The appreciation of painting

Preface

THIS little book has been written with a twofold object : first to suggest a method of developing latent artistic emotion in some of those who are really desirous of understanding what it is in a work of art which appeals to the initiated, and then to show how the various " schools " of painting may be most profitably approached. These two sections account for the greater part of the book, but they are preceded by another dealing shortly with various vital points ; and appended to them is an epilogue in which something is said of some matters which by that time should have aroused interest.

I must take this opportunity of thanking my friend Mr. Egerton Beck for help in the revision of the manuscript and for suggestions which I have incorporated in the text.

Contents

PAGE

How TO Approach the Different Schools of

Painting 69

Introduction

MR. RUDYARD KIPLING says somewhere that there are probably not more than a hundred people in the world who really understand pictures ; which is, of course, a brilliant exaggeration. But exaggeration though it be, it suggests an indubitable truth : the number of those who can understand and appreciate any work of art is comparatively small and certainly very much smaller than it need be — the lack of appreciation being due in great measure to lack of training.

That there is a keen desire on the part of not a few to understand iS clearly shown by the numbers who attend lectures given in public galleries. This is as evident in America as in England : the intelligent American really wants to get a grip of that mysterious something , the appeal of a work of art to a responsive soul, so difficult to explain in words when one is suddenly appealed to for information and help. But lectures are for the most part not very helpful : they deal with the history of art, with technique, that is mechanical skill — with everything, in short, but the one thing needful, the development of the capacity to feel with the artist.

But, it will be urged, if lectures are devoted to matters not very helpful, there need be no difficulty in finding something more to the point : books abound. It is perfectly true that in recent years the output of books on every branch of art has been profuse : from the diminutive primer, professing to deal with the whole range of some extensive subject, to large and expensive volumes upon this " master " or that — sometimes it may be a craftsman who was only a master in the desire of his biographers — a " master " who, it may be, would have been better forgotten but for the exigencies of the subscription libraries. Many of these books resolve themselves into detailed descriptions of individual works of art, descriptions written in the peculiar jargon of the art critic ; the reader's possession of the knowledge the authors profess to impart being all the while tacitly assumed. Most of them are " pot-boilers," absolutely useless, if not to everyone, at any rate to the tyro. That there are books of real value need hardly be stated : but the greater number of them are too advanced for one starting on the development of artistic emotional capacity.

The development of emotional capacity is the one thing necessary ; to attain it a strenuous and long-sustained effort is necessary, and this puts it beyond the reach of the general public. Even to those who are emotionally gifted above the average, development is a slow process ; insistent and unremitting exercise is necessary. But the reward is commensurate with the effort required, even if we are unable truthfully to say with Flaubert that the only means of avoiding unhappiness is to shut oneself up in art and to regard all else as nothing. And it must never be forgotten that there is a joy of contemplation no less than a joy of creation, a joy which presupposes understanding and responsiveness ; and that joy varies directly as the capacity for emotional receptiveness.

It seems paradoxical to say that it is at once easier and more difficult to appreciate artistic emotion expressed in pictorial or plastic form than in any other : but the statement is none the less true. The appreciation of such emotion is easier because the emotion is generally induced instantaneously ; on the other hand, it is more difficult since a higher development of the

B i8 THE APPRF.CIATION OF PAINTING

emotional capacity is required to produce the requisite mental state. Compare, for instance, the immediate emotion produced upon a suscej)- tible mind by a Corot with the effort required to appreciate fully a story by Dickens. The story has a number of subsidiary elements — character, description, dialogue — which are essential to the arousing of emotion and at the same time materially assist in the stimulation and conservation of the reader's interest ; but such details are unnecessary to the picture's emotional appeal, which is more spontaneous and, as a consequence, immeasurably greater.

