§ 5. There was probably never a period in which the influence of art over the
minds of men seemed to depend less on its merely
imitative power, than
the close of the thirteenth century. No painting or sculpture at that time
reached more than a rude resemblance of reality. Its despised perspective,
imperfect chiaroscuro, and unrestrained flights of fantastic imagination,
separated the artist's work from nature by an interval which there was no
attempt to disguise, and little to diminish. And yet, at this very period, the
greatest poet of that, or perhaps of any other age, and the attached friend of
its greatest painter, who must over and over again have held full and free
conversation with him respecting the objects of his art, speaks in the following
terms of painting, supposed to be carried to its highest perfection:—
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"Qual di pennel fu maestro, e di
stile
Che ritraesse l' ombre, e i tratti, ch'
ivi
Mirar farieno uno ingegno sottile.
Morti li morti, e i vivi parean vivi:
Non vide
me' di me, chi vide il vero,
Quant' io calcai, fin che
chinato givi."
Dante, Purgatorio, canto xii. 1.
64
'What master of the pencil, or the
style,
Had traced the shades and lines that might have
made
The subtlest workman wonder? Dead, the
dead,
The living seemed alive; with clearer
view
His eye beheld not, who beheld the
truth.
Than mine what I did tread on, while I
went,
Low bending.' art oil painting for sale
Carey.
Dante has here clearly no other idea of the highest art than that it should
bring back, as in a mirror or vision, the aspect of things passed or absent. The
scenes of which he speaks are, on the pavement, for ever represented by angelic power,
so that the souls which traverse this circle of the rock may see them, as if the
years of the world had been rolled back, and they again stood beside the actors
in the moment of action. Nor do I think that Dante's authority is absolutely
necessary to compel us to admit that such art as this
might indeed be the
highest possible. Whatever delight we may have been in the habit of taking in
pictures, if it were but truly offered to us, to remove at our will the canvas
from the frame, and in lieu of it to behold, fixed for ever, the image of some
of those mighty scenes which it has been our way to make mere themes for the
artist's fancy; if, for instance, we could again behold the Magdalene receiving
her pardon at Christ's feet, or the disciples sitting with Him at the table of
Emmaus; and this not feebly nor fancifully, but as if some silver mirror, that
had leaned against the wall of the chamber, had been miraculously commanded to
retain for ever the colors that had flashed upon it for an instant,—would we not
part with our picture—Titian's or Veronese's though it might be?
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§ 6. Yes, the reader answers, in the instance of such scenes as these, but
not if the scene represented were uninteresting. Not, indeed, if it were utterly
vulgar or painful; but we are not yet certain that the art which represents what
is vulgar or painful is itself of much value; and with respect to the art whose
aim is beauty, even of an inferior order, it seems that Dante's idea of its
perfection has still much evidence in its favor. For among persons of native
good sense,
oil paintings online, and courage enough to speak their minds, we shall often find a
considerable degree of doubt as to the use of art, in consequence of their
habitual comparison of it with reality. "What is the use, to me, of the painted
landscape?" they will ask: "I see more beautiful and perfect landscapes every
day of my life in my forenoon walk." "What is the use, to me, of the painted
effigy of hero or beauty? I can see a stamp of higher heroism, and light of
purer beauty, on the faces around me, utterly inexpressible by the highest human
skill." Now, it is evident that to persons of this temper the only valuable
pictures would indeed be
mirrors, reflecting permanently the images of
the things in which they took delight, and of the faces that they loved. "Nay,"
but the reader interrupts, (if he is of the Idealist school) "I deny that more beautiful things
are to be seen in nature than in art; on the contrary, everything in nature is
faulty, and art represents nature as perfected." Be it so. Must, therefore, this
perfected nature be imperfectly represented? Is it absolutely required of the
painter, who has conceived perfection, that he should so paint it as to look
only like a picture? Or is not Dante's view of the matter right even here, and
would it not be well that the perfect conception of Pallas should be so given as
to look like Pallas herself, rather than merely like the picture of Pallas?
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§ 7. It is not easy for us to answer this question rightly, owing to the
difficulty of imagining any art which should reach the perfection supposed. Our
actual powers of imitation are so feeble that wherever deception is attempted, a
subject of a comparatively low or confined order must be chosen. I do not enter
at present into the inquiry how far the powers of imitation extend; but
assuredly up to the present period they have been so limited that it is hardly
possible for us to conceive a deceptive art embracing a high range of subject.
