LECTURE VI.

In some interesting lectures on the Philosophy of the Italian Art of the Renaissance, M. Henri Taine calls attention to the immense advantage the old Italian artists enjoyed over the men of to-day, in the fact that their minds were not overburdened with ideas. Under modern conditions of life we think so much and so subtly, that our impressions of nature no longer come to us with simplicity and directness, while, according to M. Taine, a noble form of art is only possible when the images which nature stamps on our minds are not blurred or distorted by the intrusion of our ideas.

This remark is a valuable one, inasmuch as it points out one great difficulty which stands in the way of a free development of art, the difficulty, that is, of securing that the study of nature shall be carried on upon right principles. For this " study of nature " is not as simple a matter as it appears at first sight, and it is quite possible that we may pursue it in such a way as to interpose ideas and prejudices of our own between ourselves and nature, which may prevent our receiving its impressions in the form most stimulating to the artistic powers. I will endeavour to make this clearer by a practical illustration derived from the study of artistic ornament.

In this branch of art a novel idea was started some little time ago, which had for its object a new application of the forms and colours of flowers to the ornamenting of wall papers, hangings, and other materials for surface decoration. This was, that the student should take a flower or a plant, and commence by drawing it in its natural form; next, that he should dissect the plant botanically, making separate geometrical drawings, plans, and sections, of the petals, corolla, stamen, pistil, branching of the leaves from the stem, &c, that he might understand how the flowers could be treated geometrically; thirdly, that from these drawings a geometrical pattern should be made, combining artistically the forms which had been discovered during the process. Now here was an idea, a thing that had never been thought of before; so that a step forward in a direction never before explored seemed inevitable. Yet I must express my opinion that quite the most unfortunate attempts at decorative patterns, both as regards form and colour, that I have ever seen, were some which were produced by this infallible process!

The reason is simply this, that the idea takes in the student's mind the place of the impression; he thinks the design must necessarily turn out well, for he has been taught that nature's forms are beautiful; and here are nature's forms reduced to their simplest expression, and, with due deference to the exigencies of a formal design, combined in the way in which nature combines them. Unfortunately, this process of reasoning does not necessarily lead to a work of art; but merely to an ingenious combination, which may be absolutely deficient in any qualities of beauty or prettiness. Nature is not necessarily beautiful in all her forms, in spite of all that we are taught as children,— still less dissected nature. It is not every flower that is good in colour and graceful in form; and it is the business of the artist to select what is beautiful and reject what is ugly and unsuitable. Now the dissection of a flower, however ingenious the idea may seem, may indeed give the student an admirable understanding of its botanical properties, but does not necessarily lead to an appreciation of its artistic fitness for ornament. I would not have students neglect any means of advancing themselves in the knowledge of the construction of natural growths: to know the anatomy of a flower is as useful in drawing it as to know the anatomy of the body in drawing the human figure; but unless the mind has impressed upon it by instinct or observation a distinct image of the various graces of form, and harmonious combinations of colour, which flowers and plants possess in their natural state, no amount of ideas, acquired in the way just described, will be of the least use for the production of good artistic design. Ancient art produced ornamental designs without end, of the most perfect beauty, without the necessity of bringing in any such ideas. These decorative forms were produced by a pure natural instinct, which led the ancients to combine and modify in the most beautiful manner the most beautiful natural forms. There are also abundant examples of oriental decorative work of the most ordinary kind, which are perfect in proportion, form, and colour. In such cases we can see in the first place that the beauty of certain natural forms had been im pressed in the most vivid manner upon the designer's mind, and in the second, that his hand was guided by a sort of unconscious instinct when he sought to apply those beautiful forms to a decorative purpose.

In pictorial art also the same difficulty is constantly occurring: our ideas are continually getting the better of our natural impressions. The remedy is, however, the same as in the other case, and is fortunately easier of application. The highest possible forms of pictorial art have as their object the representation of the human form and face in all their varied aspects of tragic and joyful expression. There the imitation of nature is the principal object, only it is an imitation which leaves out of sight all that is weak, ungainly, or ignoble, and delights only in beauty, strength, and life, as is the case in the noble works of the Greek and Italian schools. For the student of to-day there is accordingly but one thing to aim at, and that is so to study nature as to receive and retain the most complete and distinct impressions. Once let his mind be thoroughly imbued with a true knowledge of nature, and he may use it as he pleases; if he has studied thoroughly he is not likely to go far wrong. But to do this, he must get rid of extraneous ideas, and rely on the images which are formed in his mind, and which nature constantly presents to his eyes. And here as before a practical illustration may be of service.

What I am about to refer to is a very strong and very curious instance of the way in which ideas run away with us in art, to the prejudice of what we might naturally do if we relied on our impressions alone. It has reference to the origin twenty years ago of what was called the Pre-Raphaelite movement; and I trust that I may not be supposed in these remarks to be attempting to throw ridicule on the enthusiasm of young men, anxious to make a reform which was urgently needed, who have long ago grown out of the weaknesses which are incidental to enthusiasm, and to whom, as men of genius, we owe the utmost respect and gratitude. The instance is, however, a very apposite one. At the beginning of this movement, one of the predominant ideas was that purity is in all its forms essential to good art. Purity of subject, purity of sentiment, purity of expression, being all necessary, were only to be secured by the utmost purity of form and colour. To attain to purity of colour was a most important point, and to this end nothing but the most refined and brilliant pigments were to be used. Ochres and umbers were earthy, and perhaps therefore earthly, so the newest chemical compounds were sought out for the sake of procuring the clearest and brightest tints of green, yellow, scarlet, violet, and blue, that could be employed for the palette. These, combined in prismatic hues on the purest white, were to take the place in flesh-tints of the sober colours which artists had been content to use up to that time. The idea was carried so far that the use of these colours was considered as a sort of test of the earnestness of a painter in his work, and they were even invested with a sort of religious halo. Here then is a case where the idea completely out-mastered the impression, for it is certain that no painter trusting to his eyes alone would paint the shade of even the purest maiden's cheek with violet madder and emerald green, and with cadmium or orange vermilion to complete the triad of prismatic colours.

The above is perhaps an extreme instance, but the influence of the same kind of feeling may be traced in various forms through the whole range of our modern art. Sometimes it is a religious, sometimes a sentimental, sometimes a scientific idea which obtains possession of the painter's mind with the effect of deadening his true artistic perceptions. The cause may be found in the want of training common to English artists, which leads them to reject through ignorance and prejudice what practice and experience have shown to be convenient, if not necessary, modes of procedure.

Footnotes:

1. Part of an Address delivered at the St. Martin's School of Art.