Once we are in possession of the faculty, emotional perception enables us to differentiate between vitally original art and that which is merely derivative : not always an easy problem. Every work of art, which forms part of the world's treasured possessions, was undoubtedly influenced, in a greater or a less degree, by the work of forerunners or contemporaries. Frequently in the case of poorer craftsmen, the effect of this influence was mere imitation, but however skilfully it be concealed, imitation cannot co-exist with the spirit of art. Generally imitation is so obvious that it can be detected by the veriest novice : but sometimes not only an advanced state of peiception but some knowledge of the history of art is required for its discovery. The works of Bermejo and a few others apart, the Spanish primitives, for example, were so influenced by contemporary Italian and Flemish art that practically they may be ranked as well nigh derivative. So, some of the fifteenth and early sixteenth century German painting is but little more than Flemish art adapted and modified. It shows few of the transcendent qualities which place the work of the van Eycks, of Memlinc, of Hugo van der Goes, of Dierick Bouts, of Roger van der Weyden in the front rank. But in justice to Germany it must be remembered that among the exceptions were such men as Diirer, Holbein and the Master of the St. Bartholomew altarpiece. Comparisons, however, must be made with great care and discrimination : it would, for instance, show a sad lack of the latter quality to suggest that Gainsborough's " Cornard Wood " is nothing but a second edition of Wynants and Ruisdael, that Crome only reflects Ruisdael and Hobbema, that Watteau and Delacroix are artistically unimportant because they owe so much to Rubens. There is no reason for objecting to the direct influence of another, so long as that influence does not predominate and exclude emotion personal to the artist influenced. But when an artist limits himself to the slavish repetition of what he has taken for his model, failing thereby to present the expression of any emotion of his own, he writes himself down a mere follower and his work is negligible.

As emotional capacity is developed, so should the powers of perception and discrimination increase. Works which formerly made no appeal will be appreciated and, on the other hand, faults of so glaring a character will probably be found in old favourites that no choice will be left but to strike them off our list of friends. This must be done ruthlessly to avoid the retarding of healthy artistic development : the discarded favourites have done their work in paving the way to greater things.

The exercise and development of the capacity for artistic emotion needs care and watchfulness. Many an enthusiast has been rendered emotionally impotent by too persistent application ; though probably the majority of those so affected failed to recognize their condition on account of their absorption in history, archaeology, or some other subject, important in itself, but quite irrelevant to the emotional comprehension of works of art.

To spend a whole day in a picture gallery is a mistake : one may certainly go on imbibing historical detail and so further one's knowledge of painters and their works, but emotion cannot be kept keyed up for a prolonged period. Gustave Flaubert put this very well when he said that " L'homme n'est fait pour gouter chaque jour que peu de nourriture, de couleurs, de sons, de sentiments, d'idees. Ce qui depasse la mesure, le fatigue ou le grise ; c'est I'idiotismede Tivrogne, c'est la folic de I'extatique."

As with most other things so with the development of emotional capacity, the chief difficulty is the beginning, and this is made even more difficult by the fact that the first steps must be seemingly retrograde ; for under present conditions when one tries to get hold of the fundamental principles of art one discovers that there is almost as much to unlearn as there is to learn, to say nothing of the conditions of life in the twentieth century, want of repose, lack of time for contemplation, hustling and breathlessness, which so seriously interfere with the training of the power of appreciation. From earliest childhood most of us have been surrounded by objects pernicious in form, garish in colour, detestable in line and proportion : nursery books.

y furniture, ornaments, the commonplace musichall jingle, all have tended to warp and debase mind and judgement. The result is that we, civihzed though we boast ourselves to be, are under greater disadvantages than the savage, whose art, naive as it is, shows an unconscious comprehension of essentials.

Our aim should be to get back, as far as possible, to the standpoint of primitive peoples ; to endeavour, that is, to be satisfied with the fundamental, ridding ourselves of the superfluous. This is difficult enough in itself ; and the difficulty is not lessened in an age in which but few seem capable of grasping the simplest and most moving art ; which to the rest is grotesque, childish, unworthy of serious thought. Much of the " art " of to-day is so complicated that it bears no relation to that of primitive peoples. But any one on the road to the aesthetic goal should soon appreciate the fact that, as compared with simple, complicated art is hollow and empty. Our upbringing however has made us more familiar with complicated art, so that generally to learn how to appreciate the greatest, which is all but invariably the simplest, we must begin with the most complex. It is by far easier to appreciate Lnndseer than to appreciate Giotto.

One would like to help on their way those who desire to attain this power of appreciation, but all that it seems possible to do is to indicate the method of study which has proved helpful to oneself. The result, whatever it may be, must depend upon the natural capacity of each one for emotion and the tenacity with which the development of that capacity is pursued. And all of one's tenacity of purpose is needed. A great connoisseur, Dr. Barnes, of Philadelphia, says : " Barring the few congenitally great aesthetes, it is more laborious to learn to recognize quality in a painting than to write a popular novel." But this excellent judge in more than one passage of his helpful paper ^ lays bare his exultant joy in the possession of a new and strenuously acquired sense.

