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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:34:35 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:34:35 -0700 |
| commit | 41f78dd3b48beb7f251fe4208f814888e6a1ea91 (patch) | |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/27340-8.txt b/27340-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0f31f60 --- /dev/null +++ b/27340-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2709 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Outdoor Sketching, by Francis Hopkinson Smith + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Outdoor Sketching + Four Talks Given before the Art Institute of Chicago; The Scammon Lectures, 1914 + + +Author: Francis Hopkinson Smith + + + +Release Date: November 27, 2008 [eBook #27340] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTDOOR SKETCHING*** + + +E-text prepared by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 27340-h.htm or 27340-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/4/27340/27340-h/27340-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/4/27340/27340-h.zip) + + + + + +OUTDOOR SKETCHING + +Four Talks Given before the Art Institute of Chicago + +The Scammon Lectures, 1914 + +by + +F. HOPKINSON SMITH + +With Illustrations by the Author + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Part of the Site of the Marshalsea Jail, London] + + + + + +New York +Charles Scribner's Sons + +Copyright, 1915, by +Charles Scribner's Sons + + + + +Contents + + + Page + + I. Composition 3 + + II. Mass 39 + +III. Water-Colors 75 + + IV. Charcoal 119 + + + + +Illustrations + + +Part of the Site of the Marshalsea Jail, London _Frontispiece_ + + FACING + PAGE + +Under the Willows, Cookham-on-Thames 84 + +The George and Vulture Inn, London 136 + +Diagram of Charcoal Technic 142 + + + + +COMPOSITION + + +My chief reason for confining these four talks to the outdoor sketch +is because I have been an outdoor painter since I was sixteen years of +age; have never in my whole life painted what is known as a studio +picture evolved from memory or from my inner consciousness, or from +any one of my outdoor sketches. My pictures are begun and finished +often at one sitting, never more than three sittings; and a white +umbrella and a three-legged stool are the sum of my studio +appointments. + +Another reason is that, outside of this ability to paint rapidly +out-of-doors, I know so little of the many processes attendant upon +the art of the painter that both my advice and my criticism would be +worthless to even the youngest of the painters to-day. Again, I work +only in two mediums, water-color and charcoal. Oil I have not touched +for many years, and then only for a short time when a student under +Swain Gifford (and this, of course, many, many years ago), who taught +me the use and value of the opaque pigment, which helped me greatly in +my own use of opaque water-color in connection with transparent color +and which was my sole reason for seeking the help of his master hand. + +A further venture is to kindle in your hearts a greater love for and +appreciation of what a superbly felt and exactly rendered outdoor +sketch stands for--a greater respect for its vitality, its life-spark; +the way it breathes back at you, under a touch made unconsciously, +because you saw it, recorded it, and then forgot it--best of all +because you let it alone; my fervent wish being to transmit to you +some of the enthusiasm that has kept me young all these years of my +life; something of the joy of the close intimacy I have held with +nature--the intimacy of two old friends who talk their secrets over +each with the other; a joy unequalled by any other in my life's +experience. + +There may be those who go a-fishing and enjoy it. The arranging and +selecting of flies, the jointing of rods, the prospective comfort in +high water-boots, the creel with the leather strap, every crease in it +a reminder of some day without care or fret--all this may bring the +flush to the cheek and the eager kindling of the eye, and a certain +sort of rest and happiness may come with it; but--they have never gone +a-sketching! Hauled up on the wet bank in the long grass is your boat, +with the frayed end of the painter tied around some willow that offers +a helping root. Within a stone's throw, under a great branching of +gnarled trees, is a nook where the curious sun, peeping at you +through the interlaced leaves, will stencil Japanese shadows on your +white umbrella. Then the trap is unstrapped, the stool opened, the +easel put up, and you set your palette. The critical eye with which +you look over your brush case and the care with which you try each +feather point upon your thumbnail are but an index of your enjoyment. + +Now you are ready. You loosen your cravat, hang your coat to some +rustic peg in the creviced bark of the tree behind, seize a bit of +charcoal from your bag, sweep your eye around, and dash in a few +guiding strokes. Above is a changing sky filled with crisp white +clouds; behind you, the great trunks of the many branched willows; and +away off, under the hot sun, the yellow-green of the wasted pasture, +dotted with patches of rock and weeds, and hemmed in by the low hills +that slope to the curving stream. + +It is high noon! There is a stillness in the air that impresses you, +broken only by the low murmur of the brook behind and the ceaseless +song of the grasshopper among the weeds in front. A tired bumblebee +hums past, rolls lazily over a clover blossom at your feet, and has +his midday lunch. Under the maples near the river's bend stand a group +of horses, their heads touching. In the brook below are the patient +cattle, with patches of sunlight gilding and bronzing their backs and +sides. Every now and then a breath of cool air starts out from some +shaded retreat, plays around your forehead, and passes on. All nature +rests. It is her noontime. + +But you work on: an enthusiasm has taken possession of you; the paints +mix too slowly; you use your thumb, smearing and blending with a bit +of rag--anything for the effect. One moment you are glued to your +seat, your eyes riveted on your canvas; the next, you are up and +backing away, taking it in as a whole, then pouncing down upon it +quickly, belaboring it with your brush. Soon the trees take shape; the +sky forms become definite; the meadow lies flat and loses itself in +the fringe of willows. + +When all of this begins to grow upon your once blank canvas, and some +lucky pat matches the exact tone of blue-gray haze or shimmer of leaf, +or some accidental blending of color delights you with its truth, a +tingling goes down your backbone, and a rush surges through your veins +that stirs you as nothing else in your whole life will ever do. The +reaction comes the next day when, in the cold light of your studio, +you see how far short you have come and how crude and false is your +best touch compared with the glory of the landscape in your mind and +heart. But the thrill that it gave you will linger forever! + +Or come with me to Constantinople and let us study its palaces and +mosques, its marvellous stuffs, its romantic history, its +religions--most profound and impressive--its commerce, industries, and +customs. Come to revel in color; to sit for hours, following with +reverent pencil the details of an architecture unrivalled on the +globe; to watch the sun scale the hills of Scutari and shatter its +lances against the fairy minarets of Stamboul; to catch the swing and +plash of the rowers rounding their _caiques_ by the bridge of Galata; +to wander through bazaar and market, dotting down splashes of robe, +turban, and sash; to rest for hours in cool tiled mosques, which in +their very decay are sublime; to study a people whose rags are +symphonies of color, and whose traditions and records breathe the +sweetest poems of modern times. + +And then, when we have caught our breath, let us wander into any one +of the patios along the Golden Horn, and feast our eyes on columns of +verd-antique, supporting arches light as rainbows, framing the patio +of the Pigeon Mosque, the loveliest of all the patios I know, and let +us run our eyes around that Moorish square. The sun blazes down on +glistening marbles; gnarled old cedars twist themselves upward against +the sky; flocks of pigeons whirl and swoop and fall in showers on +cornice, roof, and dome; tall minarets like shafts of light shoot up +into the blue. Scattered over the uneven pavement, patched with strips +and squares of shadows, lounge groups of priests in bewildering robes +of mauve, corn-yellow, white, and sea-green; while back beneath the +cool arches bunches of natives listlessly pursue their several +avocations. + +It is a sight that brings the blood with a rush to one's cheek. That +swarthy Mussulman at his little square table mending seals; that +fellow next him selling herbs, sprawled out on the marble floor, too +lazy to crawl away from the slant of sunshine slipping through the +ragged awning; that young Turk in frayed and soiled embroidered +jacket, holding up strings of beads to the priests passing in and +out--is not this the East, the land of our dreams? And the old public +scribe with the gray beard and white turban, writing letters, the +motionless veiled figures squatting around him--is he not Baba +Mustapha? and the soft-eyed girl whispering into his ear none other +than Morgiana, fair as the meridian sun? + +So, too, in my beloved Venice, where many years ago I camped out by +the side of a canal--the Rio Giuseppe--all of it, from the red wall, +where the sailors land, to the lagoon, where the tower of Castello is +ready to topple into the sea. + +Not much of a canal--not much of a painting ground, really, to the +masters who have gone before and are still at work, but a truly +lovable, lovely, and most enchanting possession to me their humble +disciple. Once you get into it you never want to get out, and once +out you are miserable until you get back again. On one bank stretches +a row of rookeries--a maze of hanging clothes, fish-nets, balconies +hooded by awnings and topped by nondescript chimneys of all sizes and +patterns, with here and there a dab of vermilion and light red, the +whole brilliant against a china-blue sky. On the other is the long +brick wall of the garden--soggy, begrimed, streaked with moss and +lichen in bands of black-green and yellow ochre, over which mass and +sway the great sycamores that Ziem loved, their lower branches +interwoven with cinnobar cedars gleaming in spots where the prying sun +drips gold. + +Only wide enough for a barca and two gondolas to pass--this canal of +mine; only deep enough to let a wine barge slip through; so narrow you +must go all the way back to the lagoon if you would turn your gondola; +so short you can row through it in five minutes; every inch of its +water-surface part of everything about it, so clear are the +reflections; full of moods, whims, and fancies, this wave space--one +moment in a broad laugh coquetting with a bit of blue sky peeping from +behind a cloud, its cheeks dimpled with sly undercurrents, the next +swept by flurries of little winds, soft as the breath of a child on a +mirror; then, when aroused by a passing boat, breaking out into +ribbons of color--swirls of twisted doorways, flags, awnings, +flower-laden balconies, black-shawled Venetian beauties all upside +down, interwoven with strips of turquoise sky and green waters--a +bewildering, intoxicating jumble of tatters and tangles, maddening in +detail, brilliant in color, harmonious in tone: the whole +scintillating with a picturesqueness beyond the ken or brush of any +painter living or dead. + +These are some of the joys of the painter whose north light is the +sky, whose studio door is never shut, and who often works surrounded +by envious throngs, that treat him with such marked reverence that +they whisper one to another for fear of disturbing him. + + * * * * * + +And now for a few practical hints born of these experiences; and in +giving them to you, remember that no man is more keenly conscious of +his limitations than the speaker. My own system of work, all of which +will be explained to you in subsequent talks, one on water-color and +the other on charcoal, is, I am aware, peculiar, and has many +drawbacks and many shortcomings. I make bold to give these to you +because of my fifty years' experience in outdoor sketching, and +because in so doing I may encourage some one among you to begin where +I have left off and do better. The requirements are thoughtful and +well-studied selection before your brush touches your canvas; a +correct knowledge of composition; a definite grasp of the problem of +light and dark, or, in other words, _mass_; a free, sure, and +untrammelled rapidity of execution; and, last and by no means least, a +realization of what I shall express in one short compact sentence, +that _it takes two men to paint an outdoor picture: one to do the work +and the other to kill him when he has done enough_. + + * * * * * + +Before entering on the means and methods through which so early a +death becomes permissible I shall admit that the personal equation +will largely assert itself, and that because of it certain allowances +must be made, or rather certain variations in both grasp and treatment +will necessarily follow. + +While, of course, nature is always the same, never changing and never +subservient to the whims or perceptive powers of the individual, there +are painters who will aver that they alone see her correctly and that +all the world that differs from them is wrong. One man from natural +defects may see all her greens or reds stronger or weaker than another +in proportion to the condition of his eye. Another may grasp only her +varying degrees of gray. One man unduly exaggerates the intensity of +the dark and the opposing brilliancy of the lights. Another eye--for +it is largely a question of optics, of optics and temperament--sees +only the more gentle and sometimes the more subtle gradations of light +and shade reducing even the blaze of the noonday sun to half-tones. +Still another, whether by the fault of over-magnifying power or +long-sightedness, detects an infinity of detail in nature, and is not +satisfied until each particular blade of grass stands on end like the +quills of the traditional porcupine, while his brother brush +strenuously asserts that every detail is really only a question of +mass, and should be treated as such, and that for all practical +purposes it is quite immaterial whether a tree can be distinguished +from a farm-house so long as it is fluffy enough to be indistinct. + +These defects, sympathies, tendencies, whatever one may call them, +only prove the more conclusively that there are many varying standards +set up by many minds. That which can easily be proved in addition is +that many a false standard owes its origin as often to a question of +bad digestion as of bad taste. They also show us that no one man or +set of men can rightfully lay claim to holding the one key which +unlocks the mysteries of nature, while insisting that the rules +governing their use of that key _must_ be adhered to by the rest of +the world. + +There are, however, certain laws which control every pictured +expression of nature and to which every eye and hand must submit if +even a semblance of expression is to be sought for. One of them is +truth. In this all schools concur, each one demanding the truth, or at +least enough of it to placate their consciences when they add to it a +sufficient number of lies of their own manufacture to make the subject +interesting to their special line of constituents. Among these I do +not class the lunatics who are to-day wandering loose outside of +charitable asylums especially designed for disordered and impaired +intellects, and whose frothings I saw at the last Autumn Salon. + +But to our text once more, taking up the first requirement; namely, +selection. + +By selection I mean the "cutting out entire" from the great panorama +spread out before you just that portion which appeals to you and which +you want to have appeal to your fellow men. + +Speaking for myself, I have always held that the most perfect +reproductions of nature are those which can be _selected_ any day, +under any condition of light, direct from the several objects +themselves, without arrangement and fore-shortenings or twistings to +the right and to the left. Nothing, in fact, seems to me so +astounding as that any human mind could for an instant suppose that it +can improve on the work of the Almighty. + +If it is a street, and if you wish to express its perspective, and the +bit of blue sky beyond, with a burst of sunlight illumining the +corner, the figures crowded against the light, forming a mass in +themselves, and it interests you at a glance, sit down and study it +long enough to find out what feature of the landscape impressed you at +_first sight_. If, as you look, the first impression becomes weakened, +perhaps it is because the immediate foreground, which at the first +glance was clear, is now dotted with passers-by, thus obscuring your +point of interest, or a cloud has passed over the sky, lowering the +whole tone, or the group of figures across the light has dispersed, +exposing the ugly right-angled triangle of the flat wall and street +level instead of the same lines being broken picturesquely with the +black dots of heads of the crowd itself. In a moment it is no longer a +composition of the same power that struck you at first. Perhaps while +you sit and wait the scene again changes, and something infinitely +more interesting, or the reverse, is evolved from the perspective +before you. And so it goes on, until this constantly changing +kaleidoscope repeats itself in its first aspect, until you have fairly +grasped its meaning and analyzed its component parts. Or until either +the effect that first delighted you, or the subsequent effect that +charmed you still more, becomes a fixed fact in your mind. That, then, +is the picture that you want to paint and that you are to paint +_exactly as you saw it_. And if you can reproduce it exactly as you +did see it, ten chances to one it will impress your fellow men. The +trouble is that when you sit down to paint it you are so often lost in +its detail that you forget its salient features, and by the time you +have finished and blocked up the immediate foreground with figures +that did not exist when you were first thrilled by its beauty, you +have either painted its least interesting aspect, or you have filled +that street so full of lies of your own that the policeman on the beat +could not recognize it. + +Of course, while all nature is interesting, there are parts of nature +more interesting than other parts, and since the skill of man is +inadequate to produce its more _humble_ effects, if I may so express +it, the painter should be on the lookout for her _dramatic_ air, in +order that when she is reproduced she may add that touch to her many +qualities, thus meeting the painter half-way. Even in the perspective +of a street, nature, in profound consideration of the devotee under +his umbrella, often gives him a deeper touch--one wall perhaps in +sudden brilliant light, while the vista of the street is in gloom made +by a passing cloud, she constantly calling out to the painter as he +works: "Watch me now and take me at my best." + +Or change this picture for an instant and note, if you please, the +flight of cloud shadows over a mountain slope or the whirl of a wind +flurry across a still lake. There are moments in all phenomena like +these where a great man rising to the occasion can catch them exactly, +as did Rousseau in the golden glow of the fading light through the +forest, or Corot in the crisp light of the morning, or Daubigny in the +low twilight across the sunken marshes where one can almost hear the +frogs croak. + +Selection, then, preceded by the deepest and closest thought as to +whether the subject is worth painting at all, becomes necessary, the +student giving himself plenty of time to study it in all its phases; +time enough to "walk around it," reviewing it at different angles; +noting the hour at which it is at its best and happiest, seizing upon +its most telling presentment--and all this before he begins even +_mentally_ to compose its salient features on the square of his +canvas. You can turn, if you choose, your camera skyward and focus the +top of a steeple and only that. It is true, but it is uninteresting, +or rather unintelligible, until you focus also the church door, and +the gathering groups, and the overgrown pathway that winds through the +quiet graveyard. So a picture can be true and yet very much like a +slip cut from a newspaper. For some men cut thus into nature, +haphazard, without care or thought, and produce perhaps a square +containing an advertisement of a patent churn, a railroad timetable, +and a fragment of an essay on art. Cut carefully and with selection, +and you may get a poem which will soothe you like a melody. + + * * * * * + +As to the value of the laws which govern the perfect composition, it +is unquestionably true that a correct knowledge of these laws makes +or unmakes the picture and establishes or ruins the rank of the +painter. No matter how careful the drawing, how interesting the +subject, how true the mass, how subtle the gradations of light and +shade, how perfect the expression of the figures, or how transparent +the atmosphere of a landscape, a want of this knowledge will defeat +the result. On the other hand, a good composition--one that "carries," +as the term is--one that can be seen across the room, if properly +composed will instantly excite your interest, even if upon near +inspection you are shocked by its crudities and faults. "I don't know +what it is," says a painter, "but it's good all the same." + +After your selection has been made, the next thing is to search for +its centre of interest. When this is found it is equally important to +weigh carefully the _quality_ of this centre of interest in order to +determine whether, as has been said, the subject is worth painting at +all. My own rule is to spend half the time I am devoting to my sketch +in carefully weighing the subject in its every detail and expression. + + * * * * * + +Many men, I am aware, have endeavored to prove that there are eight or +ten different forms of composition. My own experience and +investigation are, of course, limited, but so far I have only been +able to discover one, namely, the larger mass and the smaller mass: +the larger mass dominating the centre of interest, which catches your +eye instantly at first sight of a picture, and the smaller or less +interesting object which next attracts your eye, and so relieves the +vision and spares you the monotony of looking at a single object long +and steadily, thus fatiguing the eye and dissipating the interest. + + * * * * * + +Having determined upon the _quality_ of the subject-matter and fixed +its centre interest in pleasing relation to the whole, the next step +is to confine yourself to all that _the eyes see at one glance_ and no +more, or, in other words, that portion of the landscape which you +could cut out with the scissors of your eye and paste upon your mind. +That which you can see when your head is kept perfectly still, your +eye looking straight before you, only seeing so high, so low, and so +far to the right and left, without a strain. The great sweep of +vision, a sweep covering a hundred subjects perhaps, is obtained by +turning the eyes up or down or sideways. But to be true--that is, to +see one picture at a time--the eye should be fixed like the lens of a +camera, the limit of the picture being the range of the eye and no +more. A departure from this rule not only confuses your perspective +but crowds a number of points of interest into the square of your +canvas, when there is really only _one_ centre point before you in +nature; and this one point you must treat as does the electrician in +a theatre who keeps the lime-light on the star of the play. + + * * * * * + +Another requirement is rapidity of execution. I am not speaking of +figure-drawing. I can well understand why the model grows tired, +although the crude lay figure may not, and why the constant workings +over and again upon the figure subject, the mosaicing (if I may coin a +word) of the different points of the figure during the different hours +of the day and the different days of the week deep into the canvas, +may be necessary. + +I am speaking of outdoor, landscape work, for which only four hours, +at most, either in the morning or in the afternoon, can be utilized. +In this four hours nature keeps comparatively still long enough for +you to caress her with your brush, and if you would truly express what +you see, your work must be finished in that time. I can quite +understand that to the ordinary student this is a paralyzing +statement, but let us analyze it together for a moment and I think +that we shall all see that if it were possible for a human hand to +obey us as precisely as a human eye detects, the results on the canvas +would be infinitely more valuable, first, because the sun never stands +still and the shadows of one hour are not the shadows of the next; and +second, because this moving of the sun is affecting not only the mass +but the composition of the picture, one mass of buildings being in +light at ten o'clock and again in shadow at eleven. It is also +affecting its local color, the yellow of the afternoon sunlight +illumining and graying the silver-blue of the shadows, thus weakening +the force of positive shadows scattered through the composition. Of +course, to be really exact, there is only one moment in any one of the +hours of the day in which any one aspect of nature remains the same, +but since we are all finite we must do the best we can, and four +hours, in my experience, is all that a man can be sure of. + +We have, of course, the next day to continue in, but then the +landscape has changed. That delicate, transparent, gauzy cloud screen +that softened the sky light was, under the northwest wind of +yesterday, a clear, steely gray-blue, and the sun shining through it +made the sunlight almost white and the shadows a neutral blue; to-day +the wind is from the south and a great mass of soft summer clouds, +tea-rose color, drift over the clear azure, each one of which throws +its reflected light on every object over which they float. The half +you painted yesterday, therefore, will not match the half you must +paint to-day, and so if you will persist in working on your same +canvas you go on making an almanac of your picture, so apparent to an +expert that he can pick out the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday as you +daily progressed. If you should be fortunate enough to work under +Italian skies, where sometimes for days together the light is the +same, the skies being one expanse of soft, opalescent blue, you might +think under such influence it would be possible for you to perform the +great almanac trick successfully in your sketch. But how about +yourself? Are you the same man to-day that you were yesterday? If so, +perhaps you might also find yourself in exactly the same frame of mind +that existed when your sketch was half finished. But would you +guarantee that you would be the same man for a week? + +I believe we can maintain this position of the necessity of rapid work +in out-of-door sketches by looking for a moment at the product of the +best men of the last century, some of whom I have already mentioned. +Take Corot, for instance. Corot, as you know, spent almost his entire +life painting the early light of the morning. An analysis of his +life's work shows that he must have folded his umbrella and gone home +before eleven o'clock. My own idea is that many hundreds of his +canvases, which have since sold at many thousands of francs, were +perfectly finished in one sitting. This cannot be otherwise when you +remember that one dealer in Paris claims to have sold two thousand +Corots. These one-sitting pictures to me express his best work. In the +larger canvases in which figures are introduced--notably the one first +owned by the late Mr. Charles A. Dana, of New York, called "Apollo," I +believe--the treatment of the sky and foreground shows careful +repainting, and while the mechanical process of the brush, shown by +the over and under painting, the dragging of opaque color over +transparent, may produce certain translucencies which the more +forcible and direct stroke of the brush--one touch and no more--fails +to give, still the whole composition lacks that intimacy with nature +which one always feels in the smaller and more rapidly perfected +canvases. + +Note, too, the sketches of Frans Hals and see what power comes from +the sure touch of a well-directed brush in the hand of a man who used +it to express his thoughts as other men use chords of music or +paragraphs in literature. A man who made no false moves, who knew that +every stroke of his brush must express a perfect sentence and that it +could never be recalled. Really the work of such a master is like the +gesture of an actor--if it is right a thrill goes through you, if it +is wrong it is like that player friend of Hamlet's who sawed the air. + +This quality of "the stroke," by the by, if we stop to analyze for a +moment, is the stroke that comes straight from the heart, tingling up +the spinal column, down the arm, and straight to the finger-tips. Ole +Bull had it when his violin echoed a full orchestra; Paderewski has it +when he rings clearly and sharply some note that vibrates through you +for hours after; Booth had it when drawing himself up to his full +height as Cardinal Richelieu he began that famous speech, "Around her +form I draw the holy circle of our faith"--his upraised finger a +barrier that an army could not break down; Velasquez, in his +marvellous picture in the Museum of the Prado in Madrid of "The +Topers" ("Los Borrachos"); Frans Hals, in almost every canvas that his +brush touched; and in later years our own John Sargent, in many of his +portraits, but especially in his direct out-of-door studies, shows it; +as do scores of others whose sureness of touch and exact knowledge +have made their names household words where art is loved and genius +held sacred. + +And with this ability to record swiftly and surely there will come a +certain enthusiasm, fanned to white heat when, some morning, trap in +hand, you are searching for something to paint, your mind entirely +filled with a certain object (you propose to paint boats if you +please, and you have walked around them for minutes trying to get the +best view and deciding upon the all-important best possible +composition)--when, turning suddenly, you face a mass of buildings and +a sweep of river that instantly put to flight every idea concerning +your first subject, and in a moment a new arrangement is evolved and +you are working like mad. It is only under this pressure of +_enthusiasm_ that the best work is produced. + + * * * * * + +The coming landscape-painter will be a _four-hour man_, of thorough +knowledge, one who has most intimate and close acquaintance with +nature, one who can select and then seize the salient features of the +landscape, at a glance arranging them upon the square of his canvas, +in other words, composing them, the basis being the most expansive and +most picturesque grouping of the several details of the subject, +extracting at the same moment, at the same instant, with one sweep of +his eye, the whole scheme of local color, and then surely, clearly, +lovingly, and reverently making it breathe upon his canvas for other +souls to live by. + + * * * * * + +And how noble the ambition! + +In our present civilization some men are moved to philanthropy, some +to science, some to be rulers of men. Some men are brimful and running +over with harmonies that will live forever. Other men's hearts beat in +unison with the symphonies of the spheres, and Homer and Milton and +Dante become household words. You seek another expression of the good +that is in you. You will be painters and sculptors. Color, form, and +mass are to you what the pen, the sword, and the lute are to those +others who have gone before, or are now around you. Your mission is as +distinct as theirs, and it is as imperative that you should fulfil +it. Paint what you see and as you see it. Nothing more nor less. See +only the beautiful, and if you cannot reach that content yourself with +the picturesque. It is a first cousin but once removed. + + + + +MASS + + +The difference between composition and mass is that a composition is a +mere outline of pen or pencil, each object taking its proper place in +the square of a canvas, while mass is the filling in between these +outlines either of varied color or in lights or darks, their +gradations but so many guides to the spectator's eye marking not only +its perspective, form and atmosphere, but, if skilfully done, telling +the story of your subject at a glance. + +To do this the student must find the lightest light and darkest dark +in the subject before him and, having found it, adhere to it to the +end of his work. For as the sun dominates the sky and earth so do its +rays dominate parts of the whole, making more luminous than the rest +only one object upon which its light falls. To make this more +explicit it is only necessary to look at an egg upon a white +table-cloth. Here is a natural object devoid of local color except in +reflected lights, and yet you will find that where the round of the +egg reflects the light the highest light is found, while in the edge +of the shadow, where the egg turns into the round--between that high +light and the reflected light from the table-cloth, I mean--is found +its darkest dark. But only one portion of that shadow, a point as +large as the point of a pin, is the darkest dark. Everything else is +gradation, from the highest light to the lowest light, the lowest +light being almost a shadow; and from its darkest dark to its lightest +dark the lightest dark again being almost a light. + +In landscape art these problems are greatly simplified. The sun is +always the strongest light, and whatever comes against it, church +tower, rock, palace, or ship under full sail, is the darkest object. +In addition to this there is always some one point where the outdoor +painter can find a lesser supplementary light and near it a lesser +supplementary dark. Moreover, throughout the rest of the composition +these same lights and darks are echoed and re-echoed in constantly +decreasing gradations. + +You may apply these same tests everywhere in nature. Even in a gray +day, when the sun is not so positive a factor in distributing light, +and the shadows are so subtle that it is difficult to discover them, +there is always some mass of foliage, the silver sheen from an old +shingled roof, the glare of a white wall, which marks for the +composition its lightest light, while a corresponding dark can always +be found somewhere in the tree-trunks, under the overhanging eaves, or +in the broken crevices of the masonry. + +So it is with every other expression of nature. Even on a Venetian +lagoon, where the sky and water are apparently one (not really one to +the quick eye of an expert, the water always being one tone lower than +the sky--that is, more gray than the overbending sky)--even in this +lagoon you will find some one portion of the surface lighter than any +other portion; and in expressing it your eye first and your brush next +must catch in the opalescent sweep of delicious color under your eye +its exact quantity of black and white. By black and white I mean, of +course, that excess or absence of pure color which when translated +into pure black and white would express the meaning of the +subject-matter, as one of Raphael Morghen's engravings on steel gives +you the feeling and color in his masterly rendering of Da Vinci's +"Last Supper." + +In my judgment one of the great landscapes of modern times is the +picture by the distinguished Dutch painter, Mauve, known as "Changing +Pasture," which is now owned by Mr. Charles P. Taft, of Cincinnati. +Here the factor of mass is carried to its utmost limit. Sky one mass; +flock of sheep another mass; and the foreground, sweeping under the +sheep and beyond until it is lost in the haze of the distance, another +mass, or, if one chooses to put it that way, another broad gradation +of a section of the picture: the highest light being some +infinitesimal speck in the diaphanous silver sky, the strongest dark +being found somewhere in the foreground or in the flock of sheep. + +By a strict adherence to this law of one supreme light and one supreme +dark does Mauve's work, as it were, get back from and out of his +canvas, as from the record of a phonograph into which some soul has +breathed its own precise purpose and intent. + +So, too, does nature often call out to you fixing your attention, +often shrouding in shadow the unimportant in the landscape, while high +up above the gloom it holds up to your gaze a white candle of a +minaret or the bared breast of an Alpine peak reflecting the loving +look of a tired sunbeam bidding it good-night. + + * * * * * + +To accent the more strongly the value of this dominant light even +though it be treated in very low gradation, I recall that a year ago +the art world was startled by the sum received for a medium sized +picture of some coryphées painted by Degas, now an old man over eighty +years old--a subject which he always loved and, indeed, which he has +painted many times. Some thirty years ago, when he was comparatively a +young man, I saw, at the Bartholdi exhibition in New York, a picture +by this master of these same coryphées, two figures standing together +in the flies resting their weary, pink, fishworm legs as they balanced +themselves with their hands against the wabbling scenery. It was a +wholly gray picture, and almost in a monotone, and yet the flashes of +their diamond earrings, no larger than the point of a pin, were +distinctly visible, holding their place in, if not dominating, the +whole color scheme. + +Again, in that marvellous portrait of Wertheimer, the bric-à-brac +dealer, if you remember, the eye first catches the strong vermilion +touch on the lower lip, and then, knowing that a master like Sargent +would not leave it isolated, one finds, to one's delight and joy, a +little swipe of red on the tongue of the barely discernible black +poodle squatting at his feet. Had the red of the dog's tongue +predominated, we should never have been thrilled and fascinated by one +of the great portraits of this or any other time. + +This is also true in other great portraits--in, for instance, the +pictures of Rembrandt, Vandyck, and Frans Hals, especially where a +face is relieved by the addition of a hand and the white of a ruff. +Somewhere in that warm expanse of the face there can be found a +pinhead of color, brighter and more dominating than any other brush +touch on the canvas. It may be the high egg-light in the forehead, or +the click on the tip of the nose, or a fold of the white ruff; but +slight as it is and unnoticeable at first, because of it not only does +the head look round as the egg looks round when relieved by the same +treatment, but the attention is fixed. Unless this had been preserved, +the eye would have, perhaps, rested first on the hand, something +foreign to the painter's intention. + +Recalling again the law of the high light and strong dark, and +referring again to the value of the skilful manipulation of light and +shade forming the mass thereby expressing the more clearly the meaning +of a picture, I repeat that, while the eye is always caught by the +strongest dark against the strongest light, it is next caught by the +lesser supplementary light and lesser supplementary dark; and then, +if the painter is skilful enough in the management of the remaining +lesser lights and darks, the eye will run through the gradations to +the end, rebounding once more to the greater light and dark, exactly +in the order intended by the painter; thus unfolding to the spectator +little by little, quite as a plot of a novel is made clear, the story +which the painter had in his own mind to tell. This is effected purely +and entirely by the correct accentuations of the explanatory lights +and darks. One mistake in the management--that is, the accentuating of +the third light, if you please, instead of the second--will not only +confuse the eye of the spectator, but may perhaps give him an entirely +different impression from what was intended by the painter, just as +the shifting of a chapter in a novel would confuse a reader; and this, +if you please, without depending in any way upon either the drawing or +the color of the accessories. + +I can best illustrate this by recalling to your mind that marvellous +picture of the so-called literary school of England, a picture by Luke +Fildes known as "The Doctor" and now hanging in the Tate Gallery in +London, in which the whole sad story is told in logical sequence by +the artist's consummate handling of the darks and lights in regular +progression. + + * * * * * + +You will pardon me, I hope, if I leave the more technical details of +my subject for a moment that I may discuss with you one of the +peculiarities of the so-called art-loving public of to-day, notably +that section which insists that no picture should tell a story of any +kind. + +To my own mind this picture of Luke Fildes reaches high-water mark in +the school of his time, and yet in watching as I have done the crowds +who surge through the Tate Galleries and the National Gallery, it is +an almost every-day occurrence to overhear such contemptuous remarks +as "Oh, yes, one of those literary fellows," drop from the lips of +some highbrow who only tolerates Constable because of the influence +his example and work had on Corot and other men of the Barbizon +school. + +Another section lose their senses over pure brush work. + +A story of Whistler--one he told me himself--will illustrate what I +mean. Jules Stewart's father, a great lover of good pictures and one +of Fortuny's earliest patrons, had invited Whistler to his house in +Paris to see his collection, and in the course of the visit drew from +a hiding-place a small panel of Meissonier's, of a quality so high +that any dealer in Paris would have given him $30,000 for it. + +Whistler would not even glance at it. + +Upon Stewart insisting, he adjusted his monocle and said: "Oh, yes, +very good--_snuff-box style_." + +This affectation was to have been expected of Whistler because of his +aggressive mental attitude toward the work of any man who handled his +brush differently from his own personal methods, but saner minds may +think along broader lines. + +If they do not, they have short memories. Even in my own experience I +have watched the rise and fall of men whose technic called from the +housetops--a call which was heard by the passing throng below, many of +whom stopped to listen and applaud; for in pictures as in bonnets the +taste of the public changes almost daily. One has only to review +several of the schools, both in English and in Continental art, noting +their dawn of novelty, their sunrise of appreciation, their high noon +of triumph, their afternoon of neglect, and their night of oblivion, +to be convinced that the wheel of artistic appreciation is round like +other wheels--the world, for one--and that its revolutions bring the +night as surely as they bring the dawn. + +Not a hundred years have passed since the broad, sensuous work of +Turner, big in conception and big in treatment, was followed by the +more exact painters of the English school, many of whom are still at +work, notably Leader and Alfred Parsons, both Royal Academicians, and +of whom some contemporaneous critic insisted that they had counted the +leaves on their elm-trees fringing the polished water of the Thames. +They, of course, had only been eclipsed by the broader brushes of more +recent time, men like Frank Brangwyn and Colin Hunter, who have +yielded to the pressure of the change in taste, or of whom it would be +more just to say, have _set_ present taste, so that to-day not only +the afternoon of night, but the twilight of forgetfulness, is slowly +and surely casting long shadows over the more realistic men of the +eighties and nineties. + +What will follow this evolution of technic no man can predict. The +lessons of the past, however, are valuable, and to-day one touch of +Turner's brush is more sought for than acres of canvases so greatly +prized twenty years after his death. + +And this is not alone confined to the old realistic English school. In +my own time I have seen Verbeckoeven eclipsed by Van Marcke, +Bouguereau, Cabanel, and Gérôme by Manet, and Sir Frederick Leighton +by John Sargent--a young David slaying the Goliath of English technic +with but a wave of his magic brush--and, last and by no means least, +the great French painter Meissonier by the equally great Spanish +master Sorolla. + +I am tempted to continue, for the success of these men in the fulness +of the sunlight of their triumph, realists as well as impressionists, +was wholly due to their understanding of and adherence to the rules of +selection, composition, and mass which form the basis of these papers, +and which despite their differences in brush work they all adhered +to. + +In the late half of the preceding century Meissonier received $66,000 +for his "Friedland," a picture which cost him the best part of two +years to paint, and the expenditure of many thousands of francs, +notably the expense attendant upon the trampling down of a field of +growing wheat by a drove of horses that he might study the action and +the effect the better. Forty years later Sorolla received $20,000 for +two figures in blazing sunlight which took him but two days to paint, +the rest of his collection bringing $250,000, the whole exhibit of one +hundred and odd pictures having been visited by 150,000 persons in +thirty-two days. And he is still in the full tide of success, +pre-eminently the greatest master of the out-of-doors of modern times, +while to-day the work of Meissonier has fallen into such disrepute +that no owner dares offer one of his canvases at public auction except +under the keenest necessity. The first master expresses the refinement +of extreme realism, or rather detailism; the other is a pronounced +impressionist of the sanest of the open-air school of to-day. How long +this pendulum will continue to swing no one can tell. Both men are +great painters in the widest, deepest, and most pronounced sense; both +men have glorified, ennobled, and enriched their time; and both men +have reflected credit and honor upon their nation and their school. + +Meissonier could not only draw the figure, give it life and action, +keep it harmonious in color, perfect in its gradations of black and +white, but he had that marvellous gift of color analysis which +reproduces for you in a picture the size of the top of a cigar-box +every tone in the local and reflected light to be found, say, in the +folds of a cavalier's cloak, the pleats no wider than the point of a +stub pen. + +All this, of course, Sorolla ignores and, I am afraid, knowing the man +personally as I do, despises. What concerns the great Spaniard is the +whole composition alive in the blaze of the sunlight, the glare of the +hot sand and the shimmer of the blue, overarching sky, beating up and +down and over the figures, and all depicted with a slash of a brush +almost as wide as your hand. The first picture, the size of a +tobacco-box, you can hold between thumb and finger and enjoy, amazed +at the master's knowledge and skill. The other grips you from afar off +as you enter the gallery and stand startled and astounded before its +truth and dignity. In the first Meissonier tells you the whole story +to the very end. In the second Sorolla presents but a series of +shorthand notes which you yourself can fill in to suit your taste and +experience both of life and nature. + +Whether you prefer one or the other, or neither, is a matter for you +to decide. You pay your money or you don't, and you can take your +choice. The future only can tell the story of the revolution of the +wheel. In the next decade a single Meissonier may be worth its weight +in sheet gold and layers of Sorollas may be stored in attics awaiting +some fortunate auction. + +What will ensue, the art world over, before the wheel travels its full +periphery, no man knows. It will not be the hysteria of paint, I feel +assured, with its dabbers, spotters, and smearers; nor will it be the +litters of the cub-ists, that new breed of artistic pups, sponsors for +"The girl coming down-stairs," or "The stairs coming down the girl," +or "The coming girl and the down-stairs," it makes no difference +which, all are equally incoherent and unintelligible; but it will be +something which, at least, will boast the element of beauty which is +the one and only excuse for art's existence. I may not live to see +Meissonier's second dawn and I never want to see Sorolla's eclipse, +but you may. You have only to remember Turner's second high noon to be +assured of it. + + * * * * * + +And just here it might be well to consider this question of technic, +especially its value in obtaining the results desired. While it has +nothing to do with either selection, composition, or mass, it has, I +claim, much to do with the way a painter expresses himself--his tone +of voice, his handwriting, his gestures in talking, so to speak--and +therefore becomes an integral part of my discourse. It may also be of +service in the striking of a note of compromise, some middle ground +upon which the extremes may one day meet. + +To make my point the clearer, let me recall an exhibition in New York, +held some years ago, when the bonnets were five deep trying to get a +glimpse of a picture of half a dozen red prelates who were listening +to a missionary's story. Many of these devotees went into raptures +over the brass nails in the sofa, and were only disappointed when they +could not read the monogram on the bishop's ring. Later on, a highly +cultivated and intelligent American citizen was so entranced that he +bought the missionary, story and all, for the price of a brown-stone +front, and carried him away that he might enjoy him forever. + +One month later, almost exactly in the same spot hung another picture, +the subject of which I forget, or it may be that I did not understand +it or that it had no subject at all. If I remember, it was not like +anything in the heavens above, or the earth beneath, or the waters +under the earth. In this respect one could have fallen down and +worshipped it and escaped the charge of idolatry. With the exception +of a few stray art critics, delighted at an opportunity for a new +sensation, it was not surrounded by an idolatrous gathering at all. On +the contrary, the audience before it reminded me more of Artemas Ward +and his panorama. + +"When I first exhibited this picture in New York," he said, "the +artists came with lanterns before daybreak to look at it, and then +they called for the artist, and when he appeared--they threw things at +him." + +For one picture a gentleman gave a brown-stone front; for the other he +would not have given a single brick, unless he had been sure of +planting it in the middle of the canvas the first shot. The first was +Vibert's realistic picture so well known to you. The other was an +example of the modern French school or what was then known as advanced +impressionists. + +I shall not go into an analysis of the technic of the two painters. I +refer to them and their brush work here because of the undue value set +upon the way a thing is done rather than its value after it is done. + +Speaking for myself, I must admit that the value of technic has never +impressed me as have the other and greater qualities in a +picture--namely, its expression of truth and the message it carries of +beauty and often tenderness. I have always held that it is of no +moment to the world at large by what means and methods an artist +expresses himself; that the world is only concerned as to whether he +has expressed himself at all; and if so, to what end and extent. + +If the artist says to us, "I scumbled in the background solid, using +bitumen as an undertone, then I dragged over my high lights and +painted my cool color right into it," it is as meaningless to most of +us as if another bread-winner had said, "I use a Singer with a +straight shuttle and No. 60 cotton." What we want to know is whether +she made the shirt. + +Art terms are, however, synonymous with other terms and in this +connection may be of assistance. To make my purpose clear we will +suppose that "technic" in art is handwriting. "Composition," the +arrangement of sentences. "Details," the choice of words. "Drawing," +good grammar. "Mass, or light and shade," contrasting expressions +giving value each to the other. I hold, however, that there is +something more. The author may write a good hand, spell correctly, +and have a proper respect for Lindley Murray, but what does he say? +What idea does he convey? Has he told us anything of human life, of +human love, of human suffering or joy, or uncovered for us any fresh +hiding-place of nature and taught us to love it? Or is it only words? + +It really matters very little to any of us what the handwriting of an +author may be, and so it should matter very little how an artist +touches the canvas. + +It is true that a picture containing and expressing an idea the most +elevated can be painted either in mass or detail, at the pleasure of +the painter. He may write in the Munich style, or after the manner of +the Düsseldorf ready writers, or the modern French pothook and hanger, +or the antiquated Dutch. He can use the English of Chaucer, or +Shakespeare, or Josh Billings, at his own good pleasure. If he conveys +an intelligible idea he has accomplished a result the value of which +is just in proportion to the quality of that idea. + +To continue this parallel, it may be said that extreme realism is the +use of too many words in a sentence and too many sentences in a +paragraph; extreme impressionism, the use of too few. Neither, +however, is fundamental, and art can be good, bad, or indifferent +containing each or combining both. + +Realism, or, to express it more clearly, detailism, is the realizing +of the whole subject-matter or motive of a picture in exact detail. +Impressionism is the generalizing of the subject-matter as a whole and +the expression of only its salient features. + +The extreme realist or detailist of the Ruskin type has for years been +insisting that a spade was a spade and should be painted to look like +a spade; that a spade was not a spade until every nail in the handle +and every crack in the blade became apparent. + +The more advanced would have insisted on not only the fibre in the +wood, but the brand on the other side of the blade, had it been +physically possible to show it. + +In absolute contrast to this, there lived a man at Barbizon who +maintained that a spade was not a spade at all, but merely a mass of +shadow against a low twilight sky, in the hands of a figure who with +uncovered head listens reverently; that the spade is merely a symbol +of labor; that he used it as he would use a word necessary to express +a sentence, which would be unintelligible without it, and that it was +perfectly immaterial to him, and should be to the world, whether it +was a spade or a shovel so long as the soft twilight, and the reverent +figures wearied with the day's work, and the flat waste of field +stretching away to the little village spire on the dim horizon line +told the story of human suffering and patience and toil, as with +folded hands they listened to the soft cadence of the angelus. + +Which of these two methods of expression is correct--Ruskin or Millet? +Are there any laws which govern, or is it a matter of taste, fancy, or +feeling? Is it a matter of individuality? If so, which individual by +his methods tells us the most truths? Let us endeavor to analyze. + +I whirl through a mountain gorge and catch a glance through a +car-window--an impression. In the darkness of the tunnel it remains +with me. I see the great mass of white cumuli and against them the +dark cedars, the straggling foot-path and steep cliffs. I am impressed +with the sweep of the cloud form pressing over and around them. With +my eyes closed I paint this on my brain, and if I am great enough and +wide enough and deep enough I can subdue my personality and forget my +surroundings, and when opportunity offers I can express upon my canvas +the few salient facts which impressed me and should impress my fellow +men. If it is the silvery light of the morning, I am Corot; if the +day is gone and across the cool lagoon I see the ripple amid the tall +grass catching the fading color of the warm sky, I am Daubigny; if a +gray mist hangs over the hillside and the patches of snow half melted +express the warmth and mellowness of the coming spring, I am our own +Inness. + +Perhaps, however, I am not content. I am overburdened with curiosity. +I say to myself: "What sort of trees, pine or cedar?" I think, pine, +but I am uneasy lest they should be hemlock. Were the rocks all +perpendicular, or did not detached bowlders line the path? About the +clouds, were they not some small cirri beneath the zenith? My memory +is so bad--and so I stop the train and go back. Just as I expected. +The trees were spruce and the rocks were grass-grown and full of +fissures, and so I begin to paint and continue. I get the bark on the +trees, and the foliage until each particular leaf stands on end, and +the strata of the cliffs, and the very sand on the path. I crowd into +my canvas geology, botany, and the laws governing cloud forms. + +Being an ordinary mortal, my curiosity, my telescopic eyes, my +magnifying-glass of vision, my love of truth, my positive conviction +that it is a spruce and should not be painted as a pine, except +through rank perjury, all these forces together have undermined my +impression or, like thorns, have grown up and choked it. Being honest, +I am ready to confess that before returning to the spot I was in doubt +about the pine. But I am still ready to affirm that what I have +labored over is the exact counterfeit and presentment of nature, and +equally willing to denounce the public for not seeing it as I do. I +forget that I have been a boor and a vulgarian--that I have been +invited to a feast and that I have pried into mysteries which my +goddess would veil from my sight; that I have had the impertinence to +bring my own personal advice into the discussion; that I have insisted +that fissures, and leaves, and sand, and infinite detail were +necessary to this expression of nature's sublimity. + +Is it at all strange that the impression which so charmed me as I saw +it from my car-window has faded? Nature unrolled for me suddenly a +poem. For symbols she used a great mass of dark, sturdy trees against +a majestic cloud, a rugged cliff, and a straggling path. I have +ignored them all and insisted that "truth was mighty and must +prevail." I am a realist and "paint things as they are." Not so. I am +an iconoclast and have broken my god and cannot put together the +pieces. I have sacrificed a divine impression to a human realism. + +Suppose, however, that the painter who had this glimpse of nature +before entering the tunnel was no ordinary man, but a man of steadfast +mind, of firm convictions, of a sure touch, with an absolute belief +in nature, and so reverential that he dare not offer even a suggestion +of his own. He has seen it; he has felt it; it has gone down deep into +his memory and heart. The cloud, the cliff, the mass, the path--that +is all. And it is enough. The annoyances of the day, the seductions of +fresh impressions of newer subjects, the weakness of the flesh do not +deter him. With a single aim, to the exclusion of all else, and with a +direct simplicity, he records what he saw, and lo! we have a poem. +Such a man was Courbet, Corot, Dupré. + +But one would say: That may answer for landscape: what about the +figure-painter? Let us counsel together. + +A man only rises to his own level. In art, as in music and literature, +he only expresses himself. Each selects his own method. The school of +Meissonier is not content with a few grand truths simply expressed. +They want a multitude of facts; they must tell the story in their own +way. They are the Dickens and Walter Scott of art. It is iteration and +reiteration. My cardinal must not only have red stockings, says +Vibert, but they must be silk; every detail must be elaborated. Very +well, what of it? you say. What do you criticise, the drawing? No. The +color? No. The composition? No. Does the painter express himself? +Perfectly. What then? Just this. He expresses himself too perfectly. +At first I am delighted. The story is so well told--the well-fed +prelates; the half-sneer; the cynical smile; the earnest missionary +telling his experience. But the next day?--well, he is still telling +it. By the end of the week the enjoyment is confined to allowing him +to tell it to a fresh eye, and that eye another's, and watching his +pleasure. At the end of the year it becomes a part of the decoration +of the wall. You perhaps feel that the frame needs retouching, and +that is all the impression it makes upon you, except as would an old +timepiece with the mainspring gone. The works are exquisite and the +enamelling charming, but it has been four o'clock for forty years. + +In the library, however, hangs an etching which you often look at; in +fact, you never pass it without noticing it. Two figures, a +wheelbarrow, a spade, a stretch of country, a spire pencilled against +a low-tone sky; and yet, somehow, you hear the tolling of the bell and +the whispered prayer. Ah! but you say this has nothing to do with the +treatment; it is the subject. One moment. The missionary's story is as +full of pathos and of human suffering and courage as the "Angelus," +and at first as profoundly stirs our sympathy; but, in one, Vibert has +monopolized the conversation; he has exhausted the subject; he has +told you everything he knows. Nothing has been omitted; nails, +monograms, and all; there is nothing left for you to supply--he is not +so complimentary. But Millet has taken you into his confidence. He +says: "Come, see what I once saw. Do you ever remember any such couple +working in the field?" And you immediately, and unconsciously to +yourself, remember just such a bent back and reverent, uncovered head. +Where, you cannot tell, for the picture comes to you out of the dim +lumber-room in your brain where you store your old memories and faint +impressions of bygone days and sad faces. + +But if he added, "See, my peasant wears a woollen jacket trimmed with +worsted braid," your impression would immediately fade. You might +remember the jacket, but the braid, never. But for this it would have +been delightful for you, although unconsciously, to add your own sweet +memory to the picture. + +Another impression choked to death with unnecessary realism. + +But be you realist or impressionist, remember that a true work of art +is that which has pleased _the greatest number of people for the +longest period of time_; that the love of beauty indicates our highest +intellectual plane, and that if you will express to your fellow +sinners burdened with life's cares something of the enthusiasm of your +own life, and will assist them to see their mother earth through your +own eyes in constantly increasing beauty--you having by your art, in +your possession, the key to the cipher, and interpreting and +translating for them--you will confer upon them one of the greatest +blessings which fall to their lot on this mundane sphere. + + + + +WATER-COLORS + + +Color, if you stop to think, is really the decorative touch which God +gives to the universe. It would have been just as easy to make +everything gray--every rose but the shadow of itself--every tree and +rock and cloud a monotone of gradation. Instead of that, everything we +look at, from a violet to an overbending sky, is enriched and +glorified by millions of color tones as infinite in their gradation as +the waves of sound and light. Even in the grayest days, when the +clouds are bursting into tears and the whole landscape is desolate as +the barrenest and bleakest of mountain sides, these infinite +gradations of color permeate and redeem its barrenness, and to the +true painter fill it with joy and beauty. + +There are many of us, however, who are not true painters and to whom +the most exquisite of color schemes are but dull results. Many of us +walk around our galleries passing the best pictures in silence; others +ridicule what they cannot understand. Even our own beloved Mark Twain, +whose heart was always open to the best and warmest of human +impressions, and who expressed them in every line of his pen, when led +up to one of Turner's masterpieces, "The Slave Ship," a glory of red, +yellow, and blue running riot over a sunset sky, the whole reflected +in a troubled sea, remarked to his companion: "Very wonderful! Seen it +before. Always reminds me of a tortoise-shell cat having a fit in a +plate of tomato soup." + +The education of such barbarians belongs to our generation and should +be taken up by those of us who know or think we do. For true color is +as great an educator as true music. This knowledge of color harmony, +this matching and contrasting of different colors, but very few men +and women possess. When they do, it is generally inherited and thus a +natural gift. The rest of the world wear blue and purple, or orange +and green, entirely ignorant of the harmonies of nature even as +bearing on their domestic surroundings. For myself, I have always held +that the most perfect harmonies required in either wall decoration, +furniture, dress goods, or any other fabrics that color enters into, +have their exact counterpart in some color tones of nature--that the +russet-browns and yellows of autumn; the contrasting opalescent hues +of a morning sky, rose-pink, pale blue, or delicate tea-rose yellow; +the gloom of a forest with its yellow-grays and blue-grays, the +gray-green moss of the lichens, the brown of the tree-trunks, the +black and gray hues of the rocks, all these, if carefully studied and +analyzed and reproduced, would make beautiful anything in the world +from a bonnet to a château. To illustrate: + +Several years ago an intimate friend of mine, a distinguished +architect of New York, the late Mr. Bruce Price, in designing a number +of cottages at Tuxedo sought in vain for some color mixture current in +the paint-shops with which to cover the outside of his buildings. All +schemes of browns, olive-greens, colonial yellow with white trimmings +and the reverse, Pompeiian reds, slate-grays, and dull yellows +resulted in making "spots" of the houses, so that the effect he wished +to produce, that of the houses being merged into the forest, was lost. +Mr. Price was not only an architect, but he was an artist as well. He +had little skill with his brush, but he had that innate good taste, +with a keen eye to discern the subtle gradations in color, that only +needed change of occupation to make him a painter. One day, looking at +a new bare wooden cottage--unpainted as yet--in contrast to a mass of +foliage in the early autumn before the leaves had begun to turn, in +which the yellow-grays one often sees predominated, he suddenly +thought to himself: "The tree-trunks and underbrush do not stand out; +they are all of one piece, each keeping its place, while my house"--as +he rather inelegantly but forcibly expressed it--"sticks up like a +sore thumb." Later, this very clever man made an analysis of the local +color in these several grays, and his subsequent matching and +combining of these different tints resulted in the exact tones of the +forest before him, and when this was completed and the house painted +you felt should you enter the front door that the leaves must be over +your head. + +Bringing the discussion down to more practical details, really to the +palettes which we hold in our hands, the question then naturally +arises as to how best to express true local color, with its varying +blues, yellows, and reds, and especially its varying grays. + +In my own experience I find grays to be the prevailing tones +everywhere in nature. + +I find also that the great masters of modern art, particularly the +school of 1830, known as the Barbizon school, and represented by such +men as Rousseau, Corot, Daubigny, Diaz, and Millet, and later by men +who in some degree represent that school, but to my mind have done +work equally good--even Monténard and Cazin--that all these masters +have loved, sought for, and expressed in their work this +all-prevailing quality, the gray. + +A few very simple rules for testing the power, presence, and quality +of the prevailing gray in nature are so easily learned and so +convincing in their application that once applied they are never +forgotten. + +Take, for instance, a morning in late spring or early summer, when all +nature is dressed from tree-top to grass-blade in a suit of vivid +green. To a tyro with so dangerous a weapon as a color-box, there is +nothing that will really bring down this game but some explosive +composed of indigo and Indian yellow, or Prussian blue and light +cadmium--perhaps the strongest mixture of vivid raw green. + +Now, pluck a single leaf from a near-by branch, hold it close to one +eye, and with this as a guide note the difference in color tones +between it and the leaves on the tree from which you plucked the leaf +and which you had believed to be a vivid green. To your surprise, the +leaf itself, even with the sun shining through it, is many tones lower +and grayer than the color of the near-by branch as depicted on your +paper, while the near-by branch, in comparison, pales into a sable +gray-green, which you could perhaps get with yellow ochre, blue-black, +and a touch of chrome-yellow. + +It does not seem to me that I can better illustrate this quality of +the gray than by rapidly going over some of the works of George Inness +lately on exhibition in New York--certainly to me the most marvellous +examples of the power of a human mind to harmonize the subtle +colorings of nature. I select Inness not only because he is to me one +of the great landscape-painters of his day, but because he chooses a +very wide range of subjects, from early morning to twilight, +expressing these truthfully, absolutely, perfectly, so far as local +color is concerned--that is, of course, as I see through either my own +spectacles or Inness's; but, then, remember, our eyes may need repair. +When these canvases are analyzed we find in the range of color nothing +stronger than yellow ochre in yellows, than light red in reds, and, +with hardly an exception, blue-black for blues. Indeed, his usual +palette, as does Mauve's and Cazin's, seems to me to be only yellow +ochre and blue-black, and with these two colors he expresses the +whole range of the color scheme in nature, with the varying lights of +day and night, except in depicting sunsets. + + * * * * * + +After the salient features of a landscape have been analyzed and +recorded in color, the more subtle qualities are to be detected and +expressed. The most important of these is the time of day. To an +outdoor painter--an expert examining the work of another expert--the +hour-hand is written over every square inch of the canvas. He knows +from the angle of the shadows just how high the sun was in the +heavens, and he knows, too, from the local color of the shadows +whether it is a silvery light of the morning, the glare of noontime, +or the deepening golden glow of the afternoon. In fact, if you will +think for a moment, the shadow of an overhanging balcony upon a white +wall is a perfect sun-dial for him, and this test can be indefinitely +applied to every part of the picture. + +The next is the temperature: how hot or how cold it was--what month in +the year? It is unnecessary for Inness to cover his ground with snow +to make his picture express a certain degree of cold, neither is it +necessary for Monténard to fill his Provençal roads with clouds of +dust to show how hot they are. This is done by the opalescent tones of +the sky, by the values expressed in reflected lights and in the +illuminated shadows, so that you feel in looking across one of +Inness's fields of brown grass just how late is the autumn and just +how cool it has been, and in looking down one of Monténard's roads you +realize how useless would be an overcoat. + +[Illustration: Under the Willows, Cookham-on-Thames] + +In this connection let me say that all nature is interesting and all +nature is beautiful, but all nature, as I have said, is not paintable. +The interior of a railroad station, for instance, is interesting, +as giving you certain mechanical results, construction, but it is not +picturesque--that is, paintable--unless one could treat it as Pennell +does, contrasting the black cars and locomotive with a puff of white +steam, giving the vistas with the perspective of track, and a centre +mass of people adding an idea of movement and color. + +Above all, the outdoor painter should get the character and feeling of +the place he portrays on his canvas. If in Spain, his picture must +look like Spain. The air must be transparent, the architecture +clean-cut against the azure. If it be Holland, the atmosphere must be +moist, the air like a veil, and with all this there must be nothing in +the work that will be mistaken for the smoke-laden air of England. +Only thus, by this fidelity to the very nature and spirit of a place, +can the picture be made to express the essence of its life, which is +really the heart of the whole mystery. + +Coming at last to our text, Water-Colors--the art of depicting nature +on a sheet of white paper by paints diluted with water--it will be +well to remind you that the art goes back to almost prehistoric times. +A few weeks ago, in the library of Mr. Jesse Carter, director of the +American Academy in Rome, I saw one of the earliest water-colors in +existence. It was painted upon a sheet of slate, and, although some +thousands of years old, still retained its color and remarkable +brilliancy. The subject was a group of figures, the centre object +being a girl of wonderful grace. + +The present art of water-color painting, with a sheet of white paper +as background instead of the permanent stone, is, however, but little +more than one hundred and fifty years old, and owes its existence +largely to the men of the English school. + +Mr. C. E. Hughes, in his delightful book on "Early English Water +Color," confined this English school to the men born between the +years 1720 and 1820. + +In this group he places the great Gainsborough, who from 1760 to 1774 +worked "in charcoal and water-color on tinted paper," which he said he +"loved to dash off of an evening, and which dazzled the fine ladies +and gentlemen who frequented the select watering-place of Bath," where +he was then living. + +Then came Robert Cozens, the brothers Sanby, Thomas Hearne, Thomas +Malton, Samuel Scott, and a few others, all known as the +eighteenth-century painters. + +These were succeeded by Thomas Girtin, who was born in 1775 and died +at twenty-seven years of age; and the great J. M. W. Turner, who first +saw the light in the same year, and on the day on which all great +Englishmen should be born--namely, April 23--a day dedicated to St. +George and the birthday of William Shakespeare. + +Girtin and Turner worked together. Girtin, measured by the standard of +to-day, was an extreme impressionist, leaving behind him sketches +dashed in with an appearance of freedom which Peter DeWint and David +Cox might have envied when in after years they were at the height of +their power. Turner, on the contrary, devoted his time to acquiring +that triumphant grasp of detail which caused him to be known in his +earlier life as an extreme realist. + +The change in Turner's work--the broader brush--came in his later +years when oil became his medium of expression, in which, no doubt, +his ability to note and yet sacrifice all unnecessary detail was a +potent factor. + +A list of Englishmen greatly prized in their day now follows. Such men +as John Varly, Gilpin, Glover, William Havell (all of whom during some +part of their careers were members of the first Water Color Society +formed in England, in 1804, which body still survives in the old +Water Color Society whose rooms are still open on Pall Mall East) rose +into prominence, their works finding places both in private and public +collections. + +This society was in turn succeeded by the New Society of Painters in +Miniature and Water Colors, which came into being in 1807 and went out +of existence in 1812--a victim, says Hughes, of the condition of +public apathy which brought about in the same year a reconstruction of +the older organization under the joint title of the Oil and Water +Color Society, and which eked out a precarious existence until the +birth of the association now known as the Royal Institute for Painters +in Water Colors. + +Other names now confront us, among them two men, David Cox and Peter +DeWint, who in their day were considered masters of the medium. These +last struck a new note in water-color, or rather a new technic in its +handling. What Ruskin, the realist, in his "Modern Painters" describes +as "blottesque" was at that time looked upon by both teachers and +students as the one and only means by which white paper could be +properly stained. This method, to quote from a loyal believer in the +English transparent school, and whose enthusiasm is delightful, was +the laying on of the color in washes which filled certain definite +spaces indicated by a pen-and-ink outline. + +These washes would indicate, say, a distant tree with a preliminary +tint and a subsequent elaboration; he would do it all in one process, +giving his blot an irregular edge and allowing the color to accumulate +where the shadows required it. His elaborative touches elsewhere were +of the same nature. They were brush blots as distinct from washes. To +this, I think, we may attribute on analysis the freedom of handling +which--though each man has his distinctive method--is characteristic +of both Cox and DeWint. If we add to these two methods of using the +brush a third--its manipulation as though it were a pen--we shall have +all the fluid processes on one or the other of which the beauty of all +modern water-color drawings depends. A fourth process is rubbing the +color into the grain of the paper. A fifth--a supplementary one--is +scratching out. Last is the ignominy of the stipple--the wetting of +the brush in the mouth, a technic entirely dependent upon the quantity +of saliva the student can spare for his work. Almost every early wash +water-color in existence can be classified according to the employment +in its making of some or all of these means. + +In later years, especially in the last half of the eighteenth century, +we have Copley Fielding; Prout, with his picturesque sepia drawings, +the detail of his architecture in brown ink; Harding; Bonnington, +really a great man; Clarkson Stanfield; Rowbotham; David Roberts; +James Holland; Cattermole, who declined a knighthood and whose +intimates were Dickens, Disraeli, and Thackeray; and so on down to the +men of to-day, who are so well and ably represented in the annual +exhibitions of the Royal Academy and the present English Water Color +Societies. + + * * * * * + +As for our own progress in the art, the subject, of course, is too +well known for long discussion. Our oldest society, the American Water +Color Society, held its first public exhibition in the National +Academy of Design in New York in 1867, a date always remembered by me +with infinite pride and pleasure, for upon the walls of the smallest +room close up under the roof was hung my first exhibited +water-color--the only one of my three the hanging committee were good +enough to accept. Two years later--I am happy to say--in 1869, I was +elected a member, and I am further happy to say that I am still in +good standing and in high-hanging, and have so continued from that day +down to the present time--a trifle of some forty-six years. + +As to my compatriots, I can truthfully say that its membership covers +some of the great water-colorists of our own or any other time, both +here and abroad--men entirely free to do as they pleased, working in +anything and all things so long as, to use their own expression, they +"get there," handling body color, in a veil of silver-gray as an +overwash or squeezed in chunks from a tube; undertones of charcoal +gray, overtones of pastel--anything for _quality_. + +Their names are legion: the late E. A. Abbey, Walter Palmer, Chase, +the late Robert Blum, F. S. Church, Cooper, Curran, Eaton, Farrer, the +two Smillies, Childe Hassam, Keller, Murphy, Nicoll, Potthast, the +late Henry Smith, etc., etc. + +These are but a haphazard choice of the men whose work shows the +widest ranges in selection, composition, mass, and technic, and who, +in the world of water-color painting, are masters of the medium. + +As to our progenitors, the English water-color school--and I make the +statement with every respect for their high accomplishments--while I +believe we are indebted to them for the very existence of the art +itself, I must say that our own men and art-lovers the world over +would have been vastly benefited had these Englishmen allowed +themselves a little more freedom in their methods and not followed so +blindly the traditions of their past. + +That we broke away so early is as much a question of race as of +training. The last idea that enters the heads of our own men is that +they want either to paint or to draw like somebody else. They all want +to paint like themselves, or they do not want to paint at all. They +are so many art sponges. They go abroad, wander about the Grosvenor +and the exhibitions, run over to Paris and haunt the Salon and shops, +and so on to Munich and Berlin, picking up a technical touch here or a +new idea of grouping or mass or color scheme there, and then, having +thoroughly absorbed it all, return home and use whatever suits them; +but a slavish imitation of any one English, French, or German +master--never; neither do they follow any other brush at home. They do +not believe in each other sufficiently to pay the highest form of +flattery--imitation. + +Nor do many of them find their subjects abroad--a habit practised +these many years by your humble speaker, whose only excuse is that he +_must_ paint, no matter where he is, and that his life in the +summer-time is dominated by his two children, both exiles, and more +exactingly still in late years by two little grandboys who have not as +yet crossed the ocean. No, these young American painters, with hardly +an exception, find their subjects at home, and they choose wisely. + +And just here it can be said that if we are ever to have a school that +will leave its impress on the art of the world, the task will be the +easier if our men find their subjects at home--if they will show our +own people the beauty, dignity, and grandeur of the material that lies +under their very eyes, and also teach those fellows on the other side +to respect us, both because we can paint and because we have the +things to paint from. With a mountain and river scenery unrivalled on +the globe; with rock-bound coasts breaking the full surge of an ocean; +with forests of towering trees compared to which in girth and height +the trees of all other lands are but toothpicks; with plains ending in +films of blue haze and valleys sparkling with myriads of waterfalls; +with every type of the human race blended in our own, or distinct as +are the woodman of Maine and the soft-eyed mulatto of Louisiana; with +a history filled with traditions most romantic--Aztec, Indian, and +negro; with women who move like Greek goddesses and children whose +faces are divine, why go away from home to find something to paint? +Winslow Homer never did, and that's why his work will live when the +painters of Egyptian harems, Spanish dancers, and Dutch and Venetian +boats and palaces are forgotten. + +To take a specific example or two, what subject, for instance, is more +worthy of a great master's brush than Homer's "Undertow," two +half-drowned young bathers locked in each other's arms, the two +beachmen dragging them clear of the mighty, blue-green wave curving +behind them? Here is a subject of almost weekly occurrence on our +coast. Who ever thought of painting it before? And that marvellous +picture of "The Cotton Pickers." This, to me, was the first clear +note Homer had sounded. The "Prisoners to the Front," painted just +after the war, was a strong, realistic picture, true and forceful in +color and composition, and, of course, admirable in drawing, but that +was all. It told its story at once, and having heard it to the end you +acknowledged its truth and went away content. But "The Cotton Pickers" +left something more in your mind. The gray dawn of the morning dimly +lighted up a field of cotton, the negro quarters on the horizon line; +dotted here and there, bending over the bolls, were groups of negroes, +singly and in pairs, filling their bags; in the foreground walked two +young negro girls, the foremost a dark mulatto--the whole story of +Southern slavery written in every line of her patient, uncomplaining +face. + +This picture alone placed Homer in the first rank of American painters +of his day, and he has never lost this place, for not only was the +picture all it should be in composition and mass, but, unlike many of +Homer's pictures of an earlier period, it was deliciously gray and +cool in tone. It places him also in the front rank of the painters of +our time. Jules Breton never gave us anything more pleasing, and never +anything stronger in drawing, more true to life, or more poetic in +conception and treatment. I mention Breton because, of the men on the +other side, he is the only one who affects, so to speak, a similar +line of subjects. Breton loves his peasants and paints them as if he +did. Homer loved his subjects entirely in the same spirit. How +unequally the two men have been rewarded you all know. An all-wise +American who some years ago offered $40,000 for a Breton at auction +could not at the time have been induced to give one-tenth of that +amount for a Homer; and yet, for vigor, truth, sentiment, and +technic--yes, technic, for this picture was superbly painted--"The +Cotton Pickers," in my judgment, will outlive the other if the time +should ever come when picture-buyers think for themselves. + +The Englishman, on the other hand, is the hardest man to pull out of a +groove. What _has been_ is good enough for him, whether in +architecture, art, politics, or government. Any one who objects, or +seeks to improve or to point out a new and different way, is +"anathema." It is hardly more than twenty years ago that John Sargent, +whose works are often the strongest drawing card in the annual +exhibitions, was ignored by the jury of the Royal Academy. + +"A slap-dash sort of a painter, my dear boy. Most dangerous to allow +his things to come in. No drawing, you know, no finish--altogether out +of the question." So spoke a Royal Academician when the question was +broached. + +Whistler never found a vacant spot, no matter how high, where he could +hang even a 10 x 14. + +"A mountebank in paint, my dear sir. Think of giving him a place +alongside of Sir Frederick Leighton! Impossible! Absolutely +impossible!" That the Luxembourg exhibited his portrait of his mother, +and that the art critics of Europe voted it "one of the greatest +portraits of modern times," made no difference. These Royal wiseacres +knew better. Some of them still think they know better, a fact easily +ascertained when you walk through the Exhibition, as I do every +summer, and have continued to do for the past thirty years. + +And this adherence to tradition is not confined entirely to technic--I +refer now to many of the English painters of to-day--but appears in +their choice of subjects as well. It is the _subjects_ which have been +successful--that is, which have been _sold_--that must be painted over +and over. Anything new is a departure, and a departure from the +standard in the selection of a subject is as dangerous as a departure +in the cut of a coat or the color of one's gloves--or was as dangerous +until Sargent, Abbey, Frank Brangwyn, and men of that ilk smashed the +current idols and taught men a new religion. A small congregation, it +is true, but big enough for them to gather together to sing hymns of +praise and pray for better things. + +Let me illustrate what I mean by conforming to the standard. Three +years ago I was painting near a village, an hour from Paddington--a +lovely spot on the River Thames. This quaint settlement is one of +those little, waterside, old-fashioned-inn places, all drooping trees, +punts, millions of roses, tumble-down cottages, stretches of meadows +with the silver thread of the Thames glistening in the sunlight. There +is also a bridge, a wonderful old brick bridge, stepping across on +three arches, mould-incrusted, blackened by time, masses of green +rushes clustered about its feet--a most picturesque and lovable +bridge, known to about everybody who has ever visited that section of +England. + +I had been there for a week, making my headquarters at the White Hart, +when my attention was attracted to a man across the river--it is quite +narrow here--a painter, evidently, who seemed to be surrounded by a +collection of canvases. He went through the same motions every day, +and then my curiosity got the better of me and I went over to see him. + +Spread out on the grass lay eight canvases, all of one size, and each +one containing a picture of the old brick bridge. + +"But why eight all alike?" I asked in astonishment. + +"Because I can't sell anything else. I am known as the Sonning Bridge +painter. I've been at it for twenty years." + +It is with this sort of thing, either in the selection of a subject, +in its treatment, or in its handling, that I have but little sympathy, +even though the great Ruskin, in speaking of this same English +water-color school, the one I have catalogued for you, insists that it +is the only "true school of landscape which has yet existed," an +appreciation which is followed by the outburst that "from the last +landscape of Tintoret, if we look for life we will pass at once to the +first landscape of Turner." It is, of course, only one of Ruskin's +dictatorial statements, admirable when written, because it was read +and approved by a class who knew no better and who accepted his words +as other blind devotees obeyed the Delphic Oracle--statements, +however, which are rejected by many of to-day who think for themselves +and who think clearly, having the world's work spread open before them +from which to judge. + +Once in wandering around the Academia of Venice, taking in for the +fiftieth time Titian's masterpiece, I came across an Englishman who +had paused in his walk and was adjusting his long-distance +telescope--a monocle glued just under his left eyebrow. Mistaking my +red-backed sketch-book for a Baedeker, he said, in an apologetic tone: + +"Pardon me--I've left mine at home--but will you be good enough to +tell me what Mr. Ruskin says about that picture?" + + * * * * * + +That I have personally refused to follow either Mr. Ruskin or the +example of the men he places on so high a pinnacle--I am now referring +entirely to their technic--is due to my having painted all my life +out-of-doors, the best place in which a man can study nature at close +range. This experience has taught me that weight and solidity are as +important in the rendering of a natural object as air and perspective, +and that the _staining of paper with washes of transparent color does +not and cannot give them_. + +Nor can any brilliant light, a crisp, snapping light--a glint of the +sun's rays, for instance, on the break of the surf, or on the round of +a glossy leaf, reflecting like a mirror the opaque sky--ever be +achieved by careful working around the edges of an unwashed speck of +paper--the transparent man's only means of expressing a high light. + +Nor will a single dab of Chinese white produce the effect of it, +should it be the _only_ dab of opaque white in the composition. The +result in this case is still worse, for if transparent color has any +value when uniformly distributed it is in the expression of air and +perspective. The dab, then, is instantly out of plane, as it comes +nearer to the eye than the transparent wash about it, and the illusion +of distance is accordingly lost. + +But another and quite a different thing occurs when the opaque color +_forms part_ of the whole, the two systems blending each with the +other. To illustrate, my own experience has taught me that in nature +whatever the sun shines _upon_ is opaque. The façade of a cathedral, +for instance, facing a sky where the rays of the sun strike it full is +opaque, while the angles of the architecture, casting shadows large +and small into which sink the blue reflections of the sky or the +reflected lights from near-by objects, are invariably transparent. + + * * * * * + +And now for my own system and the reasons why I have abandoned all +other systems. And in giving them to you I want to repeat what I said +in the beginning of this course, that I do not ask you students to +follow in my footsteps if your predilections, training, and innate +consciences lead you to a different view of treatment. Many of you may +not like my work at all, and you certainly have a large following, +especially among the younger men and women who have advanced ideas. +Many of you hold to the opinion that water-color men should stick to +their trade and not encroach upon the oil painters in their technic. +And many of you may at heart prefer, nay, even delight in, the broad, +loose washes of the early English school. + +There may be a few of you, however, who have open minds free from +prejudice and free from the traditions of the past, and who are +dissatisfied with the want of "virility," if I may so express it, +shown in pictures painted on white paper, and with successive +washings, and may accordingly see something in my own methods which +may encourage you to follow in the path which I have cleared and which +I humbly trust will lead to infinitely better results than I have so +far achieved. + +And in this you must have the courage of your opinions and be prepared +for criticisms. Those who are against me are more numerous than those +who are for me and my methods. + +Only last month a distinguished New York daily paper, in reviewing a +recent exhibition, said: + +"There really is nothing left to say about Mr. Smith's water-colors. +They appear with such unfailing regularity and are always so much the +same. Nothing in the present collection will surprise those who know +his work--and who does not? The artist's facility is undiminished, his +industry untiring, but to look for any fresh inspiration in his work +or a hint of anything but a conventional vision has long been a vain +hope." + +I should be discouraged if I thought that this was the last word on my +work. I know better, because I am making a collection of such +criticisms, showing the rating of our several painters. These summings +up of mine will be extremely valuable as marking the changing taste of +the public; for I have never supposed that either ill will or +downright ignorance formed the basis of current criticism. The critics +are merely expressing the trend of public opinion. It is not new to +our age. Diaz, so one story goes, once came stumping (he had lost one +leg) into Millet's cottage at Barbizon fresh from the Salon. Millet +had been painting nudes--the most exquisite bits of flesh-painting +seen for many a day, and as modest as Chabas "September Morn." + +"What do they say of my things?" asked Millet. + +"That you are still painting naked women," replied Diaz. + +Millet was horrified. + +"I paint naked women! I never painted one in my life." + +Hence "The Angelus" and "The Sowers" and the other masterpieces of +clothed peasants. + +In 1825 Constable writes in answer to a scurrilous attack made on his +so-called "puerile" efforts: + +"Remember the great were not made for me, nor was I for the great. My +limited and abstractive art is to be found under every hedge and in +every lane, and therefore nobody thinks it worth while picking up. My +art flatters nobody by imitation: it courts nobody by smoothness: it +tickles nobody by politeness: it is without either fol-de-rol or +fiddle-de-dee. How can I hope to be popular?" + +Ruskin's attack on Whistler is another case in point. A lawsuit +followed and Whistler recovered one farthing damages, and had the +effrontery to dangle it under the great critic's nose that same night +at a reception where they both met, followed by the remark: + +"Beat you, old man." + +Even Mr. Thackeray went out of his way in his "art notes" to belittle +and ridicule Sir Thomas Lawrence because he lacked what he called the +"virility of his progenitors and associates." + + * * * * * + +And now for my own system. + +I use a heavy, gray charcoal paper, which is made by Dupré & Company, +No. 141 Faubourg St. Honoré, Paris, and which costs about ten cents +per sheet, measuring about 40 x 30 inches