But let the reader make the effort, and consider seriously what he would give at
any moment to have the power of arresting the fairest scenes, those which so
often rise before him only to vanish; to stay the cloud in its fading, the leaf
in its trembling, and the shadows in their changing; to bid the fitful foam be
fixed upon the river,
art oil paintings online, and the ripples be everlasting upon the lake; and then to
bear away with him no darkened or feeble sun-stain (though even that is
beautiful), but a counterfeit which should seem no counterfeit—the true and
perfect image of life indeed. Or rather (for the full majesty of such a power is
not thus sufficiently expressed) let him consider that it would be in effect
nothing else than a capacity of transporting himself at any moment into any
scene—a gift as great as can be possessed by a disembodied spirit': and suppose,
also, this necromancy embracing not only the present but the past, and enabling
us seemingly to enter into the very bodily presence of men long since gathered
to the dust; to behold them in act as they lived, but—with greater privilege
than ever was granted to the companions of those transient acts of life,—to see
them fastened at our will in the gesture and ex pression of an instant, and stayed, on the eve of some
great deed, in immortality of burning purpose. Conceive, so far as it is
possible, such power as this, and then say whether the art which conferred it is
to be spoken lightly of, or whether we should not rather reverence, as half
divine, a gift which would go so far as to raise us into the rank, and invest us
with the felicities, of angels?
Yet such would imitative art be in its perfection. Not by any means an easy
thing, as Reynolds supposes it. Far from being easy, it is so utterly beyond all
human power that we have difficulty even in conceiving its nature or results—the
best art we as yet possess comes so far short of it.
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§ 8. But we must not rashly come to the conclusion that such art would,
indeed, be the highest possible. There is much to be considered hereafter on the
other side; the only conclusion we are as yet warranted in forming is, that
Reynolds had no right to speak lightly or contemptuously of imitative art; that
in fact, when he did so, he had not conceived its entire nature, but was
thinking of some vulgar conditions of it, which were the only ones known to him,
and that, therefore, his whole endeavor to explain the difference between great
and mean art has been disappointed; that he has involved himself in a crowd of
theories, whose issue he had not foreseen, and committed himself to conclusions
which he never intended. There is an instinctive consciousness in his own mind
of the difference between high and low art; but he is utterly incapable of
explaining it, and every effort which he makes to do so involves him in
unexpected fallacy and absurdity. It is
not true that Poetry does not
concern herself with minute details. It is
nottrue that high art seeks
only the Invariable. It is
not true that imitative art is an easy thing.
It is
not true that the faithful rendering of nature is an employment in
which "the slowest intellect is likely to succeed best." All these successive
assertions are utterly false and untenable, while the plain truth,
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at the very door, has all the while escaped him,—that which was incidentally
stated in the preceding chapter,—namely, that the difference between great and
mean art lies, not in definable methods of handling, or styles of
representation, or choices of subjects, but wholly in the nobleness of the end
to which the effort
of the painter is addressed. We cannot say that a painter is great because he
paints boldly, or paints delicately; because he generalizes or particularizes;
because he loves detail, or because he disdains it. He is great if, by any of
these means, he has laid open noble truths, or aroused noble emotions. It does
not matter whether he paint the petal of a rose, or the chasms of a precipice,
so that Love and Admiration attend him as he labors, and wait for ever upon his
work. It does not matter whether he toil for months upon a few inches of his
canvas, or cover a palace front with color in a day, so only that it be with a
solemn purpose that he has filled his heart with patience, or urged his hand to
haste. And it does not matter whether he seek for his subjects among peasants or
nobles, among the heroic or the simple,
buy oil paintings online, in courts or in fields, so only that he
behold all things with a thirst for beauty, and a hatred of meanness and vice.
There are, indeed, certain methods of representation which are usually adopted
by the most active minds, and certain characters of subject usually delighted in
by the noblest hearts; but it is quite possible, quite easy, to adopt the manner
of painting without sharing the activity of mind, and to imitate the choice of
subject without possessing the nobility of spirit; while, on the other hand, it
is altogether impossible to foretell on what strange objects the strength of a
great man will sometimes be concentrated, or by what strange means he will
sometimes express himself. So that true criticism of art never can consist in
the mere application of rules; it can be just only when it is founded on quick
sympathy with the innumerable instincts and changeful efforts of human nature,
chastened and guided by unchanging love of all things that God has created to be
beautiful, and pronounced to be good.
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