II

So far no attempt has been made to define or, at any rate, to explain the meaning of the term " art." If one notes the remarks of the general public at picture exhibitions, one finds that they are practically confined to the subjects treated ; the fact that one picture is better

^ " How to Judge a Painting," and Arts and Decorations for April, 19 15 painted than another may call for a passing comment, but only because it enhances the observer's pleasure in the subject. But technique and subject are subsidiary matters : what then, it may be fairly asked, is art ?

If we turn to Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary for guidance, we find that primarily art means " skill in doing anything as the result of knowledge and practice," then we get " the learning of the schools," " the application of skill to subjects of taste," as music and oratory, and then what more nearly concerns us, " the appUcation of skill to the arts of imitation and design, painting, engraving, sculpture, architecture ; the cultivation of these in its principles, practice and results ; the skilful production of the beautiful invisible forms, and " this," he says, " is the most usual modern sense of art where used without any qualification. It does not occur in any English dictionary before 1880 and seems to have been •chiefly used by painters and writers on painting until the present (i.e., nineteenth) century."

Art is further defined as meaning " anything wherein skill may be attained or displayed," whence we get the liberal arts, i.e., certain branches of learning ; and again as " a pursuit or occupation in which skill is directed towards the gratification or production of what is beautiful," specifically " the arts," among which the " fine arts " — those " in which the mind and imagination are chiefly concerned."

This is all very interesting and helps to clear our thought, but there is one meaning, the supreme meaning, of the term which has escaped the great lexicographer. By art in its supreme sense we mean that quality which differentiates Titian's " Bacchus and Ariadne " from the soulless productions which year after year are in a majority on the walls of the exhibition rooms of the world's academies ; that quality which enables the producer to, as it were, tear out a bit of the soul of nature and so present it as to excite every artistic emotion within us by an appeal which derives its cogency from its universality.

Compare the " Bacchus and Ariadne," Bellini's " Doge," Botticelli's " Spring " with purchases which have been made by the trustees of the Chantrey bequest ; the smallest capacity for artistic emotion will be quite sufficient for the recognition of the vast inferiority of the modern productions ; an inferiority due to the lack of that supreme quality which stirs our aesthetic emotions to a high degree of responsiveness.

The works of those endowed with this quality become the criteria by which all others are judged ; and the quality itself, becoming as it were personified, is spoken of as Art. In the mind of a strict judge only such works as show this quality are regarded as " works of art " : the rest, the painted canvases of the many, bear the same relation to these as a copy of Greek verses by the average schoolboy bears to the poetry of Sophocles.

In all persons aesthetic emotion is present in some degree, though with the majority it remains latent. When it is abnormally developed it impels to creation, to conscious or subconscious endeavour to transmit or excite emotion, and then we have an artist.

An artist then is one, who by means of some instrument, such as a picture, transmits emotion to a responsive person, or, at least, evokes some aesthetic feeling in him, though the wish to transmit such emotion need not be present. And a work of art is the vehicle of this transmission.

It should be remembered that all great art is unconscious — one possessed of the faculty does not set out with the idea of creating a " work of art," he paints and the " work of art " comes of necessity. Great works, too, are always produced with great economy of means ; the artist seeks to perpetuate his inspiration by the simplest and most direct means at his command, for the simple reason that, as Mr. Arnold Bennett aptly points out in another connexion, " the most difficult thing in all art is to maintain the imaginative tension unslackened throughout a considerable period." Hence the frequent superiority of an artist's first idea, expressed either in a drawing or a sketch, over the laboured and finished picture.

Another point worthy of mention is this : the creation of great works of art has not seldom been accompanied by great suffering. Jean Francois Millet stated this quite plainly : " L'art n'est une partie de plaisir. C'est un combat, un engrenage qui broie. Je ne suis pas un philosophe. Je ne veux pas supprimer la douleur, ni trouver une formule qui me rendra stoique et indifferent. La douleur est, peut-etre, ce qui fait le plus fortement exprimer les artistes." ^ And Gustave Flaubert said much the same in regard to his writing. A sense of this fact should, it may be said, lead one to look upon a great work of art in a spirit of reverence, a due recognition of the effort and pain by which it was called into being.