each. This paper is evenly +ribbed but without the intermittent bands seen often in the lighter +charcoal paper, known as "Michelet," sold everywhere in our own art +stores. Dupré will send this paper to anybody who applies for it. + +This paper I wet on _both_ sides and thumb-tack over an oil canvas the +size of the picture to be painted. It dries tight as a drum, and the +canvas backing protects it from puncture or other injury. + +On this surface I make _a full and complete drawing in charcoal_ of +the subject before me, not in outline, but in strong darks, jet-black, +many of them--a finished drawing really, in charcoal, which could be +signed and framed. This is then "fixed" by a spray of alcohol and gum +shellac, thrown by means of a common perfume atomizer, the whole +apparatus costing less than one American dollar. + +On this I begin my color scheme in both opaque and transparent color, +recognizing the "natural facts" already explained to you, that is, the +skies and high lights being solidly opaque, the shadows being equally +transparent. This process requires certain modifications to be made in +the darks of the original drawing. The dense black shadow under the +eaves of a roof, for instance, are not in nature as black as the +charcoal, but perhaps a rich, warm brown. If the ground is in +sunlight, it is a dull, golden yellow and reflects the yellow glow of +the sand beneath. Or it may be a blue reflection, or even of a reddish +tone. These hard blacks then must be _glazed_ in such a way as to +preserve the power of the shadow obtained by means of the under +charcoal, and yet keep it _transparent_ (all shadows being +transparent) and at the same time preserve its true and proper tint. + +This glaze is done by using the three semi-opaque primary +pigments--found in every color-box--namely: + +Light red, + +Cobalt-blue, + +Yellow ochre. + +These colors, of course, form the basis of all intermediate tones, and +from them all intermediate tones can be made. + +These three colors are at the same time semi-opaque, their opacity +being just sufficient to tint the hard black of the coal, while never +clogging or muddying its transparency. + +So it is with the millions of other tones in the whole composition, +when such perfectly transparent colors as brown madder, Indian yellow, +and indigo are used as a glaze, altering and modifying the undertone +of charcoal to any desired tint and at the same time preserving the +all-important thing--its transparency. + +In conclusion, let me say that I fully recognize that I am addressing +students whose training enables them to understand perfectly this +explanation, and that further instructions are therefore unnecessary. + +One thing, however, may be accentuated, and that is the use of plenty +of clean water. Another is that you should keep your palettes +separate. For myself, I make use of a common white metallic +dinner-plate, known as iron-stone china, costing another ten cents, +for my sky-palette, squeezing the color-tubes in a row around its edge +and my Chinese white below them on one side toward the bottom. For my +transparent palette, I use an ordinary moist sixteen-pan color-box, +being always careful never to blur it with even a brush stroke of body +color (Chinese white); and for my opaque work, an oval white metal +palette, with thumb-hole, and indentations around its edge into which +I squeeze the contents of my moist water-color tubes, my Chinese +white being heaped up in a little mound near my thumb. + +The result may be seen in some of the illustrations accompanying this +text. + + + + +CHARCOAL + + +Before going into the value of charcoal as a medium in the recording +of the various aspects of nature in black-and-white, it will be wise +to review the several mediums in general use, namely, etching, pen and +ink, lithographic crayon, and charcoal gray in connection with Chinese +white; it will be well, also, to note the various mechanical processes +in use for the reproductions of these drawings on white paper. + +Those of you who have seen the early illustration in _Harper's +Magazine_ of the late fifties will recall the work of "Porte Crayon" +(Colonel Strother), drawn on wood by the artist and engraved by such +men as A. V. S. Anthony and John Sartain. You will also recall how +some twenty-five years later an effective and marvellous change took +place in the quality of these reproductions, being by far the most +unique and rapid in the history of any art of the century. In less +than ten years, between 1876 and 1886, came this sudden awakening to +the necessity of better work from the burin, followed by an enormous +commercial demand for such results, until by common consent the +American engraver first rivalled and then surpassed the world. If we +search for the cause we find that, like many other inventions +developing others of still greater importance, as the telegraph +developed the telephone, electric light, and the phonograph, this +marvellous change is due entirely to the discovery and possibility of +photographing direct from the original upon the boxwood itself, +producing with an instant's exposure a complete reproduction of the +original drawing, with all its texture, gradation, and quality, not +only doing away entirely with the intermediate draftsman, as was the +case with "Porte Crayon's" work, but obtaining a result impossible to +the most skilful of the artists on wood of his day. + +Another important feature in the discovery was the possibility of +reducing a drawing to any size required, thus fitting it exactly to +the necessities of the printed page. Before these discoveries, as you +well know, from the time of Albert Dürer down to Linton and engravers +of his school, the original drawing of the painter was redrawn by the +use of lead-pencil, Chinese white, and India-ink washes upon the wood +itself, giving as close an imitation as possible of the original. Some +painters--illustrators, if you please, in those early days--in fact, +made their original designs direct upon the wood. The effects of light +and dark were then cut out in lines, curved or otherwise, with +suitable cross-hatchings, as the necessity of the drawing required, or +left comparatively untouched. + +It is not my purpose to discuss here the different merits of the +different schools. There are varieties of opinion regarding the +excellence of the line compared with the technic in the modern school +of engravers. By the modern school I mean the work of such men as +Cole, Yuengling, Wolff, French, Smithwick, and others. I refer to them +that I may accent the stronger the medium which is the subject-matter +of this talk, namely, charcoal, in the hope that those of you who +propose to make reproductive illustrations your life-work may be +tempted to make use of charcoal as a medium through which to express +your ideas and ideals. + +But before embarking on this phase of my subject it may be interesting +for a moment to go a little deeper into the earlier stages of this +marvellous change from boxwood to zinc. I remember distinctly the +beginnings of an organization well known in New York, and perhaps to +many of you, as the Tile Club, to which organization I can +conscientiously say as much credit is due for this revival in +wood-engraving as to any other. Not that good wood-engravers did not +exist before its time, and not because it contained wood-engravers, +for the club did not have the name of one among its membership, but as +containing a group of painters who for the first time in aid of the +art of wood-engraving in this country lent their names and brushes to +an illustrated magazine. Up to that time there had been a wide gulf +existing between the ordinary draftsman on wood and a painter. This +did not proceed from the prevalence of a certain disease among the +painters, known at the present time as an "enlarged head," but from +the fact that no artist accustomed to free-hand drawing and at liberty +to wander all over his canvas at will would bring himself down to +working through a magnifying-glass, a necessity, often, in +transferring a drawing to wood. + +With this discovery, however, of making available even the roughest +drawing, the simplest blot in color or a scratch in charcoal, and +photographing its exact _textures_ upon a wooden block, the camera +reducing it in size and thus perfecting it, the artist immediately +took the place of the draftsman, and at the same time introduced into +the work an artistic quality, a dash, a vim and spirit entirely +unknown before. + +Three things were needed to utilize this marvellously useful +discovery: first, a painter of rank; second, an engraver who could +express the textures and technics of the several artists--that is, +reproduce the exact values of an original in wash, an original in +charcoal, or an original in oil; and third, a magazine with sufficient +capital, taste, and intelligence to reproduce these results upon a +printed page. We had the painters, and the engravers developed +rapidly. The third requirement, of taste and intelligence, was found +in Mr. A. W. Drake, then art director of _Scribner's Monthly_, and, +after its merging into the _Century_, the distinguished art director +of the _Century Magazine_. + +When the Tile Club was formed in New York it consisted of a group of +men (I was its scullion for seven years, its entire life, and, being +thus an honored servant, was familiar with its many affairs) who +represented at the time the leading spirits of the different schools: +William M. Chase, Arthur Quartley, Swain Gifford, A. B. Frost, George +Maynard, Frank D. Millet, Alden Weir, Edwin A. Abbey, Charles S. +Reinhart, Elihu Vedder, William Gedney Bunce, Stanford White, Augustus +Saint-Gaudens, and one or two others. The club was limited to eighteen +members, there being twelve painters and six musicians. If I am not +very much mistaken, not a single painter of this group had ever drawn +upon a wooden block, and yet each one of them, as the records of our +periodicals have shown, was admirably qualified for illustrative work. +At the time, the illustrations in _Harper's_ and _Scribner's_, +compared with the illustrations of to-day, reminded one of the early +primers of the New England schools, with their improbable trees and +impossible animals. + +I remember distinctly the first meeting of the Tile Club, in which the +subject of drawing for _Scribner's Monthly_ was first mooted, and I do +not believe I overestimate the importance that the position of the +club, taken at that time, has had and still has--not as a club, for it +was dissolved some years back--in the influence its personal art has +wielded upon the printed pages of the day. + +The first magazine article was the account of a trip that we made down +on Long Island, illustrated by the club, entitled "The Tile Club +Abroad," each man choosing his own medium--oil, charcoal, water-color, +etc.; the results of which were published in the then _Scribner's +Magazine_, and engraved by a group of men who afterward placed the +art of wood-engraving in America side by side with the best efforts +ever obtained by the English and German periodicals, and one of whom, +Yuengling, took the gold medal of excellence both in Paris and Munich. + +With this difference in textures, the difference between a drawing in +charcoal and one made in oil, it became necessary to invent new modes +of expression with the burin. A simple line which might express the +round of the cheek or the fulness of the arm, and which would answer +for the uniform drapery of the old school, would not serve to explain +the subtle quality of one of Quartley's moonrises or the vigor and +dash of one of Chase's outdoor figures sketched in oil. + +So it came about that in searching to express these new qualities, +never before seen upon a block, the technic of the new school was +developed. + +The next important result was the creating not only of a new school of +wood-engraving, but of an entirely distinct department for art +workers, the school of the illustrator; and so we have Abbey, +Reinhart, Quartley, and, later, Church, Smedley, Dana Gibson, and +dozens of others whose names will readily come to your minds and of +whose careers I have already spoken. + +But the burin was too slow, even in the hands of the skilful engraver, +for the necessities of the hour. It was also too expensive; a drawing +which a magazine would pay the artist $50 for would often cost $200 to +engrave in the hands of a master like Yuengling or Cole. Again +photography was called into use. The "straight process," so called, of +the phototype printer, reproducing a pen-and-ink line drawing on a +zinc plate which could be immediately run through a Hoe process, was +perfected. You all remember, doubtless, an illustrated daily +published in New York, called _The Daily Graphic_, illustrated by +this process. This process, however, was only possible where +pen-and-ink drawing or a very coarse lead-pencil drawing was used in +making the original, because it was necessary that spaces of white +should exist between each separate line or mass of black. This +process, however, utterly failed in all India-ink drawings. Where +these drawings covered the white of the paper, if ever so delicately, +the result was a dense black upon the plate. + +Then came a race between all the inventors interested in such +discoveries, both here and abroad--a race to perfect a process which +would produce from such wash drawings an exact reproduction upon the +printed page, giving all the gradations of the original and doing away +not only with the draftsman but with the wood-engraver. To Professor +Vogel, of Berlin, I believe--although an American, Ives, claims it, +and some say justly--is due the credit of perfecting what is known as +the half-tone, or screen process: many others claim that Herr +Meisenbach first perfected this most important discovery. + +As the wash drawing had no lines, and as it is absolutely necessary +that photo-printing should have lines--that is, clean spaces of black +between white--these lines were supplied by laying a sheet of plate +glass over the drawing upon which the lines were cut by a diamond and +through which the original could be clearly seen. Of course, the light +falling upon the edges of these several diamond cuttings made little +points of brilliant white between which the several blacks and whites +could be seen. This, without going very much further into the +mechanical details, is the basis of the half-tone process. + +While this had its value, it had also its demerits, one of which was +the total extermination of the American wood-engraver, except for a +few men like Timothy Cole, whose genius and skill made it possible for +them, by the excellence of their work, to survive the great difference +between twenty cents a square inch for transferring on zinc and twenty +dollars a square inch for engraving on wood. + +There are, however, results in the half-tone process which I hold are +infinitely superior to the work of any wood-engraver of the old +school. While it is true that there is no really positive rich dark +for any part of the composition--for, of course, the light specks are +everywhere, thus lightening and graying the dark--and while we lose by +such defects the richness of wood-engraving, we also get the exact +touch of the artist in no more and no less a degree, particularly no +less. How often have I seen an exquisite drawing of Abbey's or Du +Maurier's almost ruined by the slipping of the burin the +one-thousandth part of an inch! How infinitely superior are the +originals of John Leech's immortal caricatures in _Punch_ to the +reproductions, all because the shadow line under an eye, or that +little dot which denotes the difference between amusement and +curiosity in the expression of a face, has been cut away the +thousandth part of a hair-line! The processes of the half-tone, +however, are ever accurate and the reproduction given you is +exact--with the foregoing restrictions. + +Then again, in landscape effects and in some portraits, the uniformity +of tone, the certainty of every touch being reproduced, the exact +balancing from dark to light, all result in better work than can be +done by the ordinary engraver. + +And yet, with all the half-tone's advantages, I must admit that +Yuengling's head of the "Professor" and many of his wood-cuts in an +illustrated edition of "Sir Launfal," published some years ago, and +much of the work of such masters as Cole, Wolff, Yuengling, and +others, stand as monuments for all time to the skill of hands that no +process will ever excel, for they put into it that something which the +bath of vitriol will never furnish, a bite of the acid of their own +genius. + +Since these earlier days a new departure has been made, until now +reproductive processes have been brought to such perfection that there +is hardly any texture or color scheme that can not be matched. Note, +if you will, Howard Pyle in color--rich in yellows and reds, with +black and white spaces as an enrichment. Note also A. I. Keller's +transparent work in charcoal gray. Note particularly the reproductions +in the magazines of F. Walter Taylor's drawings in charcoal, in which +the very texture of the coal is preserved. And, if you will permit me, +note the half tones of my own charcoal drawings now on exhibition in +the adjoining gallery. So perfect is the reproduction that one is +careful not to smudge his fingers in turning the leaves of the +publication in which they are printed. + +This being the case (and the printers must be thanked as well for +their share in the results), I earnestly hope that some of my brother +illustrators--the more the merrier--will seriously consider the value +of charcoal as a medium for illustrative work. There is no subject, I +assure you, that the sun shines on or its light filters into, or any +phase of nature, be it rain or storm, fog, snow, or mist, including +marines, figures, sunrises and sunsets, blazing heat and cool, +transparent shadows, that cannot be visualized by it. + +I hold, too, that by its use qualities can be obtained impossible to +be found in either etchings, lithographic crayon, wash, or pen and +ink--especially the velvet of its black. + +Charcoal is the unhampered, the free, the personal individual medium. +No water, no oil, no palette, no squeezing of tubes or wiping of +tints; no scraping, scumbling, or other dilatory and exasperating +necessities. Just a piece of coal, the size of a cigarette, held flat +between the thumb and the forefinger, a sheet of paper, and then "let +go." Yes, one thing more--care must be taken to have this forefinger +fastened to a sure, knowing, and fearless hand, worked by an arm which +plays easily and loosely in a ball-socket set firmly near your +backbone. To carry out the metaphor, the steam of your enthusiasm, +kept in working order by the safety-valve of your experience, and +regulated by the ball-governor of your art knowledge--such as +composition, drawing, mass, light and dark--is then turned on. + +Now you can "let go," and in the fullest sense, or you will never +arrive. My own experience has taught me that if an outdoor charcoal +sketch, covering and containing all a man can see--and he should +neither record nor explain anything more--is not completely finished +in two hours it cannot be finished by the same man in two days or two +years. + +For a drawing in charcoal is really a record of a man's temperament. +It represents pre-eminently the personality of the individual--his +buoyancy, his perfect health, the quickness of his gestures. All these +are shown in the way he strikes his canvas--compelling it to talk back +to him. So also does it record the man's timidity, his want of +confidence in himself, his fear of spoiling what he has already done, +forgetting that a nickel will buy him another sheet of paper. + +Courage, too, is a component part--not to be afraid to strike hard and +fast, belaboring the canvas as a pugilist belabors an opponent, +beating nature into shape. + +[Illustration: The George and Vulture Inn, London] + +As for the potterer and the niggler, the men and women whose stroke +goes no farther back than their knuckles, I may frankly say that +charcoal is not for them. The blow is a sledge blow going from the +spinal column, not the pitapat of a jeweller's hammer elaborating the +repoussé around a goblet. + +Remember, too, that the fight is all over in two hours--three at the +outside--the battle really won or lost in the first ten minutes, if +you only knew it: when you get in your first strokes, really defining +your composition and planting your big high light and your big dark. +It is all right after that. You can taper off on the little lights and +darks, saving your wind, so to speak, sparring for your next +supplementary light and dark. + +Remember, too, that when the fight is over you must not spoil what you +have done by repetition or finish. _Let it alone._ You may not have +covered everything you wanted to express, but if you have smashed in +the salient features, the details will look out at you when you least +expect it. There are a thousand cross lights and untold mysteries in +Rembrandt's shadows which his friends failed to see when his canvas +left his studio. It is the unexpressed which is often most +interesting. Meissonier tells his story to the end. So do Vibert, +Rico, and the whole realistic school. Corot gives you a mass of +foliage, no single leaf expressed, but beneath it lurk great, +cavernous shadows in which nymphs and satyrs play hide-and-seek. + +Remember, also, that just as the blunt end of a bit of charcoal is +many, many times larger than the point of an etching-needle, so are +its resources for fine lines and minute dots and scratches just that +much reduced. It is the flat of the piece of coal that is valuable, +not its point. + +As to what can be done with this piece of coal, I can but repeat, +_everything_. That there are some subjects better than others, I will +admit. For me, London, its streets and buildings, come first, +especially if it be raining; and there is no question that it does +rain once in a while in London, making the wet streets and sidewalks +glisten under its silver-gray sky, little rivulets of molten silver +escaping everywhere. When with these you get a background--and I +always do--of flat masses of quaint buildings, all detail lost in the +haze and mist of smoke, your delight rises to enthusiasm. Nowhere else +in the world are the "values" so marvellously preserved. You start +your foreground with, say, a figure, or an umbrella, or a cab, +expressed in a stroke of jet-black, and the perspective instantly +fades into grays of steeple, dome, or roof, so delicate and vapory +that there is hardly a shade of difference between earth and sky. Or +you stroll into some old church or cathedral, as I did last summer +when I found myself in that most wonderful of all English +churches--and I say it deliberately--St. Bartholomew's the Great, over +in Smithfield. + +Other churches have I studied in my wanderings; many and various +cathedrals, basilicas, and mosques have delighted me. I know the color +and the value of tapestry and rich hangings; of mosaics, porphyry, and +verd-antiques; of fluted alabaster and the delicate tracery of the +arabesque; but the velvety quality of London soot when applied to the +rough surfaces of rudely chiselled stones, and the soft loveliness +gained by grime and smoke, came to me as a revelation. + +This rich black which, like a tropical fungus, grows and spreads +through St. Bartholomew's interior, hiding under its soft, caressing +touch the rough angles and insistent edges of the Norman, is what the +bloom is to the grape, what the dark purpling is to the plum, +mellowing from sight the brilliancy of the under skin. And there are +wide coverings of it, too, in this wonderful church, as if some master +decorator had wielded a great coal and at one sweep of his hand had +rubbed its glorious black into every crevice, crack, and cranny of +wall, column, and arch. + +Certain it is that no other medium than the one used could give any +idea of its charm. Neither oil, water-color, nor pastel will transmit +it--no, nor the dry-point or bitten plate. The soot of centuries, the +fogs of countless Novembers, the smoke of a thousand firesides were +the pigments which the Master Painter set upon his palette in the task +of giving us one exquisitely beautiful interior wholly in +black-and-white. + +So it was in the Temple when I was searching for Mr. Thackeray's +haunts. + +What of alterations, scrapings, patchings up, and fillings in have +taken place in these various courts and their surroundings, I did not +trouble myself to find out. Nothing looks new in London after the fogs +and soot of one winter have wreaked their vengeance upon it. Whether +the façade is of brick, stone, or stucco depends entirely on the +thickness of the soot, packed in or scoured clean by winds and rains, +or whether the surface is ebony or marble, as may be seen in many of +the statues on Burlington House, where a head, arm, or part of a +pedestal chair has been kept white by constant douches. + +As for me, I was glad that these old haunts of Mr. Thackeray and his +characters are even blacker to-day than they might have been in his +time. For the soot and grime become them, and London as well, for that +matter. A great impressionist, this smoke-smudger and wiper-out of +detail, this believer in masses and simple surfaces, this destroyer of +gingerbread ornaments, petty mouldings, and cheap flutings! + + * * * * * + +And now for a few practical data as to my own way of handling the +coal, which may be of value as coming from one who has profited these +many years by its infinite possibilities. + +[Illustration: Diagram of Charcoal Technic] + +The paper is the same I use in my water-colors, a delicate, gray, +double-thick charcoal paper, laid in parallel ribs, if I may so +express it, and having sufficient body and tooth to catch and hold the +faintest touch or the strongest stroke of the coal. The gray of this +paper serves as the middle tone of the drawing, the different +gradations of black in the coal giving the darks and the careful use +of white chalks the high lights. + +These gradations are obtained by the use of a few simple processes, by +which various textures can be given, starting, for instance, from or +near the foreground, where the grit of the charcoal is used to bring +the nearer details into clear relief, the several larger gradations +and textures giving aerial perspectives being produced by a broad +sweep of the hand, forcing the grit of the coal into the crevices of +the paper, the result being what I may term the _first_ plane or +_nearest_ atmospheric value; the house a square away, if you +please--provided the subject is a street--being the _second_ plane. + +Beyond this, farther down the street, is found, it may be, another +house or other object. Now try your thumb, rubbing your hand-smoothed +charcoal into a finer and closer mesh: and for the still more +atmospheric distances down this same street, use next a rag, then a +buckskin stomp, and last of all a stiff paper stomp, each in turn +producing a more atmospheric gray as the distances fade--the last, the +paper stomp, being as soft as a wash of India ink. (See diagram.) + +All these you may say are tricks. They are--my own tricks, or rather +use of the means which lay at my hand, which long experience has +taught me to employ, and which any one of you will no doubt better in +your own handling of the coal. + +These planes being secured, any light higher than the prevailing +rubbed-in tone can be wiped out clean to the grain of the paper by a +piece of ductile rubber. Any darker dark, of course, can be obtained +by retouching with the coal. + +The chalk now comes into play for skies, broad sunlight effects, or +crisp, sparkling lights. The whole work is then "fixed," as I have +already explained, by the use of gum shellac and a common perfume +atomizer. + +And with this condensed statement I must bring this my last talk to a +close, remembering as I do that I have been addressing a body of +students who are already familiar with one or more mediums, and who, +with these few spoken memoranda and a finished drawing before them, +will solve at a glance mysteries baffling to the layman. + + + * * * * * + + +BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH + + +FELIX O'DAY. + +THE ARM-CHAIR AT THE INN. + +KENNEDY SQUARE. + +THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT. + +THE ROMANCE OF AN OLD-FASHIONED +GENTLEMAN. + +COLONEL CARTER'S CHRISTMAS. + +FORTY MINUTES LATE. + +THE WOOD FIRE IN No. 3. + +THE VEILED LADY. + +THE UNDER DOG. + + +IN DICKENS'S LONDON. + + +ENOCH CRANE. A novel planned +and begun by F. Hopkinson Smith +and completed by F. Berkeley Smith. + + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTDOOR SKETCHING*** + + +******* This file should be named 27340-8.txt or 27340-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/4/27340 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Outdoor Sketching</p> +<p> Four Talks Given before the Art Institute of Chicago; The Scammon Lectures, 1914</p> +<p>Author: Francis Hopkinson Smith</p> +<p>Release Date: November 27, 2008 [eBook #27340]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTDOOR SKETCHING***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="pic_1" id="pic_1"></a> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="400" height="620" alt="Part of the Site of the Marshalsea Jail, London" /> +<span class="caption">Part of the Site of the Marshalsea Jail, London</span> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>Outdoor Sketching</h1> +<p> </p> +<h3>Four Talks Given Before<br /> +The Art Institute of Chicago</h3> +<p> </p> +<h4>The Scammon Lectures, 1914</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>By</h3> + +<h2>F. Hopkinson Smith</h2> +<p> </p> +<h4>With Illustrations by<br /> +the Author +</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>New York</h3> +<h3>Charles Scribner's Sons</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1915, <span class="smcap">by</span></h5> +<h4>CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</h4> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 125px;"> +<img src="images/seal.jpg" width="125" height="139" alt="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr><td></td> + <td></td> + <td></td><td class="tocpg f1">Page</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">I.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#COMPOSITION">Composition</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">II.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#MASS">Mass</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">III.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#WATER-COLORS">Water-Colors</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">IV.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHARCOAL">Charcoal</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Illustrations</h2> + + + +<table summary="Illustrations"> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_1">Part of the Site of the Marshalsea Jail, London</a></td><td class="tocpg"><a href="#pic_1"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td></td><td class="tocpg f1">FACING<br /> +PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_2">Under the Willows, Cookham-on-Thames</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_3">The George and Vulture Inn, London</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_4">Diagram of Charcoal Technic</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="COMPOSITION" id="COMPOSITION"></a>COMPOSITION</h2> + + +<p>My chief reason for confining these four talks to the outdoor sketch +is because I have been an outdoor painter since I was sixteen years of +age; have never in my whole life painted what is known as a studio +picture evolved from memory or from my inner consciousness, or from +any one of my outdoor sketches. My pictures are begun and finished +often at one sitting, never more than three sittings; and a white +umbrella and a three-legged stool are the sum of my studio +appointments.</p> + +<p>Another reason is that, outside of this ability to paint rapidly +out-of-doors, I know so little of the many processes attendant upon +the art of the painter that both my advice and my criticism would be +worthless to even the youngest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> of the painters to-day. Again, I work +only in two mediums, water-color and charcoal. Oil I have not touched +for many years, and then only for a short time when a student under +Swain Gifford (and this, of course, many, many years ago), who taught +me the use and value of the opaque pigment, which helped me greatly in +my own use of opaque water-color in connection with transparent color +and which was my sole reason for seeking the help of his master hand.</p> + +<p>A further venture is to kindle in your hearts a greater love for and +appreciation of what a superbly felt and exactly rendered outdoor +sketch stands for—a greater respect for its vitality, its life-spark; +the way it breathes back at you, under a touch made unconsciously, +because you saw it, recorded it, and then forgot it—best of all +because you let it alone; my fervent wish being to transmit to you +some of the enthusiasm that has kept me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> young all these years of my +life; something of the joy of the close intimacy I have held with +nature—the intimacy of two old friends who talk their secrets over +each with the other; a joy unequalled by any other in my life's +experience.</p> + +<p>There may be those who go a-fishing and enjoy it. The arranging and +selecting of flies, the jointing of rods, the prospective comfort in +high water-boots, the creel with the leather strap, every crease in it +a reminder of some day without care or fret—all this may bring the +flush to the cheek and the eager kindling of the eye, and a certain +sort of rest and happiness may come with it; but—they have never gone +a-sketching! Hauled up on the wet bank in the long grass is your boat, +with the frayed end of the painter tied around some willow that offers +a helping root. Within a stone's throw, under a great branching of +gnarled trees, is a nook where the curious sun,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> peeping at you +through the interlaced leaves, will stencil Japanese shadows on your +white umbrella. Then the trap is unstrapped, the stool opened, the +easel put up, and you set your palette. The critical eye with which +you look over your brush case and the care with which you try each +feather point upon your thumbnail are but an index of your enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Now you are ready. You loosen your cravat, hang your coat to some +rustic peg in the creviced bark of the tree behind, seize a bit of +charcoal from your bag, sweep your eye around, and dash in a few +guiding strokes. Above is a changing sky filled with crisp white +clouds; behind you, the great trunks of the many branched willows; and +away off, under the hot sun, the yellow-green of the wasted pasture, +dotted with patches of rock and weeds, and hemmed in by the low hills +that slope to the curving stream.</p> + +<p>It is high noon! There is a stillness in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> air that impresses you, +broken only by the low murmur of the brook behind and the ceaseless +song of the grasshopper among the weeds in front. A tired bumblebee +hums past, rolls lazily over a clover blossom at your feet, and has +his midday lunch. Under the maples near the river's bend stand a group +of horses, their heads touching. In the brook below are the patient +cattle, with patches of sunlight gilding and bronzing their backs and +sides. Every now and then a breath of cool air starts out from some +shaded retreat, plays around your forehead, and passes on. All nature +rests. It is her noontime.</p> + +<p>But you work on: an enthusiasm has taken possession of you; the paints +mix too slowly; you use your thumb, smearing and blending with a bit +of rag—anything for the effect. One moment you are glued to your +seat, your eyes riveted on your canvas; the next, you are up and +backing away, taking it in as a whole,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> then pouncing down upon it +quickly, belaboring it with your brush. Soon the trees take shape; the +sky forms become definite; the meadow lies flat and loses itself in +the fringe of willows.</p> + +<p>When all of this begins to grow upon your once blank canvas, and some +lucky pat matches the exact tone of blue-gray haze or shimmer of leaf, +or some accidental blending of color delights you with its truth, a +tingling goes down your backbone, and a rush surges through your veins +that stirs you as nothing else in your whole life will ever do. The +reaction comes the next day when, in the cold light of your studio, +you see how far short you have come and how crude and false is your +best touch compared with the glory of the landscape in your mind and +heart. But the thrill that it gave you will linger forever!</p> + +<p>Or come with me to Constantinople and let us study its palaces and +mosques, its marvellous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> stuffs, its romantic history, its +religions—most profound and impressive—its commerce, industries, and +customs. Come to revel in color; to sit for hours, following with +reverent pencil the details of an architecture unrivalled on the +globe; to watch the sun scale the hills of Scutari and shatter its +lances against the fairy minarets of Stamboul; to catch the swing and +plash of the rowers rounding their <i>caiques</i> by the bridge of Galata; +to wander through bazaar and market, dotting down splashes of robe, +turban, and sash; to rest for hours in cool tiled mosques, which in +their very decay are sublime; to study a people whose rags are +symphonies of color, and whose traditions and records breathe the +sweetest poems of modern times.</p> + +<p>And then, when we have caught our breath, let us wander into any one +of the patios along the Golden Horn, and feast our eyes on columns of +verd-antique, supporting arches light<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> as rainbows, framing the patio +of the Pigeon Mosque, the loveliest of all the patios I know, and let +us run our eyes around that Moorish square. The sun blazes down on +glistening marbles; gnarled old cedars twist themselves upward against +the sky; flocks of pigeons whirl and swoop and fall in showers on +cornice, roof, and dome; tall minarets like shafts of light shoot up +into the blue. Scattered over the uneven pavement, patched with strips +and squares of shadows, lounge groups of priests in bewildering robes +of mauve, corn-yellow, white, and sea-green; while back beneath the +cool arches bunches of natives listlessly pursue their several +avocations.</p> + +<p>It is a sight that brings the blood with a rush to one's cheek. That +swarthy Mussulman at his little square table mending seals; that +fellow next him selling herbs, sprawled out on the marble floor, too +lazy to crawl away from the slant of sunshine slipping through the +ragged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> awning; that young Turk in frayed and soiled embroidered +jacket, holding up strings of beads to the priests passing in and +out—is not this the East, the land of our dreams? And the old public +scribe with the gray beard and white turban, writing letters, the +motionless veiled figures squatting around him—is he not Baba +Mustapha? and the soft-eyed girl whispering into his ear none other +than Morgiana, fair as the meridian sun?</p> + +<p>So, too, in my beloved Venice, where many years ago I camped out by +the side of a canal—the Rio Giuseppe—all of it, from the red wall, +where the sailors land, to the lagoon, where the tower of Castello is +ready to topple into the sea.</p> + +<p>Not much of a canal—not much of a painting ground, really, to the +masters who have gone before and are still at work, but a truly +lovable, lovely, and most enchanting possession to me their humble +disciple. Once you get into it you never want to get out, and once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +out you are miserable until you get back again. On one bank stretches +a row of rookeries—a maze of hanging clothes, fish-nets, balconies +hooded by awnings and topped by nondescript chimneys of all sizes and +patterns, with here and there a dab of vermilion and light red, the +whole brilliant against a china-blue sky. On the other is the long +brick wall of the garden—soggy, begrimed, streaked with moss and +lichen in bands of black-green and yellow ochre, over which mass and +sway the great sycamores that Ziem loved, their lower branches +interwoven with cinnobar cedars gleaming in spots where the prying sun +drips gold.</p> + +<p>Only wide enough for a barca and two gondolas to pass—this canal of +mine; only deep enough to let a wine barge slip through; so narrow you +must go all the way back to the lagoon if you would turn your gondola; +so short you can row through it in five minutes; every inch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> of its +water-surface part of everything about it, so clear are the +reflections; full of moods, whims, and fancies, this wave space—one +moment in a broad laugh coquetting with a bit of blue sky peeping from +behind a cloud, its cheeks dimpled with sly undercurrents, the next +swept by flurries of little winds, soft as the breath of a child on a +mirror; then, when aroused by a passing boat, breaking out into +ribbons of color—swirls of twisted doorways, flags, awnings, +flower-laden balconies, black-shawled Venetian beauties all upside +down, interwoven with strips of turquoise sky and green waters—a +bewildering, intoxicating jumble of tatters and tangles, maddening in +detail, brilliant in color, harmonious in tone: the whole +scintillating with a picturesqueness beyond the ken or brush of any +painter living or dead.</p> + +<p>These are some of the joys of the painter whose north light is the +sky, whose studio door<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> is never shut, and who often works surrounded +by envious throngs, that treat him with such marked reverence that +they whisper one to another for fear of disturbing him.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And now for a few practical hints born of these experiences; and in +giving them to you, remember that no man is more keenly conscious of +his limitations than the speaker. My own system of work, all of which +will be explained to you in subsequent talks, one on water-color and +the other on charcoal, is, I am aware, peculiar, and has many +drawbacks and many shortcomings. I make bold to give these to you +because of my fifty years' experience in outdoor sketching, and +because in so doing I may encourage some one among you to begin where +I have left off and do better. The requirements are thoughtful and +well-studied selection before your brush touches your canvas; a +correct knowledge of composition; a definite grasp<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> of the problem of +light and dark, or, in other words, <i>mass</i>; a free, sure, and +untrammelled rapidity of execution; and, last and by no means least, a +realization of what I shall express in one short compact sentence, +that <i>it takes two men to paint an outdoor picture: one to do the work +and the other to kill him when he has done enough</i>.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Before entering on the means and methods through which so early a +death becomes permissible I shall admit that the personal equation +will largely assert itself, and that because of it certain allowances +must be made, or rather certain variations in both grasp and treatment +will necessarily follow.</p> + +<p>While, of course, nature is always the same, never changing and never +subservient to the whims or perceptive powers of the individual, there +are painters who will aver that they alone see her correctly and that +all the world that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> differs from them is wrong. One man from natural +defects may see all her greens or reds stronger or weaker than another +in proportion to the condition of his eye. Another may grasp only her +varying degrees of gray. One man unduly exaggerates the intensity of +the dark and the opposing brilliancy of the lights. Another eye—for +it is largely a question of optics, of optics and temperament—sees +only the more gentle and sometimes the more subtle gradations of light +and shade reducing even the blaze of the noonday sun to half-tones. +Still another, whether by the fault of over-magnifying power or +long-sightedness, detects an infinity of detail in nature, and is not +satisfied until each particular blade of grass stands on end like the +quills of the traditional porcupine, while his brother brush +strenuously asserts that every detail is really only a question of +mass, and should be treated as such, and that for all practical +purposes it is quite immaterial whether<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> a tree can be distinguished +from a farm-house so long as it is fluffy enough to be indistinct.</p> + +<p>These defects, sympathies, tendencies, whatever one may call them, +only prove the more conclusively that there are many varying standards +set up by many minds. That which can easily be proved in addition is +that many a false standard owes its origin as often to a question of +bad digestion as of bad taste. They also show us that no one man or +set of men can rightfully lay claim to holding the one key which +unlocks the mysteries of nature, while insisting that the rules +governing their use of that key <i>must</i> be adhered to by the rest of +the world.</p> + +<p>There are, however, certain laws which control every pictured +expression of nature and to which every eye and hand must submit if +even a semblance of expression is to be sought for. One of them is +truth. In this all schools concur, each one demanding the truth, or at +least enough of it to placate their consciences<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> when they add to it a +sufficient number of lies of their own manufacture to make the subject +interesting to their special line of constituents. Among these I do +not class the lunatics who are to-day wandering loose outside of +charitable asylums especially designed for disordered and impaired +intellects, and whose frothings I saw at the last Autumn Salon.</p> + +<p>But to our text once more, taking up the first requirement; namely, +selection.</p> + +<p>By selection I mean the "cutting out entire" from the great panorama +spread out before you just that portion which appeals to you and which +you want to have appeal to your fellow men.</p> + +<p>Speaking for myself, I have always held that the most perfect +reproductions of nature are those which can be <i>selected</i> any day, +under any condition of light, direct from the several objects +themselves, without arrangement and fore-shortenings or twistings to +the right and to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> the left. Nothing, in fact, seems to me so +astounding as that any human mind could for an instant suppose that it +can improve on the work of the Almighty.</p> + +<p>If it is a street, and if you wish to express its perspective, and the +bit of blue sky beyond, with a burst of sunlight illumining the +corner, the figures crowded against the light, forming a mass in +themselves, and it interests you at a glance, sit down and study it +long enough to find out what feature of the landscape impressed you at +<i>first sight</i>. If, as you look, the first impression becomes weakened, +perhaps it is because the immediate foreground, which at the first +glance was clear, is now dotted with passers-by, thus obscuring your +point of interest, or a cloud has passed over the sky, lowering the +whole tone, or the group of figures across the light has dispersed, +exposing the ugly right-angled triangle of the flat wall and street +level instead of the same lines being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> broken picturesquely with the +black dots of heads of the crowd itself. In a moment it is no longer a +composition of the same power that struck you at first. Perhaps while +you sit and wait the scene again changes, and something infinitely +more interesting, or the reverse, is evolved from the perspective +before you. And so it goes on, until this constantly changing +kaleidoscope repeats itself in its first aspect, until you have fairly +grasped its meaning and analyzed its component parts. Or until either +the effect that first delighted you, or the subsequent effect that +charmed you still more, becomes a fixed fact in your mind. That, then, +is the picture that you want to paint and that you are to paint +<i>exactly as you saw it</i>. And if you can reproduce it exactly as you +did see it, ten chances to one it will impress your fellow men. The +trouble is that when you sit down to paint it you are so often lost in +its detail that you forget its salient features, and by the time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> you +have finished and blocked up the immediate foreground with figures +that did not exist when you were first thrilled by its beauty, you +have either painted its least interesting aspect, or you have filled +that street so full of lies of your own that the policeman on the beat +could not recognize it.