In itself colour has no virtues which are not governed by immutable laws. These are apart from the exercise of human faculties, the recognition of colour harmony being involuntary and entirely dependent upon the condition of the optic nerves. Thus there can be no meaning in colour apart from its application to form, and the extent to which it may be properly used in the representation of form is necessarily bound by our experience of nature. Other things being equal, the most perfect painting is that wherein there is a just balance between the colour and the form, that is to say, where the colour is not so vivid as to act upon the sense nerves before the general beauty of the work is appreciated, or so feeble or discordant that its want of natural truth is immediately presented to the mind, thus disturbing the impression of the design.

As with metrical form in poetry, the importance of colour in painting varies inversely with the character of the art. In the highest art, where ideals are dealt with, colour is of the least importance. A composition with ideal figures may be produced by drawing only, that is to say, by the use of a single tone in outline and shading. The addition of colour heightens the beauty of a composition of this kind, not so much because of the new sensorial harmony acquired, as for the reason that a painting in colours, corresponding better than a colourless drawing with our experience of nature, assists in defining the work and so reduces the fractional time necessary for the recognition of the general beauty of the design, which is a matter of importance. The comparatively small value of colour in the highest art is demonstrated by experience. If we were to choose from paintings known to us, those which general opinion regards as the very greatest works, we should unquestionably name the frescoes of Raphael and Michelangelo at the Vatican, and those of Correggio at Parma. These, with a few easel pictures of Raphael, and perhaps a dozen other pictures by various masters, are the only works of the painter's art to which the term "sublime" may be properly applied. As with the great epic poems, they are concerned entirely with ideals—with personages far above the level of life, rising to the spiritual domain—or with human beings as they would be if the highest conceptions of our imagination were possible of realization. When we recall these splendid legacies of genius to our minds, and ponder over the apparently limitless range of human vision which they evidence, it is the designs that absorb us, and not the colour—the forms and expression, and not the tints by which their definition is assisted. We do not usually analyse the impression we receive from these frescoes and pictures, but were we to do so, it would be borne in upon our minds that while a Raphael, a Michelangelo, or a Correggio, would be required to conceive and execute such stupendous designs, many thousands of unknown patient workers could be found to colour them efficiently. On the other hand if we remove the colour from the greatest landscape known to us, we find that most of the beauty of the work has disappeared, and that we have only a kind of skeleton left, for the beauty of such a picture rests very largely upon the aerial perspective, which is unobtainable without colour.

That the appreciation of colour is relative to the character of the design may be observed from common experience. We may see the Sistine Madonna half a dozen times and then be unable to recall the colours when bringing the picture to mind, so small an effect have they had upon us as compared with that of the majesty and general beauty of the central figure. So with many of Raphael's other pictures. It is a common thing for one to call attention to the superb colouring of an easel picture by Correggio, but how rarely does an observer notice the colouring of his frescoes at Parma, which are his masterpieces? With some of the Venetian artists, the colouring is often so brilliant, not to say startling, that it seems to overpower the observer for a moment, and necessity compels him to accustom himself to the tones before considering the design. The colouring of Titian is not so strong, but it is always forcible; nevertheless one seldom hears a comment upon the colours in his works, the superior design and general beauty of the compositions far outweighing the purely sensorial elements therein. Titian in fact secured an approximately just balance between form and colour, while with his great followers the colour usually exceeded in strength the requirements of the design. In the time of Tintoretto and Veronese the prestige and prosperity of Venice were rapidly declining, but we have been so accustomed to associate with this city during the Renaissance, a luxurious life with something of the character of an Eastern court, that gorgeous colour of any kind does not seem out of place as one of its products. But this special appropriateness has not the effect of elevating the gay coloured voluptuous forms of the artists named, observable in their classical and allegorical works, to a high level in art. We cannot accommodate the forms to the ideas of the poets who invented or described them, or to the attributes with which they were commonly associated; and the colouring tends to bring them closer to earth. While we feel bound to admire the colouring, we are equally compelled to regret the particular application.67

Speaking generally, when the design is good we remember the composition irrespective of the colours, but when the beauty of the work depends upon the colour harmony it fades from our memory as soon as our eyes experience new colour combinations. The imagination may call up the harmony again upon the mind, but the pleasure experienced from this reflection must be very feeble indeed because the senses are not directly affected thereby. It can have no more effect than a written description of the harmony.

