Importance.—Composition is of the utmost importance. It is impossible that a picture should be good without it. You may define it as that study by means of which the balance of the picture comes about. But you must understand the word balance in its broadest sense. There is nothing in the planning of the picture which has not to be considered in making the picture balance.

The arrangement of the lines, of the forms, of the masses, and of the colors must all be right if the composition be right. Composition is the planning of the picture; and it is more or less complicated, more or less to be carefully studied beforehand in exact accordance with the simplicity or complication of the scheme of the picture. You may not need more than the consideration of a few main facts. It may almost be done by a few moments' deliberation in some simple studies or even pictures. But even then there is possible the most subtle discrimination of selection, and a perfect gem of composition may be found in the arrangement of a picture having the simplest and fewest elements. The more complicated the materials which are to be worked into a picture, the more careful must be the previous planning; but, for all that, the genius will find scope for his utmost powers in a simple figure, just because the fewer the means, the more each single thing can interfere with the balance of the whole, and the more a fine choice will tell.

The Æsthetic.—I have already mentioned briefly the Æsthetic elements of a picture. I have called to your attention that back of the obvious facts of a subject and the objects in the picture, and the theme which the painter makes his picture represent; back of the technical processes and management of concrete material which make painting possible, is the Æsthetic purpose of the work of art; without this it could not be a work of art at all: it would be merely a more or less exact representation of something, a mere prosaic description, the interest in which would lie wholly in the fact, and would perish whenever interest in the fact should cease. It is not the fact, nor even the able expression of the fact, which makes a work of art a thing of interest and delight centuries after the bearing of the fact has been forgotten. The perennial interest of a work of art lies in the way in which the artist has used his ostensible theme, and all the facts and objects appertaining to it, as a part of the material with which he expresses those ideas which are purely Æsthetic; which do not rest on material things. These have to do with material things only by rendering them beautiful, giving to them an interest which they themselves could not otherwise have.

Theory.—Does this sound unpractical? Well, it is unpractical. Does it seem mere theory? It is theory. I want to impress it on you that it is theory. For it is the theory which underlies art, and if you do not understand it, you only understand art from the outside. Consciously or unconsciously every artist works to express these purely Æsthetic qualities, and to a greater or less extent he expresses himself through them.

Art for Art's Sake.—This is the real meaning of the much-debated phrase, "Art for art's sake." The mistake which leads to the misconception and most of the discussion about it, is in confounding "art for art's sake" with "technique for technique's sake," which is a very different thing. Certainly every painter will work to attain the most perfect technique he is capable of. But not for the sake of the technique, but for what it will do. The better the technique the better the control of all the means to expression. If you take technique to mean only the understanding and knowledge of all the manipulations of art, technique is only a means, and it is so that I mean it to be understood here. If you broaden its meaning to include all the mental conceptions and means, that is another thing, and one likely to lead to confusion of idea. So I use the word technique in its strictest sense.

The Æsthetic Elements.—What, then, are these Æsthetic qualities I have spoken of? Will you consider the quality of "line"? Not a line, but line as an element, excluding all the possible things which may be done with lines in different relations to themselves and to other elements. Now will you consider also the other elements, "mass" and "color"? Do you see that here are three terms which suggest possibilities of combination of infinite scope? and they are purely intellectual. What may be done with them may be done, primarily, without taking into consideration the representation of any material fact whatsoever. Take as the type, conventional ornament. You can make the most exquisite combinations, in which the only interest and charm lies in the fact of those combinations in line and mass and color.

Take architecture. Quite aside from the use of the building is the Æsthetic resultant from combinations of line and mass and color.

And so in the picture the question of art, the question of Æsthetic entity, lies in the intellectual qualities of combinations of line and mass and color which permeate through and through the technical and material structure that you call the picture, and give it whatever universal and permanent value it has, and which make it immortal, if immortal it ever can be.

Composition.—The bearing of all this on composition should be obvious, for composition is the technique of combination. In the composition of a picture all the elements come into play. It is in composition that the management of the abstract results in the concrete.

Let us look at it from a more practical side. Frankly, there are qualities, which you always look for in a picture,—good drawing, of course, and good color. But there are such things as these: Harmony, Balance, Rhythm, Grace, Impressiveness, Force, Dignity. Where do they come from? Must not every good picture have them, or some of them, to some extent? How are you going to get them? If you have fifteen or twenty square feet or square yards of surface, you will not get them onto it by unaided inspiration. Inspiration is, like any other intellectual quality, quite logical, only it acts more quickly and takes longer steps between conclusions perhaps. You will get these qualities onto your canvas only by so arranging all the objects which make up the body of your picture that these qualities shall be the result. It is arrangement then. Arrangement.—But arrangement of what? how? The objects. But on some principle back of them. Consider another set of qualities: proportion, i.e., relative size; arrangement, relative position; contrast; accent,—these are what you manipulate your objects with, and your objects themselves are only line and mass and color in the concrete. Objects, figures, bric-a-brac, draperies, houses and trees, skies and mountains, and every and any other natural fact, you may consider as so many bits of form and color with which you may work out a scheme on canvas; and how you do it is to consider them as pawns in your game of Æsthetics.