</p> + +<p>Of course, while all nature is interesting, there are parts of nature +more interesting than other parts, and since the skill of man is +inadequate to produce its more <i>humble</i> effects, if I may so express +it, the painter should be on the lookout for her <i>dramatic</i> air, in +order that when she is reproduced she may add that touch to her many +qualities, thus meeting the painter half-way. Even in the perspective +of a street, nature, in profound consideration of the devotee under +his umbrella, often gives him a deeper touch—one wall perhaps in +sudden brilliant light, while the vista of the street is in gloom made +by a passing cloud, she constantly calling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> out to the painter as he +works: "Watch me now and take me at my best."</p> + +<p>Or change this picture for an instant and note, if you please, the +flight of cloud shadows over a mountain slope or the whirl of a wind +flurry across a still lake. There are moments in all phenomena like +these where a great man rising to the occasion can catch them exactly, +as did Rousseau in the golden glow of the fading light through the +forest, or Corot in the crisp light of the morning, or Daubigny in the +low twilight across the sunken marshes where one can almost hear the +frogs croak.</p> + +<p>Selection, then, preceded by the deepest and closest thought as to +whether the subject is worth painting at all, becomes necessary, the +student giving himself plenty of time to study it in all its phases; +time enough to "walk around it," reviewing it at different angles; +noting the hour at which it is at its best and happiest, seizing upon +its most telling presentment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>—and all this before he begins even +<i>mentally</i> to compose its salient features on the square of his +canvas. You can turn, if you choose, your camera skyward and focus the +top of a steeple and only that. It is true, but it is uninteresting, +or rather unintelligible, until you focus also the church door, and +the gathering groups, and the overgrown pathway that winds through the +quiet graveyard. So a picture can be true and yet very much like a +slip cut from a newspaper. For some men cut thus into nature, +haphazard, without care or thought, and produce perhaps a square +containing an advertisement of a patent churn, a railroad timetable, +and a fragment of an essay on art. Cut carefully and with selection, +and you may get a poem which will soothe you like a melody.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As to the value of the laws which govern the perfect composition, it +is unquestionably true that a correct knowledge of these laws<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> makes +or unmakes the picture and establishes or ruins the rank of the +painter. No matter how careful the drawing, how interesting the +subject, how true the mass, how subtle the gradations of light and +shade, how perfect the expression of the figures, or how transparent +the atmosphere of a landscape, a want of this knowledge will defeat +the result. On the other hand, a good composition—one that "carries," +as the term is—one that can be seen across the room, if properly +composed will instantly excite your interest, even if upon near +inspection you are shocked by its crudities and faults. "I don't know +what it is," says a painter, "but it's good all the same."</p> + +<p>After your selection has been made, the next thing is to search for +its centre of interest. When this is found it is equally important to +weigh carefully the <i>quality</i> of this centre of interest in order to +determine whether, as has been said, the subject is worth painting at +all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> My own rule is to spend half the time I am devoting to my sketch +in carefully weighing the subject in its every detail and expression.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Many men, I am aware, have endeavored to prove that there are eight or +ten different forms of composition. My own experience and +investigation are, of course, limited, but so far I have only been +able to discover one, namely, the larger mass and the smaller mass: +the larger mass dominating the centre of interest, which catches your +eye instantly at first sight of a picture, and the smaller or less +interesting object which next attracts your eye, and so relieves the +vision and spares you the monotony of looking at a single object long +and steadily, thus fatiguing the eye and dissipating the interest.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Having determined upon the <i>quality</i> of the subject-matter and fixed +its centre interest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> in pleasing relation to the whole, the next step +is to confine yourself to all that <i>the eyes see at one glance</i> and no +more, or, in other words, that portion of the landscape which you +could cut out with the scissors of your eye and paste upon your mind. +That which you can see when your head is kept perfectly still, your +eye looking straight before you, only seeing so high, so low, and so +far to the right and left, without a strain. The great sweep of +vision, a sweep covering a hundred subjects perhaps, is obtained by +turning the eyes up or down or sideways. But to be true—that is, to +see one picture at a time—the eye should be fixed like the lens of a +camera, the limit of the picture being the range of the eye and no +more. A departure from this rule not only confuses your perspective +but crowds a number of points of interest into the square of your +canvas, when there is really only <i>one</i> centre point before you in +nature; and this one point you must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> treat as does the electrician in +a theatre who keeps the lime-light on the star of the play.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Another requirement is rapidity of execution. I am not speaking of +figure-drawing. I can well understand why the model grows tired, +although the crude lay figure may not, and why the constant workings +over and again upon the figure subject, the mosaicing (if I may coin a +word) of the different points of the figure during the different hours +of the day and the different days of the week deep into the canvas, +may be necessary.</p> + +<p>I am speaking of outdoor, landscape work, for which only four hours, +at most, either in the morning or in the afternoon, can be utilized. +In this four hours nature keeps comparatively still long enough for +you to caress her with your brush, and if you would truly express what +you see, your work must be finished in that time. I can quite +understand that to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> ordinary student this is a paralyzing +statement, but let us analyze it together for a moment and I think +that we shall all see that if it were possible for a human hand to +obey us as precisely as a human eye detects, the results on the canvas +would be infinitely more valuable, first, because the sun never stands +still and the shadows of one hour are not the shadows of the next; and +second, because this moving of the sun is affecting not only the mass +but the composition of the picture, one mass of buildings being in +light at ten o'clock and again in shadow at eleven. It is also +affecting its local color, the yellow of the afternoon sunlight +illumining and graying the silver-blue of the shadows, thus weakening +the force of positive shadows scattered through the composition. Of +course, to be really exact, there is only one moment in any one of the +hours of the day in which any one aspect of nature remains the same, +but since we are all finite we must do the best we can, and four<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +hours, in my experience, is all that a man can be sure of.</p> + +<p>We have, of course, the next day to continue in, but then the +landscape has changed. That delicate, transparent, gauzy cloud screen +that softened the sky light was, under the northwest wind of +yesterday, a clear, steely gray-blue, and the sun shining through it +made the sunlight almost white and the shadows a neutral blue; to-day +the wind is from the south and a great mass of soft summer clouds, +tea-rose color, drift over the clear azure, each one of which throws +its reflected light on every object over which they float. The half +you painted yesterday, therefore, will not match the half you must +paint to-day, and so if you will persist in working on your same +canvas you go on making an almanac of your picture, so apparent to an +expert that he can pick out the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday as you +daily progressed. If you should be fortunate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> enough to work under +Italian skies, where sometimes for days together the light is the +same, the skies being one expanse of soft, opalescent blue, you might +think under such influence it would be possible for you to perform the +great almanac trick successfully in your sketch. But how about +yourself? Are you the same man to-day that you were yesterday? If so, +perhaps you might also find yourself in exactly the same frame of mind +that existed when your sketch was half finished. But would you +guarantee that you would be the same man for a week?</p> + +<p>I believe we can maintain this position of the necessity of rapid work +in out-of-door sketches by looking for a moment at the product of the +best men of the last century, some of whom I have already mentioned. +Take Corot, for instance. Corot, as you know, spent almost his entire +life painting the early light of the morning. An analysis of his +life's work<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> shows that he must have folded his umbrella and gone home +before eleven o'clock. My own idea is that many hundreds of his +canvases, which have since sold at many thousands of francs, were +perfectly finished in one sitting. This cannot be otherwise when you +remember that one dealer in Paris claims to have sold two thousand +Corots. These one-sitting pictures to me express his best work. In the +larger canvases in which figures are introduced—notably the one first +owned by the late Mr. Charles A. Dana, of New York, called "Apollo," I +believe—the treatment of the sky and foreground shows careful +repainting, and while the mechanical process of the brush, shown by +the over and under painting, the dragging of opaque color over +transparent, may produce certain translucencies which the more +forcible and direct stroke of the brush—one touch and no more—fails +to give, still the whole composition lacks that intimacy with nature +which one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> always feels in the smaller and more rapidly perfected +canvases.</p> + +<p>Note, too, the sketches of Frans Hals and see what power comes from +the sure touch of a well-directed brush in the hand of a man who used +it to express his thoughts as other men use chords of music or +paragraphs in literature. A man who made no false moves, who knew that +every stroke of his brush must express a perfect sentence and that it +could never be recalled. Really the work of such a master is like the +gesture of an actor—if it is right a thrill goes through you, if it +is wrong it is like that player friend of Hamlet's who sawed the air.</p> + +<p>This quality of "the stroke," by the by, if we stop to analyze for a +moment, is the stroke that comes straight from the heart, tingling up +the spinal column, down the arm, and straight to the finger-tips. Ole +Bull had it when his violin echoed a full orchestra; Paderewski has it +when he rings clearly and sharply some note that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> vibrates through you +for hours after; Booth had it when drawing himself up to his full +height as Cardinal Richelieu he began that famous speech, "Around her +form I draw the holy circle of our faith"—his upraised finger a +barrier that an army could not break down; Velasquez, in his +marvellous picture in the Museum of the Prado in Madrid of "The +Topers" ("Los Borrachos"); Frans Hals, in almost every canvas that his +brush touched; and in later years our own John Sargent, in many of his +portraits, but especially in his direct out-of-door studies, shows it; +as do scores of others whose sureness of touch and exact knowledge +have made their names household words where art is loved and genius +held sacred.</p> + +<p>And with this ability to record swiftly and surely there will come a +certain enthusiasm, fanned to white heat when, some morning, trap in +hand, you are searching for something to paint, your mind entirely +filled with a certain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> object (you propose to paint boats if you +please, and you have walked around them for minutes trying to get the +best view and deciding upon the all-important best possible +composition)—when, turning suddenly, you face a mass of buildings and +a sweep of river that instantly put to flight every idea concerning +your first subject, and in a moment a new arrangement is evolved and +you are working like mad. It is only under this pressure of +<i>enthusiasm</i> that the best work is produced.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The coming landscape-painter will be a <i>four-hour man</i>, of thorough +knowledge, one who has most intimate and close acquaintance with +nature, one who can select and then seize the salient features of the +landscape, at a glance arranging them upon the square of his canvas, +in other words, composing them, the basis being the most expansive and +most picturesque grouping of the several details of the subject,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +extracting at the same moment, at the same instant, with one sweep of +his eye, the whole scheme of local color, and then surely, clearly, +lovingly, and reverently making it breathe upon his canvas for other +souls to live by.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And how noble the ambition!</p> + +<p>In our present civilization some men are moved to philanthropy, some +to science, some to be rulers of men. Some men are brimful and running +over with harmonies that will live forever. Other men's hearts beat in +unison with the symphonies of the spheres, and Homer and Milton and +Dante become household words. You seek another expression of the good +that is in you. You will be painters and sculptors. Color, form, and +mass are to you what the pen, the sword, and the lute are to those +others who have gone before, or are now around you. Your mission is as +distinct as theirs, and it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> as imperative that you should fulfil +it. Paint what you see and as you see it. Nothing more nor less. See +only the beautiful, and if you cannot reach that content yourself with +the picturesque. It is a first cousin but once removed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MASS" id="MASS"></a>MASS</h2> + + +<p>The difference between composition and mass is that a composition is a +mere outline of pen or pencil, each object taking its proper place in +the square of a canvas, while mass is the filling in between these +outlines either of varied color or in lights or darks, their +gradations but so many guides to the spectator's eye marking not only +its perspective, form and atmosphere, but, if skilfully done, telling +the story of your subject at a glance.</p> + +<p>To do this the student must find the lightest light and darkest dark +in the subject before him and, having found it, adhere to it to the +end of his work. For as the sun dominates the sky and earth so do its +rays dominate parts of the whole, making more luminous than the rest +only one object upon which its light falls.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> To make this more +explicit it is only necessary to look at an egg upon a white +table-cloth. Here is a natural object devoid of local color except in +reflected lights, and yet you will find that where the round of the +egg reflects the light the highest light is found, while in the edge +of the shadow, where the egg turns into the round—between that high +light and the reflected light from the table-cloth, I mean—is found +its darkest dark. But only one portion of that shadow, a point as +large as the point of a pin, is the darkest dark. Everything else is +gradation, from the highest light to the lowest light, the lowest +light being almost a shadow; and from its darkest dark to its lightest +dark the lightest dark again being almost a light.</p> + +<p>In landscape art these problems are greatly simplified. The sun is +always the strongest light, and whatever comes against it, church +tower, rock, palace, or ship under full sail, is the darkest object. +In addition to this there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> is always some one point where the outdoor +painter can find a lesser supplementary light and near it a lesser +supplementary dark. Moreover, throughout the rest of the composition +these same lights and darks are echoed and re-echoed in constantly +decreasing gradations.</p> + +<p>You may apply these same tests everywhere in nature. Even in a gray +day, when the sun is not so positive a factor in distributing light, +and the shadows are so subtle that it is difficult to discover them, +there is always some mass of foliage, the silver sheen from an old +shingled roof, the glare of a white wall, which marks for the +composition its lightest light, while a corresponding dark can always +be found somewhere in the tree-trunks, under the overhanging eaves, or +in the broken crevices of the masonry.</p> + +<p>So it is with every other expression of nature. Even on a Venetian +lagoon, where the sky and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> water are apparently one (not really one to +the quick eye of an expert, the water always being one tone lower than +the sky—that is, more gray than the overbending sky)—even in this +lagoon you will find some one portion of the surface lighter than any +other portion; and in expressing it your eye first and your brush next +must catch in the opalescent sweep of delicious color under your eye +its exact quantity of black and white. By black and white I mean, of +course, that excess or absence of pure color which when translated +into pure black and white would express the meaning of the +subject-matter, as one of Raphael Morghen's engravings on steel gives +you the feeling and color in his masterly rendering of Da Vinci's +"Last Supper."</p> + +<p>In my judgment one of the great landscapes of modern times is the +picture by the distinguished Dutch painter, Mauve, known as "Changing +Pasture," which is now owned by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> Mr. Charles P. Taft, of Cincinnati. +Here the factor of mass is carried to its utmost limit. Sky one mass; +flock of sheep another mass; and the foreground, sweeping under the +sheep and beyond until it is lost in the haze of the distance, another +mass, or, if one chooses to put it that way, another broad gradation +of a section of the picture: the highest light being some +infinitesimal speck in the diaphanous silver sky, the strongest dark +being found somewhere in the foreground or in the flock of sheep.</p> + +<p>By a strict adherence to this law of one supreme light and one supreme +dark does Mauve's work, as it were, get back from and out of his +canvas, as from the record of a phonograph into which some soul has +breathed its own precise purpose and intent.</p> + +<p>So, too, does nature often call out to you fixing your attention, +often shrouding in shadow the unimportant in the landscape, while high +up above the gloom it holds up to your gaze a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> white candle of a +minaret or the bared breast of an Alpine peak reflecting the loving +look of a tired sunbeam bidding it good-night.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>To accent the more strongly the value of this dominant light even +though it be treated in very low gradation, I recall that a year ago +the art world was startled by the sum received for a medium sized +picture of some coryphées painted by Degas, now an old man over eighty +years old—a subject which he always loved and, indeed, which he has +painted many times. Some thirty years ago, when he was comparatively a +young man, I saw, at the Bartholdi exhibition in New York, a picture +by this master of these same coryphées, two figures standing together +in the flies resting their weary, pink, fishworm legs as they balanced +themselves with their hands against the wabbling scenery. It was a +wholly gray picture, and almost in a monotone, and yet the flashes of +their diamond<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> earrings, no larger than the point of a pin, were +distinctly visible, holding their place in, if not dominating, the +whole color scheme.</p> + +<p>Again, in that marvellous portrait of Wertheimer, the bric-à-brac +dealer, if you remember, the eye first catches the strong vermilion +touch on the lower lip, and then, knowing that a master like Sargent +would not leave it isolated, one finds, to one's delight and joy, a +little swipe of red on the tongue of the barely discernible black +poodle squatting at his feet. Had the red of the dog's tongue +predominated, we should never have been thrilled and fascinated by one +of the great portraits of this or any other time.</p> + +<p>This is also true in other great portraits—in, for instance, the +pictures of Rembrandt, Vandyck, and Frans Hals, especially where a +face is relieved by the addition of a hand and the white of a ruff. +Somewhere in that warm expanse of the face there can be found a +pinhead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> of color, brighter and more dominating than any other brush +touch on the canvas. It may be the high egg-light in the forehead, or +the click on the tip of the nose, or a fold of the white ruff; but +slight as it is and unnoticeable at first, because of it not only does +the head look round as the egg looks round when relieved by the same +treatment, but the attention is fixed. Unless this had been preserved, +the eye would have, perhaps, rested first on the hand, something +foreign to the painter's intention.</p> + +<p>Recalling again the law of the high light and strong dark, and +referring again to the value of the skilful manipulation of light and +shade forming the mass thereby expressing the more clearly the meaning +of a picture, I repeat that, while the eye is always caught by the +strongest dark against the strongest light, it is next caught by the +lesser supplementary light and lesser supplementary dark; and then, +if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> the painter is skilful enough in the management of the remaining +lesser lights and darks, the eye will run through the gradations to +the end, rebounding once more to the greater light and dark, exactly +in the order intended by the painter; thus unfolding to the spectator +little by little, quite as a plot of a novel is made clear, the story +which the painter had in his own mind to tell. This is effected purely +and entirely by the correct accentuations of the explanatory lights +and darks. One mistake in the management—that is, the accentuating of +the third light, if you please, instead of the second—will not only +confuse the eye of the spectator, but may perhaps give him an entirely +different impression from what was intended by the painter, just as +the shifting of a chapter in a novel would confuse a reader; and this, +if you please, without depending in any way upon either the drawing or +the color of the accessories.</p> + +<p>I can best illustrate this by recalling to your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> mind that marvellous +picture of the so-called literary school of England, a picture by Luke +Fildes known as "The Doctor" and now hanging in the Tate Gallery in +London, in which the whole sad story is told in logical sequence by +the artist's consummate handling of the darks and lights in regular +progression.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>You will pardon me, I hope, if I leave the more technical details of +my subject for a moment that I may discuss with you one of the +peculiarities of the so-called art-loving public of to-day, notably +that section which insists that no picture should tell a story of any +kind.</p> + +<p>To my own mind this picture of Luke Fildes reaches high-water mark in +the school of his time, and yet in watching as I have done the crowds +who surge through the Tate Galleries and the National Gallery, it is +an almost every-day occurrence to overhear such contemptuous remarks +as "Oh, yes, one of those literary fellows,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> drop from the lips of +some highbrow who only tolerates Constable because of the influence +his example and work had on Corot and other men of the Barbizon +school.</p> + +<p>Another section lose their senses over pure brush work.</p> + +<p>A story of Whistler—one he told me himself—will illustrate what I +mean. Jules Stewart's father, a great lover of good pictures and one +of Fortuny's earliest patrons, had invited Whistler to his house in +Paris to see his collection, and in the course of the visit drew from +a hiding-place a small panel of Meissonier's, of a quality so high +that any dealer in Paris would have given him $30,000 for it.</p> + +<p>Whistler would not even glance at it.</p> + +<p>Upon Stewart insisting, he adjusted his monocle and said: "Oh, yes, +very good—<i>snuff-box style</i>."</p> + +<p>This affectation was to have been expected of Whistler because of his +aggressive mental<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> attitude toward the work of any man who handled his +brush differently from his own personal methods, but saner minds may +think along broader lines.</p> + +<p>If they do not, they have short memories. Even in my own experience I +have watched the rise and fall of men whose technic called from the +housetops—a call which was heard by the passing throng below, many of +whom stopped to listen and applaud; for in pictures as in bonnets the +taste of the public changes almost daily. One has only to review +several of the schools, both in English and in Continental art, noting +their dawn of novelty, their sunrise of appreciation, their high noon +of triumph, their afternoon of neglect, and their night of oblivion, +to be convinced that the wheel of artistic appreciation is round like +other wheels—the world, for one—and that its revolutions bring the +night as surely as they bring the dawn.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p>Not a hundred years have passed since the broad, sensuous work of +Turner, big in conception and big in treatment, was followed by the +more exact painters of the English school, many of whom are still at +work, notably Leader and Alfred Parsons, both Royal Academicians, and +of whom some contemporaneous critic insisted that they had counted the +leaves on their elm-trees fringing the polished water of the Thames. +They, of course, had only been eclipsed by the broader brushes of more +recent time, men like Frank Brangwyn and Colin Hunter, who have +yielded to the pressure of the change in taste, or of whom it would be +more just to say, have <i>set</i> present taste, so that to-day not only +the afternoon of night, but the twilight of forgetfulness, is slowly +and surely casting long shadows over the more realistic men of the +eighties and nineties.</p> + +<p>What will follow this evolution of technic no man can predict. The +lessons of the past,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> however, are valuable, and to-day one touch of +Turner's brush is more sought for than acres of canvases so greatly +prized twenty years after his death.</p> + +<p>And this is not alone confined to the old realistic English school. In +my own time I have seen Verbeckoeven eclipsed by Van Marcke, +Bouguereau, Cabanel, and Gérôme by Manet, and Sir Frederick Leighton +by John Sargent—a young David slaying the Goliath of English technic +with but a wave of his magic brush—and, last and by no means least, +the great French painter Meissonier by the equally great Spanish +master Sorolla.</p> + +<p>I am tempted to continue, for the success of these men in the fulness +of the sunlight of their triumph, realists as well as impressionists, +was wholly due to their understanding of and adherence to the rules of +selection, composition, and mass which form the basis of these papers, +and which despite their differences in brush work they all adhered +to.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the late half of the preceding century Meissonier received $66,000 +for his "Friedland," a picture which cost him the best part of two +years to paint, and the expenditure of many thousands of francs, +notably the expense attendant upon the trampling down of a field of +growing wheat by a drove of horses that he might study the action and +the effect the better. Forty years later Sorolla received $20,000 for +two figures in blazing sunlight which took him but two days to paint, +the rest of his collection bringing $250,000, the whole exhibit of one +hundred and odd pictures having been visited by 150,000 persons in +thirty-two days. And he is still in the full tide of success, +pre-eminently the greatest master of the out-of-doors of modern times, +while to-day the work of Meissonier has fallen into such disrepute +that no owner dares offer one of his canvases at public auction except +under the keenest necessity. The first master expresses the refinement +of extreme realism, or rather detailism; the other is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> pronounced +impressionist of the sanest of the open-air school of to-day. How long +this pendulum will continue to swing no one can tell. Both men are +great painters in the widest, deepest, and most pronounced sense; both +men have glorified, ennobled, and enriched their time; and both men +have reflected credit and honor upon their nation and their school.</p> + +<p>Meissonier could not only draw the figure, give it life and action, +keep it harmonious in color, perfect in its gradations of black and +white, but he had that marvellous gift of color analysis which +reproduces for you in a picture the size of the top of a cigar-box +every tone in the local and reflected light to be found, say, in the +folds of a cavalier's cloak, the pleats no wider than the point of a +stub pen.</p> + +<p>All this, of course, Sorolla ignores and, I am afraid, knowing the man +personally as I do, despises. What concerns the great Spaniard is the +whole composition alive in the blaze of the sunlight, the glare of the +hot sand and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> shimmer of the blue, overarching sky, beating up and +down and over the figures, and all depicted with a slash of a brush +almost as wide as your hand. The first picture, the size of a +tobacco-box, you can hold between thumb and finger and enjoy, amazed +at the master's knowledge and skill. The other grips you from afar off +as you enter the gallery and stand startled and astounded before its +truth and dignity. In the first Meissonier tells you the whole story +to the very end. In the second Sorolla presents but a series of +shorthand notes which you yourself can fill in to suit your taste and +experience both of life and nature.</p> + +<p>Whether you prefer one or the other, or neither, is a matter for you +to decide. You pay your money or you don't, and you can take your +choice. The future only can tell the story of the revolution of the +wheel. In the next decade a single Meissonier may be worth its weight +in sheet gold and layers of Sorollas may be stored in attics awaiting +some fortunate auction.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>What will ensue, the art world over, before the wheel travels its full +periphery, no man knows. It will not be the hysteria of paint, I feel +assured, with its dabbers, spotters, and smearers; nor will it be the +litters of the cub-ists, that new breed of artistic pups, sponsors for +"The girl coming down-stairs," or "The stairs coming down the girl," +or "The coming girl and the down-stairs," it makes no difference +which, all are equally incoherent and unintelligible; but it will be +something which, at least, will boast the element of beauty which is +the one and only excuse for art's existence. I may not live to see +Meissonier's second dawn and I never want to see Sorolla's eclipse, +but you may. You have only to remember Turner's second high noon to be +assured of it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And just here it might be well to consider this question of technic, +especially its value in obtaining the results desired. While it has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +nothing to do with either selection, composition, or mass, it has, I +claim, much to do with the way a painter expresses himself—his tone +of voice, his handwriting, his gestures in talking, so to speak—and +therefore becomes an integral part of my discourse. It may also be of +service in the striking of a note of compromise, some middle ground +upon which the extremes may one day meet.</p> + +<p>To make my point the clearer, let me recall an exhibition in New York, +held some years ago, when the bonnets were five deep trying to get a +glimpse of a picture of half a dozen red prelates who were listening +to a missionary's story. Many of these devotees went into raptures +over the brass nails in the sofa, and were only disappointed when they +could not read the monogram on the bishop's ring. Later on, a highly +cultivated and intelligent American citizen was so entranced that he +bought the missionary, story and all, for the price of a brown-stone +front, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> carried him away that he might enjoy him forever.</p> + +<p>One month later, almost exactly in the same spot hung another picture, +the subject of which I forget, or it may be that I did not understand +it or that it had no subject at all. If I remember, it was not like +anything in the heavens above, or the earth beneath, or the waters +under the earth. In this respect one could have fallen down and +worshipped it and escaped the charge of idolatry. With the exception +of a few stray art critics, delighted at an opportunity for a new +sensation, it was not surrounded by an idolatrous gathering at all. On +the contrary, the audience before it reminded me more of Artemas Ward +and his panorama.</p> + +<p>"When I first exhibited this picture in New York," he said, "the +artists came with lanterns before daybreak to look at it, and then +they called for the artist, and when he appeared—they threw things at +him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>For one picture a gentleman gave a brown-stone front; for the other he +would not have given a single brick, unless he had been sure of +planting it in the middle of the canvas the first shot. The first was +Vibert's realistic picture so well known to you. The other was an +example of the modern French school or what was then known as advanced +impressionists.</p> + +<p>I shall not go into an analysis of the technic of the two painters. I +refer to them and their brush work here because of the undue value set +upon the way a thing is done rather than its value after it is done.</p> + +<p>Speaking for myself, I must admit that the value of technic has never +impressed me as have the other and greater qualities in a +picture—namely, its expression of truth and the message it carries of +beauty and often tenderness. I have always held that it is of no +moment to the world at large by what means and methods an artist +expresses himself; that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> the world is only concerned as to whether he +has expressed himself at all; and if so, to what end and extent.</p> + +<p>If the artist says to us, "I scumbled in the background solid, using +bitumen as an undertone, then I dragged over my high lights and +painted my cool color right into it," it is as meaningless to most of +us as if another bread-winner had said, "I use a Singer with a +straight shuttle and No. 60 cotton." What we want to know is whether +she made the shirt.</p> + +<p>Art terms are, however, synonymous with other terms and in this +connection may be of assistance. To make my purpose clear we will +suppose that "technic" in art is handwriting. "Composition," the +arrangement of sentences. "Details," the choice of words. "Drawing," +good grammar. "Mass, or light and shade," contrasting expressions +giving value each to the other. I hold, however, that there is +something more. The author may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> write a good hand, spell correctly, +and have a proper respect for Lindley Murray, but what does he say? +What idea does he convey? Has he told us anything of human life, of +human love, of human suffering or joy, or uncovered for us any fresh +hiding-place of nature and taught us to love it? Or is it only words?</p> + +<p>It really matters very little to any of us what the handwriting of an +author may be, and so it should matter very little how an artist +touches the canvas.</p> + +<p>It is true that a picture containing and expressing an idea the most +elevated can be painted either in mass or detail, at the pleasure of +the painter. He may write in the Munich style, or after the manner of +the Düsseldorf ready writers, or the modern French pothook and hanger, +or the antiquated Dutch. He can use the English of Chaucer, or +Shakespeare, or Josh Billings, at his own good pleasure. If he conveys +an intelligible idea he has accomplished<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> a result the value of which +is just in proportion to the quality of that idea.</p> + +<p>To continue this parallel, it may be said that extreme realism is the +use of too many words in a sentence and too many sentences in a +paragraph; extreme impressionism, the use of too few. Neither, +however, is fundamental, and art can be good, bad, or indifferent +containing each or combining both.</p> + +<p>Realism, or, to express it more clearly, detailism, is the realizing +of the whole subject-matter or motive of a picture in exact detail. +Impressionism is the generalizing of the subject-matter as a whole and +the expression of only its salient features.</p> + +<p>The extreme realist or detailist of the Ruskin type has for years been +insisting that a spade was a spade and should be painted to look like +a spade; that a spade was not a spade until every nail in the handle +and every crack in the blade became apparent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>The more advanced would have insisted on not only the fibre in the +wood, but the brand on the other side of the blade, had it been +physically possible to show it.</p> + +<p>In absolute contrast to this, there lived a man at Barbizon who +maintained that a spade was not a spade at all, but merely a mass of +shadow against a low twilight sky, in the hands of a figure who with +uncovered head listens reverently; that the spade is merely a symbol +of labor; that he used it as he would use a word necessary to express +a sentence, which would be unintelligible without it, and that it was +perfectly immaterial to him, and should be to the world, whether it +was a spade or a shovel so long as the soft twilight, and the reverent +figures wearied with the day's work, and the flat waste of field +stretching away to the little village spire on the dim horizon line +told the story of human suffering and patience and toil, as with +folded hands they listened to the soft cadence of the angelus.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>Which of these two methods of expression is correct—Ruskin or Millet? +Are there any laws which govern, or is it a matter of taste, fancy, or +feeling? Is it a matter of individuality? If so, which individual by +his methods tells us the most truths? Let us endeavor to analyze.</p> + +<p>I whirl through a mountain gorge and catch a glance through a +car-window—an impression. In the darkness of the tunnel it remains +with me. I see the great mass of white cumuli and against them the +dark cedars, the straggling foot-path and steep cliffs. I am impressed +with the sweep of the cloud form pressing over and around them. With +my eyes closed I paint this on my brain, and if I am great enough and +wide enough and deep enough I can subdue my personality and forget my +surroundings, and when opportunity offers I can express upon my canvas +the few salient facts which impressed me and should impress my fellow +men. If it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> the silvery light of the morning, I am Corot; if the +day is gone and across the cool lagoon I see the ripple amid the tall +grass catching the fading color of the warm sky, I am Daubigny; if a +gray mist hangs over the hillside and the patches of snow half melted +express the warmth and mellowness of the coming spring, I am our own +Inness.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, however, I am not content. I am overburdened with curiosity. +I say to myself: "What sort of trees, pine or cedar?" I think, pine, +but I am uneasy lest they should be hemlock. Were the rocks all +perpendicular, or did not detached bowlders line the path? About the +clouds, were they not some small cirri beneath the zenith? My memory +is so bad—and so I stop the train and go back. Just as I expected. +The trees were spruce and the rocks were grass-grown and full of +fissures, and so I begin to paint and continue. I get the bark on the +trees, and the foliage until each particular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> leaf stands on end, and +the strata of the cliffs, and the very sand on the path. I crowd into +my canvas geology, botany, and the laws governing cloud forms.</p> + +<p>Being an ordinary mortal, my curiosity, my telescopic eyes, my +magnifying-glass of vision, my love of truth, my positive conviction +that it is a spruce and should not be painted as a pine, except +through rank perjury, all these forces together have undermined my +impression or, like thorns, have grown up and choked it. Being honest, +I am ready to confess that before returning to the spot I was in doubt +about the pine. But I am still ready to affirm that what I have +labored over is the exact counterfeit and presentment of nature, and +equally willing to denounce the public for not seeing it as I do. I +forget that I have been a boor and a vulgarian—that I have been +invited to a feast and that I have pried into mysteries which my +goddess would veil from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> my sight; that I have had the impertinence to +bring my own personal advice into the discussion; that I have insisted +that fissures, and leaves, and sand, and infinite detail were +necessary to this expression of nature's sublimity.</p> + +<p>Is it at all strange that the impression which so charmed me as I saw +it from my car-window has faded? Nature unrolled for me suddenly a +poem. For symbols she used a great mass of dark, sturdy trees against +a majestic cloud, a rugged cliff, and a straggling path. I have +ignored them all and insisted that "truth was mighty and must +prevail." I am a realist and "paint things as they are." Not so. I am +an iconoclast and have broken my god and cannot put together the +pieces. I have sacrificed a divine impression to a human realism.</p> + +<p>Suppose, however, that the painter who had this glimpse of nature +before entering the tunnel was no ordinary man, but a man of steadfast +mind, of firm convictions, of a sure touch, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> an absolute belief +in nature, and so reverential that he dare not offer even a suggestion +of his own. He has seen it; he has felt it; it has gone down deep into +his memory and heart. The cloud, the cliff, the mass, the path—that +is all. And it is enough. The annoyances of the day, the seductions of +fresh impressions of newer subjects, the weakness of the flesh do not +deter him. With a single aim, to the exclusion of all else, and with a +direct simplicity, he records what he saw, and lo! we have a poem. +Such a man was Courbet, Corot, Dupré.</p> + +<p>But one would say: That may answer for landscape: what about the +figure-painter? Let us counsel together.</p> + +<p>A man only rises to his own level. In art, as in music and literature, +he only expresses himself. Each selects his own method. The school of +Meissonier is not content with a few grand truths simply expressed. +They want a multitude of facts; they must tell the story in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> their own +way. They are the Dickens and Walter Scott of art. It is iteration and +reiteration. My cardinal must not only have red stockings, says +Vibert, but they must be silk; every detail must be elaborated. Very +well, what of it? you say. What do you criticise, the drawing? No. The +color? No. The composition? No. Does the painter express himself? +Perfectly. What then? Just this. He expresses himself too perfectly. +At first I am delighted. The story is so well told—the well-fed +prelates; the half-sneer; the cynical smile; the earnest missionary +telling his experience. But the next day?—well, he is still telling +it. By the end of the week the enjoyment is confined to allowing him +to tell it to a fresh eye, and that eye another's, and watching his +pleasure. At the end of the year it becomes a part of the decoration +of the wall. You perhaps feel that the frame needs retouching, and +that is all the impression it makes upon you, except as would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> an old +timepiece with the mainspring gone. The works are exquisite and the +enamelling charming, but it has been four o'clock for forty years.</p> + +<p>In the library, however, hangs an etching which you often look at; in +fact, you never pass it without noticing it. Two figures, a +wheelbarrow, a spade, a stretch of country, a spire pencilled against +a low-tone sky; and yet, somehow, you hear the tolling of the bell and +the whispered prayer. Ah! but you say this has nothing to do with the +treatment; it is the subject. One moment. The missionary's story is as +full of pathos and of human suffering and courage as the "Angelus," +and at first as profoundly stirs our sympathy; but, in one, Vibert has +monopolized the conversation; he has exhausted the subject; he has +told you everything he knows. Nothing has been omitted; nails, +monograms, and all; there is nothing left for you to supply—he is not +so complimentary. But Millet has taken you into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> his confidence. He +says: "Come, see what I once saw. Do you ever remember any such couple +working in the field?" And you immediately, and unconsciously to +yourself, remember just such a bent back and reverent, uncovered head. +Where, you cannot tell, for the picture comes to you out of the dim +lumber-room in your brain where you store your old memories and faint +impressions of bygone days and sad faces.</p> + +<p>But if he added, "See, my peasant wears a woollen jacket trimmed with +worsted braid," your impression would immediately fade. You might +remember the jacket, but the braid, never. But for this it would have +been delightful for you, although unconsciously, to add your own sweet +memory to the picture.</p> + +<p>Another impression choked to death with unnecessary realism.