cloth gilt, 16s.

FAIRLAND'S DRAWING BOOK OF THE HUMAN FIGURE. In a Series of Progressive Studies. Twelve Nos. 2s.; or 2 vols, cloth, 12s. each.

CHILD'S ELEMENTARY DRAWING BOOK. Studies from Nature, in Progressive Lessons. Eight Nos. 9d.; cloth, 7s. 6d.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE USE OF A BOX OF COLOURS, IN A PRACTICAL DEMONSTRATION ON COMPOSITION, LIGHT AND SHADE, AND COLOUR. ***

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	Page
Prefatory Remarks;—Composition, applied to Painting	1
Of Angular Composition	9
Of the Circular Form in Composition	12
Light and Shade—its Application to Painting	15
On Colour	30
Of the Three Primitive Colours	33
On General Nature	39
On Rules	45
On Copying	47
On the Light and Shade of Colour; and Reflexes	52
Harmony and Contrast	61
Effect, Accident, Relief, and Keeping	63
Dexterity and Affectation	68
Of Backgrounds	70
On Water-Colour	73
Of Tints	75
Reference to the Plates on Colour	76
Description of the Plates	78

YELLOW.	RED.	BLUE.
Yellow and Red make Orange,	Yellow and Blue make Green,	Red and Blue make Purple,
ORANGE.	GREEN.	PURPLE.
Orange and Green make Olive,	Orange and Purple make Brown,	Green and Purple make Slate,
OLIVE.	BROWN.	SLATE.

	£.	s.	d.
Ultramarine	1	1	0
Burnt Carmine		7	0
Carmine		5	0
Gall Stone		5	0
Smalt		5	0
Purple Madder		5	0
Pink Madder		3	0
Intense Blue		3	0
Intense Brown		3	0
French Blue		3	0
Lemon Yellow		3	0
Cobalt		2	0
Sepia		1	6
—— Warm		1	6
Scarlet Lake		1	6
Crimson Lake		1	6
Purple Lake		1	6
Brown Madder		1	6
Indian Yellow		1	6
White, warranted permanent		1	6

Gamboge	Red Lead	Cappah Brown	Sap Green
Yellow Ochre	Vermilion	Burnt Umber	Prussian Green
Roman Ochre	Light Red	Vandyke Brown	Emerald Green
Yellow Lake	Venetian Red	Bistre	Verdigris
King's Yellow	Indian Red	Cologne Earth	Olive Green
Italian Pink	Dragon's Blood	Byrne's Brown	Hooker's Greens
Pale Chrome	Antwerp Blue	Neutral Tint	Varley's Orange
Deep Chrome	Prussian Blue	Payne's Grey	—— Dark Green
Orange Chrome	Indigo	British Ink	—— Warm Green
Raw Sienna	Verditer	Ivory Black	—— Warm Grey
Burnt Sienna	Raw Umber	Blue Black	—— Purple Grey
Brown Pink	Indian Lake	Lamp Black	—— Neutral Tint

F	For General Use
FF	Bold Sketching
HB	Middle Shade
B	Shading
BB	Black Shading
BBB	Extra Shading
HHHH	Finest Lines
HHH	Engineering
HH	Architecture
H	Fine Outline

Demy	20 by 15
Medium	22 — 17
Royal	24 — 19
Super Royal	27 — 19
Imperial	30 — 21
Colombier	34 — 23
Atlas	34 — 26
Double Elephant	40 — 26
Antiquarian	52 — 31
Extra Antiquarian	56 — 40

1	2
3	4
5	6
7
C. Hullmandel's Patent

Fig. 1		2
3		4
C. Hullmandel's Patent.

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Use of a Box of Colours, in a Practical Demonstration on Composition, Light and Shade, and Colour.

A

PRACTICAL TREATISE

ON

COMPOSITION, LIGHT AND SHADE,

AND COLOUR.

THE USE

OF A

BOX OF COLOURS,

IN A Practical Demonstration on

COMPOSITION, LIGHT AND SHADE, AND COLOUR.

BY

HARRY WILLSON,

Entered at Stationers' Hall.

PREFACE.

CONTENTS.

COMPOSITION.

OF ANGULAR COMPOSITION.

OF THE CIRCULAR FORM IN COMPOSITION.

LIGHT AND SHADE.

ON COLOUR.

OF THE THREE PRIMITIVE COLOURS.

ON GENERAL NATURE.

ON RULES.

ON COPYING.

ON THE LIGHT AND SHADE OF COLOUR: AND REFLEXES.

HARMONY AND CONTRAST.

EFFECT, ACCIDENT, RELIEF, AND KEEPING.

DEXTERITY AND AFFECTATION.

OF BACKGROUNDS.

ON WATER-COLOUR.

OF TINTS.

REFERENCE TO THE PLATES ON COLOUR.

DESCRIPTION OF THE PLATES.

HARRY WILLSON'S GENERAL LANDSCAPE TINTS.

CHARLES SMITH'S, late SMITH & WARNER'S,

SUPERIOR IMPROVED MOIST WATER COLOURS,

C. SMITH'S WATER COLOURS, FINELY PREPARED IN CAKES.

C. SMITH'S PERMANENT MOIST WHITE,

WILLSON'S PRACTICAL LANDSCAPE TINTS.

WATER COLOUR, FITTED UP IN BOXES, ETC.

SUPERIOR HAIR PENCILS AND BRUSHES,

C. SMITH'S INDELIBLE COLOURED INKS,

C. SMITH'S PURE CUMBERLAND LEAD PENCILS,

SOLID SKETCH BOOKS.

WOVE AND CARTRIDGE DRAWING PAPERS.

HARDING'S NEW DRAWING PAPER,

C. SMITH'S MATERIALS FOR SKETCHING IN WATER COLOURS.

C. SMITH'S SUPERIOR NEW DRAWING BOARDS,

C. SMITH'S MATERIALS FOR SKETCHING AND PAINTING IN OIL COLOURS.

NEW CAMERA OBSCURAS.

MISCELLANEOUS MATERIALS.

C. SMITH'S NEW INVENTED WATER-COLOUR CREAM.

SHADE'S DRAWING AND PERSPECTIVE MODELS.

Wholesale, Retail, and for Exportation.

J. D. HARDING'S WORKS,

PUBLISHED BY TILT AND BOGUE.

NEW AND POPULAR DRAWING-BOOKS,

PUBLISHED BY TILT AND BOGUE.

Transcriber's Notes:

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

IN A
Practical Demonstration on

COMPOSITION, LIGHT AND SHADE,
AND COLOUR.

HARRY WILLSON'S
GENERAL LANDSCAPE TINTS.