With these as materials, what you really do is to combine mass and line and color by means of proportion, arrangement, contrast, and accent, that a beautiful entity of harmony, balance, rhythm, grace, dignity, and force may result. And this is composition.

No Rules.—Naturally in dealing with a thing like this, which is the very essence of art, rules are of very little use. Ability in composition may be acquired when it is not natural, but it calls for a continuous training of the sense of proportion and arrangement, just as the development of any other ability calls for training.

The best thing that you can do is to study good examples and try to appreciate, not only their beauty, but how and why they are beautiful. Cultivate your taste in that direction; and with the taste to like good and dislike bad composition will come the feeling which tells you when it is good and when it is bad, and this feeling you can apply to your own work, and by experiment you will gain knowledge and skill.

Rules are not possible simply because they are limitations, and the true composer will always overstep a limitation of that kind, and with a successful result.

Principles of composition, too, must be variously adapted, according to the kind of picture you have in hand. The principles are the same, of course; but as the materials differ in a figure painting and a landscape, for instance, you must apply them to meet that difference.

Suggestions.—The first suggestion that might be made as a help to the study of composition is to consider your picture as a whole always. No matter how many figures, no matter how many groups, they must all be considered as parts of a whole, which must have no effect of being too much broken up.

If the figures are scattered, they must be scattered in such a way that they suggest a logical connection between them as individuals in each group, and groups in a whole. There should usually be a main mass, and the others subsidiary masses. There should be a centre of interest of some sort, whether it be a color, a mass, or a thing; and this centre should be the point to which all the other parts balance.

Simplicity is a good word to have in mind. However complicated the composition may seem superficially, you may treat it simply. You will control it by not considering any part as of any importance in itself, but only as it helps the whole; and you may strengthen or weaken that part as you need to. Don't cut the thing up too much. Let a half a dozen objects count as one in the whole. Mass things, simplify the masses, and make the elements of the masses hold as only parts of those masses.

Study placing of things in different sizes relative to the size of the canvas. Make sketches which take no note of anything but the largest masses or the most important lines, and change them about till they seem right; then break them up in the same way into their details. Apply the steps suggested for drawing to the study of composition, searching for balance chiefly, or for some other quality which is proper to composition.

Line.—Each of the main elements of composition can be used as a problem of arrangement. You can study composition in line, in mass, or in color.

"The Golden Stairs," by Burne-Jones, is almost purely an arrangement in line, and beautifully illustrates the use of this element as the main Æsthetic motive in a picture.

Compare this composition in line with the "Descent from the Cross," in which the line is equally marked, but more complicated, and used in connection with mass to a much greater extent, and involved with interrelations of chiaroscuro and color. Consider the effect which each picture derives as a whole from this management of these elements. The one emphasizing that of line, with the resultant of rhythm and grace; the other balancing the elements, and so gaining power and impressiveness.

Often the whole composition should be a balancing of the elements, as in this case. But the emphasizing of one element will always emphasize the characteristics to which those elements tend as the main characteristic of the picture.

Grace, rhythm, movement, come most naturally from arrangement chiefly in line. If mass comes into the picture, the masses may be arranged to help the line, or to modify it. In "The Sower" the management of mass is such as to give great dignity, and almost solemnity, to the picture, yet not to take away from the rhythmic swing and action of the figure which comes from line, but even to emphasize it. Compare this in these respects with the lighter grace of "The Golden Stairs" and the less unified movement, but greater activity, of the "Descent from the Cross."

Of course masses will come into the picture; but either the masses themselves can be arranged into line, or there can be emphasis given to lines which break up or modify the masses, so that the character of the picture is governed by them.

Mass.—In the arrangement of mass, light and shade and color are effective. Smaller groups may be made into a larger one, and individual objects also brought together, by grouping them in light or in shade, or by giving them a common color.

Weight, dignity, the statuesque, scale, are characteristics of mass. Line in this connection only takes from the brusqueness that mass alone would have, or helps to break up any tendency to monotony. The "Return to the Farm," by Millet, shows this combination, the reverse of "The Sower." In this, the line is used to enrich the repose and weight, the statuesque of the mass. In the other, the mass gives dignity and impressiveness to the grace and rhythm of the line.