</p> + +<p>But be you realist or impressionist, remember that a true work of art +is that which has pleased<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> <i>the greatest number of people for the +longest period of time</i>; that the love of beauty indicates our highest +intellectual plane, and that if you will express to your fellow +sinners burdened with life's cares something of the enthusiasm of your +own life, and will assist them to see their mother earth through your +own eyes in constantly increasing beauty—you having by your art, in +your possession, the key to the cipher, and interpreting and +translating for them—you will confer upon them one of the greatest +blessings which fall to their lot on this mundane sphere.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WATER-COLORS" id="WATER-COLORS"></a>WATER-COLORS</h2> + + +<p>Color, if you stop to think, is really the decorative touch which God +gives to the universe. It would have been just as easy to make +everything gray—every rose but the shadow of itself—every tree and +rock and cloud a monotone of gradation. Instead of that, everything we +look at, from a violet to an overbending sky, is enriched and +glorified by millions of color tones as infinite in their gradation as +the waves of sound and light. Even in the grayest days, when the +clouds are bursting into tears and the whole landscape is desolate as +the barrenest and bleakest of mountain sides, these infinite +gradations of color permeate and redeem its barrenness, and to the +true painter fill it with joy and beauty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p>There are many of us, however, who are not true painters and to whom +the most exquisite of color schemes are but dull results. Many of us +walk around our galleries passing the best pictures in silence; others +ridicule what they cannot understand. Even our own beloved Mark Twain, +whose heart was always open to the best and warmest of human +impressions, and who expressed them in every line of his pen, when led +up to one of Turner's masterpieces, "The Slave Ship," a glory of red, +yellow, and blue running riot over a sunset sky, the whole reflected +in a troubled sea, remarked to his companion: "Very wonderful! Seen it +before. Always reminds me of a tortoise-shell cat having a fit in a +plate of tomato soup."</p> + +<p>The education of such barbarians belongs to our generation and should +be taken up by those of us who know or think we do. For true color is +as great an educator as true music.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> This knowledge of color harmony, +this matching and contrasting of different colors, but very few men +and women possess. When they do, it is generally inherited and thus a +natural gift. The rest of the world wear blue and purple, or orange +and green, entirely ignorant of the harmonies of nature even as +bearing on their domestic surroundings. For myself, I have always held +that the most perfect harmonies required in either wall decoration, +furniture, dress goods, or any other fabrics that color enters into, +have their exact counterpart in some color tones of nature—that the +russet-browns and yellows of autumn; the contrasting opalescent hues +of a morning sky, rose-pink, pale blue, or delicate tea-rose yellow; +the gloom of a forest with its yellow-grays and blue-grays, the +gray-green moss of the lichens, the brown of the tree-trunks, the +black and gray hues of the rocks, all these, if carefully studied and +analyzed and reproduced, would make beautiful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> anything in the world +from a bonnet to a château. To illustrate:</p> + +<p>Several years ago an intimate friend of mine, a distinguished +architect of New York, the late Mr. Bruce Price, in designing a number +of cottages at Tuxedo sought in vain for some color mixture current in +the paint-shops with which to cover the outside of his buildings. All +schemes of browns, olive-greens, colonial yellow with white trimmings +and the reverse, Pompeiian reds, slate-grays, and dull yellows +resulted in making "spots" of the houses, so that the effect he wished +to produce, that of the houses being merged into the forest, was lost. +Mr. Price was not only an architect, but he was an artist as well. He +had little skill with his brush, but he had that innate good taste, +with a keen eye to discern the subtle gradations in color, that only +needed change of occupation to make him a painter. One day, looking at +a new bare wooden cottage—unpainted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> as yet—in contrast to a mass of +foliage in the early autumn before the leaves had begun to turn, in +which the yellow-grays one often sees predominated, he suddenly +thought to himself: "The tree-trunks and underbrush do not stand out; +they are all of one piece, each keeping its place, while my house"—as +he rather inelegantly but forcibly expressed it—"sticks up like a +sore thumb." Later, this very clever man made an analysis of the local +color in these several grays, and his subsequent matching and +combining of these different tints resulted in the exact tones of the +forest before him, and when this was completed and the house painted +you felt should you enter the front door that the leaves must be over +your head.</p> + +<p>Bringing the discussion down to more practical details, really to the +palettes which we hold in our hands, the question then naturally +arises as to how best to express true local color,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> with its varying +blues, yellows, and reds, and especially its varying grays.</p> + +<p>In my own experience I find grays to be the prevailing tones +everywhere in nature.</p> + +<p>I find also that the great masters of modern art, particularly the +school of 1830, known as the Barbizon school, and represented by such +men as Rousseau, Corot, Daubigny, Diaz, and Millet, and later by men +who in some degree represent that school, but to my mind have done +work equally good—even Monténard and Cazin—that all these masters +have loved, sought for, and expressed in their work this +all-prevailing quality, the gray.</p> + +<p>A few very simple rules for testing the power, presence, and quality +of the prevailing gray in nature are so easily learned and so +convincing in their application that once applied they are never +forgotten.</p> + +<p>Take, for instance, a morning in late spring or early summer, when all +nature is dressed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> from tree-top to grass-blade in a suit of vivid +green. To a tyro with so dangerous a weapon as a color-box, there is +nothing that will really bring down this game but some explosive +composed of indigo and Indian yellow, or Prussian blue and light +cadmium—perhaps the strongest mixture of vivid raw green.</p> + +<p>Now, pluck a single leaf from a near-by branch, hold it close to one +eye, and with this as a guide note the difference in color tones +between it and the leaves on the tree from which you plucked the leaf +and which you had believed to be a vivid green. To your surprise, the +leaf itself, even with the sun shining through it, is many tones lower +and grayer than the color of the near-by branch as depicted on your +paper, while the near-by branch, in comparison, pales into a sable +gray-green, which you could perhaps get with yellow ochre, blue-black, +and a touch of chrome-yellow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>It does not seem to me that I can better illustrate this quality of +the gray than by rapidly going over some of the works of George Inness +lately on exhibition in New York—certainly to me the most marvellous +examples of the power of a human mind to harmonize the subtle +colorings of nature. I select Inness not only because he is to me one +of the great landscape-painters of his day, but because he chooses a +very wide range of subjects, from early morning to twilight, +expressing these truthfully, absolutely, perfectly, so far as local +color is concerned—that is, of course, as I see through either my own +spectacles or Inness's; but, then, remember, our eyes may need repair. +When these canvases are analyzed we find in the range of color nothing +stronger than yellow ochre in yellows, than light red in reds, and, +with hardly an exception, blue-black for blues. Indeed, his usual +palette, as does Mauve's and Cazin's, seems to me to be only yellow +ochre and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> blue-black, and with these two colors he expresses the +whole range of the color scheme in nature, with the varying lights of +day and night, except in depicting sunsets.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After the salient features of a landscape have been analyzed and +recorded in color, the more subtle qualities are to be detected and +expressed. The most important of these is the time of day. To an +outdoor painter—an expert examining the work of another expert—the +hour-hand is written over every square inch of the canvas. He knows +from the angle of the shadows just how high the sun was in the +heavens, and he knows, too, from the local color of the shadows +whether it is a silvery light of the morning, the glare of noontime, +or the deepening golden glow of the afternoon. In fact, if you will +think for a moment, the shadow of an overhanging balcony upon a white +wall is a perfect sun-dial for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> him, and this test can be indefinitely +applied to every part of the picture.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a name="pic_2" id="pic_2"></a> +<img src="images/image_01.jpg" width="600" height="410" alt="Under the Willows, Cookham-on-Thames" /> +<span class="caption">Under the Willows, Cookham-on-Thames</span> +</div> + +<p>The next is the temperature: how hot or how cold it was—what month in +the year? It is unnecessary for Inness to cover his ground with snow +to make his picture express a certain degree of cold, neither is it +necessary for Monténard to fill his Provençal roads with clouds of +dust to show how hot they are. This is done by the opalescent tones of +the sky, by the values expressed in reflected lights and in the +illuminated shadows, so that you feel in looking across one of +Inness's fields of brown grass just how late is the autumn and just +how cool it has been, and in looking down one of Monténard's roads you +realize how useless would be an overcoat.</p> + +<p>In this connection let me say that all nature is interesting and all +nature is beautiful, but all nature, as I have said, is not paintable. +The interior of a railroad station, for instance, is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>interesting, +as giving you certain mechanical results, construction, but it is not +picturesque—that is, paintable—unless one could treat it as Pennell +does, contrasting the black cars and locomotive with a puff of white +steam, giving the vistas with the perspective of track, and a centre +mass of people adding an idea of movement and color.</p> + +<p>Above all, the outdoor painter should get the character and feeling of +the place he portrays on his canvas. If in Spain, his picture must +look like Spain. The air must be transparent, the architecture +clean-cut against the azure. If it be Holland, the atmosphere must be +moist, the air like a veil, and with all this there must be nothing in +the work that will be mistaken for the smoke-laden air of England. +Only thus, by this fidelity to the very nature and spirit of a place, +can the picture be made to express the essence of its life, which is +really the heart of the whole mystery.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + +<p>Coming at last to our text, Water-Colors—the art of depicting nature +on a sheet of white paper by paints diluted with water—it will be +well to remind you that the art goes back to almost prehistoric times. +A few weeks ago, in the library of Mr. Jesse Carter, director of the +American Academy in Rome, I saw one of the earliest water-colors in +existence. It was painted upon a sheet of slate, and, although some +thousands of years old, still retained its color and remarkable +brilliancy. The subject was a group of figures, the centre object +being a girl of wonderful grace.</p> + +<p>The present art of water-color painting, with a sheet of white paper +as background instead of the permanent stone, is, however, but little +more than one hundred and fifty years old, and owes its existence +largely to the men of the English school.</p> + +<p>Mr. C. E. Hughes, in his delightful book on "Early English Water +Color," confined this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> English school to the men born between the +years 1720 and 1820.</p> + +<p>In this group he places the great Gainsborough, who from 1760 to 1774 +worked "in charcoal and water-color on tinted paper," which he said he +"loved to dash off of an evening, and which dazzled the fine ladies +and gentlemen who frequented the select watering-place of Bath," where +he was then living.</p> + +<p>Then came Robert Cozens, the brothers Sanby, Thomas Hearne, Thomas +Malton, Samuel Scott, and a few others, all known as the +eighteenth-century painters.</p> + +<p>These were succeeded by Thomas Girtin, who was born in 1775 and died +at twenty-seven years of age; and the great J. M. W. Turner, who first +saw the light in the same year, and on the day on which all great +Englishmen should be born—namely, April 23—a day dedicated to St. +George and the birthday of William Shakespeare.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p>Girtin and Turner worked together. Girtin, measured by the standard of +to-day, was an extreme impressionist, leaving behind him sketches +dashed in with an appearance of freedom which Peter DeWint and David +Cox might have envied when in after years they were at the height of +their power. Turner, on the contrary, devoted his time to acquiring +that triumphant grasp of detail which caused him to be known in his +earlier life as an extreme realist.</p> + +<p>The change in Turner's work—the broader brush—came in his later +years when oil became his medium of expression, in which, no doubt, +his ability to note and yet sacrifice all unnecessary detail was a +potent factor.</p> + +<p>A list of Englishmen greatly prized in their day now follows. Such men +as John Varly, Gilpin, Glover, William Havell (all of whom during some +part of their careers were members of the first Water Color Society +formed in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> England, in 1804, which body still survives in the old +Water Color Society whose rooms are still open on Pall Mall East) rose +into prominence, their works finding places both in private and public +collections.</p> + +<p>This society was in turn succeeded by the New Society of Painters in +Miniature and Water Colors, which came into being in 1807 and went out +of existence in 1812—a victim, says Hughes, of the condition of +public apathy which brought about in the same year a reconstruction of +the older organization under the joint title of the Oil and Water +Color Society, and which eked out a precarious existence until the +birth of the association now known as the Royal Institute for Painters +in Water Colors.</p> + +<p>Other names now confront us, among them two men, David Cox and Peter +DeWint, who in their day were considered masters of the medium. These +last struck a new note in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> water-color, or rather a new technic in its +handling. What Ruskin, the realist, in his "Modern Painters" describes +as "blottesque" was at that time looked upon by both teachers and +students as the one and only means by which white paper could be +properly stained. This method, to quote from a loyal believer in the +English transparent school, and whose enthusiasm is delightful, was +the laying on of the color in washes which filled certain definite +spaces indicated by a pen-and-ink outline.</p> + +<p>These washes would indicate, say, a distant tree with a preliminary +tint and a subsequent elaboration; he would do it all in one process, +giving his blot an irregular edge and allowing the color to accumulate +where the shadows required it. His elaborative touches elsewhere were +of the same nature. They were brush blots as distinct from washes. To +this, I think, we may attribute on analysis the freedom of handling +which—though each man has his distinctive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> method—is characteristic +of both Cox and DeWint. If we add to these two methods of using the +brush a third—its manipulation as though it were a pen—we shall have +all the fluid processes on one or the other of which the beauty of all +modern water-color drawings depends. A fourth process is rubbing the +color into the grain of the paper. A fifth—a supplementary one—is +scratching out. Last is the ignominy of the stipple—the wetting of +the brush in the mouth, a technic entirely dependent upon the quantity +of saliva the student can spare for his work. Almost every early wash +water-color in existence can be classified according to the employment +in its making of some or all of these means.</p> + +<p>In later years, especially in the last half of the eighteenth century, +we have Copley Fielding; Prout, with his picturesque sepia drawings, +the detail of his architecture in brown ink; Harding; Bonnington, +really a great man;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> Clarkson Stanfield; Rowbotham; David Roberts; +James Holland; Cattermole, who declined a knighthood and whose +intimates were Dickens, Disraeli, and Thackeray; and so on down to the +men of to-day, who are so well and ably represented in the annual +exhibitions of the Royal Academy and the present English Water Color +Societies.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As for our own progress in the art, the subject, of course, is too +well known for long discussion. Our oldest society, the American Water +Color Society, held its first public exhibition in the National +Academy of Design in New York in 1867, a date always remembered by me +with infinite pride and pleasure, for upon the walls of the smallest +room close up under the roof was hung my first exhibited +water-color—the only one of my three the hanging committee were good +enough to accept. Two years later—I am happy to say—in 1869, I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +elected a member, and I am further happy to say that I am still in +good standing and in high-hanging, and have so continued from that day +down to the present time—a trifle of some forty-six years.</p> + +<p>As to my compatriots, I can truthfully say that its membership covers +some of the great water-colorists of our own or any other time, both +here and abroad—men entirely free to do as they pleased, working in +anything and all things so long as, to use their own expression, they +"get there," handling body color, in a veil of silver-gray as an +overwash or squeezed in chunks from a tube; undertones of charcoal +gray, overtones of pastel—anything for <i>quality</i>.</p> + +<p>Their names are legion: the late E. A. Abbey, Walter Palmer, Chase, +the late Robert Blum, F. S. Church, Cooper, Curran, Eaton, Farrer, the +two Smillies, Childe Hassam, Keller, Murphy, Nicoll, Potthast, the +late Henry Smith, etc., etc.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<p>These are but a haphazard choice of the men whose work shows the +widest ranges in selection, composition, mass, and technic, and who, +in the world of water-color painting, are masters of the medium.</p> + +<p>As to our progenitors, the English water-color school—and I make the +statement with every respect for their high accomplishments—while I +believe we are indebted to them for the very existence of the art +itself, I must say that our own men and art-lovers the world over +would have been vastly benefited had these Englishmen allowed +themselves a little more freedom in their methods and not followed so +blindly the traditions of their past.</p> + +<p>That we broke away so early is as much a question of race as of +training. The last idea that enters the heads of our own men is that +they want either to paint or to draw like somebody else. They all want +to paint like themselves, or they do not want to paint at all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> They +are so many art sponges. They go abroad, wander about the Grosvenor +and the exhibitions, run over to Paris and haunt the Salon and shops, +and so on to Munich and Berlin, picking up a technical touch here or a +new idea of grouping or mass or color scheme there, and then, having +thoroughly absorbed it all, return home and use whatever suits them; +but a slavish imitation of any one English, French, or German +master—never; neither do they follow any other brush at home. They do +not believe in each other sufficiently to pay the highest form of +flattery—imitation.</p> + +<p>Nor do many of them find their subjects abroad—a habit practised +these many years by your humble speaker, whose only excuse is that he +<i>must</i> paint, no matter where he is, and that his life in the +summer-time is dominated by his two children, both exiles, and more +exactingly still in late years by two little grandboys who have not as +yet crossed the ocean. No, these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> young American painters, with hardly +an exception, find their subjects at home, and they choose wisely.</p> + +<p>And just here it can be said that if we are ever to have a school that +will leave its impress on the art of the world, the task will be the +easier if our men find their subjects at home—if they will show our +own people the beauty, dignity, and grandeur of the material that lies +under their very eyes, and also teach those fellows on the other side +to respect us, both because we can paint and because we have the +things to paint from. With a mountain and river scenery unrivalled on +the globe; with rock-bound coasts breaking the full surge of an ocean; +with forests of towering trees compared to which in girth and height +the trees of all other lands are but toothpicks; with plains ending in +films of blue haze and valleys sparkling with myriads of waterfalls; +with every type of the human race blended in our own, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> distinct as +are the woodman of Maine and the soft-eyed mulatto of Louisiana; with +a history filled with traditions most romantic—Aztec, Indian, and +negro; with women who move like Greek goddesses and children whose +faces are divine, why go away from home to find something to paint? +Winslow Homer never did, and that's why his work will live when the +painters of Egyptian harems, Spanish dancers, and Dutch and Venetian +boats and palaces are forgotten.</p> + +<p>To take a specific example or two, what subject, for instance, is more +worthy of a great master's brush than Homer's "Undertow," two +half-drowned young bathers locked in each other's arms, the two +beachmen dragging them clear of the mighty, blue-green wave curving +behind them? Here is a subject of almost weekly occurrence on our +coast. Who ever thought of painting it before? And that marvellous +picture of "The Cotton Pickers." This, to me,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> was the first clear +note Homer had sounded. The "Prisoners to the Front," painted just +after the war, was a strong, realistic picture, true and forceful in +color and composition, and, of course, admirable in drawing, but that +was all. It told its story at once, and having heard it to the end you +acknowledged its truth and went away content. But "The Cotton Pickers" +left something more in your mind. The gray dawn of the morning dimly +lighted up a field of cotton, the negro quarters on the horizon line; +dotted here and there, bending over the bolls, were groups of negroes, +singly and in pairs, filling their bags; in the foreground walked two +young negro girls, the foremost a dark mulatto—the whole story of +Southern slavery written in every line of her patient, uncomplaining +face.</p> + +<p>This picture alone placed Homer in the first rank of American painters +of his day, and he has never lost this place, for not only was the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +picture all it should be in composition and mass, but, unlike many of +Homer's pictures of an earlier period, it was deliciously gray and +cool in tone. It places him also in the front rank of the painters of +our time. Jules Breton never gave us anything more pleasing, and never +anything stronger in drawing, more true to life, or more poetic in +conception and treatment. I mention Breton because, of the men on the +other side, he is the only one who affects, so to speak, a similar +line of subjects. Breton loves his peasants and paints them as if he +did. Homer loved his subjects entirely in the same spirit. How +unequally the two men have been rewarded you all know. An all-wise +American who some years ago offered $40,000 for a Breton at auction +could not at the time have been induced to give one-tenth of that +amount for a Homer; and yet, for vigor, truth, sentiment, and +technic—yes, technic, for this picture was superbly painted—"The +Cotton Pickers,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> in my judgment, will outlive the other if the time +should ever come when picture-buyers think for themselves.</p> + +<p>The Englishman, on the other hand, is the hardest man to pull out of a +groove. What <i>has been</i> is good enough for him, whether in +architecture, art, politics, or government. Any one who objects, or +seeks to improve or to point out a new and different way, is +"anathema." It is hardly more than twenty years ago that John Sargent, +whose works are often the strongest drawing card in the annual +exhibitions, was ignored by the jury of the Royal Academy.</p> + +<p>"A slap-dash sort of a painter, my dear boy. Most dangerous to allow +his things to come in. No drawing, you know, no finish—altogether out +of the question." So spoke a Royal Academician when the question was +broached.</p> + +<p>Whistler never found a vacant spot, no matter how high, where he could +hang even a 10 x 14.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A mountebank in paint, my dear sir. Think of giving him a place +alongside of Sir Frederick Leighton! Impossible! Absolutely +impossible!" That the Luxembourg exhibited his portrait of his mother, +and that the art critics of Europe voted it "one of the greatest +portraits of modern times," made no difference. These Royal wiseacres +knew better. Some of them still think they know better, a fact easily +ascertained when you walk through the Exhibition, as I do every +summer, and have continued to do for the past thirty years.</p> + +<p>And this adherence to tradition is not confined entirely to technic—I +refer now to many of the English painters of to-day—but appears in +their choice of subjects as well. It is the <i>subjects</i> which have been +successful—that is, which have been <i>sold</i>—that must be painted over +and over. Anything new is a departure, and a departure from the +standard in the selection of a subject is as dangerous as a departure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +in the cut of a coat or the color of one's gloves—or was as dangerous +until Sargent, Abbey, Frank Brangwyn, and men of that ilk smashed the +current idols and taught men a new religion. A small congregation, it +is true, but big enough for them to gather together to sing hymns of +praise and pray for better things.</p> + +<p>Let me illustrate what I mean by conforming to the standard. Three +years ago I was painting near a village, an hour from Paddington—a +lovely spot on the River Thames. This quaint settlement is one of +those little, waterside, old-fashioned-inn places, all drooping trees, +punts, millions of roses, tumble-down cottages, stretches of meadows +with the silver thread of the Thames glistening in the sunlight. There +is also a bridge, a wonderful old brick bridge, stepping across on +three arches, mould-incrusted, blackened by time, masses of green +rushes clustered about its feet—a most picturesque and lovable +bridge, known<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> to about everybody who has ever visited that section of +England.</p> + +<p>I had been there for a week, making my headquarters at the White Hart, +when my attention was attracted to a man across the river—it is quite +narrow here—a painter, evidently, who seemed to be surrounded by a +collection of canvases. He went through the same motions every day, +and then my curiosity got the better of me and I went over to see him.</p> + +<p>Spread out on the grass lay eight canvases, all of one size, and each +one containing a picture of the old brick bridge.</p> + +<p>"But why eight all alike?" I asked in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Because I can't sell anything else. I am known as the Sonning Bridge +painter. I've been at it for twenty years."</p> + +<p>It is with this sort of thing, either in the selection of a subject, +in its treatment, or in its handling, that I have but little sympathy, +even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> though the great Ruskin, in speaking of this same English +water-color school, the one I have catalogued for you, insists that it +is the only "true school of landscape which has yet existed," an +appreciation which is followed by the outburst that "from the last +landscape of Tintoret, if we look for life we will pass at once to the +first landscape of Turner." It is, of course, only one of Ruskin's +dictatorial statements, admirable when written, because it was read +and approved by a class who knew no better and who accepted his words +as other blind devotees obeyed the Delphic Oracle—statements, +however, which are rejected by many of to-day who think for themselves +and who think clearly, having the world's work spread open before them +from which to judge.</p> + +<p>Once in wandering around the Academia of Venice, taking in for the +fiftieth time Titian's masterpiece, I came across an Englishman who +had paused in his walk and was adjusting his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> long-distance +telescope—a monocle glued just under his left eyebrow. Mistaking my +red-backed sketch-book for a Baedeker, he said, in an apologetic tone:</p> + +<p>"Pardon me—I've left mine at home—but will you be good enough to +tell me what Mr. Ruskin says about that picture?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That I have personally refused to follow either Mr. Ruskin or the +example of the men he places on so high a pinnacle—I am now referring +entirely to their technic—is due to my having painted all my life +out-of-doors, the best place in which a man can study nature at close +range. This experience has taught me that weight and solidity are as +important in the rendering of a natural object as air and perspective, +and that the <i>staining of paper with washes of transparent color does +not and cannot give them</i>.</p> + +<p>Nor can any brilliant light, a crisp, snapping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> light—a glint of the +sun's rays, for instance, on the break of the surf, or on the round of +a glossy leaf, reflecting like a mirror the opaque sky—ever be +achieved by careful working around the edges of an unwashed speck of +paper—the transparent man's only means of expressing a high light.</p> + +<p>Nor will a single dab of Chinese white produce the effect of it, +should it be the <i>only</i> dab of opaque white in the composition. The +result in this case is still worse, for if transparent color has any +value when uniformly distributed it is in the expression of air and +perspective. The dab, then, is instantly out of plane, as it comes +nearer to the eye than the transparent wash about it, and the illusion +of distance is accordingly lost.</p> + +<p>But another and quite a different thing occurs when the opaque color +<i>forms part</i> of the whole, the two systems blending each with the +other. To illustrate, my own experience has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> taught me that in nature +whatever the sun shines <i>upon</i> is opaque. The façade of a cathedral, +for instance, facing a sky where the rays of the sun strike it full is +opaque, while the angles of the architecture, casting shadows large +and small into which sink the blue reflections of the sky or the +reflected lights from near-by objects, are invariably transparent.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And now for my own system and the reasons why I have abandoned all +other systems. And in giving them to you I want to repeat what I said +in the beginning of this course, that I do not ask you students to +follow in my footsteps if your predilections, training, and innate +consciences lead you to a different view of treatment. Many of you may +not like my work at all, and you certainly have a large following, +especially among the younger men and women who have advanced ideas. +Many of you hold to the opinion that water-color men should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> stick to +their trade and not encroach upon the oil painters in their technic. +And many of you may at heart prefer, nay, even delight in, the broad, +loose washes of the early English school.</p> + +<p>There may be a few of you, however, who have open minds free from +prejudice and free from the traditions of the past, and who are +dissatisfied with the want of "virility," if I may so express it, +shown in pictures painted on white paper, and with successive +washings, and may accordingly see something in my own methods which +may encourage you to follow in the path which I have cleared and which +I humbly trust will lead to infinitely better results than I have so +far achieved.</p> + +<p>And in this you must have the courage of your opinions and be prepared +for criticisms. Those who are against me are more numerous than those +who are for me and my methods.</p> + +<p>Only last month a distinguished New York daily paper, in reviewing a +recent exhibition, said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There really is nothing left to say about Mr. Smith's water-colors. +They appear with such unfailing regularity and are always so much the +same. Nothing in the present collection will surprise those who know +his work—and who does not? The artist's facility is undiminished, his +industry untiring, but to look for any fresh inspiration in his work +or a hint of anything but a conventional vision has long been a vain +hope."</p> + +<p>I should be discouraged if I thought that this was the last word on my +work. I know better, because I am making a collection of such +criticisms, showing the rating of our several painters. These summings +up of mine will be extremely valuable as marking the changing taste of +the public; for I have never supposed that either ill will or +downright ignorance formed the basis of current criticism. The critics +are merely expressing the trend of public opinion. It is not new to +our age. Diaz, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> one story goes, once came stumping (he had lost one +leg) into Millet's cottage at Barbizon fresh from the Salon. Millet +had been painting nudes—the most exquisite bits of flesh-painting +seen for many a day, and as modest as Chabas "September Morn."</p> + +<p>"What do they say of my things?" asked Millet.</p> + +<p>"That you are still painting naked women," replied Diaz.</p> + +<p>Millet was horrified.</p> + +<p>"I paint naked women! I never painted one in my life."</p> + +<p>Hence "The Angelus" and "The Sowers" and the other masterpieces of +clothed peasants.</p> + +<p>In 1825 Constable writes in answer to a scurrilous attack made on his +so-called "puerile" efforts:</p> + +<p>"Remember the great were not made for me, nor was I for the great. My +limited and abstractive art is to be found under every hedge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> and in +every lane, and therefore nobody thinks it worth while picking up. My +art flatters nobody by imitation: it courts nobody by smoothness: it +tickles nobody by politeness: it is without either fol-de-rol or +fiddle-de-dee. How can I hope to be popular?"</p> + +<p>Ruskin's attack on Whistler is another case in point. A lawsuit +followed and Whistler recovered one farthing damages, and had the +effrontery to dangle it under the great critic's nose that same night +at a reception where they both met, followed by the remark:</p> + +<p>"Beat you, old man."</p> + +<p>Even Mr. Thackeray went out of his way in his "art notes" to belittle +and ridicule Sir Thomas Lawrence because he lacked what he called the +"virility of his progenitors and associates."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And now for my own system.</p> + +<p>I use a heavy, gray charcoal paper, which is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> made by Dupré & Company, +No. 141 Faubourg St. Honoré, Paris, and which costs about ten cents +per sheet, measuring about 40 x 30 inches each. This paper is evenly +ribbed but without the intermittent bands seen often in the lighter +charcoal paper, known as "Michelet," sold everywhere in our own art +stores. Dupré will send this paper to anybody who applies for it.</p> + +<p>This paper I wet on <i>both</i> sides and thumb-tack over an oil canvas the +size of the picture to be painted. It dries tight as a drum, and the +canvas backing protects it from puncture or other injury.</p> + +<p>On this surface I make <i>a full and complete drawing in charcoal</i> of +the subject before me, not in outline, but in strong darks, jet-black, +many of them—a finished drawing really, in charcoal, which could be +signed and framed. This is then "fixed" by a spray of alcohol and gum +shellac, thrown by means of a common<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> perfume atomizer, the whole +apparatus costing less than one American dollar.</p> + +<p>On this I begin my color scheme in both opaque and transparent color, +recognizing the "natural facts" already explained to you, that is, the +skies and high lights being solidly opaque, the shadows being equally +transparent. This process requires certain modifications to be made in +the darks of the original drawing. The dense black shadow under the +eaves of a roof, for instance, are not in nature as black as the +charcoal, but perhaps a rich, warm brown. If the ground is in +sunlight, it is a dull, golden yellow and reflects the yellow glow of +the sand beneath. Or it may be a blue reflection, or even of a reddish +tone. These hard blacks then must be <i>glazed</i> in such a way as to +preserve the power of the shadow obtained by means of the under +charcoal, and yet keep it <i>transparent</i> (all shadows being +transparent) and at the same time preserve its true and proper tint.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>This glaze is done by using the three semi-opaque primary +pigments—found in every color-box—namely:</p> + +<ul> +<li>Light red,</li> +<li>Cobalt-blue,</li> +<li>Yellow ochre.</li> +</ul> + +<p>These colors, of course, form the basis of all intermediate tones, and +from them all intermediate tones can be made.</p> + +<p>These three colors are at the same time semi-opaque, their opacity +being just sufficient to tint the hard black of the coal, while never +clogging or muddying its transparency.</p> + +<p>So it is with the millions of other tones in the whole composition, +when such perfectly transparent colors as brown madder, Indian yellow, +and indigo are used as a glaze, altering and modifying the undertone +of charcoal to any desired tint and at the same time preserving the +all-important thing—its transparency.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + +<p>In conclusion, let me say that I fully recognize that I am addressing +students whose training enables them to understand perfectly this +explanation, and that further instructions are therefore unnecessary.</p> + +<p>One thing, however, may be accentuated, and that is the use of plenty +of clean water. Another is that you should keep your palettes +separate. For myself, I make use of a common white metallic +dinner-plate, known as iron-stone china, costing another ten cents, +for my sky-palette, squeezing the color-tubes in a row around its edge +and my Chinese white below them on one side toward the bottom. For my +transparent palette, I use an ordinary moist sixteen-pan color-box, +being always careful never to blur it with even a brush stroke of body +color (Chinese white); and for my opaque work, an oval white metal +palette, with thumb-hole, and indentations around its edge into which +I squeeze the contents of my moist water-color<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> tubes, my Chinese +white being heaped up in a little mound near my thumb.</p> + +<p>The result may be seen in some of the illustrations accompanying this +text.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHARCOAL" id="CHARCOAL"></a>CHARCOAL</h2> + + +<p>Before going into the value of charcoal as a medium in the recording +of the various aspects of nature in black-and-white, it will be wise +to review the several mediums in general use, namely, etching, pen and +ink, lithographic crayon, and charcoal gray in connection with Chinese +white; it will be well, also, to note the various mechanical processes +in use for the reproductions of these drawings on white paper.</p> + +<p>Those of you who have seen the early illustration in <i>Harper's +Magazine</i> of the late fifties will recall the work of "Porte Crayon" +(Colonel Strother), drawn on wood by the artist and engraved by such +men as A. V. S. Anthony and John Sartain. You will also recall how +some twenty-five years later an effective and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> marvellous change took +place in the quality of these reproductions, being by far the most +unique and rapid in the history of any art of the century. In less +than ten years, between 1876 and 1886, came this sudden awakening to +the necessity of better work from the burin, followed by an enormous +commercial demand for such results, until by common consent the +American engraver first rivalled and then surpassed the world. If we +search for the cause we find that, like many other inventions +developing others of still greater importance, as the telegraph +developed the telephone, electric light, and the phonograph, this +marvellous change is due entirely to the discovery and possibility of +photographing direct from the original upon the boxwood itself, +producing with an instant's exposure a complete reproduction of the +original drawing, with all its texture, gradation, and quality, not +only doing away entirely with the intermediate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> draftsman, as was the +case with "Porte Crayon's" work, but obtaining a result impossible to +the most skilful of the artists on wood of his day.</p> + +<p>Another important feature in the discovery was the possibility of +reducing a drawing to any size required, thus fitting it exactly to +the necessities of the printed page. Before these discoveries, as you +well know, from the time of Albert Dürer down to Linton and engravers +of his school, the original drawing of the painter was redrawn by the +use of lead-pencil, Chinese white, and India-ink washes upon the wood +itself, giving as close an imitation as possible of the original. Some +painters—illustrators, if you please, in those early days—in fact, +made their original designs direct upon the wood. The effects of light +and dark were then cut out in lines, curved or otherwise, with +suitable cross-hatchings, as the necessity of the drawing required, or +left comparatively untouched.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is not my purpose to discuss here the different merits of the +different schools. There are varieties of opinion regarding the +excellence of the line compared with the technic in the modern school +of engravers. By the modern school I mean the work of such men as +Cole, Yuengling, Wolff, French, Smithwick, and others. I refer to them +that I may accent the stronger the medium which is the subject-matter +of this talk, namely, charcoal, in the hope that those of you who +propose to make reproductive illustrations your life-work may be +tempted to make use of charcoal as a medium through which to express +your ideas and ideals.</p> + +<p>But before embarking on this phase of my subject it may be interesting +for a moment to go a little deeper into the earlier stages of this +marvellous change from boxwood to zinc. I remember distinctly the +beginnings of an organization well known in New York, and perhaps to +many of you, as the Tile Club, to which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> organization I can +conscientiously say as much credit is due for this revival in +wood-engraving as to any other. Not that good wood-engravers did not +exist before its time, and not because it contained wood-engravers, +for the club did not have the name of one among its membership, but as +containing a group of painters who for the first time in aid of the +art of wood-engraving in this country lent their names and brushes to +an illustrated magazine. Up to that time there had been a wide gulf +existing between the ordinary draftsman on wood and a painter. This +did not proceed from the prevalence of a certain disease among the +painters, known at the present time as an "enlarged head," but from +the fact that no artist accustomed to free-hand drawing and at liberty +to wander all over his canvas at will would bring himself down to +working through a magnifying-glass, a necessity, often, in +transferring a drawing to wood.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>With this discovery, however, of making available even the roughest +drawing, the simplest blot in color or a scratch in charcoal, and +photographing its exact <i>textures</i> upon a wooden block, the camera +reducing it in size and thus perfecting it, the artist immediately +took the place of the draftsman, and at the same time introduced into +the work an artistic quality, a dash, a vim and spirit entirely +unknown before.</p> + +<p>Three things were needed to utilize this marvellously useful +discovery: first, a painter of rank; second, an engraver who could +express the textures and technics of the several artists—that is, +reproduce the exact values of an original in wash, an original in +charcoal, or an original in oil; and third, a magazine with sufficient +capital, taste, and intelligence to reproduce these results upon a +printed page. We had the painters, and the engravers developed +rapidly. The third requirement, of taste and intelligence, was found +in Mr. A. W.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> Drake, then art director of <i>Scribner's Monthly</i>, and, +after its merging into the <i>Century</i>, the distinguished art director +of the <i>Century Magazine</i>.</p> + +<p>When the Tile Club was formed in New York it consisted of a group of +men (I was its scullion for seven years, its entire life, and, being +thus an honored servant, was familiar with its many affairs) who +represented at the time the leading spirits of the different schools: +William M. Chase, Arthur Quartley, Swain Gifford, A. B. Frost, George +Maynard, Frank D. Millet, Alden Weir, Edwin A. Abbey, Charles S. +Reinhart, Elihu Vedder, William Gedney Bunce, Stanford White, Augustus +Saint-Gaudens, and one or two others. The club was limited to eighteen +members, there being twelve painters and six musicians. If I am not +very much mistaken, not a single painter of this group had ever drawn +upon a wooden block, and yet each one of them, as the records of our +periodicals have shown, was admirably qualified for illustrative work. +At<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> the time, the illustrations in <i>Harper's</i> and <i>Scribner's</i>, +compared with the illustrations of to-day, reminded one of the early +primers of the New England schools, with their improbable trees and +impossible animals.</p> + +<p>I remember distinctly the first meeting of the Tile Club, in which the +subject of drawing for <i>Scribner's Monthly</i> was first mooted, and I do +not believe I overestimate the importance that the position of the +club, taken at that time, has had and still has—not as a club, for it +was dissolved some years back—in the influence its personal art has +wielded upon the printed pages of the day.