The painter is at liberty to make what use he will of colour so long as he provides a thing of beauty, but he must remember that the appreciation of colour harmony is dependent not only upon the condition of the optic nerves of the observer, but also upon his experience at the time of observation. As to the first consideration little heed need be taken, because rudimentarily the nerve structure is equal or nearly so, in all persons, and while accident at birth may provide in some an advanced condition which in others is only obtained by exercise, yet in respect of colours, experience in complex harmony is gained involuntarily in contact with every-day nature. Hence for the purpose of the painter, all men may be considered alike in regard to the recognition of colour harmony. But individual experience at the time of observation of a painting varies largely,68 a circumstance which is not of importance in dealing with works of the higher art, but becomes of great significance when considering the lower forms. No organ of the body is so susceptible to fatigue as the eye, and a painting of the kind known as a colour scheme may or may not be pleasing according as the tone is a relief or otherwise to the sight. Sometimes a few seconds are sufficient to fatigue the eye, as for instance when it is directed towards a vivid maroon hanging, but let a landscape with a grey tone be placed on the hanging and considerable pleasure will be involuntarily experienced through the relief to the optic nerves. Remove the picture to a grey wall, and it will instantly lose its charm, except such as it may possess apart from the colour.

As with particular tones, so with colours generally. People habituated to conditions of nature where extremes of sun effects are uncommon, as in the northern latitudes, may be temporarily pleased with schemes of glowing colours on their walls, because these relieve the monotony of daily experience, but they must necessarily quickly tire, as with all exceptional conditions of life which are concerned with the senses only. How soon one is fatigued with bright colours generally is obvious to any visitor to a public gallery which is crowded with pictures. In an hour or less the fatigue of his eyes becomes so extreme that his whole nervous system is affected, and he loses energy of both mind and body. But brilliant colors used sparingly with good designs may be a perpetual source of pleasure. Place a fine work by Rubens or Paolo Veronese in a living-room and it will attract attention every time one enters, for the colouring will always be a change from the normal eye experience. One turns to the picture involuntarily, and then the design is observed, and so one passes from sensual to intellectual pleasure. This process is repeated day by day, and the work never tires. Of course it is a condition that the design is able to hold the attention, otherwise the bright colours would serve little better purpose than if they defined a geometrical pattern.

Nowadays quite a number of paintings are produced in which unusual tones are given to signs or shadows, but these are not to be taken seriously by the earnest student. In the sunlight, amidst certain surroundings, the arm of a woman may appear for some moments to have a bluish tone, but the artist would be entirely wrong to paint a bluish arm. The picture is to be seen under all lights, and if the tones be contrary to general experience under any of these lights, then the work appears to be a falsity, for the artist does not, and cannot, reproduce the conditions which together bring about the exceptional colours. To the normal eye under ordinary circumstances, the arm of a woman is of flesh colour, and the artist is not at liberty to vary this tone. He has to represent what appears to be true in general opinion, whether it be really true or not under certain conditions. The dictum of Aristotle in regard to poetry—that what appears probable, though in reality is impossible, is better than what seems improbable but is really possible—is equally true in painting. In fact it is of more importance that this maxim should be remembered in painting than in poetry, because the signs of the painter are permanent. A poet or novelist may refer to a passing exceptional sun effect, for the impression on the mind of the reader would probably be as transient as, or more transient than, the effect itself, but with the painter the transient effect becomes fixed. The blue arm is always blue, and in a very short time becomes a disagreeable unreality. It may be claimed that the objectionable sun effects are not really exceptional, though they are seldom noticed; but for the purpose of art, what appears to be exceptional must be definitely regarded as so, and for this reason discarded by the artist who desires to paint a good picture.

Generally then, the value of colour lies firstly in its correspondence with nature, for upon this depends its harmony and the assistance it lends to the recognition of the beauty in the whole composition. Beyond this it may or may not have an ephemeral value according to local conditions. In any case colour must ever be subordinated to design in a picture, and this is what Poussin meant when he said that particular attention to colour is an obstacle to the art student.

BOOK II