The Crown of Wild Olive Part 70

Understanding, then, thus much of the use of outline, we will go back to our question about tree drawing left unanswered at page 60.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 14.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 15.]

We were, you remember, in pursuit of mystery among the leaves. Now, it is quite easy to obtain mystery and disorder, to any extent; but the difficulty is to keep organisation in the midst of mystery. And you will never succeed in doing this unless you lean always to the definite side, and allow yourself rarely to become quite vague, at least through all your early practice. So, after your single groups of leaves, your first step must be to conditions like Figs. 14. and 15., which are careful facsimiles of two portions of a beautiful woodcut of Durer's, the Flight into Egypt. Copy these carefully,--never mind how little at a time, but thoroughly; then trace the Durer, and apply it to your drawing, and do not be content till the one fits the other, else your eye is not true enough to carry you safely through meshes of real leaves. And in the course of doing this, you will find that not a line nor dot of Durer's can be displaced without harm; that all add to the effect, and either express something, or illumine something, or relieve something. If, afterwards, you copy any of the pieces of modern tree drawing, of which so many rich examples are given constantly in our cheap ill.u.s.trated periodicals (any of the Christmas numbers of last year's _Ill.u.s.trated News_ or _Times_ are full of them), you will see that, though good and forcible general effect is produced, the lines are thrown in by thousands without special intention, and might just as well go one way as another, so only that there be enough of them to produce all together a well-shaped effect of intricacy: and you will find that a little careless scratching about with your pen will bring you very near the same result without an effort; but that no scratching of pen, nor any fortunate chance, nor anything but downright skill and thought, will imitate so much as one leaf of Durer's. Yet there is considerable intricacy and glittering confusion in the interstices of those vine leaves of his, as well as of the gra.s.s.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 16.]

When you have got familiarised to this firm manner, you may draw from Nature as much as you like in the same way, and when you are tired of the intense care required for this, you may fall into a little more easy ma.s.sing of the leaves, as in Fig. 10. p. 66. This is facsimiled from an engraving after t.i.tian, but an engraving not quite first-rate in manner, the leaves being a little too formal; still, it is a good enough model for your times of rest; and when you cannot carry the thing even so far as this, you may sketch the forms of the ma.s.ses, as in Fig. 16.,[219]

taking care always to have thorough command over your hand; that is, not to let the ma.s.s take a free shape because your hand ran glibly over the paper, but because in nature it has actually a free and n.o.ble shape, and you have faithfully followed the same.

And now that we have come to questions of _n.o.ble_ shape, as well as true shape, and that we are going to draw from nature at our pleasure, other considerations enter into the business, which are by no means confined to _first_ practice, but extend to all practice; these (as this letter is long enough, I should think, to satisfy even the most exacting of correspondents) I will arrange in a second letter; praying you only to excuse the tiresomeness of this first one--tiresomeness inseparable from directions touching the beginning of any art,--and to believe me, even though I am trying to set you to dull and hard work.

Very faithfully yours, J. RUSKIN.

FOOTNOTES:

[199] (N. B. This note is only for the satisfaction of incredulous or curious readers. You may miss it if you are in a hurry, or are willing to take the statement in the text on trust.)

The perception of solid Form is entirely a matter of experience. We _see_ nothing but flat colours; and it is only by a series of experiments that we find out that a stain of black or grey indicates the dark side of a solid substance, or that a faint hue indicates that the object in which it appears is far away. The whole technical power of painting depends on our recovery of what may be called the _innocence of the eye_; that is to say, a sort of childish perception of these flat stains of colour, merely as such, without consciousness of what they signify, as a blind man would see them if suddenly gifted with sight.

For instance; when gra.s.s is lighted strongly by the sun in certain directions, it is turned from green into a peculiar and somewhat dusty-looking yellow. If we had been born blind, and were suddenly endowed with sight on a piece of gra.s.s thus lighted in some parts by the sun, it would appear to us that part of the gra.s.s was green, and part a dusty yellow (very nearly of the colour of primroses); and, if there were primroses near, we should think that the sunlighted gra.s.s was another ma.s.s of plants of the same sulphur-yellow colour. We should try to gather some of them, and then find that the colour went away from the gra.s.s when we stood between it and the sun, but not from the primroses; and by a series of experiments we should find out that the sun was really the cause of the colour in the one,--not in the other. We go through such processes of experiment unconsciously in childhood; and having once come to conclusions touching the signification of certain colours, we always suppose that we _see_ what we only know, and have hardly any consciousness of the real aspect of the signs we have learned to interpret. Very few people have any idea that sunlighted gra.s.s is yellow.

Now, a highly accomplished artist has always reduced himself as nearly as possible to this condition of infantine sight. He sees the colours of nature exactly as they are, and therefore perceives at once in the sunlighted gra.s.s the precise relation between the two colours that form its shade and light. To him it does not seem shade and light, but bluish green barred with gold.

Strive, therefore, first of all, to convince yourself of this great fact about sight. This, in your hand, which you know by experience and touch to be a book, is to your eye nothing but a patch of white, variously gradated and spotted; this other thing near you, which by experience you know to be a table, is to your eye only a patch of brown, variously darkened and veined; and so on: and the whole art of Painting consists merely in perceiving the shape and depth of these patches of colour, and putting patches of the same size, depth, and shape on canvas. The only obstacle to the success of painting is, that many of the real colours are brighter and paler than it is possible to put on canvas: we must put darker ones to represent them.

[200] Stale crumb of bread is better, if you are making a delicate drawing, than India-rubber, for it disturbs the surface of the paper less: but it crumbles about the room and makes a mess; and, besides, you waste the good bread, which is wrong; and your drawing will not for a long while be worth the crumbs. So use India-rubber very lightly; or, if heavily pressing it only, not pa.s.sing it over the paper, and leave what pencil marks that will not come away so, without minding them. In a finished drawing the uneffaced penciling is often serviceable, helping the general tone, and enabling you to take out little bright lights.