</p> + +<p>The first magazine article was the account of a trip that we made down +on Long Island, illustrated by the club, entitled "The Tile Club +Abroad," each man choosing his own medium—oil, charcoal, water-color, +etc.; the results of which were published in the then <i>Scribner's +Magazine</i>, and engraved by a group of men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> who afterward placed the +art of wood-engraving in America side by side with the best efforts +ever obtained by the English and German periodicals, and one of whom, +Yuengling, took the gold medal of excellence both in Paris and Munich.</p> + +<p>With this difference in textures, the difference between a drawing in +charcoal and one made in oil, it became necessary to invent new modes +of expression with the burin. A simple line which might express the +round of the cheek or the fulness of the arm, and which would answer +for the uniform drapery of the old school, would not serve to explain +the subtle quality of one of Quartley's moonrises or the vigor and +dash of one of Chase's outdoor figures sketched in oil.</p> + +<p>So it came about that in searching to express these new qualities, +never before seen upon a block, the technic of the new school was +developed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next important result was the creating not only of a new school of +wood-engraving, but of an entirely distinct department for art +workers, the school of the illustrator; and so we have Abbey, +Reinhart, Quartley, and, later, Church, Smedley, Dana Gibson, and +dozens of others whose names will readily come to your minds and of +whose careers I have already spoken.</p> + +<p>But the burin was too slow, even in the hands of the skilful engraver, +for the necessities of the hour. It was also too expensive; a drawing +which a magazine would pay the artist $50 for would often cost $200 to +engrave in the hands of a master like Yuengling or Cole. Again +photography was called into use. The "straight process," so called, of +the phototype printer, reproducing a pen-and-ink line drawing on a +zinc plate which could be immediately run through a Hoe process, was +perfected. You all remember, doubtless, an illustrated daily +published<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> in New York, called <i>The Daily Graphic</i>, illustrated by +this process. This process, however, was only possible where +pen-and-ink drawing or a very coarse lead-pencil drawing was used in +making the original, because it was necessary that spaces of white +should exist between each separate line or mass of black. This +process, however, utterly failed in all India-ink drawings. Where +these drawings covered the white of the paper, if ever so delicately, +the result was a dense black upon the plate.</p> + +<p>Then came a race between all the inventors interested in such +discoveries, both here and abroad—a race to perfect a process which +would produce from such wash drawings an exact reproduction upon the +printed page, giving all the gradations of the original and doing away +not only with the draftsman but with the wood-engraver. To Professor +Vogel, of Berlin, I believe—although an American, Ives, claims it, +and some say justly—is due<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> the credit of perfecting what is known as +the half-tone, or screen process: many others claim that Herr +Meisenbach first perfected this most important discovery.</p> + +<p>As the wash drawing had no lines, and as it is absolutely necessary +that photo-printing should have lines—that is, clean spaces of black +between white—these lines were supplied by laying a sheet of plate +glass over the drawing upon which the lines were cut by a diamond and +through which the original could be clearly seen. Of course, the light +falling upon the edges of these several diamond cuttings made little +points of brilliant white between which the several blacks and whites +could be seen. This, without going very much further into the +mechanical details, is the basis of the half-tone process.</p> + +<p>While this had its value, it had also its demerits, one of which was +the total extermination of the American wood-engraver, except for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> a +few men like Timothy Cole, whose genius and skill made it possible for +them, by the excellence of their work, to survive the great difference +between twenty cents a square inch for transferring on zinc and twenty +dollars a square inch for engraving on wood.</p> + +<p>There are, however, results in the half-tone process which I hold are +infinitely superior to the work of any wood-engraver of the old +school. While it is true that there is no really positive rich dark +for any part of the composition—for, of course, the light specks are +everywhere, thus lightening and graying the dark—and while we lose by +such defects the richness of wood-engraving, we also get the exact +touch of the artist in no more and no less a degree, particularly no +less. How often have I seen an exquisite drawing of Abbey's or Du +Maurier's almost ruined by the slipping of the burin the +one-thousandth part of an inch! How infinitely superior are the +originals of John<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> Leech's immortal caricatures in <i>Punch</i> to the +reproductions, all because the shadow line under an eye, or that +little dot which denotes the difference between amusement and +curiosity in the expression of a face, has been cut away the +thousandth part of a hair-line! The processes of the half-tone, +however, are ever accurate and the reproduction given you is +exact—with the foregoing restrictions.</p> + +<p>Then again, in landscape effects and in some portraits, the uniformity +of tone, the certainty of every touch being reproduced, the exact +balancing from dark to light, all result in better work than can be +done by the ordinary engraver.</p> + +<p>And yet, with all the half-tone's advantages, I must admit that +Yuengling's head of the "Professor" and many of his wood-cuts in an +illustrated edition of "Sir Launfal," published some years ago, and +much of the work of such masters as Cole, Wolff, Yuengling, and +others,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> stand as monuments for all time to the skill of hands that no +process will ever excel, for they put into it that something which the +bath of vitriol will never furnish, a bite of the acid of their own +genius.</p> + +<p>Since these earlier days a new departure has been made, until now +reproductive processes have been brought to such perfection that there +is hardly any texture or color scheme that can not be matched. Note, +if you will, Howard Pyle in color—rich in yellows and reds, with +black and white spaces as an enrichment. Note also A. I. Keller's +transparent work in charcoal gray. Note particularly the reproductions +in the magazines of F. Walter Taylor's drawings in charcoal, in which +the very texture of the coal is preserved. And, if you will permit me, +note the half tones of my own charcoal drawings now on exhibition in +the adjoining gallery. So perfect is the reproduction that one is +careful not to smudge his fingers in turning the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> leaves of the +publication in which they are printed.</p> + +<p>This being the case (and the printers must be thanked as well for +their share in the results), I earnestly hope that some of my brother +illustrators—the more the merrier—will seriously consider the value +of charcoal as a medium for illustrative work. There is no subject, I +assure you, that the sun shines on or its light filters into, or any +phase of nature, be it rain or storm, fog, snow, or mist, including +marines, figures, sunrises and sunsets, blazing heat and cool, +transparent shadows, that cannot be visualized by it.</p> + +<p>I hold, too, that by its use qualities can be obtained impossible to +be found in either etchings, lithographic crayon, wash, or pen and +ink—especially the velvet of its black.</p> + +<p>Charcoal is the unhampered, the free, the personal individual medium. +No water, no oil, no palette, no squeezing of tubes or wiping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> of +tints; no scraping, scumbling, or other dilatory and exasperating +necessities. Just a piece of coal, the size of a cigarette, held flat +between the thumb and the forefinger, a sheet of paper, and then "let +go." Yes, one thing more—care must be taken to have this forefinger +fastened to a sure, knowing, and fearless hand, worked by an arm which +plays easily and loosely in a ball-socket set firmly near your +backbone. To carry out the metaphor, the steam of your enthusiasm, +kept in working order by the safety-valve of your experience, and +regulated by the ball-governor of your art knowledge—such as +composition, drawing, mass, light and dark—is then turned on.</p> + +<p>Now you can "let go," and in the fullest sense, or you will never +arrive. My own experience has taught me that if an outdoor charcoal +sketch, covering and containing all a man can see—and he should +neither record nor explain anything more—is not completely finished<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +in two hours it cannot be finished by the same man in two days or two +years.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a name="pic_3" id="pic_3"></a> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_02.jpg" width="600" height="402" alt="The George and Vulture Inn, London" /> +<span class="caption">The George and Vulture Inn, London</span> +</div> + +<p>For a drawing in charcoal is really a record of a man's temperament. +It represents pre-eminently the personality of the individual—his +buoyancy, his perfect health, the quickness of his gestures. All these +are shown in the way he strikes his canvas—compelling it to talk back +to him. So also does it record the man's timidity, his want of +confidence in himself, his fear of spoiling what he has already done, +forgetting that a nickel will buy him another sheet of paper.</p> + +<p>Courage, too, is a component part—not to be afraid to strike hard and +fast, belaboring the canvas as a pugilist belabors an opponent, +beating nature into shape.</p> + +<p>As for the potterer and the niggler, the men and women whose stroke +goes no farther back than their knuckles, I may frankly say that +charcoal is not for them. The blow is a sledge <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>blow going from the +spinal column, not the pitapat of a jeweller's hammer elaborating the +repoussé around a goblet.</p> + +<p>Remember, too, that the fight is all over in two hours—three at the +outside—the battle really won or lost in the first ten minutes, if +you only knew it: when you get in your first strokes, really defining +your composition and planting your big high light and your big dark. +It is all right after that. You can taper off on the little lights and +darks, saving your wind, so to speak, sparring for your next +supplementary light and dark.</p> + +<p>Remember, too, that when the fight is over you must not spoil what you +have done by repetition or finish. <i>Let it alone.</i> You may not have +covered everything you wanted to express, but if you have smashed in +the salient features, the details will look out at you when you least +expect it. There are a thousand cross lights and untold mysteries in +Rembrandt's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> shadows which his friends failed to see when his canvas +left his studio. It is the unexpressed which is often most +interesting. Meissonier tells his story to the end. So do Vibert, +Rico, and the whole realistic school. Corot gives you a mass of +foliage, no single leaf expressed, but beneath it lurk great, +cavernous shadows in which nymphs and satyrs play hide-and-seek.</p> + +<p>Remember, also, that just as the blunt end of a bit of charcoal is +many, many times larger than the point of an etching-needle, so are +its resources for fine lines and minute dots and scratches just that +much reduced. It is the flat of the piece of coal that is valuable, +not its point.</p> + +<p>As to what can be done with this piece of coal, I can but repeat, +<i>everything</i>. That there are some subjects better than others, I will +admit. For me, London, its streets and buildings, come first, +especially if it be raining; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> there is no question that it does +rain once in a while in London, making the wet streets and sidewalks +glisten under its silver-gray sky, little rivulets of molten silver +escaping everywhere. When with these you get a background—and I +always do—of flat masses of quaint buildings, all detail lost in the +haze and mist of smoke, your delight rises to enthusiasm. Nowhere else +in the world are the "values" so marvellously preserved. You start +your foreground with, say, a figure, or an umbrella, or a cab, +expressed in a stroke of jet-black, and the perspective instantly +fades into grays of steeple, dome, or roof, so delicate and vapory +that there is hardly a shade of difference between earth and sky. Or +you stroll into some old church or cathedral, as I did last summer +when I found myself in that most wonderful of all English +churches—and I say it deliberately—St. Bartholomew's the Great, over +in Smithfield.</p> + +<p>Other churches have I studied in my wanderings;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> many and various +cathedrals, basilicas, and mosques have delighted me. I know the color +and the value of tapestry and rich hangings; of mosaics, porphyry, and +verd-antiques; of fluted alabaster and the delicate tracery of the +arabesque; but the velvety quality of London soot when applied to the +rough surfaces of rudely chiselled stones, and the soft loveliness +gained by grime and smoke, came to me as a revelation.</p> + +<p>This rich black which, like a tropical fungus, grows and spreads +through St. Bartholomew's interior, hiding under its soft, caressing +touch the rough angles and insistent edges of the Norman, is what the +bloom is to the grape, what the dark purpling is to the plum, +mellowing from sight the brilliancy of the under skin. And there are +wide coverings of it, too, in this wonderful church, as if some master +decorator had wielded a great coal and at one sweep of his hand had +rubbed its glorious black into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> every crevice, crack, and cranny of +wall, column, and arch.</p> + +<p>Certain it is that no other medium than the one used could give any +idea of its charm. Neither oil, water-color, nor pastel will transmit +it—no, nor the dry-point or bitten plate. The soot of centuries, the +fogs of countless Novembers, the smoke of a thousand firesides were +the pigments which the Master Painter set upon his palette in the task +of giving us one exquisitely beautiful interior wholly in +black-and-white.</p> + +<p>So it was in the Temple when I was searching for Mr. Thackeray's +haunts.</p> + +<p>What of alterations, scrapings, patchings up, and fillings in have +taken place in these various courts and their surroundings, I did not +trouble myself to find out. Nothing looks new in London after the fogs +and soot of one winter have wreaked their vengeance upon it. Whether +the façade is of brick, stone, or stucco depends<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> entirely on the +thickness of the soot, packed in or scoured clean by winds and rains, +or whether the surface is ebony or marble, as may be seen in many of +the statues on Burlington House, where a head, arm, or part of a +pedestal chair has been kept white by constant douches.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="pic_4" id="pic_4"></a> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_03.jpg" width="500" height="628" alt="Diagram of Charcoal Technic" /><span class="caption">Diagram of Charcoal Technic</span> +</div> + +<p>As for me, I was glad that these old haunts of Mr. Thackeray and his +characters are even blacker to-day than they might have been in his +time. For the soot and grime become them, and London as well, for that +matter. A great impressionist, this smoke-smudger and wiper-out of +detail, this believer in masses and simple surfaces, this destroyer of +gingerbread ornaments, petty mouldings, and cheap flutings!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And now for a few practical data as to my own way of handling the +coal, which may be of value as coming from one who has profited these +many years by its infinite possibilities.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> + +<p>The paper is the same I use in my water-colors, a delicate, gray, +double-thick charcoal paper, laid in parallel ribs, if I may so +express it, and having sufficient body and tooth to catch and hold the +faintest touch or the strongest stroke of the coal. The gray of this +paper serves as the middle tone of the drawing, the different +gradations of black in the coal giving the darks and the careful use +of white chalks the high lights.</p> + +<p>These gradations are obtained by the use of a few simple processes, by +which various textures can be given, starting, for instance, from or +near the foreground, where the grit of the charcoal is used to bring +the nearer details into clear relief, the several larger gradations +and textures giving aerial perspectives being produced by a broad +sweep of the hand, forcing the grit of the coal into the crevices of +the paper, the result being what I may term the <i>first</i> plane or +<i>nearest</i> atmospheric value; the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> house a square away, if you +please—provided the subject is a street—being the <i>second</i> plane.</p> + +<p>Beyond this, farther down the street, is found, it may be, another +house or other object. Now try your thumb, rubbing your hand-smoothed +charcoal into a finer and closer mesh: and for the still more +atmospheric distances down this same street, use next a rag, then a +buckskin stomp, and last of all a stiff paper stomp, each in turn +producing a more atmospheric gray as the distances fade—the last, the +paper stomp, being as soft as a wash of India ink. (See diagram.)</p> + +<p>All these you may say are tricks. They are—my own tricks, or rather +use of the means which lay at my hand, which long experience has +taught me to employ, and which any one of you will no doubt better in +your own handling of the coal.</p> + +<p>These planes being secured, any light higher than the prevailing +rubbed-in tone can be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> wiped out clean to the grain of the paper by a +piece of ductile rubber. Any darker dark, of course, can be obtained +by retouching with the coal.</p> + +<p>The chalk now comes into play for skies, broad sunlight effects, or +crisp, sparkling lights. The whole work is then "fixed," as I have +already explained, by the use of gum shellac and a common perfume +atomizer.</p> + +<p>And with this condensed statement I must bring this my last talk to a +close, remembering as I do that I have been addressing a body of +students who are already familiar with one or more mediums, and who, +with these few spoken memoranda and a finished drawing before them, +will solve at a glance mysteries baffling to the layman.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH</h2> + +<ul> +<li>FELIX O'DAY.</li> + +<li>THE ARM-CHAIR AT THE INN.</li> + +<li>KENNEDY SQUARE.</li> + +<li>THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT.</li> + +<li>THE ROMANCE OF AN OLD-FASHIONED<br /> +GENTLEMAN.</li> + +<li>COLONEL CARTER'S CHRISTMAS.</li> + +<li>FORTY MINUTES LATE.</li> + +<li>THE WOOD FIRE IN No. 3.</li> + +<li>THE VEILED LADY.</li> + +<li>THE UNDER DOG.<br /> +<br /></li> + + +<li>IN DICKENS'S LONDON.<br /> +<br /></li> + +<li>ENOCH CRANE. A novel planned<br /> +and begun by F. Hopkinson Smith<br /> +and completed by F. Berkeley Smith.</li> +</ul> + + +<h3>CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</h3> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTDOOR SKETCHING***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 27340-h.txt or 27340-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/4/27340">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/3/4/27340</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Outdoor Sketching + Four Talks Given before the Art Institute of Chicago; The Scammon Lectures, 1914 + + +Author: Francis Hopkinson Smith + + + +Release Date: November 27, 2008 [eBook #27340] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTDOOR SKETCHING*** + + +E-text prepared by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 27340-h.htm or 27340-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/4/27340/27340-h/27340-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/4/27340/27340-h.zip) + + + + + +OUTDOOR SKETCHING + +Four Talks Given before the Art Institute of Chicago + +The Scammon Lectures, 1914 + +by + +F. HOPKINSON SMITH + +With Illustrations by the Author + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Part of the Site of the Marshalsea Jail, London] + + + + + +New York +Charles Scribner's Sons + +Copyright, 1915, by +Charles Scribner's Sons + + + + +Contents + + + Page + + I. Composition 3 + + II. Mass 39 + +III. Water-Colors 75 + + IV. Charcoal 119 + + + + +Illustrations + + +Part of the Site of the Marshalsea Jail, London _Frontispiece_ + + FACING + PAGE + +Under the Willows, Cookham-on-Thames 84 + +The George and Vulture Inn, London 136 + +Diagram of Charcoal Technic 142 + + + + +COMPOSITION + + +My chief reason for confining these four talks to the outdoor sketch +is because I have been an outdoor painter since I was sixteen years of +age; have never in my whole life painted what is known as a studio +picture evolved from memory or from my inner consciousness, or from +any one of my outdoor sketches. My pictures are begun and finished +often at one sitting, never more than three sittings; and a white +umbrella and a three-legged stool are the sum of my studio +appointments. + +Another reason is that, outside of this ability to paint rapidly +out-of-doors, I know so little of the many processes attendant upon +the art of the painter that both my advice and my criticism would be +worthless to even the youngest of the painters to-day. Again, I work +only in two mediums, water-color and charcoal. Oil I have not touched +for many years, and then only for a short time when a student under +Swain Gifford (and this, of course, many, many years ago), who taught +me the use and value of the opaque pigment, which helped me greatly in +my own use of opaque water-color in connection with transparent color +and which was my sole reason for seeking the help of his master hand. + +A further venture is to kindle in your hearts a greater love for and +appreciation of what a superbly felt and exactly rendered outdoor +sketch stands for--a greater respect for its vitality, its life-spark; +the way it breathes back at you, under a touch made unconsciously, +because you saw it, recorded it, and then forgot it--best of all +because you let it alone; my fervent wish being to transmit to you +some of the enthusiasm that has kept me young all these years of my +life; something of the joy of the close intimacy I have held with +nature--the intimacy of two old friends who talk their secrets over +each with the other; a joy unequalled by any other in my life's +experience. + +There may be those who go a-fishing and enjoy it. The arranging and +selecting of flies, the jointing of rods, the prospective comfort in +high water-boots, the creel with the leather strap, every crease in it +a reminder of some day without care or fret--all this may bring the +flush to the cheek and the eager kindling of the eye, and a certain +sort of rest and happiness may come with it; but--they have never gone +a-sketching! Hauled up on the wet bank in the long grass is your boat, +with the frayed end of the painter tied around some willow that offers +a helping root. Within a stone's throw, under a great branching of +gnarled trees, is a nook where the curious sun, peeping at you +through the interlaced leaves, will stencil Japanese shadows on your +white umbrella. Then the trap is unstrapped, the stool opened, the +easel put up, and you set your palette. The critical eye with which +you look over your brush case and the care with which you try each +feather point upon your thumbnail are but an index of your enjoyment. + +Now you are ready. You loosen your cravat, hang your coat to some +rustic peg in the creviced bark of the tree behind, seize a bit of +charcoal from your bag, sweep your eye around, and dash in a few +guiding strokes. Above is a changing sky filled with crisp white +clouds; behind you, the great trunks of the many branched willows; and +away off, under the hot sun, the yellow-green of the wasted pasture, +dotted with patches of rock and weeds, and hemmed in by the low hills +that slope to the curving stream. + +It is high noon! There is a stillness in the air that impresses you, +broken only by the low murmur of the brook behind and the ceaseless +song of the grasshopper among the weeds in front. A tired bumblebee +hums past, rolls lazily over a clover blossom at your feet, and has +his midday lunch. Under the maples near the river's bend stand a group +of horses, their heads touching. In the brook below are the patient +cattle, with patches of sunlight gilding and bronzing their backs and +sides. Every now and then a breath of cool air starts out from some +shaded retreat, plays around your forehead, and passes on. All nature +rests. It is her noontime. + +But you work on: an enthusiasm has taken possession of you; the paints +mix too slowly; you use your thumb, smearing and blending with a bit +of rag--anything for the effect. One moment you are glued to your +seat, your eyes riveted on your canvas; the next, you are up and +backing away, taking it in as a whole, then pouncing down upon it +quickly, belaboring it with your brush. Soon the trees take shape; the +sky forms become definite; the meadow lies flat and loses itself in +the fringe of willows. + +When all of this begins to grow upon your once blank canvas, and some +lucky pat matches the exact tone of blue-gray haze or shimmer of leaf, +or some accidental blending of color delights you with its truth, a +tingling goes down your backbone, and a rush surges through your veins +that stirs you as nothing else in your whole life will ever do. The +reaction comes the next day when, in the cold light of your studio, +you see how far short you have come and how crude and false is your +best touch compared with the glory of the landscape in your mind and +heart. But the thrill that it gave you will linger forever! + +Or come with me to Constantinople and let us study its palaces and +mosques, its marvellous stuffs, its romantic history, its +religions--most profound and impressive--its commerce, industries, and +customs. Come to revel in color; to sit for hours, following with +reverent pencil the details of an architecture unrivalled on the +globe; to watch the sun scale the hills of Scutari and shatter its +lances against the fairy minarets of Stamboul; to catch the swing and +plash of the rowers rounding their _caiques_ by the bridge of Galata; +to wander through bazaar and market, dotting down splashes of robe, +turban, and sash; to rest for hours in cool tiled mosques, which in +their very decay are sublime; to study a people whose rags are +symphonies of color, and whose traditions and records breathe the +sweetest poems of modern times. + +And then, when we have caught our breath, let us wander into any one +of the patios along the Golden Horn, and feast our eyes on columns of +verd-antique, supporting arches light as rainbows, framing the patio +of the Pigeon Mosque, the loveliest of all the patios I know, and let +us run our eyes around that Moorish square. The sun blazes down on +glistening marbles; gnarled old cedars twist themselves upward against +the sky; flocks of pigeons whirl and swoop and fall in showers on +cornice, roof, and dome; tall minarets like shafts of light shoot up +into the blue. Scattered over the uneven pavement, patched with strips +and squares of shadows, lounge groups of priests in bewildering robes +of mauve, corn-yellow, white, and sea-green; while back beneath the +cool arches bunches of natives listlessly pursue their several +avocations. + +It is a sight that brings the blood with a rush to one's cheek. That +swarthy Mussulman at his little square table mending seals; that +fellow next him selling herbs, sprawled out on the marble floor, too +lazy to crawl away from the slant of sunshine slipping through the +ragged awning; that young Turk in frayed and soiled embroidered +jacket, holding up strings of beads to the priests passing in and +out--is not this the East, the land of our dreams? And the old public +scribe with the gray beard and white turban, writing letters, the +motionless veiled figures squatting around him--is he not Baba +Mustapha? and the soft-eyed girl whispering into his ear none other +than Morgiana, fair as the meridian sun? + +So, too, in my beloved Venice, where many years ago I camped out by +the side of a canal--the Rio Giuseppe--all of it, from the red wall, +where the sailors land, to the lagoon, where the tower of Castello is +ready to topple into the sea. + +Not much of a canal--not much of a painting ground, really, to the +masters who have gone before and are still at work, but a truly +lovable, lovely, and most enchanting possession to me their humble +disciple. Once you get into it you never want to get out, and once +out you are miserable until you get back again. On one bank stretches +a row of rookeries--a maze of hanging clothes, fish-nets, balconies +hooded by awnings and topped by nondescript chimneys of all sizes and +patterns, with here and there a dab of vermilion and light red, the +whole brilliant against a china-blue sky. On the other is the long +brick wall of the garden--soggy, begrimed, streaked with moss and +lichen in bands of black-green and yellow ochre, over which mass and +sway the great sycamores that Ziem loved, their lower branches +interwoven with cinnobar cedars gleaming in spots where the prying sun +drips gold. + +Only wide enough for a barca and two gondolas to pass--this canal of +mine; only deep enough to let a wine barge slip through; so narrow you +must go all the way back to the lagoon if you would turn your gondola; +so short you can row through it in five minutes; every inch of its +water-surface part of everything about it, so clear are the +reflections; full of moods, whims, and fancies, this wave space--one +moment in a broad laugh coquetting with a bit of blue sky peeping from +behind a cloud, its cheeks dimpled with sly undercurrents, the next +swept by flurries of little winds, soft as the breath of a child on a +mirror; then, when aroused by a passing boat, breaking out into +ribbons of color--swirls of twisted doorways, flags, awnings, +flower-laden balconies, black-shawled Venetian beauties all upside +down, interwoven with strips of turquoise sky and green waters--a +bewildering, intoxicating jumble of tatters and tangles, maddening in +detail, brilliant in color, harmonious in tone: the whole +scintillating with a picturesqueness beyond the ken or brush of any +painter living or dead. + +These are some of the joys of the painter whose north light is the +sky, whose studio door is never shut, and who often works surrounded +by envious throngs, that treat him with such marked reverence that +they whisper one to another for fear of disturbing him. + + * * * * * + +And now for a few practical hints born of these experiences; and in +giving them to you, remember that no man is more keenly conscious of +his limitations than the speaker. My own system of work, all of which +will be explained to you in subsequent talks, one on water-color and +the other on charcoal, is, I am aware, peculiar, and has many +drawbacks and many shortcomings. I make bold to give these to you +because of my fifty years' experience in outdoor sketching, and +because in so doing I may encourage some one among you to begin where +I have left off and do better. The requirements are thoughtful and +well-studied selection before your brush touches your canvas; a +correct knowledge of composition; a definite grasp of the problem of +light and dark, or, in other words, _mass_; a free, sure, and +untrammelled rapidity of execution; and, last and by no means least, a +realization of what I shall express in one short compact sentence, +that _it takes two men to paint an outdoor picture: one to do the work +and the other to kill him when he has done enough_. + + * * * * * + +Before entering on the means and methods through which so early a +death becomes permissible I shall admit that the personal equation +will largely assert itself, and that because of it certain allowances +must be made, or rather certain variations in both grasp and treatment +will necessarily follow. + +While, of course, nature is always the same, never changing and never +subservient to the whims or perceptive powers of the individual, there +are painters who will aver that they alone see her correctly and that +all the world that differs from them is wrong. One man from natural +defects may see all her greens or reds stronger or weaker than another +in proportion to the condition of his eye. Another may grasp only her +varying degrees of gray. One man unduly exaggerates the intensity of +the dark and the opposing brilliancy of the lights. Another eye--for +it is largely a question of optics, of optics and temperament--sees +only the more gentle and sometimes the more subtle gradations of light +and shade reducing even the blaze of the noonday sun to half-tones. +Still another, whether by the fault of over-magnifying power or +long-sightedness, detects an infinity of detail in nature, and is not +satisfied until each particular blade of grass stands on end like the +quills of the traditional porcupine, while his brother brush +strenuously asserts that every detail is really only a question of +mass, and should be treated as such, and that for all practical +purposes it is quite immaterial whether a tree can be distinguished +from a farm-house so long as it is fluffy enough to be indistinct. + +These defects, sympathies, tendencies, whatever one may call them, +only prove the more conclusively that there are many varying standards +set up by many minds. That which can easily be proved in addition is +that many a false standard owes its origin as often to a question of +bad digestion as of bad taste. They also show us that no one man or +set of men can rightfully lay claim to holding the one key which +unlocks the mysteries of nature, while insisting that the rules +governing their use of that key _must_ be adhered to by the rest of +the world. + +There are, however, certain laws which control every pictured +expression of nature and to which every eye and hand must submit if +even a semblance of expression is to be sought for. One of them is +truth. In this all schools concur, each one demanding the truth, or at +least enough of it to placate their consciences when they add to it a +sufficient number of lies of their own manufacture to make the subject +interesting to their special line of constituents. Among these I do +not class the lunatics who are to-day wandering loose outside of +charitable asylums especially designed for disordered and impaired +intellects, and whose frothings I saw at the last Autumn Salon. + +But to our text once more, taking up the first requirement; namely, +selection. + +By selection I mean the "cutting out entire" from the great panorama +spread out before you just that portion which appeals to you and which +you want to have appeal to your fellow men. + +Speaking for myself, I have always held that the most perfect +reproductions of nature are those which can be _selected_ any day, +under any condition of light, direct from the several objects +themselves, without arrangement and fore-shortenings or twistings to +the right and to the left. Nothing, in fact, seems to me so +astounding as that any human mind could for an instant suppose that it +can improve on the work of the Almighty. + +If it is a street, and if you wish to express its perspective, and the +bit of blue sky beyond, with a burst of sunlight illumining the +corner, the figures crowded against the light, forming a mass in +themselves, and it interests you at a glance, sit down and study it +long enough to find out what feature of the landscape impressed you at +_first sight_. If, as you look, the first impression becomes weakened, +perhaps it is because the immediate foreground, which at the first +glance was clear, is now dotted with passers-by, thus obscuring your +point of interest, or a cloud has passed over the sky, lowering the +whole tone, or the group of figures across the light has dispersed, +exposing the ugly right-angled triangle of the flat wall and street +level instead of the same lines being broken picturesquely with the +black dots of heads of the crowd itself. In a moment it is no longer a +composition of the same power that struck you at first. Perhaps while +you sit and wait the scene again changes, and something infinitely +more interesting, or the reverse, is evolved from the perspective +before you. And so it goes on, until this constantly changing +kaleidoscope repeats itself in its first aspect, until you have fairly +grasped its meaning and analyzed its component parts. Or until either +the effect that first delighted you, or the subsequent effect that +charmed you still more, becomes a fixed fact in your mind. That, then, +is the picture that you want to paint and that you are to paint +_exactly as you saw it_. And if you can reproduce it exactly as you +did see it, ten chances to one it will impress your fellow men. The +trouble is that when you sit down to paint it you are so often lost in +its detail that you forget its salient features, and by the time you +have finished and blocked up the immediate foreground with figures +that did not exist when you were first thrilled by its beauty, you +have either painted its least interesting aspect, or you have filled +that street so full of lies of your own that the policeman on the beat +could not recognize it. + +Of course, while all nature is interesting, there are parts of nature +more interesting than other parts, and since the skill of man is +inadequate to produce its more _humble_ effects, if I may so express +it, the painter should be on the lookout for her _dramatic_ air, in +order that when she is reproduced she may add that touch to her many +qualities, thus meeting the painter half-way. Even in the perspective +of a street, nature, in profound consideration of the devotee under +his umbrella, often gives him a deeper touch--one wall perhaps in +sudden brilliant light, while the vista of the street is in gloom made +by a passing cloud, she constantly calling out to the painter as he +works: "Watch me now and take me at my best." + +Or change this picture for an instant and note, if you please, the +flight of cloud shadows over a mountain slope or the whirl of a wind +flurry across a still lake. There are moments in all phenomena like +these where a great man rising to the occasion can catch them exactly, +as did Rousseau in the golden glow of the fading light through the +forest, or Corot in the crisp light of the morning, or Daubigny in the +low twilight across the sunken marshes where one can almost hear the +frogs croak. + +Selection, then, preceded by the deepest and closest thought as to +whether the subject is worth painting at all, becomes necessary, the +student giving himself plenty of time to study it in all its phases; +time enough to "walk around it," reviewing it at different angles; +noting the hour at which it is at its best and happiest, seizing upon +its most telling presentment--and all this before he begins even +_mentally_ to compose its salient features on the square of his +canvas. You can turn, if you choose, your camera skyward and focus the +top of a steeple and only that. It is true, but it is uninteresting, +or rather unintelligible, until you focus also the church door, and +the gathering groups, and the overgrown pathway that winds through the +quiet graveyard. So a picture can be true and yet very much like a +slip cut from a newspaper. For some men cut thus into nature, +haphazard, without care or thought, and produce perhaps a square +containing an advertisement of a patent churn, a railroad timetable, +and a fragment of an essay on art. Cut carefully and with selection, +and you may get a poem which will soothe you like a melody. + + * * * * * + +As to the value of the laws which govern the perfect composition, it +is unquestionably true that a correct knowledge of these laws makes +or unmakes the picture and establishes or ruins the rank of the +painter. No matter how careful the drawing, how interesting the +subject, how true the mass, how subtle the gradations of light and +shade, how perfect the expression of the figures, or how transparent +the atmosphere of a landscape, a want of this knowledge will defeat +the result. On the other hand, a good composition--one that "carries," +as the term is--one that can be seen across the room, if properly +composed will instantly excite your interest, even if upon near +inspection you are shocked by its crudities and faults. "I don't know +what it is," says a painter, "but it's good all the same." + +After your selection has been made, the next thing is to search for +its centre of interest. When this is found it is equally important to +weigh carefully the _quality_ of this centre of interest in order to +determine whether, as has been said, the subject is worth painting at +all. My own rule is to spend half the time I am devoting to my sketch +in carefully weighing the subject in its every detail and expression. + + * * * * * + +Many men, I am aware, have endeavored to prove that there are eight or +ten different forms of composition. My own experience and +investigation are, of course, limited, but so far I have only been +able to discover one, namely, the larger mass and the smaller mass: +the larger mass dominating the centre of interest, which catches your +eye instantly at first sight of a picture, and the smaller or less +interesting object which next attracts your eye, and so relieves the +vision and spares you the monotony of looking at a single object long +and steadily, thus fatiguing the eye and dissipating the interest. + + * * * * * + +Having determined upon the _quality_ of the subject-matter and fixed +its centre interest in pleasing relation to the whole, the next step +is to confine yourself to all that _the eyes see at one glance_ and no +more, or, in other words, that portion of the landscape which you +could cut out with the scissors of your eye and paste upon your mind. +That which you can see when your head is kept perfectly still, your +eye looking straight before you, only seeing so high, so low, and so +far to the right and left, without a strain. The great sweep of +vision, a sweep covering a hundred subjects perhaps, is obtained by +turning the eyes up or down or sideways. But to be true--that is, to +see one picture at a time--the eye should be fixed like the lens of a +camera, the limit of the picture being the range of the eye and no +more. A departure from this rule not only confuses your perspective +but crowds a number of points of interest into the square of your +canvas, when there is really only _one_ centre point before you in +nature; and this one point you must treat as does the electrician in +a theatre who keeps the lime-light on the star of the play. + + * * * * * + +Another requirement is rapidity of execution. I am not speaking of +figure-drawing. I can well understand why the model grows tired, +although the crude lay figure may not, and why the constant workings +over and again upon the figure subject, the mosaicing (if I may coin a +word) of the different points of the figure during the different hours +of the day and the different days of the week deep into the canvas, +may be necessary. + +I am speaking of outdoor, landscape work, for which only four hours, +at most, either in the morning or in the afternoon, can be utilized. +In this four hours nature keeps comparatively still long enough for +you to caress her with your brush, and if you would truly express what +you see, your work must be finished in that time. I can quite +understand that to the ordinary student this is a paralyzing +statement, but let us analyze it together for a moment and I think +that we shall all see that if it were possible for a human hand to +obey us as precisely as a human eye detects, the results on the canvas +would be infinitely more valuable, first, because the sun never stands +still and the shadows of one hour are not the shadows of the next; and +second, because this moving of the sun is affecting not only the mass +but the composition of the picture, one mass of buildings being in +light at ten o'clock and again in shadow at eleven. It is also +affecting its local color, the yellow of the afternoon sunlight +illumining and graying the silver-blue of the shadows, thus weakening +the force of positive shadows scattered through the composition. Of +course, to be really exact, there is only one moment in any one of the +hours of the day in which any one aspect of nature remains the same, +but since we are all finite we must do the best we can, and four +hours, in my experience, is all that a man can be sure of. + +We have, of course, the next day to continue in, but then the +landscape has changed. That delicate, transparent, gauzy cloud screen +that softened the sky light was, under the northwest wind of +yesterday, a clear, steely gray-blue, and the sun shining through it +made the sunlight almost white and the shadows a neutral blue; to-day +the wind is from the south and a great mass of soft summer clouds, +tea-rose color, drift over the clear azure, each one of which throws +its reflected light on every object over which they float. The half +you painted yesterday, therefore, will not match the half you must +paint to-day, and so if you will persist in working on your same +canvas you go on making an almanac of your picture, so apparent to an +expert that he can pick out the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday as you +daily progressed. If you should be fortunate enough to work under +Italian skies, where sometimes for days together the light is the +same, the skies being one expanse of soft, opalescent blue, you might +think under such influence it would be possible for you to perform the +great almanac trick successfully in your sketch. But how about +yourself? Are you the same man to-day that you were yesterday? If so, +perhaps you might also find yourself in exactly the same frame of mind +that existed when your sketch was half finished. But would you +guarantee that you would be the same man for a week? + +I believe we can maintain this position of the necessity of rapid work +in out-of-door sketches by looking for a moment at the product of the +best men of the last century, some of whom I have already mentioned. +Take Corot, for instance. Corot, as you know, spent almost his entire +life painting the early light of the morning. An analysis of his +life's work shows that he must have folded his umbrella and gone home +before eleven o'clock. My own idea is that many hundreds of his +canvases, which have since sold at many thousands of francs, were +perfectly finished in one sitting. This cannot be otherwise when you +remember that one dealer in Paris claims to have sold two thousand +Corots. These one-sitting pictures to me express his best work. In the +larger canvases in which figures are introduced--notably the one first +owned by the late Mr. Charles A. Dana, of New York, called "Apollo," I +believe--the treatment of the sky and foreground shows careful +repainting, and while the mechanical process of the brush, shown by +the over and under painting, the dragging of opaque color over +transparent, may produce certain translucencies which the more +forcible and direct stroke of the brush--one touch and no more--fails +to give, still the whole composition lacks that intimacy with nature +which one always feels in the smaller and more rapidly perfected +canvases. + +Note, too, the sketches of Frans Hals and see what power comes from +the sure touch of a well-directed brush in the hand of a man who used +it to express his thoughts as other men use chords of music or +paragraphs in literature. A man who made no false moves, who knew that +every stroke of his brush must express a perfect sentence and that it +could never be recalled. Really