The finest works of art can never be popular. It may, from a social point of view, be praise-

1 " La Vie et I'CEttvre " de J. F. Millet, par Alfred Sensier, p. 100.

worthy to have exhibitions in Whitechapcl and Limehouse ; but the multitude can never really appreciate the finer manifestations of the soul. Popular art, even the best of its kind, owes its popularity to the fact that it deals with something apparent to the man in the street : art, however sublime, which goes beyond the apparent can never be popular. There is no reason, however, why the circle of appreciators should be so restricted as at present. A revision of teaching methods, from both the creative and appreciative sides, can do much towards evoking a better attitude in the rising generation. And it is only fair to add, if the appreciation of great art is the privilege of the few, the majority of its producers have come from the masses.

A word of warning must now be given in regard to certain points which, not infrequently, are stumbling-blocks : and, first of all, let us take the question of technique, the mechanical skill required for the production of a work of art. After what has been said, it is hardly necessary to add that technique by itself does not count for much : art begins where technique ends. Crowds can be tauglit to draw and paint in a more or less creditable manner ; but the number of those who can express anything worth expressing is small indeed. Great technical achievement may be present in a work utterly incapable of exciting the slightest emotion : from the point of view of technique, some of the greatest and most moving works seem to us, on the other hand, to leave much to be desired. But technique is the chief desideratum in those comfortable studios in St. John's Wood and the Pare Monceau which have produced so little worthy to be classed as great art. Modern exhibitions are full of pictures, technically brilliant but destitute of the essentials of art. They are nearly all products of academic teaching ; and it is a lamentable thing that some of the producers of these " works of art " should be allowed to acquire official positions which enable them, in a measure, to be arbiters of taste, and to reserve to themselves the right of refusing, so far as they can, even a hearing to all art which does not commend itself to their own narrow and cramped ideas. Official art is everywhere dominated in this way ; and what this means may be seen in the official galleries devoted to modern art in all countries !

The public, incapable of judging for itself, assumes that those who are responsible are qualified to judge and therefore accepts all they offer as real works of art, the result being a continuous and general perversion of taste. And the mischief done does not end with this perversion : originality and the power of initiative are stifled. As one of Mr. Kipling's characters puts it : " Give 'em what they know and when you have done it once do it again." Even in regard to the technique which they worship, they are out of date. They accept the principles which their now immediate predecessors regarded as revolutionary, but their attitude towards their own contemporaries is identical with that of their predecessors. The case of the Caillebote collection furnishes an apt illustration of the official attitude. M. Caillebote left his fine collection of impressionist paintings to the French nation, subject to the condition that it should not be broken up. The professors of the Ecole des Beaux Arts were up in arms. Gerome at their head, they proclaimed that they could not continue to teach an art of which they believed they knew the laws, if the State admitted works, the very negation of what they taught, into galleries where they could be seen by their pupils. They were admitted, and the professors did not resign their posts ! But they did succeed in preventing the impressionists having fair play : for the pictures were hung in a gallery quite inadequate in regard to light and space. Official hampering of art in France was at last so deeply resented by artists of worth and originality that they left the Salon to the crowd. They first established other salons which, like the original one, were subject to a jury, a condition dangerous to originality of expression ; then, hardly less dissatisfied, they founded for themselves the Salon des Independants, where no jury reigns ; in it available wall space is, subject to the payment of a small fee, at the disposal of any one.

There are, however, two good points in official recognition of art. One, that the public are made to realize that art, by the powers that be, is considered of vital import to a nation. The other, that the existence of official academies provides original creative genius, which is almost invariably outside its walls, with a firmly rooted conservative institution against which to fight. But for this, its struggle for recognition would be far more severe. State recognition of art is alone justified when employed in the creating and developing of museums and galleries wherein the finest examples of our own and past ages are displayed for the education of the public.

It cannot be too strongly impressed that great creative art is hardly possible without struggle and privation. Great art has almost invariably

32 THE APPRECIATION OE PAINTING

come into being by the expenditure of intense suffering and tears.

The path of a true artist is never easy : the false standard set by the academies through their professors makes it even less so. Those who have something vital to say usually work on original lines, employing means peculiar to themselves, not from any spirit of eccentricity but from a conviction that those means are not only the most suitable but the only ones by which their emotions can be expressed. Impediments are placed in their way. Academies, for the most part, are a generation behind their time : they appropriate and teach the technical means advocated by reformers of the previous generation, but probably altogether miss what those reformers achieved with their technique. This is what happened with the impressionists : fiercely opposed by the academicians of the time ; to-day painting as taught in the academies is largely based upon their principles.

Care must also be taken to avoid confusion of " art " with " subject." That a picture tells a story and tells it well does not by any means ensure its being a work of art ; subject is only one of the means for attaining the end, though during the latter half of the eighteenth and the whole of the nineteenth century it largely usurped the place of art. A " catchy " title improves considerably the chance of selling a picture and so has a distinct commercial value ; and it often creates the popularity, as in the case of Landseer's " Uncle Tom and his Wife for Sale."