[201] What is usually so much sought after under the term "freedom" is the character of the drawing of a great master in a hurry, whose hand is so thoroughly disciplined, that when pressed for time he can let it fly as it will, and it will not go far wrong. But the hand of a great master at real _work_ is _never_ free: its swiftest dash is under perfect government. Paul Veronese or Tintoret could pause within a hair's breadth of any appointed mark, in their fastest touches; and follow, within a hair's breadth, the previously intended curve. You must never, therefore, aim at freedom. It is not required of your drawing that it should be free, but that it should be _right_: in time you will be able to do right easily, and then your work will be free in the best sense; but there is no merit in doing _wrong_ easily.

These remarks, however, do not apply to the lines used in shading, which, it will be remembered, are to be made as _quickly_ as possible.

The reason of this is, that the quicker a line is drawn, the lighter it is at the ends, and therefore the more easily joined with other lines, and concealed by them; the object in perfect shading being to conceal the lines as much as possible.

And observe, in this exercise, the object is more to get firmness of hand than accuracy of eye for outline; for there are no outlines in Nature, and the ordinary student is sure to draw them falsely if he draws them at all. Do not, therefore, be discouraged if you find mistakes continue to occur in your outlines; be content at present if you find your hand gaining command over the curves.

[202] If you can get any pieces of _dead_ white porcelain, not glazed, they will be useful models.

[203] Artists who glance at this book may be surprised at this permission. My chief reason is, that I think it more necessary that the pupil's eye should be trained to accurate perception of the relations of curve and right lines, by having the latter absolutely true, than that he should practice drawing straight lines. But also, I believe, though I am not quite sure of this, that he never _ought_ to be able to draw a straight line. I do not believe a perfectly trained hand ever can draw a line without some curvature in it, or some variety of direction. Prout could draw a straight line, but I do not believe Raphael could, nor Tintoret. A great draughtsman can, as far as I have observed, draw every line _but_ a straight one.

[204] Or, if you feel able to do so, scratch them in with confused quick touches, indicating the general shape of the cloud or mist of twigs round the main branches; but do not take much trouble about them.

[205] It is more difficult, at first, to get, in colour, a narrow gradation than an extended one; but the ultimate difficulty is, as with the pen, to make the gradation go _far_.

[206] Of course, all the columns of colour are to be of equal length.

[207] The degree of darkness you can reach with the given colour is always indicated by the colour of the solid cake in the box.

[208] The figure _a_, Fig. 5., is very dark, but this is to give an example of all kinds of depth of tint, without repeated figures.

[209] Nearly neutral in ordinary circ.u.mstances, but yet with quite different tones in its neutrality, according to the colours of the various reflected rays that compose it.

[210] If we had any business with the reasons of this, I might, perhaps, be able to show you some metaphysical ones for the enjoyment, by truly artistical minds, of the changes wrought by light, and shade, and perspective in patterned surfaces; but this is at present not to the point; and all that you need to know is that the drawing of such things is good exercise, and moreover a kind of exercise which t.i.tian, Veronese, Tintoret, Giorgione, and Turner, all enjoyed, and strove to excel in.

[211] The use of acquiring this habit of execution is that you may be able, when you begin to colour, to let one hue be seen in minute portions, gleaming between the touches of another.

[212] William Hunt, of the Old Water-colour Society.

[213] At Marlborough House, among the four princ.i.p.al examples of Turner's later water-colour drawing, perhaps the most neglected is that of fis.h.i.+ng-boats and fish at sunset. It is one of his most wonderful works, though unfinished. If you examine the larger white fis.h.i.+ng-boat sail, you will find it has a little spark of pure white in its right-hand upper corner, about as large as a minute pin's head, and that all the surface of the sail is gradated to that focus. Try to copy this sail once or twice, and you will begin to understand Turner's work.

Similarly, the wing of the Cupid in Correggio's large picture in the National Gallery is focussed to two little grains of white at the top of it. The points of light on the white flower in the wreath round the head of the dancing child-faun, in t.i.tian's Bacchus and Ariadne, exemplify the same thing.

[214] I shall not henceforward _number_ the exercises recommended; as they are distinguished only by increasing difficulty of subject, not by difference of method.

[215] If you understand the principle of the stereoscope you will know why; if not, it does not matter; trust me for the truth of the statement, as I cannot explain the principle without diagrams and much loss of time.

[216] If you can, get first the plates marked with a star. The letters mean as follows:--

_a_ stands for architecture, including distant grouping of towns, cottages, &c.

_c_ clouds, including mist and aerial effects.

_f_ foliage.

_g_ ground, including low hills, when not rocky.

_l_ effects of light.

_m_ mountains, or bold rocky ground.

_p_ power of general arrangement and effect.

_q_ quiet water.

_r_ running or rough water; or rivers, even if calm, when their line of flow is beautifully marked.

_From the England Series._

_a c f r._ Arundel.

_a f l._ Ashby de la Zouche.

_a l q r._ Barnard Castle.*

_f m r._ Bolton Abbey.

_f g r._ Buckfastleigh.*

_a l p._ Caernarvon.

_c l q._ Castle Upnor.

_a f l._ Colchester.

_l q._ Cowes.

_c f p._ Dartmouth Cove.

_c l q._ Flint Castle.*

_a f g l._ Knaresborough.*

_m r._ High Force of Tees.*

_a f q._ Trematon.

_a f p._ Lancaster.

_c l m r._ Lancaster Sands.*

_a g f._ Launceston.

_c f l r._ Leicester Abbey.