the work of such a master is like the +gesture of an actor--if it is right a thrill goes through you, if it +is wrong it is like that player friend of Hamlet's who sawed the air. + +This quality of "the stroke," by the by, if we stop to analyze for a +moment, is the stroke that comes straight from the heart, tingling up +the spinal column, down the arm, and straight to the finger-tips. Ole +Bull had it when his violin echoed a full orchestra; Paderewski has it +when he rings clearly and sharply some note that vibrates through you +for hours after; Booth had it when drawing himself up to his full +height as Cardinal Richelieu he began that famous speech, "Around her +form I draw the holy circle of our faith"--his upraised finger a +barrier that an army could not break down; Velasquez, in his +marvellous picture in the Museum of the Prado in Madrid of "The +Topers" ("Los Borrachos"); Frans Hals, in almost every canvas that his +brush touched; and in later years our own John Sargent, in many of his +portraits, but especially in his direct out-of-door studies, shows it; +as do scores of others whose sureness of touch and exact knowledge +have made their names household words where art is loved and genius +held sacred. + +And with this ability to record swiftly and surely there will come a +certain enthusiasm, fanned to white heat when, some morning, trap in +hand, you are searching for something to paint, your mind entirely +filled with a certain object (you propose to paint boats if you +please, and you have walked around them for minutes trying to get the +best view and deciding upon the all-important best possible +composition)--when, turning suddenly, you face a mass of buildings and +a sweep of river that instantly put to flight every idea concerning +your first subject, and in a moment a new arrangement is evolved and +you are working like mad. It is only under this pressure of +_enthusiasm_ that the best work is produced. + + * * * * * + +The coming landscape-painter will be a _four-hour man_, of thorough +knowledge, one who has most intimate and close acquaintance with +nature, one who can select and then seize the salient features of the +landscape, at a glance arranging them upon the square of his canvas, +in other words, composing them, the basis being the most expansive and +most picturesque grouping of the several details of the subject, +extracting at the same moment, at the same instant, with one sweep of +his eye, the whole scheme of local color, and then surely, clearly, +lovingly, and reverently making it breathe upon his canvas for other +souls to live by. + + * * * * * + +And how noble the ambition! + +In our present civilization some men are moved to philanthropy, some +to science, some to be rulers of men. Some men are brimful and running +over with harmonies that will live forever. Other men's hearts beat in +unison with the symphonies of the spheres, and Homer and Milton and +Dante become household words. You seek another expression of the good +that is in you. You will be painters and sculptors. Color, form, and +mass are to you what the pen, the sword, and the lute are to those +others who have gone before, or are now around you. Your mission is as +distinct as theirs, and it is as imperative that you should fulfil +it. Paint what you see and as you see it. Nothing more nor less. See +only the beautiful, and if you cannot reach that content yourself with +the picturesque. It is a first cousin but once removed. + + + + +MASS + + +The difference between composition and mass is that a composition is a +mere outline of pen or pencil, each object taking its proper place in +the square of a canvas, while mass is the filling in between these +outlines either of varied color or in lights or darks, their +gradations but so many guides to the spectator's eye marking not only +its perspective, form and atmosphere, but, if skilfully done, telling +the story of your subject at a glance. + +To do this the student must find the lightest light and darkest dark +in the subject before him and, having found it, adhere to it to the +end of his work. For as the sun dominates the sky and earth so do its +rays dominate parts of the whole, making more luminous than the rest +only one object upon which its light falls. To make this more +explicit it is only necessary to look at an egg upon a white +table-cloth. Here is a natural object devoid of local color except in +reflected lights, and yet you will find that where the round of the +egg reflects the light the highest light is found, while in the edge +of the shadow, where the egg turns into the round--between that high +light and the reflected light from the table-cloth, I mean--is found +its darkest dark. But only one portion of that shadow, a point as +large as the point of a pin, is the darkest dark. Everything else is +gradation, from the highest light to the lowest light, the lowest +light being almost a shadow; and from its darkest dark to its lightest +dark the lightest dark again being almost a light. + +In landscape art these problems are greatly simplified. The sun is +always the strongest light, and whatever comes against it, church +tower, rock, palace, or ship under full sail, is the darkest object. +In addition to this there is always some one point where the outdoor +painter can find a lesser supplementary light and near it a lesser +supplementary dark. Moreover, throughout the rest of the composition +these same lights and darks are echoed and re-echoed in constantly +decreasing gradations. + +You may apply these same tests everywhere in nature. Even in a gray +day, when the sun is not so positive a factor in distributing light, +and the shadows are so subtle that it is difficult to discover them, +there is always some mass of foliage, the silver sheen from an old +shingled roof, the glare of a white wall, which marks for the +composition its lightest light, while a corresponding dark can always +be found somewhere in the tree-trunks, under the overhanging eaves, or +in the broken crevices of the masonry. + +So it is with every other expression of nature. Even on a Venetian +lagoon, where the sky and water are apparently one (not really one to +the quick eye of an expert, the water always being one tone lower than +the sky--that is, more gray than the overbending sky)--even in this +lagoon you will find some one portion of the surface lighter than any +other portion; and in expressing it your eye first and your brush next +must catch in the opalescent sweep of delicious color under your eye +its exact quantity of black and white. By black and white I mean, of +course, that excess or absence of pure color which when translated +into pure black and white would express the meaning of the +subject-matter, as one of Raphael Morghen's engravings on steel gives +you the feeling and color in his masterly rendering of Da Vinci's +"Last Supper." + +In my judgment one of the great landscapes of modern times is the +picture by the distinguished Dutch painter, Mauve, known as "Changing +Pasture," which is now owned by Mr. Charles P. Taft, of Cincinnati. +Here the factor of mass is carried to its utmost limit. Sky one mass; +flock of sheep another mass; and the foreground, sweeping under the +sheep and beyond until it is lost in the haze of the distance, another +mass, or, if one chooses to put it that way, another broad gradation +of a section of the picture: the highest light being some +infinitesimal speck in the diaphanous silver sky, the strongest dark +being found somewhere in the foreground or in the flock of sheep. + +By a strict adherence to this law of one supreme light and one supreme +dark does Mauve's work, as it were, get back from and out of his +canvas, as from the record of a phonograph into which some soul has +breathed its own precise purpose and intent. + +So, too, does nature often call out to you fixing your attention, +often shrouding in shadow the unimportant in the landscape, while high +up above the gloom it holds up to your gaze a white candle of a +minaret or the bared breast of an Alpine peak reflecting the loving +look of a tired sunbeam bidding it good-night. + + * * * * * + +To accent the more strongly the value of this dominant light even +though it be treated in very low gradation, I recall that a year ago +the art world was startled by the sum received for a medium sized +picture of some coryphees painted by Degas, now an old man over eighty +years old--a subject which he always loved and, indeed, which he has +painted many times. Some thirty years ago, when he was comparatively a +young man, I saw, at the Bartholdi exhibition in New York, a picture +by this master of these same coryphees, two figures standing together +in the flies resting their weary, pink, fishworm legs as they balanced +themselves with their hands against the wabbling scenery. It was a +wholly gray picture, and almost in a monotone, and yet the flashes of +their diamond earrings, no larger than the point of a pin, were +distinctly visible, holding their place in, if not dominating, the +whole color scheme. + +Again, in that marvellous portrait of Wertheimer, the bric-a-brac +dealer, if you remember, the eye first catches the strong vermilion +touch on the lower lip, and then, knowing that a master like Sargent +would not leave it isolated, one finds, to one's delight and joy, a +little swipe of red on the tongue of the barely discernible black +poodle squatting at his feet. Had the red of the dog's tongue +predominated, we should never have been thrilled and fascinated by one +of the great portraits of this or any other time. + +This is also true in other great portraits--in, for instance, the +pictures of Rembrandt, Vandyck, and Frans Hals, especially where a +face is relieved by the addition of a hand and the white of a ruff. +Somewhere in that warm expanse of the face there can be found a +pinhead of color, brighter and more dominating than any other brush +touch on the canvas. It may be the high egg-light in the forehead, or +the click on the tip of the nose, or a fold of the white ruff; but +slight as it is and unnoticeable at first, because of it not only does +the head look round as the egg looks round when relieved by the same +treatment, but the attention is fixed. Unless this had been preserved, +the eye would have, perhaps, rested first on the hand, something +foreign to the painter's intention. + +Recalling again the law of the high light and strong dark, and +referring again to the value of the skilful manipulation of light and +shade forming the mass thereby expressing the more clearly the meaning +of a picture, I repeat that, while the eye is always caught by the +strongest dark against the strongest light, it is next caught by the +lesser supplementary light and lesser supplementary dark; and then, +if the painter is skilful enough in the management of the remaining +lesser lights and darks, the eye will run through the gradations to +the end, rebounding once more to the greater light and dark, exactly +in the order intended by the painter; thus unfolding to the spectator +little by little, quite as a plot of a novel is made clear, the story +which the painter had in his own mind to tell. This is effected purely +and entirely by the correct accentuations of the explanatory lights +and darks. One mistake in the management--that is, the accentuating of +the third light, if you please, instead of the second--will not only +confuse the eye of the spectator, but may perhaps give him an entirely +different impression from what was intended by the painter, just as +the shifting of a chapter in a novel would confuse a reader; and this, +if you please, without depending in any way upon either the drawing or +the color of the accessories. + +I can best illustrate this by recalling to your mind that marvellous +picture of the so-called literary school of England, a picture by Luke +Fildes known as "The Doctor" and now hanging in the Tate Gallery in +London, in which the whole sad story is told in logical sequence by +the artist's consummate handling of the darks and lights in regular +progression. + + * * * * * + +You will pardon me, I hope, if I leave the more technical details of +my subject for a moment that I may discuss with you one of the +peculiarities of the so-called art-loving public of to-day, notably +that section which insists that no picture should tell a story of any +kind. + +To my own mind this picture of Luke Fildes reaches high-water mark in +the school of his time, and yet in watching as I have done the crowds +who surge through the Tate Galleries and the National Gallery, it is +an almost every-day occurrence to overhear such contemptuous remarks +as "Oh, yes, one of those literary fellows," drop from the lips of +some highbrow who only tolerates Constable because of the influence +his example and work had on Corot and other men of the Barbizon +school. + +Another section lose their senses over pure brush work. + +A story of Whistler--one he told me himself--will illustrate what I +mean. Jules Stewart's father, a great lover of good pictures and one +of Fortuny's earliest patrons, had invited Whistler to his house in +Paris to see his collection, and in the course of the visit drew from +a hiding-place a small panel of Meissonier's, of a quality so high +that any dealer in Paris would have given him $30,000 for it. + +Whistler would not even glance at it. + +Upon Stewart insisting, he adjusted his monocle and said: "Oh, yes, +very good--_snuff-box style_." + +This affectation was to have been expected of Whistler because of his +aggressive mental attitude toward the work of any man who handled his +brush differently from his own personal methods, but saner minds may +think along broader lines. + +If they do not, they have short memories. Even in my own experience I +have watched the rise and fall of men whose technic called from the +housetops--a call which was heard by the passing throng below, many of +whom stopped to listen and applaud; for in pictures as in bonnets the +taste of the public changes almost daily. One has only to review +several of the schools, both in English and in Continental art, noting +their dawn of novelty, their sunrise of appreciation, their high noon +of triumph, their afternoon of neglect, and their night of oblivion, +to be convinced that the wheel of artistic appreciation is round like +other wheels--the world, for one--and that its revolutions bring the +night as surely as they bring the dawn. + +Not a hundred years have passed since the broad, sensuous work of +Turner, big in conception and big in treatment, was followed by the +more exact painters of the English school, many of whom are still at +work, notably Leader and Alfred Parsons, both Royal Academicians, and +of whom some contemporaneous critic insisted that they had counted the +leaves on their elm-trees fringing the polished water of the Thames. +They, of course, had only been eclipsed by the broader brushes of more +recent time, men like Frank Brangwyn and Colin Hunter, who have +yielded to the pressure of the change in taste, or of whom it would be +more just to say, have _set_ present taste, so that to-day not only +the afternoon of night, but the twilight of forgetfulness, is slowly +and surely casting long shadows over the more realistic men of the +eighties and nineties. + +What will follow this evolution of technic no man can predict. The +lessons of the past, however, are valuable, and to-day one touch of +Turner's brush is more sought for than acres of canvases so greatly +prized twenty years after his death. + +And this is not alone confined to the old realistic English school. In +my own time I have seen Verbeckoeven eclipsed by Van Marcke, +Bouguereau, Cabanel, and Gerome by Manet, and Sir Frederick Leighton +by John Sargent--a young David slaying the Goliath of English technic +with but a wave of his magic brush--and, last and by no means least, +the great French painter Meissonier by the equally great Spanish +master Sorolla. + +I am tempted to continue, for the success of these men in the fulness +of the sunlight of their triumph, realists as well as impressionists, +was wholly due to their understanding of and adherence to the rules of +selection, composition, and mass which form the basis of these papers, +and which despite their differences in brush work they all adhered +to. + +In the late half of the preceding century Meissonier received $66,000 +for his "Friedland," a picture which cost him the best part of two +years to paint, and the expenditure of many thousands of francs, +notably the expense attendant upon the trampling down of a field of +growing wheat by a drove of horses that he might study the action and +the effect the better. Forty years later Sorolla received $20,000 for +two figures in blazing sunlight which took him but two days to paint, +the rest of his collection bringing $250,000, the whole exhibit of one +hundred and odd pictures having been visited by 150,000 persons in +thirty-two days. And he is still in the full tide of success, +pre-eminently the greatest master of the out-of-doors of modern times, +while to-day the work of Meissonier has fallen into such disrepute +that no owner dares offer one of his canvases at public auction except +under the keenest necessity. The first master expresses the refinement +of extreme realism, or rather detailism; the other is a pronounced +impressionist of the sanest of the open-air school of to-day. How long +this pendulum will continue to swing no one can tell. Both men are +great painters in the widest, deepest, and most pronounced sense; both +men have glorified, ennobled, and enriched their time; and both men +have reflected credit and honor upon their nation and their school. + +Meissonier could not only draw the figure, give it life and action, +keep it harmonious in color, perfect in its gradations of black and +white, but he had that marvellous gift of color analysis which +reproduces for you in a picture the size of the top of a cigar-box +every tone in the local and reflected light to be found, say, in the +folds of a cavalier's cloak, the pleats no wider than the point of a +stub pen. + +All this, of course, Sorolla ignores and, I am afraid, knowing the man +personally as I do, despises. What concerns the great Spaniard is the +whole composition alive in the blaze of the sunlight, the glare of the +hot sand and the shimmer of the blue, overarching sky, beating up and +down and over the figures, and all depicted with a slash of a brush +almost as wide as your hand. The first picture, the size of a +tobacco-box, you can hold between thumb and finger and enjoy, amazed +at the master's knowledge and skill. The other grips you from afar off +as you enter the gallery and stand startled and astounded before its +truth and dignity. In the first Meissonier tells you the whole story +to the very end. In the second Sorolla presents but a series of +shorthand notes which you yourself can fill in to suit your taste and +experience both of life and nature. + +Whether you prefer one or the other, or neither, is a matter for you +to decide. You pay your money or you don't, and you can take your +choice. The future only can tell the story of the revolution of the +wheel. In the next decade a single Meissonier may be worth its weight +in sheet gold and layers of Sorollas may be stored in attics awaiting +some fortunate auction. + +What will ensue, the art world over, before the wheel travels its full +periphery, no man knows. It will not be the hysteria of paint, I feel +assured, with its dabbers, spotters, and smearers; nor will it be the +litters of the cub-ists, that new breed of artistic pups, sponsors for +"The girl coming down-stairs," or "The stairs coming down the girl," +or "The coming girl and the down-stairs," it makes no difference +which, all are equally incoherent and unintelligible; but it will be +something which, at least, will boast the element of beauty which is +the one and only excuse for art's existence. I may not live to see +Meissonier's second dawn and I never want to see Sorolla's eclipse, +but you may. You have only to remember Turner's second high noon to be +assured of it. + + * * * * * + +And just here it might be well to consider this question of technic, +especially its value in obtaining the results desired. While it has +nothing to do with either selection, composition, or mass, it has, I +claim, much to do with the way a painter expresses himself--his tone +of voice, his handwriting, his gestures in talking, so to speak--and +therefore becomes an integral part of my discourse. It may also be of +service in the striking of a note of compromise, some middle ground +upon which the extremes may one day meet. + +To make my point the clearer, let me recall an exhibition in New York, +held some years ago, when the bonnets were five deep trying to get a +glimpse of a picture of half a dozen red prelates who were listening +to a missionary's story. Many of these devotees went into raptures +over the brass nails in the sofa, and were only disappointed when they +could not read the monogram on the bishop's ring. Later on, a highly +cultivated and intelligent American citizen was so entranced that he +bought the missionary, story and all, for the price of a brown-stone +front, and carried him away that he might enjoy him forever. + +One month later, almost exactly in the same spot hung another picture, +the subject of which I forget, or it may be that I did not understand +it or that it had no subject at all. If I remember, it was not like +anything in the heavens above, or the earth beneath, or the waters +under the earth. In this respect one could have fallen down and +worshipped it and escaped the charge of idolatry. With the exception +of a few stray art critics, delighted at an opportunity for a new +sensation, it was not surrounded by an idolatrous gathering at all. On +the contrary, the audience before it reminded me more of Artemas Ward +and his panorama. + +"When I first exhibited this picture in New York," he said, "the +artists came with lanterns before daybreak to look at it, and then +they called for the artist, and when he appeared--they threw things at +him." + +For one picture a gentleman gave a brown-stone front; for the other he +would not have given a single brick, unless he had been sure of +planting it in the middle of the canvas the first shot. The first was +Vibert's realistic picture so well known to you. The other was an +example of the modern French school or what was then known as advanced +impressionists. + +I shall not go into an analysis of the technic of the two painters. I +refer to them and their brush work here because of the undue value set +upon the way a thing is done rather than its value after it is done. + +Speaking for myself, I must admit that the value of technic has never +impressed me as have the other and greater qualities in a +picture--namely, its expression of truth and the message it carries of +beauty and often tenderness. I have always held that it is of no +moment to the world at large by what means and methods an artist +expresses himself; that the world is only concerned as to whether he +has expressed himself at all; and if so, to what end and extent. + +If the artist says to us, "I scumbled in the background solid, using +bitumen as an undertone, then I dragged over my high lights and +painted my cool color right into it," it is as meaningless to most of +us as if another bread-winner had said, "I use a Singer with a +straight shuttle and No. 60 cotton." What we want to know is whether +she made the shirt. + +Art terms are, however, synonymous with other terms and in this +connection may be of assistance. To make my purpose clear we will +suppose that "technic" in art is handwriting. "Composition," the +arrangement of sentences. "Details," the choice of words. "Drawing," +good grammar. "Mass, or light and shade," contrasting expressions +giving value each to the other. I hold, however, that there is +something more. The author may write a good hand, spell correctly, +and have a proper respect for Lindley Murray, but what does he say? +What idea does he convey? Has he told us anything of human life, of +human love, of human suffering or joy, or uncovered for us any fresh +hiding-place of nature and taught us to love it? Or is it only words? + +It really matters very little to any of us what the handwriting of an +author may be, and so it should matter very little how an artist +touches the canvas. + +It is true that a picture containing and expressing an idea the most +elevated can be painted either in mass or detail, at the pleasure of +the painter. He may write in the Munich style, or after the manner of +the Duesseldorf ready writers, or the modern French pothook and hanger, +or the antiquated Dutch. He can use the English of Chaucer, or +Shakespeare, or Josh Billings, at his own good pleasure. If he conveys +an intelligible idea he has accomplished a result the value of which +is just in proportion to the quality of that idea. + +To continue this parallel, it may be said that extreme realism is the +use of too many words in a sentence and too many sentences in a +paragraph; extreme impressionism, the use of too few. Neither, +however, is fundamental, and art can be good, bad, or indifferent +containing each or combining both. + +Realism, or, to express it more clearly, detailism, is the realizing +of the whole subject-matter or motive of a picture in exact detail. +Impressionism is the generalizing of the subject-matter as a whole and +the expression of only its salient features. + +The extreme realist or detailist of the Ruskin type has for years been +insisting that a spade was a spade and should be painted to look like +a spade; that a spade was not a spade until every nail in the handle +and every crack in the blade became apparent. + +The more advanced would have insisted on not only the fibre in the +wood, but the brand on the other side of the blade, had it been +physically possible to show it. + +In absolute contrast to this, there lived a man at Barbizon who +maintained that a spade was not a spade at all, but merely a mass of +shadow against a low twilight sky, in the hands of a figure who with +uncovered head listens reverently; that the spade is merely a symbol +of labor; that he used it as he would use a word necessary to express +a sentence, which would be unintelligible without it, and that it was +perfectly immaterial to him, and should be to the world, whether it +was a spade or a shovel so long as the soft twilight, and the reverent +figures wearied with the day's work, and the flat waste of field +stretching away to the little village spire on the dim horizon line +told the story of human suffering and patience and toil, as with +folded hands they listened to the soft cadence of the angelus. + +Which of these two methods of expression is correct--Ruskin or Millet? +Are there any laws which govern, or is it a matter of taste, fancy, or +feeling? Is it a matter of individuality? If so, which individual by +his methods tells us the most truths? Let us endeavor to analyze. + +I whirl through a mountain gorge and catch a glance through a +car-window--an impression. In the darkness of the tunnel it remains +with me. I see the great mass of white cumuli and against them the +dark cedars, the straggling foot-path and steep cliffs. I am impressed +with the sweep of the cloud form pressing over and around them. With +my eyes closed I paint this on my brain, and if I am great enough and +wide enough and deep enough I can subdue my personality and forget my +surroundings, and when opportunity offers I can express upon my canvas +the few salient facts which impressed me and should impress my fellow +men. If it is the silvery light of the morning, I am Corot; if the +day is gone and across the cool lagoon I see the ripple amid the tall +grass catching the fading color of the warm sky, I am Daubigny; if a +gray mist hangs over the hillside and the patches of snow half melted +express the warmth and mellowness of the coming spring, I am our own +Inness. + +Perhaps, however, I am not content. I am overburdened with curiosity. +I say to myself: "What sort of trees, pine or cedar?" I think, pine, +but I am uneasy lest they should be hemlock. Were the rocks all +perpendicular, or did not detached bowlders line the path? About the +clouds, were they not some small cirri beneath the zenith? My memory +is so bad--and so I stop the train and go back. Just as I expected. +The trees were spruce and the rocks were grass-grown and full of +fissures, and so I begin to paint and continue. I get the bark on the +trees, and the foliage until each particular leaf stands on end, and +the strata of the cliffs, and the very sand on the path. I crowd into +my canvas geology, botany, and the laws governing cloud forms. + +Being an ordinary mortal, my curiosity, my telescopic eyes, my +magnifying-glass of vision, my love of truth, my positive conviction +that it is a spruce and should not be painted as a pine, except +through rank perjury, all these forces together have undermined my +impression or, like thorns, have grown up and choked it. Being honest, +I am ready to confess that before returning to the spot I was in doubt +about the pine. But I am still ready to affirm that what I have +labored over is the exact counterfeit and presentment of nature, and +equally willing to denounce the public for not seeing it as I do. I +forget that I have been a boor and a vulgarian--that I have been +invited to a feast and that I have pried into mysteries which my +goddess would veil from my sight; that I have had the impertinence to +bring my own personal advice into the discussion; that I have insisted +that fissures, and leaves, and sand, and infinite detail were +necessary to this expression of nature's sublimity. + +Is it at all strange that the impression which so charmed me as I saw +it from my car-window has faded? Nature unrolled for me suddenly a +poem. For symbols she used a great mass of dark, sturdy trees against +a majestic cloud, a rugged cliff, and a straggling path. I have +ignored them all and insisted that "truth was mighty and must +prevail." I am a realist and "paint things as they are." Not so. I am +an iconoclast and have broken my god and cannot put together the +pieces. I have sacrificed a divine impression to a human realism. + +Suppose, however, that the painter who had this glimpse of nature +before entering the tunnel was no ordinary man, but a man of steadfast +mind, of firm convictions, of a sure touch, with an absolute belief +in nature, and so reverential that he dare not offer even a suggestion +of his own. He has seen it; he has felt it; it has gone down deep into +his memory and heart. The cloud, the cliff, the mass, the path--that +is all. And it is enough. The annoyances of the day, the seductions of +fresh impressions of newer subjects, the weakness of the flesh do not +deter him. With a single aim, to the exclusion of all else, and with a +direct simplicity, he records what he saw, and lo! we have a poem. +Such a man was Courbet, Corot, Dupre. + +But one would say: That may answer for landscape: what about the +figure-painter? Let us counsel together. + +A man only rises to his own level. In art, as in music and literature, +he only expresses himself. Each selects his own method. The school of +Meissonier is not content with a few grand truths simply expressed. +They want a multitude of facts; they must tell the story in their own +way. They are the Dickens and Walter Scott of art. It is iteration and +reiteration. My cardinal must not only have red stockings, says +Vibert, but they must be silk; every detail must be elaborated. Very +well, what of it? you say. What do you criticise, the drawing? No. The +color? No. The composition? No. Does the painter express himself? +Perfectly. What then? Just this. He expresses himself too perfectly. +At first I am delighted. The story is so well told--the well-fed +prelates; the half-sneer; the cynical smile; the earnest missionary +telling his experience. But the next day?--well, he is still telling +it. By the end of the week the enjoyment is confined to allowing him +to tell it to a fresh eye, and that eye another's, and watching his +pleasure. At the end of the year it becomes a part of the decoration +of the wall. You perhaps feel that the frame needs retouching, and +that is all the impression it makes upon you, except as would an old +timepiece with the mainspring gone. The works are exquisite and the +enamelling charming, but it has been four o'clock for forty years. + +In the library, however, hangs an etching which you often look at; in +fact, you never pass it without noticing it. Two figures, a +wheelbarrow, a spade, a stretch of country, a spire pencilled against +a low-tone sky; and yet, somehow, you hear the tolling of the bell and +the whispered prayer. Ah! but you say this has nothing to do with the +treatment; it is the subject. One moment. The missionary's story is as +full of pathos and of human suffering and courage as the "Angelus," +and at first as profoundly stirs our sympathy; but, in one, Vibert has +monopolized the conversation; he has exhausted the subject; he has +told you everything he knows. Nothing has been omitted; nails, +monograms, and all; there is nothing left for you to supply--he is not +so complimentary. But Millet has taken you into his confidence. He +says: "Come, see what I once saw. Do you ever remember any such couple +working in the field?" And you immediately, and unconsciously to +yourself, remember just such a bent back and reverent, uncovered head. +Where, you cannot tell, for the picture comes to you out of the dim +lumber-room in your brain where you store your old memories and faint +impressions of bygone days and sad faces. + +But if he added, "See, my peasant wears a woollen jacket trimmed with +worsted braid," your impression would immediately fade. You might +remember the jacket, but the braid, never. But for this it would have +been delightful for you, although unconsciously, to add your own sweet +memory to the picture. + +Another impression choked to death with unnecessary realism. + +But be you realist or impressionist, remember that a true work of art +is that which has pleased _the greatest number of people for the +longest period of time_; that the love of beauty indicates our highest +intellectual plane, and that if you will express to your fellow +sinners burdened with life's cares something of the enthusiasm of your +own life, and will assist them to see their mother earth through your +own eyes in constantly increasing beauty--you having by your art, in +your possession, the key to the cipher, and interpreting and +translating for them--you will confer upon them one of the greatest +blessings which fall to their lot on this mundane sphere. + + + + +WATER-COLORS + + +Color, if you stop to think, is really the decorative touch which God +gives to the universe. It would have been just as easy to make +everything gray--every rose but the shadow of itself--every tree and +rock and cloud a monotone of gradation. Instead of that, everything we +look at, from a violet to an overbending sky, is enriched and +glorified by millions of color tones as infinite in their gradation as +the waves of sound and light. Even in the grayest days, when the +clouds are bursting into tears and the whole landscape is desolate as +the barrenest and bleakest of mountain sides, these infinite +gradations of color permeate and redeem its barrenness, and to the +true painter fill it with joy and beauty. + +There are many of us, however, who are not true painters and to whom +the most exquisite of color schemes are but dull results. Many of us +walk around our galleries passing the best pictures in silence; others +ridicule what they cannot understand. Even our own beloved Mark Twain, +whose heart was always open to the best and warmest of human +impressions, and who expressed them in every line of his pen, when led +up to one of Turner's masterpieces, "The Slave Ship," a glory of red, +yellow, and blue running riot over a sunset sky, the whole reflected +in a troubled sea, remarked to his companion: "Very wonderful! Seen it +before. Always reminds me of a tortoise-shell cat having a fit in a +plate of tomato soup." + +The education of such barbarians belongs to our generation and should +be taken up by those of us who know or think we do. For true color is +as great an educator as true music. This knowledge of color harmony, +this matching and contrasting of different colors, but very few men +and women possess. When they do, it is generally inherited and thus a +natural gift. The rest of the world wear blue and purple, or orange +and green, entirely ignorant of the harmonies of nature even as +bearing on their domestic surroundings. For myself, I have always held +that the most perfect harmonies required in either wall decoration, +furniture, dress goods, or any other fabrics that color enters into, +have their exact counterpart in some color tones of nature--that the +russet-browns and yellows of autumn; the contrasting opalescent hues +of a morning sky, rose-pink, pale blue, or delicate tea-rose yellow; +the gloom of a forest with its yellow-grays and blue-grays, the +gray-green moss of the lichens, the brown of the tree-trunks, the +black and gray hues of the rocks, all these, if carefully studied and +analyzed and reproduced, would make beautiful anything in the world +from a bonnet to a chateau. To illustrate: + +Several years ago an intimate friend of mine, a distinguished +architect of New York, the late Mr. Bruce Price, in designing a number +of cottages at Tuxedo sought in vain for some color mixture current in +the paint-shops with which to cover the outside of his buildings. All +schemes of browns, olive-greens, colonial yellow with white trimmings +and the reverse, Pompeiian reds, slate-grays, and dull yellows +resulted in making "spots" of the houses, so that the effect he wished +to produce, that of the houses being merged into the forest, was lost. +Mr. Price was not only an architect, but he was an artist as well. He +had little skill with his brush, but he had that innate good taste, +with a keen eye to discern the subtle gradations in color, that only +needed change of occupation to make him a painter. One day, looking at +a new bare wooden cottage--unpainted as yet--in contrast to a mass of +foliage in the early autumn before the leaves had begun to turn, in +which the yellow-grays one often sees predominated, he suddenly +thought to himself: "The tree-trunks and underbrush do not stand out; +they are all of one piece, each keeping its place, while my house"--as +he rather inelegantly but forcibly expressed it--"sticks up like a +sore thumb." Later, this very clever man made an analysis of the local +color in these several grays, and his subsequent matching and +combining of these different tints resulted in the exact tones of the +forest before him, and when this was completed and the house painted +you felt should you enter the front door that the leaves must be over +your head. + +Bringing the discussion down to more practical details, really to the +palettes which we hold in our hands, the question then naturally +arises as to how best to express true local color, with its varying +blues, yellows, and reds, and especially its varying grays. + +In my own experience I find grays to be the prevailing tones +everywhere in nature. + +I find also that the great masters of modern art, particularly the +school of 1830, known as the Barbizon school, and represented by such +men as Rousseau, Corot, Daubigny, Diaz, and Millet, and later by men +who in some degree represent that school, but to my mind have done +work equally good--even Montenard and Cazin--that all these masters +have loved, sought for, and expressed in their work this +all-prevailing quality, the gray. + +A few very simple rules for testing the power, presence, and quality +of the prevailing gray in nature are so easily learned and so +convincing in their application that once applied they are never +forgotten. + +Take, for instance, a morning in late spring or early summer, when all +nature is dressed from tree-top to grass-blade in a suit of vivid +green. To a tyro with so dangerous a weapon as a color-box, there is +nothing that will really bring down this game but some explosive +composed of indigo and Indian yellow, or Prussian blue and light +cadmium--perhaps the strongest mixture of vivid raw green. + +Now, pluck a single leaf from a near-by branch, hold it close to one +eye, and with this as a guide note the difference in color tones +between it and the leaves on the tree from which you plucked the leaf +and which you had believed to be a vivid green. To your surprise, the +leaf itself, even with the sun shining through it, is many tones lower +and grayer than the color of the near-by branch as depicted on your +paper, while the near-by branch, in comparison, pales into a sable +gray-green, which you could perhaps get with yellow ochre, blue-black, +and a touch of chrome-yellow. + +It does not seem to me that I can better illustrate this quality of +the gray than by rapidly going over some of the works of George Inness +lately on exhibition in New York--certainly to me the most marvellous +examples of the power of a human mind to harmonize the subtle +colorings of nature. I select Inness not only because he is to me one +of the great landscape-painters of his day, but because he chooses a +very wide range of subjects, from early morning to twilight, +expressing these truthfully, absolutely, perfectly, so far as local +color is concerned--that is, of course, as I see through either my own +spectacles or Inness's; but, then, remember, our eyes may need repair. +When these canvases are analyzed we find in the range of color nothing +stronger than yellow ochre in yellows, than light red in reds, and, +with hardly an exception, blue-black for blues. Indeed, his usual +palette, as does Mauve's and Cazin's, seems to me to be only yellow +ochre and blue-black, and with these two colors he expresses the +whole range of the color scheme in nature, with the varying lights of +day and night, except in depicting sunsets. + + * * * * * + +After the salient features of a landscape have been analyzed and +recorded in color, the more subtle qualities are to be detected and +expressed. The most important of these is the time of day. To an +outdoor painter--an expert examining the work of another expert--the +hour-hand is written over every square inch of the canvas. He knows +from the angle of the shadows just how high the sun was in the +heavens, and he knows, too, from the local color of the shadows +whether it is a silvery light of the morning, the glare of noontime, +or the deepening golden glow of the afternoon. In fact, if you will +think for a moment, the shadow of an overhanging balcony upon a white +wall is a perfect sun-dial for him, and this test can be indefinitely +applied to every part of the picture. + +The next is the temperature: how hot or how cold it was--what month in +the year? It is unnecessary for Inness to cover his ground with snow +to make his picture express a certain degree of cold, neither is it +necessary for Montenard to fill his Provencal roads with clouds of +dust to show how hot they are. This is done by the opalescent tones of +the sky, by the values expressed in reflected lights and in the +illuminated shadows, so that you feel in looking across one of +Inness's fields of brown grass just how late is the autumn and just +how cool it has been, and in looking down one of Montenard's roads you +realize how useless would be an overcoat. + +[Illustration: Under the Willows, Cookham-on-Thames] + +In this connection let me say that all nature is interesting and all +nature is beautiful, but all nature, as I have said, is not paintable. +The interior of a railroad station, for instance, is interesting, +as giving you certain mechanical results, construction, but it is not +picturesque--that is, paintable--unless one could treat it as Pennell +does, contrasting the black cars and locomotive with a puff of white +steam, giving the vistas with the perspective of track, and a centre +mass of people adding an idea of movement and color. + +Above all, the outdoor painter should get the character and feeling of +the place he portrays on his canvas. If in Spain, his picture must +look like Spain. The air must be transparent, the architecture +clean-cut against the azure. If it be Holland, the atmosphere must be +moist, the air like a veil, and with all this there must be nothing in +the work that will be mistaken for the smoke-laden air of England. +Only thus, by this fidelity to the very nature and spirit of a place, +can the picture be made to express the essence of its life, which is +really the heart of the whole mystery. + +Coming at last to our text, Water-Colors--the art of depicting nature +on a sheet of white paper by paints diluted with water--it will be +well to remind you that the art goes back to almost prehistoric times. +A few weeks ago, in the library of Mr. Jesse Carter, director of the +American Academy in Rome, I saw one of the earliest water-colors in +existence. It was painted upon a sheet of slate, and, although some +thousands of years old, still retained its color and remarkable +brilliancy. The subject was a group of figures, the centre object +being a girl of wonderful grace. + +The present art of water-color painting, with a sheet of white paper +as background instead of the permanent stone, is, however, but little +more than one hundred and fifty years old, and owes its existence +largely to the men of the English school. + +Mr. C. E. Hughes, in his delightful book on "Early English Water +Color," confined this English school to the men born between the +years 1720 and 1820. + +In this group he places the great Gainsborough, who from 1760 to 1774 +worked "in charcoal and water-color on tinted paper," which he said he +"loved to dash off of an evening, and which dazzled the fine ladies +and gentlemen who frequented the select watering-place of Bath," where +he was then living. + +Then came Robert Cozens, the brothers Sanby, Thomas Hearne, Thomas +Malton, Samuel Scott, and a few others, all known as the +eighteenth-century painters. + +These were succeeded by Thomas Girtin, who was born in 1775 and died +at twenty-seven years of age; and the great J. M. W. Turner, who first +saw the light in the same year, and on the day on which all great +Englishmen should be born--namely, April 23--a day dedicated to St. +George and the birthday of William Shakespeare. + +Girtin and Turner worked together. Girtin, measured by the standard of +to-day, was an extreme impressionist, leaving behind him sketches +dashed in with an appearance of freedom which Peter DeWint and David +Cox might have envied when in after years they were at the height of +their power. Turner, on the contrary, devoted his time to acquiring +that triumphant grasp of detail which caused him to be known in his +earlier life as an extreme realist. + +The change in Turner's work--the broader brush--came in his later +years when oil became his medium of expression, in which, no doubt, +his ability to note and yet sacrifice all unnecessary detail was a +potent factor. + +A list of Englishmen greatly prized in their day now follows. Such men +as John Varly, Gilpin, Glover, William Havell (all of whom during some +part of their careers were members of the first Water Color Society +formed in England, in 1804, which body still survives in the old +Water Color Society whose rooms are still open on Pall Mall East) rose +into prominence, their works finding places both in private and public +collections. + +This society was in turn succeeded by the New Society of Painters in +Miniature and Water Colors, which came into being in 1807 and went out +of existence in 1812--a victim, says Hughes, of the condition of +public apathy which brought about in the same year a reconstruction of +the older organization under the joint title of the Oil and Water +Color Society, and which eked out a precarious existence until the +birth of the association now known as the Royal Institute for Painters +in Water Colors. + +Other names now confront us, among them two men, David Cox and Peter +DeWint, who in their day were considered masters of the medium. These +last struck a new note in water-color, or rather a new technic in its +handling. What Ruskin, the realist, in his "Modern Painters" describes +as "blottesque" was at that time looked upon by both teachers and +students as the one and only means by which white paper could be +properly stained. This method, to quote from a loyal believer in the +English transparent school, and whose enthusiasm is delightful, was +the laying on of the color in washes which filled certain