The color scheme of course will have an equal effect in the emphasizing or modifying of the motive of line or mass. Color will not only have an effect on it, but must be in sympathy with it, or the balance will be lost.

Color.—This is mainly where composition in color will come in. Light and shade or chiaroscuro, as I explained in the last chapter, are necessarily intimately connected with composition here. And you never work in color or mass without working in light and shade also. Of color itself I shall speak in the next chapter. It is only necessary to point out the fact of connection here. Of course in painting, all the elements are most closely related. Although it is necessary to speak of them separately in the actual working out, you keep them all in mind together, and so make them continually help and modify each other.

A Principle.—There is a well-established principle in architecture, that you must never try to emphasize two proportions in one structure. A hall may be long and narrow, but not both long and wide; in which case the proportions would neutralize each other—you would have a simple square, characterless. You may emphasize height or breadth—not both, or you get the same negative character.

So you may apply this principle more or less exactly to the composition of a picture. Don't try to express too many things in one picture, or if you do, let some one be the main thing, and all the rest be subordinate to it. There is perhaps no law more rigid than the one which denies success to any attempt to scatter force, effect, and purpose. One main idea in each picture, and everything subordinated to lend itself to the strengthening of that.

To a certain extent this will apply to line and mass, though not absolutely. As a rule, line or mass, one or the other, must be the main element.

Leverage.—I have often thought that much insight into the principles of balance of masses, and of mass and line, could be gained by thinking of it analogously to equilibrium in leverage. A small mass, or a simple line or accent, may be made to balance a very much greater mass. The greater part of a canvas may be one mass, and be balanced by quite a small spot. But leverage must come in to help. Somewhere in the picture will be the point of support, the fulcrum. And the large mass and the small one will have an obvious relation with reference to that point. Or the element of apparent density will come in. The large mass will be the least dense, the small one the most dense, and the equilibrium is established. For composition is but the equilibrium of the picture, and equilibrium the picture must have.

There are many rules as to placing of mass and arrangement of line, but they are all more or less arbitrary and limiting in influence. Individuality must and will ignore such rules, just because composition deals chiefly with the abstract qualities rules will not help. A fine feeling or perception of what is right is the only law, and the trained eye is the only measure. As in values, so in composition you must study relations in nature, and results in the work of the masters, to train your eye to see; and you must sketch and block in all sorts of combinations with your own hand, to give you practical experience.

Scale.—One point of great importance should be noticed. That is the effect on the observer of the size of any main mass or object with reference to the size of the canvas. This is analogous to what is called scale in architecture.

If the mass or object is justly proportioned to the whole surface of the canvas, and is treated in accordance with it, it will impose its own scale on all other objects. You can make a figure impress the observer as being life size, although it may really be only a few inches long. A house or castle coming into the picture may be made to give its scale to the surroundings, and make them seem small instead of itself seeming merely an object in a picture. This will be due to the placing of it on the canvas, largely, and more in this than in anything else. The manner of painting will also lend importantly to it; for an object to appear big must not be drawn nor painted in a little manner.

The placing of objects of a known size near, to give scale, is a useless expedient in such a case. At times it may be successful, often of use; but if the scale of the main object is false, the other object of known size, instead of giving size to the main one, as it is intended to do, will be itself dwarfed by it.

Placing.—This matter of placing is one which you should constantly practise. Make it a regular study when you are sketching from nature. Try to concentrate in your sketches so as to help your study of composition. In making a sketch, look for one main effect, and often have that effect the importance of some object, studying to give it scale by the placing and the treatment of it, and its relation to the things surrounding it in nature and on the canvas. In this way you will be studying composition in a most practical way.

Still Life.—For practical study of composition, the most useful materials you can have are to be found in still life. Nowhere can you have so great freedom of arrangement in the concrete. You can take as many actual objects as you please, and place them in all sorts of relations to each other, studying their effect as to grouping; and so study most tangibly the principles as well as the practice of bringing together line and mass and color as elements, through the means of actual objects. This you should constantly do, till composition is no more an abstract thing, but a practical study in which you may work out freely and visibly intellectual Æsthetic ideas almost unconsciously, and train your eye to see instinctively the possibilities of all sorts of compositions, and to correct the falsities of accidental combinations.

Don't Attempt too much.—Don't be too ambitious. Begin with simple arrangements, and add to them, studying the structure of each new combination and grouping. When you are going to paint, remember that too much of an undertaking will not give you any more beauty in the picture, and may lead to discouragement.

In the Chapter on "Still Life" I will explain more practically the means you may take, and how you may take them, to the end of making composition a practical study to you.