Passing to the opposite extreme during the last few years there has been a tendency to affect to dispense with subject ; this, of course, is mere affectation, for the most subjectless picture ever produced had for its theme some subject.

The degree to which subject may be employed is a matter for the artist's discretion. As has been already pointed out, the greater the work the greater will be the economy of means employed in its production : superfluities lessen the capacity to evoke emotion — the majority of eighteenth century English painters, for example, were too lavish in the employment of anecdotal accessories. But in this matter, every picture must be judged on its own merits ; it is impossible to lay down general rules. Due weight must always be given to the idea of the artist when this is apparent ; nor must it be overlooked that these accessories may in themselves possess emotional though frequently subsidiary qualities, so that their inclusion may, in spite of diminished concentration of presentation, be justified.

In this connexion it will be noticed that for long it was considered essential in landscape painting to introduce figures, which were used to accentuate effect and thereby, it was believed, to enhance the value of the composition. Cezanne and his followers have clearly shown that such details are generally unnecessary and may be detrimental to the desired concentrated presentation. When an artist does consider them helpful, they should always be endowed with emotional qualities of their own. What has been said of the introduction of unnecessary detail into landscape is equally true in regard to portraits and subject pictures. An excellent example is afforded by the well-known portrait of Georg Gisze by Holbein,^ now hanging in the Kaiser Friedrich Museum in Berlin. Here the wealth of accessory detail has a certain emotional value ; the representation of each separate object is a work of art and for emotional quality may be compared with the actual portrait ; but that the picture would have gained emotionally by the suppression of these accessories will probably be conceded by any one who has compared it with Antonello da Mes- ' See Plate I.

Portrait of George Gisze

Hans Holbein the Younger.

sina's portrait of himself ^ in the National Gallery. Not unconnected with this is the question of sentimentality in art. Sentiment in art has been defined as the " moving quality resulting from the artist's sympathetic insight into what is described or depicted " ; the quality, that is, which by means of artistic representation calls into being a series of sensations culminating in aesthetic emotion. By sentimentality, on the other hand, I mean the abuse of the means used for producing this aesthetic emotion, forcing them by exaggeration beyond what is necessary for its production. This induces irrelevant emotions which deprive those subject to them of the power of bringing real aesthetic emotion into play. The human brain is only capable of one undiluted emotion at a time ; and if it is occupied with pity, love, hate and the rest, it is incapable, at the same moment, of all-engrossing aesthetic emotion. In moderation, these other emotions may conduce to the aesthetic, and, indeed, may even be needed to bring it into action ; but once aesthetic emotion has been aroused the function of the others is determined. Up to that point, other emotions were legitimate ; beyond it, they conduce to mere sentimentality. A typical instance of what is ^ See Frontispiece.

meant may be found in a picture known as " The Last Day in the old Home," by the Pre-Raphaehte Robert B, Martineau, now in the Tate Gallery. The factors upon which the painter has relied for exciting the emotion he desired are the pathetic condition of a family doomed by a reverse of fortune to quit its ancestral home, the assumed bravado of the head of the family, drinking a farewell toast to the portrait of his ancestor, already ticketed for the sale ; the resignation of his mother, then carrying out her last duties as lady of the house ; the old steward well-nigh breaking down as he pays off the aged housekeeper; the callous behaviour of the auctioneer's men affixing the lot numbers. Now, what emotions are provoked by this mass of studied detail ? We have pity for the lady, her two sons, the steward, the housekeeper ; and disgust with the auctioneer's men. That it is ill-drawn, commonplace in colour, wanting in concentration would not signify if it were artistically satisfying, if it were capable of arousing artistic emotion ; but the only emotions excited are those of pity and disgust. In a word, it is a specimen of the merest sentimentality.

Quite other than this is the " Nativity " by i See Plate 2.

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Piero della Francesca in the National Gallery. ^ Here we have a child as the central object, the mother, and a choir of angels making music I the means employed to excite our emotions are simple, but they set those emotions vibrating to an extraordinary degree. The facts that the child is the Son of God, that the mother's love is mingled with reverential awe, that the singing chorus proclaims in joyous rapture the coming of the Saviour of the world, from the aesthetic point of view are quite subsidiary. There is no sentimentality here : though the picture is full of sentiment.