definite +spaces indicated by a pen-and-ink outline. + +These washes would indicate, say, a distant tree with a preliminary +tint and a subsequent elaboration; he would do it all in one process, +giving his blot an irregular edge and allowing the color to accumulate +where the shadows required it. His elaborative touches elsewhere were +of the same nature. They were brush blots as distinct from washes. To +this, I think, we may attribute on analysis the freedom of handling +which--though each man has his distinctive method--is characteristic +of both Cox and DeWint. If we add to these two methods of using the +brush a third--its manipulation as though it were a pen--we shall have +all the fluid processes on one or the other of which the beauty of all +modern water-color drawings depends. A fourth process is rubbing the +color into the grain of the paper. A fifth--a supplementary one--is +scratching out. Last is the ignominy of the stipple--the wetting of +the brush in the mouth, a technic entirely dependent upon the quantity +of saliva the student can spare for his work. Almost every early wash +water-color in existence can be classified according to the employment +in its making of some or all of these means. + +In later years, especially in the last half of the eighteenth century, +we have Copley Fielding; Prout, with his picturesque sepia drawings, +the detail of his architecture in brown ink; Harding; Bonnington, +really a great man; Clarkson Stanfield; Rowbotham; David Roberts; +James Holland; Cattermole, who declined a knighthood and whose +intimates were Dickens, Disraeli, and Thackeray; and so on down to the +men of to-day, who are so well and ably represented in the annual +exhibitions of the Royal Academy and the present English Water Color +Societies. + + * * * * * + +As for our own progress in the art, the subject, of course, is too +well known for long discussion. Our oldest society, the American Water +Color Society, held its first public exhibition in the National +Academy of Design in New York in 1867, a date always remembered by me +with infinite pride and pleasure, for upon the walls of the smallest +room close up under the roof was hung my first exhibited +water-color--the only one of my three the hanging committee were good +enough to accept. Two years later--I am happy to say--in 1869, I was +elected a member, and I am further happy to say that I am still in +good standing and in high-hanging, and have so continued from that day +down to the present time--a trifle of some forty-six years. + +As to my compatriots, I can truthfully say that its membership covers +some of the great water-colorists of our own or any other time, both +here and abroad--men entirely free to do as they pleased, working in +anything and all things so long as, to use their own expression, they +"get there," handling body color, in a veil of silver-gray as an +overwash or squeezed in chunks from a tube; undertones of charcoal +gray, overtones of pastel--anything for _quality_. + +Their names are legion: the late E. A. Abbey, Walter Palmer, Chase, +the late Robert Blum, F. S. Church, Cooper, Curran, Eaton, Farrer, the +two Smillies, Childe Hassam, Keller, Murphy, Nicoll, Potthast, the +late Henry Smith, etc., etc. + +These are but a haphazard choice of the men whose work shows the +widest ranges in selection, composition, mass, and technic, and who, +in the world of water-color painting, are masters of the medium. + +As to our progenitors, the English water-color school--and I make the +statement with every respect for their high accomplishments--while I +believe we are indebted to them for the very existence of the art +itself, I must say that our own men and art-lovers the world over +would have been vastly benefited had these Englishmen allowed +themselves a little more freedom in their methods and not followed so +blindly the traditions of their past. + +That we broke away so early is as much a question of race as of +training. The last idea that enters the heads of our own men is that +they want either to paint or to draw like somebody else. They all want +to paint like themselves, or they do not want to paint at all. They +are so many art sponges. They go abroad, wander about the Grosvenor +and the exhibitions, run over to Paris and haunt the Salon and shops, +and so on to Munich and Berlin, picking up a technical touch here or a +new idea of grouping or mass or color scheme there, and then, having +thoroughly absorbed it all, return home and use whatever suits them; +but a slavish imitation of any one English, French, or German +master--never; neither do they follow any other brush at home. They do +not believe in each other sufficiently to pay the highest form of +flattery--imitation. + +Nor do many of them find their subjects abroad--a habit practised +these many years by your humble speaker, whose only excuse is that he +_must_ paint, no matter where he is, and that his life in the +summer-time is dominated by his two children, both exiles, and more +exactingly still in late years by two little grandboys who have not as +yet crossed the ocean. No, these young American painters, with hardly +an exception, find their subjects at home, and they choose wisely. + +And just here it can be said that if we are ever to have a school that +will leave its impress on the art of the world, the task will be the +easier if our men find their subjects at home--if they will show our +own people the beauty, dignity, and grandeur of the material that lies +under their very eyes, and also teach those fellows on the other side +to respect us, both because we can paint and because we have the +things to paint from. With a mountain and river scenery unrivalled on +the globe; with rock-bound coasts breaking the full surge of an ocean; +with forests of towering trees compared to which in girth and height +the trees of all other lands are but toothpicks; with plains ending in +films of blue haze and valleys sparkling with myriads of waterfalls; +with every type of the human race blended in our own, or distinct as +are the woodman of Maine and the soft-eyed mulatto of Louisiana; with +a history filled with traditions most romantic--Aztec, Indian, and +negro; with women who move like Greek goddesses and children whose +faces are divine, why go away from home to find something to paint? +Winslow Homer never did, and that's why his work will live when the +painters of Egyptian harems, Spanish dancers, and Dutch and Venetian +boats and palaces are forgotten. + +To take a specific example or two, what subject, for instance, is more +worthy of a great master's brush than Homer's "Undertow," two +half-drowned young bathers locked in each other's arms, the two +beachmen dragging them clear of the mighty, blue-green wave curving +behind them? Here is a subject of almost weekly occurrence on our +coast. Who ever thought of painting it before? And that marvellous +picture of "The Cotton Pickers." This, to me, was the first clear +note Homer had sounded. The "Prisoners to the Front," painted just +after the war, was a strong, realistic picture, true and forceful in +color and composition, and, of course, admirable in drawing, but that +was all. It told its story at once, and having heard it to the end you +acknowledged its truth and went away content. But "The Cotton Pickers" +left something more in your mind. The gray dawn of the morning dimly +lighted up a field of cotton, the negro quarters on the horizon line; +dotted here and there, bending over the bolls, were groups of negroes, +singly and in pairs, filling their bags; in the foreground walked two +young negro girls, the foremost a dark mulatto--the whole story of +Southern slavery written in every line of her patient, uncomplaining +face. + +This picture alone placed Homer in the first rank of American painters +of his day, and he has never lost this place, for not only was the +picture all it should be in composition and mass, but, unlike many of +Homer's pictures of an earlier period, it was deliciously gray and +cool in tone. It places him also in the front rank of the painters of +our time. Jules Breton never gave us anything more pleasing, and never +anything stronger in drawing, more true to life, or more poetic in +conception and treatment. I mention Breton because, of the men on the +other side, he is the only one who affects, so to speak, a similar +line of subjects. Breton loves his peasants and paints them as if he +did. Homer loved his subjects entirely in the same spirit. How +unequally the two men have been rewarded you all know. An all-wise +American who some years ago offered $40,000 for a Breton at auction +could not at the time have been induced to give one-tenth of that +amount for a Homer; and yet, for vigor, truth, sentiment, and +technic--yes, technic, for this picture was superbly painted--"The +Cotton Pickers," in my judgment, will outlive the other if the time +should ever come when picture-buyers think for themselves. + +The Englishman, on the other hand, is the hardest man to pull out of a +groove. What _has been_ is good enough for him, whether in +architecture, art, politics, or government. Any one who objects, or +seeks to improve or to point out a new and different way, is +"anathema." It is hardly more than twenty years ago that John Sargent, +whose works are often the strongest drawing card in the annual +exhibitions, was ignored by the jury of the Royal Academy. + +"A slap-dash sort of a painter, my dear boy. Most dangerous to allow +his things to come in. No drawing, you know, no finish--altogether out +of the question." So spoke a Royal Academician when the question was +broached. + +Whistler never found a vacant spot, no matter how high, where he could +hang even a 10 x 14. + +"A mountebank in paint, my dear sir. Think of giving him a place +alongside of Sir Frederick Leighton! Impossible! Absolutely +impossible!" That the Luxembourg exhibited his portrait of his mother, +and that the art critics of Europe voted it "one of the greatest +portraits of modern times," made no difference. These Royal wiseacres +knew better. Some of them still think they know better, a fact easily +ascertained when you walk through the Exhibition, as I do every +summer, and have continued to do for the past thirty years. + +And this adherence to tradition is not confined entirely to technic--I +refer now to many of the English painters of to-day--but appears in +their choice of subjects as well. It is the _subjects_ which have been +successful--that is, which have been _sold_--that must be painted over +and over. Anything new is a departure, and a departure from the +standard in the selection of a subject is as dangerous as a departure +in the cut of a coat or the color of one's gloves--or was as dangerous +until Sargent, Abbey, Frank Brangwyn, and men of that ilk smashed the +current idols and taught men a new religion. A small congregation, it +is true, but big enough for them to gather together to sing hymns of +praise and pray for better things. + +Let me illustrate what I mean by conforming to the standard. Three +years ago I was painting near a village, an hour from Paddington--a +lovely spot on the River Thames. This quaint settlement is one of +those little, waterside, old-fashioned-inn places, all drooping trees, +punts, millions of roses, tumble-down cottages, stretches of meadows +with the silver thread of the Thames glistening in the sunlight. There +is also a bridge, a wonderful old brick bridge, stepping across on +three arches, mould-incrusted, blackened by time, masses of green +rushes clustered about its feet--a most picturesque and lovable +bridge, known to about everybody who has ever visited that section of +England. + +I had been there for a week, making my headquarters at the White Hart, +when my attention was attracted to a man across the river--it is quite +narrow here--a painter, evidently, who seemed to be surrounded by a +collection of canvases. He went through the same motions every day, +and then my curiosity got the better of me and I went over to see him. + +Spread out on the grass lay eight canvases, all of one size, and each +one containing a picture of the old brick bridge. + +"But why eight all alike?" I asked in astonishment. + +"Because I can't sell anything else. I am known as the Sonning Bridge +painter. I've been at it for twenty years." + +It is with this sort of thing, either in the selection of a subject, +in its treatment, or in its handling, that I have but little sympathy, +even though the great Ruskin, in speaking of this same English +water-color school, the one I have catalogued for you, insists that it +is the only "true school of landscape which has yet existed," an +appreciation which is followed by the outburst that "from the last +landscape of Tintoret, if we look for life we will pass at once to the +first landscape of Turner." It is, of course, only one of Ruskin's +dictatorial statements, admirable when written, because it was read +and approved by a class who knew no better and who accepted his words +as other blind devotees obeyed the Delphic Oracle--statements, +however, which are rejected by many of to-day who think for themselves +and who think clearly, having the world's work spread open before them +from which to judge. + +Once in wandering around the Academia of Venice, taking in for the +fiftieth time Titian's masterpiece, I came across an Englishman who +had paused in his walk and was adjusting his long-distance +telescope--a monocle glued just under his left eyebrow. Mistaking my +red-backed sketch-book for a Baedeker, he said, in an apologetic tone: + +"Pardon me--I've left mine at home--but will you be good enough to +tell me what Mr. Ruskin says about that picture?" + + * * * * * + +That I have personally refused to follow either Mr. Ruskin or the +example of the men he places on so high a pinnacle--I am now referring +entirely to their technic--is due to my having painted all my life +out-of-doors, the best place in which a man can study nature at close +range. This experience has taught me that weight and solidity are as +important in the rendering of a natural object as air and perspective, +and that the _staining of paper with washes of transparent color does +not and cannot give them_. + +Nor can any brilliant light, a crisp, snapping light--a glint of the +sun's rays, for instance, on the break of the surf, or on the round of +a glossy leaf, reflecting like a mirror the opaque sky--ever be +achieved by careful working around the edges of an unwashed speck of +paper--the transparent man's only means of expressing a high light. + +Nor will a single dab of Chinese white produce the effect of it, +should it be the _only_ dab of opaque white in the composition. The +result in this case is still worse, for if transparent color has any +value when uniformly distributed it is in the expression of air and +perspective. The dab, then, is instantly out of plane, as it comes +nearer to the eye than the transparent wash about it, and the illusion +of distance is accordingly lost. + +But another and quite a different thing occurs when the opaque color +_forms part_ of the whole, the two systems blending each with the +other. To illustrate, my own experience has taught me that in nature +whatever the sun shines _upon_ is opaque. The facade of a cathedral, +for instance, facing a sky where the rays of the sun strike it full is +opaque, while the angles of the architecture, casting shadows large +and small into which sink the blue reflections of the sky or the +reflected lights from near-by objects, are invariably transparent. + + * * * * * + +And now for my own system and the reasons why I have abandoned all +other systems. And in giving them to you I want to repeat what I said +in the beginning of this course, that I do not ask you students to +follow in my footsteps if your predilections, training, and innate +consciences lead you to a different view of treatment. Many of you may +not like my work at all, and you certainly have a large following, +especially among the younger men and women who have advanced ideas. +Many of you hold to the opinion that water-color men should stick to +their trade and not encroach upon the oil painters in their technic. +And many of you may at heart prefer, nay, even delight in, the broad, +loose washes of the early English school. + +There may be a few of you, however, who have open minds free from +prejudice and free from the traditions of the past, and who are +dissatisfied with the want of "virility," if I may so express it, +shown in pictures painted on white paper, and with successive +washings, and may accordingly see something in my own methods which +may encourage you to follow in the path which I have cleared and which +I humbly trust will lead to infinitely better results than I have so +far achieved. + +And in this you must have the courage of your opinions and be prepared +for criticisms. Those who are against me are more numerous than those +who are for me and my methods. + +Only last month a distinguished New York daily paper, in reviewing a +recent exhibition, said: + +"There really is nothing left to say about Mr. Smith's water-colors. +They appear with such unfailing regularity and are always so much the +same. Nothing in the present collection will surprise those who know +his work--and who does not? The artist's facility is undiminished, his +industry untiring, but to look for any fresh inspiration in his work +or a hint of anything but a conventional vision has long been a vain +hope." + +I should be discouraged if I thought that this was the last word on my +work. I know better, because I am making a collection of such +criticisms, showing the rating of our several painters. These summings +up of mine will be extremely valuable as marking the changing taste of +the public; for I have never supposed that either ill will or +downright ignorance formed the basis of current criticism. The critics +are merely expressing the trend of public opinion. It is not new to +our age. Diaz, so one story goes, once came stumping (he had lost one +leg) into Millet's cottage at Barbizon fresh from the Salon. Millet +had been painting nudes--the most exquisite bits of flesh-painting +seen for many a day, and as modest as Chabas "September Morn." + +"What do they say of my things?" asked Millet. + +"That you are still painting naked women," replied Diaz. + +Millet was horrified. + +"I paint naked women! I never painted one in my life." + +Hence "The Angelus" and "The Sowers" and the other masterpieces of +clothed peasants. + +In 1825 Constable writes in answer to a scurrilous attack made on his +so-called "puerile" efforts: + +"Remember the great were not made for me, nor was I for the great. My +limited and abstractive art is to be found under every hedge and in +every lane, and therefore nobody thinks it worth while picking up. My +art flatters nobody by imitation: it courts nobody by smoothness: it +tickles nobody by politeness: it is without either fol-de-rol or +fiddle-de-dee. How can I hope to be popular?" + +Ruskin's attack on Whistler is another case in point. A lawsuit +followed and Whistler recovered one farthing damages, and had the +effrontery to dangle it under the great critic's nose that same night +at a reception where they both met, followed by the remark: + +"Beat you, old man." + +Even Mr. Thackeray went out of his way in his "art notes" to belittle +and ridicule Sir Thomas Lawrence because he lacked what he called the +"virility of his progenitors and associates." + + * * * * * + +And now for my own system. + +I use a heavy, gray charcoal paper, which is made by Dupre & Company, +No. 141 Faubourg St. Honore, Paris, and which costs about ten cents +per sheet, measuring about 40 x 30 inches each. This paper is evenly +ribbed but without the intermittent bands seen often in the lighter +charcoal paper, known as "Michelet," sold everywhere in our own art +stores. Dupre will send this paper to anybody who applies for it. + +This paper I wet on _both_ sides and thumb-tack over an oil canvas the +size of the picture to be painted. It dries tight as a drum, and the +canvas backing protects it from puncture or other injury. + +On this surface I make _a full and complete drawing in charcoal_ of +the subject before me, not in outline, but in strong darks, jet-black, +many of them--a finished drawing really, in charcoal, which could be +signed and framed. This is then "fixed" by a spray of alcohol and gum +shellac, thrown by means of a common perfume atomizer, the whole +apparatus costing less than one American dollar. + +On this I begin my color scheme in both opaque and transparent color, +recognizing the "natural facts" already explained to you, that is, the +skies and high lights being solidly opaque, the shadows being equally +transparent. This process requires certain modifications to be made in +the darks of the original drawing. The dense black shadow under the +eaves of a roof, for instance, are not in nature as black as the +charcoal, but perhaps a rich, warm brown. If the ground is in +sunlight, it is a dull, golden yellow and reflects the yellow glow of +the sand beneath. Or it may be a blue reflection, or even of a reddish +tone. These hard blacks then must be _glazed_ in such a way as to +preserve the power of the shadow obtained by means of the under +charcoal, and yet keep it _transparent_ (all shadows being +transparent) and at the same time preserve its true and proper tint. + +This glaze is done by using the three semi-opaque primary +pigments--found in every color-box--namely: + +Light red, + +Cobalt-blue, + +Yellow ochre. + +These colors, of course, form the basis of all intermediate tones, and +from them all intermediate tones can be made. + +These three colors are at the same time semi-opaque, their opacity +being just sufficient to tint the hard black of the coal, while never +clogging or muddying its transparency. + +So it is with the millions of other tones in the whole composition, +when such perfectly transparent colors as brown madder, Indian yellow, +and indigo are used as a glaze, altering and modifying the undertone +of charcoal to any desired tint and at the same time preserving the +all-important thing--its transparency. + +In conclusion, let me say that I fully recognize that I am addressing +students whose training enables them to understand perfectly this +explanation, and that further instructions are therefore unnecessary. + +One thing, however, may be accentuated, and that is the use of plenty +of clean water. Another is that you should keep your palettes +separate. For myself, I make use of a common white metallic +dinner-plate, known as iron-stone china, costing another ten cents, +for my sky-palette, squeezing the color-tubes in a row around its edge +and my Chinese white below them on one side toward the bottom. For my +transparent palette, I use an ordinary moist sixteen-pan color-box, +being always careful never to blur it with even a brush stroke of body +color (Chinese white); and for my opaque work, an oval white metal +palette, with thumb-hole, and indentations around its edge into which +I squeeze the contents of my moist water-color tubes, my Chinese +white being heaped up in a little mound near my thumb. + +The result may be seen in some of the illustrations accompanying this +text. + + + + +CHARCOAL + + +Before going into the value of charcoal as a medium in the recording +of the various aspects of nature in black-and-white, it will be wise +to review the several mediums in general use, namely, etching, pen and +ink, lithographic crayon, and charcoal gray in connection with Chinese +white; it will be well, also, to note the various mechanical processes +in use for the reproductions of these drawings on white paper. + +Those of you who have seen the early illustration in _Harper's +Magazine_ of the late fifties will recall the work of "Porte Crayon" +(Colonel Strother), drawn on wood by the artist and engraved by such +men as A. V. S. Anthony and John Sartain. You will also recall how +some twenty-five years later an effective and marvellous change took +place in the quality of these reproductions, being by far the most +unique and rapid in the history of any art of the century. In less +than ten years, between 1876 and 1886, came this sudden awakening to +the necessity of better work from the burin, followed by an enormous +commercial demand for such results, until by common consent the +American engraver first rivalled and then surpassed the world. If we +search for the cause we find that, like many other inventions +developing others of still greater importance, as the telegraph +developed the telephone, electric light, and the phonograph, this +marvellous change is due entirely to the discovery and possibility of +photographing direct from the original upon the boxwood itself, +producing with an instant's exposure a complete reproduction of the +original drawing, with all its texture, gradation, and quality, not +only doing away entirely with the intermediate draftsman, as was the +case with "Porte Crayon's" work, but obtaining a result impossible to +the most skilful of the artists on wood of his day. + +Another important feature in the discovery was the possibility of +reducing a drawing to any size required, thus fitting it exactly to +the necessities of the printed page. Before these discoveries, as you +well know, from the time of Albert Duerer down to Linton and engravers +of his school, the original drawing of the painter was redrawn by the +use of lead-pencil, Chinese white, and India-ink washes upon the wood +itself, giving as close an imitation as possible of the original. Some +painters--illustrators, if you please, in those early days--in fact, +made their original designs direct upon the wood. The effects of light +and dark were then cut out in lines, curved or otherwise, with +suitable cross-hatchings, as the necessity of the drawing required, or +left comparatively untouched. + +It is not my purpose to discuss here the different merits of the +different schools. There are varieties of opinion regarding the +excellence of the line compared with the technic in the modern school +of engravers. By the modern school I mean the work of such men as +Cole, Yuengling, Wolff, French, Smithwick, and others. I refer to them +that I may accent the stronger the medium which is the subject-matter +of this talk, namely, charcoal, in the hope that those of you who +propose to make reproductive illustrations your life-work may be +tempted to make use of charcoal as a medium through which to express +your ideas and ideals. + +But before embarking on this phase of my subject it may be interesting +for a moment to go a little deeper into the earlier stages of this +marvellous change from boxwood to zinc. I remember distinctly the +beginnings of an organization well known in New York, and perhaps to +many of you, as the Tile Club, to which organization I can +conscientiously say as much credit is due for this revival in +wood-engraving as to any other. Not that good wood-engravers did not +exist before its time, and not because it contained wood-engravers, +for the club did not have the name of one among its membership, but as +containing a group of painters who for the first time in aid of the +art of wood-engraving in this country lent their names and brushes to +an illustrated magazine. Up to that time there had been a wide gulf +existing between the ordinary draftsman on wood and a painter. This +did not proceed from the prevalence of a certain disease among the +painters, known at the present time as an "enlarged head," but from +the fact that no artist accustomed to free-hand drawing and at liberty +to wander all over his canvas at will would bring himself down to +working through a magnifying-glass, a necessity, often, in +transferring a drawing to wood. + +With this discovery, however, of making available even the roughest +drawing, the simplest blot in color or a scratch in charcoal, and +photographing its exact _textures_ upon a wooden block, the camera +reducing it in size and thus perfecting it, the artist immediately +took the place of the draftsman, and at the same time introduced into +the work an artistic quality, a dash, a vim and spirit entirely +unknown before. + +Three things were needed to utilize this marvellously useful +discovery: first, a painter of rank; second, an engraver who could +express the textures and technics of the several artists--that is, +reproduce the exact values of an original in wash, an original in +charcoal, or an original in oil; and third, a magazine with sufficient +capital, taste, and intelligence to reproduce these results upon a +printed page. We had the painters, and the engravers developed +rapidly. The third requirement, of taste and intelligence, was found +in Mr. A. W. Drake, then art director of _Scribner's Monthly_, and, +after its merging into the _Century_, the distinguished art director +of the _Century Magazine_. + +When the Tile Club was formed in New York it consisted of a group of +men (I was its scullion for seven years, its entire life, and, being +thus an honored servant, was familiar with its many affairs) who +represented at the time the leading spirits of the different schools: +William M. Chase, Arthur Quartley, Swain Gifford, A. B. Frost, George +Maynard, Frank D. Millet, Alden Weir, Edwin A. Abbey, Charles S. +Reinhart, Elihu Vedder, William Gedney Bunce, Stanford White, Augustus +Saint-Gaudens, and one or two others. The club was limited to eighteen +members, there being twelve painters and six musicians. If I am not +very much mistaken, not a single painter of this group had ever drawn +upon a wooden block, and yet each one of them, as the records of our +periodicals have shown, was admirably qualified for illustrative work. +At the time, the illustrations in _Harper's_ and _Scribner's_, +compared with the illustrations of to-day, reminded one of the early +primers of the New England schools, with their improbable trees and +impossible animals. + +I remember distinctly the first meeting of the Tile Club, in which the +subject of drawing for _Scribner's Monthly_ was first mooted, and I do +not believe I overestimate the importance that the position of the +club, taken at that time, has had and still has--not as a club, for it +was dissolved some years back--in the influence its personal art has +wielded upon the printed pages of the day. + +The first magazine article was the account of a trip that we made down +on Long Island, illustrated by the club, entitled "The Tile Club +Abroad," each man choosing his own medium--oil, charcoal, water-color, +etc.; the results of which were published in the then _Scribner's +Magazine_, and engraved by a group of men who afterward placed the +art of wood-engraving in America side by side with the best efforts +ever obtained by the English and German periodicals, and one of whom, +Yuengling, took the gold medal of excellence both in Paris and Munich. + +With this difference in textures, the difference between a drawing in +charcoal and one made in oil, it became necessary to invent new modes +of expression with the burin. A simple line which might express the +round of the cheek or the fulness of the arm, and which would answer +for the uniform drapery of the old school, would not serve to explain +the subtle quality of one of Quartley's moonrises or the vigor and +dash of one of Chase's outdoor figures sketched in oil. + +So it came about that in searching to express these new qualities, +never before seen upon a block, the technic of the new school was +developed. + +The next important result was the creating not only of a new school of +wood-engraving, but of an entirely distinct department for art +workers, the school of the illustrator; and so we have Abbey, +Reinhart, Quartley, and, later, Church, Smedley, Dana Gibson, and +dozens of others whose names will readily come to your minds and of +whose careers I have already spoken. + +But the burin was too slow, even in the hands of the skilful engraver, +for the necessities of the hour. It was also too expensive; a drawing +which a magazine would pay the artist $50 for would often cost $200 to +engrave in the hands of a master like Yuengling or Cole. Again +photography was called into use. The "straight process," so called, of +the phototype printer, reproducing a pen-and-ink line drawing on a +zinc plate which could be immediately run through a Hoe process, was +perfected. You all remember, doubtless, an illustrated daily +published in New York, called _The Daily Graphic_, illustrated by +this process. This process, however, was only possible where +pen-and-ink drawing or a very coarse lead-pencil drawing was used in +making the original, because it was necessary that spaces of white +should exist between each separate line or mass of black. This +process, however, utterly failed in all India-ink drawings. Where +these drawings covered the white of the paper, if ever so delicately, +the result was a dense black upon the plate. + +Then came a race between all the inventors interested in such +discoveries, both here and abroad--a race to perfect a process which +would produce from such wash drawings an exact reproduction upon the +printed page, giving all the gradations of the original and doing away +not only with the draftsman but with the wood-engraver. To Professor +Vogel, of Berlin, I believe--although an American, Ives, claims it, +and some say justly--is due the credit of perfecting what is known as +the half-tone, or screen process: many others claim that Herr +Meisenbach first perfected this most important discovery. + +As the wash drawing had no lines, and as it is absolutely necessary +that photo-printing should have lines--that is, clean spaces of black +between white--these lines were supplied by laying a sheet of plate +glass over the drawing upon which the lines were cut by a diamond and +through which the original could be clearly seen. Of course, the light +falling upon the edges of these several diamond cuttings made little +points of brilliant white between which the several blacks and whites +could be seen. This, without going very much further into the +mechanical details, is the basis of the half-tone process. + +While this had its value, it had also its demerits, one of which was +the total extermination of the American wood-engraver, except for a +few men like Timothy Cole, whose genius and skill made it possible for +them, by the excellence of their work, to survive the great difference +between twenty cents a square inch for transferring on zinc and twenty +dollars a square inch for engraving on wood. + +There are, however, results in the half-tone process which I hold are +infinitely superior to the work of any wood-engraver of the old +school. While it is true that there is no really positive rich dark +for any part of the composition--for, of course, the light specks are +everywhere, thus lightening and graying the dark--and while we lose by +such defects the richness of wood-engraving, we also get the exact +touch of the artist in no more and no less a degree, particularly no +less. How often have I seen an exquisite drawing of Abbey's or Du +Maurier's almost ruined by the slipping of the burin the +one-thousandth part of an inch! How infinitely superior are the +originals of John Leech's immortal caricatures in _Punch_ to the +reproductions, all because the shadow line under an eye, or that +little dot which denotes the difference between amusement and +curiosity in the expression of a face, has been cut away the +thousandth part of a hair-line! The processes of the half-tone, +however, are ever accurate and the reproduction given you is +exact--with the foregoing restrictions. + +Then again, in landscape effects and in some portraits, the uniformity +of tone, the certainty of every touch being reproduced, the exact +balancing from dark to light, all result in better work than can be +done by the ordinary engraver. + +And yet, with all the half-tone's advantages, I must admit that +Yuengling's head of the "Professor" and many of his wood-cuts in an +illustrated edition of "Sir Launfal," published some years ago, and +much of the work of such masters as Cole, Wolff, Yuengling, and +others, stand as monuments for all time to the skill of hands that no +process will ever excel, for they put into it that something which the +bath of vitriol will never furnish, a bite of the acid of their own +genius. + +Since these earlier days a new departure has been made, until now +reproductive processes have been brought to such perfection that there +is hardly any texture or color scheme that can not be matched. Note, +if you will, Howard Pyle in color--rich in yellows and reds, with +black and white spaces as an enrichment. Note also A. I. Keller's +transparent work in charcoal gray. Note particularly the reproductions +in the magazines of F. Walter Taylor's drawings in charcoal, in which +the very texture of the coal is preserved. And, if you will permit me, +note the half tones of my own charcoal drawings now on exhibition in +the adjoining gallery. So perfect is the reproduction that one is +careful not to smudge his fingers in turning the leaves of the +publication in which they are printed. + +This being the case (and the printers must be thanked as well for +their share in the results), I earnestly hope that some of my brother +illustrators--the more the merrier--will seriously consider the value +of charcoal as a medium for illustrative work. There is no subject, I +assure you, that the sun shines on or its light filters into, or any +phase of nature, be it rain or storm, fog, snow, or mist, including +marines, figures, sunrises and sunsets, blazing heat and cool, +transparent shadows, that cannot be visualized by it. + +I hold, too, that by its use qualities can be obtained impossible to +be found in either etchings, lithographic crayon, wash, or pen and +ink--especially the velvet of its black. + +Charcoal is the unhampered, the free, the personal individual medium. +No water, no oil, no palette, no squeezing of tubes or wiping of +tints; no scraping, scumbling, or other dilatory and exasperating +necessities. Just a piece of coal, the size of a cigarette, held flat +between the thumb and the forefinger, a sheet of paper, and then "let +go." Yes, one thing more--care must be taken to have this forefinger +fastened to a sure, knowing, and fearless hand, worked by an arm which +plays easily and loosely in a ball-socket set firmly near your +backbone. To carry out the metaphor, the steam of your enthusiasm, +kept in working order by the safety-valve of your experience, and +regulated by the ball-governor of your art knowledge--such as +composition, drawing, mass, light and dark--is then turned on. + +Now you can "let go," and in the fullest sense, or you will never +arrive. My own experience has taught me that if an outdoor charcoal +sketch, covering and containing all a man can see--and he should +neither record nor explain anything more--is not completely finished +in two hours it cannot be finished by the same man in two days or two +years. + +For a drawing in charcoal is really a record of a man's temperament. +It represents pre-eminently the personality of the individual--his +buoyancy, his perfect health, the quickness of his gestures. All these +are shown in the way he strikes his canvas--compelling it to talk back +to him. So also does it record the man's timidity, his want of +confidence in himself, his fear of spoiling what he has already done, +forgetting that a nickel will buy him another sheet of paper. + +Courage, too, is a component part--not to be afraid to strike hard and +fast, belaboring the canvas as a pugilist belabors an opponent, +beating nature into shape. + +[Illustration: The George and Vulture Inn, London] + +As for the potterer and the niggler, the men and women whose stroke +goes no farther back than their knuckles, I may frankly say that +charcoal is not for them. The blow is a sledge blow going from the +spinal column, not the pitapat of a jeweller's hammer elaborating the +repousse around a goblet. + +Remember, too, that the fight is all over in two hours--three at the +outside--the battle really won or lost in the first ten minutes, if +you only knew it: when you get in your first strokes, really defining +your composition and planting your big high light and your big dark. +It is all right after that. You can taper off on the little lights and +darks, saving your wind, so to speak, sparring for your next +supplementary light and dark. + +Remember, too, that when the fight is over you must not spoil what you +have done by repetition or finish. _Let it alone._ You may not have +covered everything you wanted to express, but if you have smashed in +the salient features, the details will look out at you when you least +expect it. There are a thousand cross lights and untold mysteries in +Rembrandt's shadows which his friends failed to see when his canvas +left his studio. It is the unexpressed which is often most +interesting. Meissonier tells his story to the end. So do Vibert, +Rico, and the whole realistic school. Corot gives you a mass of +foliage, no single leaf expressed, but beneath it lurk great, +cavernous shadows in which nymphs and satyrs play hide-and-seek. + +Remember, also, that just as the blunt end of a bit of charcoal is +many, many times larger than the point of an etching-needle, so are +its resources for fine lines and minute dots and scratches just that +much reduced. It is the flat of the piece of coal that is valuable, +not its point. + +As to what can be done with this piece of coal, I can but repeat, +_everything_. That there are some subjects better than others, I will +admit. For me, London, its streets and buildings, come first, +especially if it be raining; and there is no question that it does +rain once in a while in London, making the wet streets and sidewalks +glisten under its silver-gray sky, little rivulets of molten silver +escaping everywhere. When with these you get a background--and I +always do--of flat masses of quaint buildings, all detail lost in the +haze and mist of smoke, your delight rises to enthusiasm. Nowhere else +in the world are the "values" so marvellously preserved. You start +your foreground with, say, a figure, or an umbrella, or a cab, +expressed in a stroke of jet-black, and the perspective instantly +fades into grays of steeple, dome, or roof, so delicate and vapory +that there is hardly a shade of difference between earth and sky. Or +you stroll into some old church or cathedral, as I did last summer +when I found myself in that most wonderful of all English +churches--and I say it deliberately--St. Bartholomew's the Great, over +in Smithfield. + +Other churches have I studied in my wanderings; many and various +cathedrals, basilicas, and mosques have delighted me. I know the color +and the value of tapestry and rich hangings; of mosaics, porphyry, and +verd-antiques; of fluted alabaster and the delicate tracery of the +arabesque; but the velvety quality of London soot when applied to the +rough surfaces of rudely chiselled stones, and the soft loveliness +gained by grime and smoke, came to me as a revelation. + +This rich black which, like a tropical fungus, grows and spreads +through St. Bartholomew's interior, hiding under its soft, caressing +touch the rough angles and insistent edges of the Norman, is what the +bloom is to the grape, what the dark purpling is to the plum, +mellowing from sight the brilliancy of the under skin. And there are +wide coverings of it, too, in this wonderful church, as if some master +decorator had wielded a great coal and at one sweep of his hand had +rubbed its glorious black into every crevice, crack, and cranny of +wall, column, and arch. + +Certain it is that no other medium than the one used could give any +idea of its charm. Neither oil, water-color, nor pastel will transmit +it--no, nor the dry-point or bitten plate. The soot of centuries, the +fogs of countless Novembers, the smoke of a thousand firesides were +the pigments which the Master Painter set upon his palette in the task +of giving us one exquisitely beautiful interior wholly in +black-and-white. + +So it was in the Temple when I was searching for Mr. Thackeray's +haunts. + +What of alterations, scrapings, patchings up, and fillings in have +taken place in these various courts and their surroundings, I did not +trouble myself to find out. Nothing looks new in London after the fogs +and soot of one winter have wreaked their vengeance upon it. Whether +the facade is of brick, stone, or stucco depends entirely on the +thickness of the soot, packed in or scoured clean by winds and rains, +or whether the surface is ebony or marble, as may be seen in many of +the statues on Burlington House, where a head, arm, or part of a +pedestal chair has been kept white by constant douches. + +As for me, I was glad that these old haunts of Mr. Thackeray and his +characters are even blacker to-day than they might have been in his +time. For the soot and grime become them, and London as well, for that +matter. A great impressionist, this smoke-smudger and wiper-out of +detail, this believer in masses and simple surfaces, this destroyer of +gingerbread ornaments, petty mouldings, and cheap flutings! + + * * * * * + +And now for a few practical data as to my own way of handling the +coal, which may be of value as coming from one who has profited these +many years by its infinite possibilities. + +[Illustration: Diagram of Charcoal Technic] + +The paper is the same I use in my water-colors, a delicate, gray, +double-thick charcoal paper, laid in parallel ribs, if I may so +express it, and having sufficient body and tooth to catch and hold the +faintest touch or the strongest stroke of the coal. The gray of this +paper serves as the middle tone of the drawing, the different +gradations of black in the coal giving the darks and the careful use +of white chalks the high lights. + +These gradations are obtained by the use of a few simple processes, by +which various textures can be given, starting, for instance, from or +near the foreground, where the grit of the charcoal is used to bring +the nearer details into clear relief, the several larger gradations +and textures giving aerial perspectives being produced by a broad +sweep of the hand, forcing the grit of the coal into the crevices of +the paper, the result being what I may term the _first_ plane or +_nearest_ atmospheric value; the house a square away, if you +please--provided the subject is a street--being the _second_ plane. + +Beyond this, farther down the street, is found, it may be, another +house or other object. Now try your thumb, rubbing your hand-smoothed +charcoal into a finer and closer mesh: and for the still more +atmospheric distances down this same street, use next a rag, then a +buckskin stomp, and last of all a stiff paper stomp, each in turn +producing a more atmospheric gray as the distances fade--the last, the +paper stomp, being as soft as a wash of India ink. (See diagram.) + +All these you may say are tricks. They are--my own tricks, or rather +use of the means which lay at my hand, which long experience has +taught me to employ, and which any one of you will no doubt better in +your own handling of the coal. + +These planes being secured, any light higher than the prevailing +rubbed-in tone can be wiped out clean to the grain of the paper by a +piece of ductile rubber. Any darker dark, of course, can be obtained +by retouching with the coal. + +The chalk now comes into play for skies, broad sunlight effects, or +crisp, sparkling lights. The whole work is then "fixed," as I have +already explained, by the use of gum shellac and a common perfume +atomizer. + +And with this condensed statement I must bring this my last talk to a +close, remembering as I do that I have been addressing a body of +students who are already familiar with one or more mediums, and who, +with these few spoken memoranda and a finished drawing before them, +will solve at a glance mysteries baffling to the layman. + + + * * * * * + + +BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH + + +FELIX O'DAY. + +THE ARM-CHAIR AT THE INN. + +KENNEDY SQUARE. + +THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT. + +THE ROMANCE OF AN OLD-FASHIONED +GENTLEMAN. + +COLONEL CARTER'S CHRISTMAS. + +FORTY MINUTES LATE. + +THE WOOD FIRE IN No. 3. + +THE VEILED LADY. + +THE UNDER DOG. + + +IN DICKENS'S LONDON. + + +ENOCH CRANE. A novel planned +and begun by F. Hopkinson Smith +and completed by F. Berkeley Smith. + + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTDOOR SKETCHING*** + + +******* This file should be named 27340.txt or 27340.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/4/27340 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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