Painting on porcelain has for some years past made such progress amongst the amusements of fashionable life, that the homely joys and destiny obscure of those who toil for a livelihood in this department of the useful arts acquire a new interest. In the group of Staffordshire 'pottery towns,' as they are called, which lie within a mile or two of each other, and are connected by the somewhat exclusive system of the North Staffordshire Railway, not far from the beautifully wooded conical hill of Cocknage, and at an easy walking distance from Trentham Hall, the magnificent seat of the 'Leveson-Gowers,' in one of the most charming silvan districts of England, is Longton, formerly called Lane-end, with its picturesque and quiet suburb of Dresden. In 'Burslem,' Hanley, Stoke, and Longton itself, the atmosphere may not be quite so pure as one could wish; but to find a bright and translucent atmosphere requires but a slight exertion. From Stoke to Newcastle-under-Lyme, and thence to Woolstanton, or to Chesterton and Silverdale, or to Trentham—by Longton pool, shining like a mirror in front of the handsome Hall, or by cool sequestered Blurton, with its quaint churchyard and umbrageous trees—the wayfarer passes along lanes of unrivalled beauty: in summer by rose-clustered cottages, and meadows where the youthful Archie Lovel may have gathered kingcups and daisies; and in the clear cold days of winter, by hedges jewelled with red berries.

Although in back slums of these towns, and amongst the dissipated, the pallid father, wan mother, and emaciated child may, as elsewhere, be occasionally seen creeping home; amongst the thrifty and orderly, no such lugubrious picture is presented; but as a rule one sees healthy-looking men and women, and rosy-cheeked urchins of the true English type. Indeed the beauty of delicate features and intelligence of expression, combined with physical vigour, are marked characteristics of the whole district, and such as a stranger would not be led to expect. While my metaphorical tent was pitched near a pretty little rivulet at Dresden, my visits to the neighbouring towns and places of beauty or interest were frequent, both in winter and summer; and I had consequently the best opportunities of inspecting these busy hives of industry, which have so marvellously sprung up from the original germ-thought of one man, Josiah Wedgwood, whose brain-labour has set all these hands in motion.

It would be out of place to enter into a fully detailed account of the manufacture of the various wares known by the generic name of china; but a few particulars may not be unnecessary, as an introduction to the special process of embellishment. Most of us are familiar with the earlier difficulties in the plastic processes—from the potter's wheel to the mould—with which Wedgwood had to contend. We know the components of the superior wares, and have at length discovered the Chinese secret—that it is the ingredient of bone-dust which imparts the semi-transparent quality; while the properties of the shining surface are well understood; therefore it is with the bisque, or unglazed ware that we shall commence, after it has been withdrawn from the bottle-shaped oven to the dripping-house.

In this latter department, the fresh-baked ware is immersed in a silicious solution, and thence conveyed, in bandbox-shaped seggars, to the 'glost' (glaze) oven to be fired. But should it be desired to ornament it with printed paper patterns laid upon the surface, this is effected before it is dipped. The ware is now fired until the glaze becomes transparent; after which it is removed to the 'glost' warehouse, where the various articles are assorted by classification, and then transferred to female artists skilled in the 'stencilled ground-laying,' as the process is locally termed, of the metallic colours, each of which is brought to a perfectly uniform tint with a 'boss' or pad.

Passing from their hands to the kiln, the ware is again fired, after which it is transferred to the fair 'paintresses' (a local word), whose superior intelligence, or taste, qualifies them to embellish it with what they call 'enamel' paintings of birds, flowers, and other familiar objects. It is then fired for eight hours; and finally transferred to the gilders and burnishers, who, with their agate implements, bring the process of ornamentation to its last stage.

But before this has been arrived at, many busy heads have been at work in the selection of materials and in their manipulation; for in the work of ordinary painters and 'paintresses,' rapidity of execution, as well as artistic dexterity, is required in order to earn a livelihood. On an average, one penny is the price allowed for the central floral pattern of an ordinary plate—such as a pink-rose with buds and leaves, a convolvulus, or any other simple flower. Each colour must be laid on with firmness and precision; and where the light is to fall, as on the convex petal of a rose, the effect must be produced by a rapid touch of the finger removing the colour. With a convolvulus, however, it may be remarked, the colour is dashed on rapidly, and with each dash the hair-pencil is swept to a point, more or less fine, according to the style of flower; and with blue flowers especially, the rule well known to watercolourists in painting an azure sky is never departed from.

The bisque or unglazed ware is now but seldom embellished with painting, for colours are found to have little brilliancy on its porous surface; consequently, this kind of ware is chiefly used where form alone is the paramount consideration.

In the manipulation of metallic colours, the superior porcelain-painter has to calculate the ultimate effect with the same care as the fresco or destemper painter; and yet it is surprising how limited is the fame of those who decorate our drawing-room and dessert ware with their artistic work, in which a few masterly touches in birds and flowers, figures and landscapes, give life to the cold clay; for with certain exceptions these artists are not allowed even to add their initials to their work.

Considerable nicety, only to be acquired by practice, is requisite in mixing the metallic colours; and for this purpose spirit of turpentine, combined with a thick oil obtained from exposure to the air for a certain length of time, of ordinary turpentine (called fat), is used; but should more body be required, tar is added. The mixed colour is then applied to the porcelain in the same manner as in ordinary oil-painting, but with one marked and important difference, namely, that in porcelain painting the colour must never be worked, but must be applied with a full brush, carried with a clean and precise sweep to lighter gradations of tint. Thus, the greatest depth of colour indicates the first impact of the full charged brush. Inattention to this dominating rule would be productive of clogginess and opacity.

Lastly, the brush or hair-pencil does not seem to be regarded as of such importance as one would imagine by the ordinary artists of our 'pot-banks;'[1] and it is not a little surprising, even to one long accustomed to the use of the pencil, to observe with what dexterity the most apparently intractable tuft of hair on the end of a quill can be brought into subjection by those who can get no better, and whose living depends upon their ingenuity.

Various kinds of brushes are used. Fine lines are expressed with a very long-haired thin camel-hair; while ordinary subjects are readily mastered with a medium size. But for more careful and minute work, such as heraldic-painting—as less liable to clog—the mounted sable (No. 1, 2, or 3) is the best.

Having satisfied myself that to a certain extent the art of painting on porcelain may be readily acquired by any one of ordinary intelligence; its niceties, like those of wood-engraving or any similar accomplishment, are nevertheless to be learned only by long practice. The mere application of colour within prepared outlines is often supposed to constitute 'the art of painting,' and there can be no doubt that, according to dictionary definition, it is painting; but as there is no art in it, so is there no credit due to the purely mechanical action of the painter's hand. As an amusement, where practised on artistic principles, porcelain-painting might, amongst amateurs, lead to pleasing results; but to 'take it up' merely as a fashion of the day is scarcely worth the trouble, and would be of comparatively little benefit to those who contribute materials.

FOOTNOTES: