'Genius is the power of making efforts.'

Erroneous opinions, once formed, seldom fail to affect the taste of a man's character through his whole life. It is, therefore, of the utmost necessity that his conduct be rightly directed.

'Art will not descend to us, we must be made to reach and aspire to it.'

'The great art to learn much,' says Locke, 'is to undertake a little at a time.' And Dr. Johnson has very forcibly observed—'That all the performances of human art, at which we look with praise or wonder, are instances of the resistless force of perseverance: it is by this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries are united by canals. If a man were to compare the effect of a single stroke with a pickaxe, or of one impression of a spade, with the general design and last result, he would be overwhelmed with the sense of their disproportion; yet those petty operations, incessantly continued, in time surmount the greatest difficulties; and mountains are levelled, and oceans bounded, by the slender force of human beings.

'It is, therefore, of the utmost importance, that those who have any intention of deviating from the beaten roads of life, and of acquiring a reputation superior to names hourly swept away by time, among the refuse of fame, should add to their reason and spirit the power of persisting in their purposes; acquire the art of sapping what they cannot batter; and the habit of vanquishing obstinate resistance by obstinate attacks.'

To the many, of different ages, of different pursuits, of different degrees of advancement, who may take up this work, it will be difficult to address myself, as the mind requires instruction adapted to its growth; but I trust to being enabled to protect industry from being misapplied.

To such as desire to shorten the path to excellence, and to whom rules appear as the 'fetters of genius,' from mere impatience of labour, if their studies be not well directed, they will, just in proportion to their industry, deviate from that right way, to which, after all their exertions, they will have to return at last. It will be time enough to destroy the bridge when we have attained the shore. To render our efforts effectual, they must be well directed; and the student will ultimately triumph over those rules which before restrained him.

Begin wrong, and you are no sooner under sail, than under water!

When a difficulty presents itself, attack it as though you meant to overcome it, and the chances are you succeed.

Do not fancy that you have, or that you want, that illusion, inspiration; but remember Art is to be acquired by human means; that the mind is to be expanded by study; and that examples of industry abound to show the way to eminence and distinction. 'He must of necessity,' says Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'be an imitator of the works of other painters. This appears humiliating, but is equally true; and no man can be an artist, whatever he may suppose, on any other terms. For, if we did not make use of the advantages our predecessors afford us, the art would be always to begin, and consequently remain always in an infant state.' And we shall no longer require to use the thoughts of others when we have become able to think for ourselves: 'Genius is the child of Imitation.'

There are no excellencies out of the reach of the rules of art—nothing that close observation of the leading merits of others, nothing that indefatigable industry cannot acquire. Refinement in the practice of rules brings all under its dominion; and, 'as the art advances, its powers will be still more and more fixed by rules;' and, 'unsubstantial as these rules may seem, and difficult as it may be to convey them in writing, they are still seen and felt in the mind of the artist, and he works from them with as much certainty as if they were embodied upon paper. And that it is by being conversant with the inventions of others that we learn to invent. The mind becomes as powerfully affected as if it had itself produced what it admires.' An habitual intercourse, to the end of our lives, with good and great examples, will invest our own inventions with their splendid qualities; and if we do not imitate others, we shall soon be found imitating ourselves, 'and repeating what we have before often repeated; while he who has treasured the most materials, has the greatest means of invention.'

It by no means appears to me impossible to overtake what we admire and imitate—or even to pass it. He 'has only had the advantage of starting before you,' while pointing the way has shortened our own labour. Life must henceforth become longer; because we now, more than ever, gain time by the experience of others: we pass on from that to our own, until every thing in nature, judiciously directed, becomes subservient to the principles and purposes of Art.

Again, 'I very much doubt,' says Sir Joshua, 'whether a habit of drawing correctly what we see will not give a proportionable power of drawing correctly what we imagine.' But practice must always be founded on good Theory; for mere correctness of drawing is, perhaps, nearly allied to mechanical; blending it with the imaginative alone, in composition, constitutes its pretensions to genius; but confidence in the one produces boldness in the other.

'All rules arise from the passions and affections of the mind, and to which they are all referrible. Art effects its purposes by their means.'

'Years,' says a modern author, 'are often spent in acquiring wealth, which eventually cannot be enjoyed for want of those stores of the mind, that should have been laid up in youth, as the best solace of declining age. The most moderate power of making a sketch from nature would have been a valuable attainment, when leisure and opportunity threw them among scenes they could but half enjoy in consequence.' Besides, true Taste does every thing in the best way at the least expense, while the want of it often appears in unmeaning decoration at a vast outlay.

'A man of polite imagination,' says Addison, 'feels greater satisfaction in the prospect of fields and meadows than another does in the possession of them: it gives him a kind of property in every thing he sees; so that he looks on the world, as it were, in another light.'

When a Painter walks out, he receives at every glance impressions that would entirely escape others, upon sensibilities refined by habits of observation The art of seeing things as they appear is the art of acquiring a knowledge of drawing them. Indefinite observation and defective memory are improved in the utmost degree by this faculty of seeing things well defined. Besides, most Sciences are capable of receiving great assistance from drawing.

The road is familiar to the practised painter, whose many stages he has passed through so often, and he seldom thinks of revisiting the earlier tracks of it when he has set up his study at the farther end; therefore, it behoves us to come back, and lead the pupil through those early stages of it, until we welcome him at the end, and he becomes as familiar with the way as ourselves. The lowest steps of a ladder are as useful as the highest.

Composition, in drawing, is the art of disposing ideas, either from hints taken from nature, or from our own minds; of arranging them, with a view to subsequently dividing them into light and shade; and arraying them with judicious colour. It is the art of graphically telling a story, and should be so contrived, that the principal objects we would impress the minds of others with, should hold that just place in a picture, in relation to the minor or auxiliary parts, that may at once impress the mind, and convey our object to the view of the spectator.

To compose well, it will be necessary for the student to diligently consult the compositions of others; zealously enquiring where the best are to be found, among the numerous instances that exist both in pictures and prints, that he may carefully avoid those that would mislead him in his research, and attain his object by consulting only those that have merited the approval of the best judges, and have come down to posterity as the best examples for his imitation. By adhering to this plan, it will readily become such matter of habit with him, that a comparatively short interval of time will force upon him the conviction that he is in the right path to future success. It were useless to add how many have began, and how many have failed, for want of this precaution at setting out. A splendid and fascinating effect, or a beautiful display of colour, or something or other that the artist has dexterously contrived to invest his work with, is generally the cause to which this failure is ascribable; while in the end, our own sympathies with a composition, correct in its management, appeal to the feelings and judgment at once.

In the first place, much knowledge of perspective is not necessary to the student: the leading principles are all that are required, at setting out. As he goes on, it will be time enough to extend his enquiries.

Secondly, a good manner of drawing the parts, or objects represented in a picture, with accuracy.

Thirdly, reference to the best compositions of others will enable him to compare and combine them.

Fourthly, to render some subservient to others, by a skilful distribution of Light and Shade.

Exercise the memory on various parts of objects, till you draw them well: the means of connecting them will gradually occur, until the whole is united. The constant practice of this method will lessen the difficulty at every step, until it becomes a habit of the mind, and is rendered as easy to grasp a whole scene, as before it was the parts. The fleeting nature of effects of cloud or sunshine passing before us, leave no time to meditate them; therefore, to impress the memory with them is the only resource left.

The single glance of an eye has been found sufficient to catch the passing expression of character, and fix it on the memory, when that memory has been strengthened and matured by repeated efforts: so evanescent are the features of things and forms that pass us by, that observation—discriminative observation—assisted by habits of memory, alone can fix them in our ideas: no single expression of the human countenance remains long enough to paint it by any other means. When the memory has been thus exercised, the slightest hint will be sufficient to fire it. This may account for the expression, 'that artists see things where nobody else can find them!' It is an improved perception that catches resemblances from almost ideal forms.

The most general forms of nature are the most beautiful. An enlarged comprehension sees the whole object at once, without minute attention to details, by which it obtains the ruling characteristics, and imitates it by short and dexterous methods. 'Science soon discovers the shortest and surest way to effect its own purpose;'—by an exact adequate expression, and no more, adjusts the whole. The laziness of highly finishing the parts, has been justly called the 'laborious effects of idleness:' excessive labour in the detail, is always pernicious to the general effect, frittering it away; and, while you deceive yourself that you are acquiring art, your pursuit will end in mechanics, in default of more extended views—the Art of seeing Nature!

To copy well, or even tolerably, is all that most amateurs ever arrive at: to draw from nature, originally, seems placed out of the reach of all, but those who devote a great part of their existence to it; and yet, to copy nature, is a goal that all would reach if they could! Try it, and behold the miserable production that is the result! without a previous devotion to its laws.

Instead of for ever copying, it will be found of more importance to be continually exercising the memory. 'A mere imitator or copyist,' says Dagley, 'dare not lose sight of his model, lest he should lose himself!'

In sketching from nature, always survey the object at every point the nature of the ground will permit, as it prevents the disappointment arising from having completed your work, and afterwards seeing it from a point that would have given you greater advantages.

Whenever a pencil or pen is at hand, practice continually the perpendicular, horizontal, and diagonal lines; then strike circles out, or any other flowing lines, which practice will eventually give that flow to the hand which is understood by freedom. When power is acquired over these, their combinations form Drawing, in all its picturesque varieties. It is in the power of all to attain these forms and essential parts of drawing, with the same, or more facility, than the forms of writing are acquired.

'No object you can place in your picture, can possess its proper value, unless it is in its proper place;—out of that place, it can only create disorder.'

The size of a figure, or any other object, should denote the distance at which it is situated: so should the colour of it retire in the same proportion.

The eye should be distant from the picture twice the length of it.

The most natural point of sight, is the level of a man's eye, standing up; which should be the line of the horizon, or where the sky meets it. All mountains should rise above that line.

If a figure be placed on the bottom line of the picture, it should be the natural size, and all others diminish as they recede, in an exact proportion to their distance, care being taken that they never have the appearance of going up steps; all buildings, trees, &c., being governed by the same rule. Thus the second figure or object, being the same distance from the first as the first is from the eye, presuming them both to be of the same size in nature, the second will appear half the size of the first; and, if the third be removed the same distance from the second, it will appear two-thirds less; and so on they will diminish in equal proportion. At twice the distance, it will diminish three-fourths; and at one-third more, it will lose five-sixths; and so retire progressively, never varying the point of sight. One eye only should be open, in order to reduce all objects to one point of sight; the objects immediately in front, receiving alone the highest finish, that all may appear to have ground to stand on. If you look at nature with both eyes, you will never obtain the same relief upon a flat superfice.

The horizontal line should never be placed at half the height of the picture, but always above or below it.

In drawing a room, or the nave of a church, place the centre of it on one side, and never in the middle; and nearer the bottom than the top. Observe the same rule with the figures. One side should be in light, while the other is in shadow. The heads or parts of figures on the shadowed side should catch the light; while, to balance the mass, the dark groups should be placed on the light side. (See plate 1, fig. 1.)

So, in drawing any single object, always place it sufficiently on one side, to procure a greater space above it, than beneath; and more repose on one side than the other. This principle should never be lost sight of, for even in portraits it has a bad effect.

To produce pictorial effect, in composing landscape, the lines should be of unequal length, forming acute and obtuse angles. Neither should they be vertical or horizontal with the sides or bottom of the square, but always diagonal, the distant horizon and lower streaks of the bases of the clouds excepted, which should be contrasted, by the upper parts of the clouds being round. Broken banks and spreading roots of trees will effect this. An exception, in buildings and architecture, something reverses this rule, from the lines being perpendicular and horizontal, in which case, the shadows must be diagonal. When a wall, for instance, is straight, a wheel, or circular object is generally placed against it, to reverse the lines by apposition.'

'Objects, whether they consist of lights, shadows, or figures, must be disposed in large masses and groups, properly varied and contrasted, that, to a certain quantity of action, a proportioned space of plain ground is required; that light is to be supported by sufficient shadow, and that a certain quantity of cold colours is necessary to give value and lustre to the warm.' Observation of the best pictures will convey those proportions to the mind, much better than the most profound demonstration, 'that the eye may not be distracted by a multiplicity of objects of equal magnitude.'

Grouping, in composition, involves in its arrangement, a combination of the parts, so that they form an agreeable and well-defined whole, in which it is essential sometimes to employ the strongest contrasts; on the other hand, if the forms be too much scattered, they will distort the harmonious combination that is the greatest beauty of art. All accessories may be included in the principal group, so that they contribute to the general breadth. Opposition to regular forms is essential; this opposition is called Relief. (See art. Light and Shade.)

We may derive hints in composition from almost every sort of combination.

Variety and intricacy have many excellencies, when managed with skill, as they exert the imagination of the beholder.

'Simplicity,' says Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'when so very inartificial as to seem to evade the difficulties of art, is a very suspicious virtue.' Simplicity might often better deserve the name of penury. 'I do not, however, wish to degrade simplicity from the high estimation in which it has been ever justly held. It is our barrier against that great enemy to truth and nature, affectation! which is ever clinging to the pencil, and ready to drop in and poison every thing it touches.'

Perseverance, in laborious application to acquire correctness, should always be preferred to a splendid negligence of manner.

The frequent practice of covering down, veiling, or concealing an object or figure, because they cannot draw it, and doing that so inexpertly as not to escape detection, is frequently observable in the works of modern artists; such as clothes, baskets, &c., thrown across a horse, to conceal its deformity; unnecessary or affected drapery over a figure; a cow, half buried in weeds and dock-leaves, that its shapeless legs may not be seen, &c., with many other artifices to evade difficulties: to such he says, 'If difficulties overcome make a great part of the merit of art, difficulties evaded can deserve but little commendation.'

It is by no means an object with me, neither has this work pretension to the form of a regular treatise (too often prolix and abstruse in their investigations), but I would endeavour to bring together such useful hints as occur to me in its progress, as practically useful, without confining myself to the regularity or connexion of a lengthened dissertation, and seeking only to accomplish the end by explaining the means of contending with difficulties where they are likely to occur.

OF ANGULAR COMPOSITION.

That the angular form is one of the best adapted to composition, at least in landscape, is indisputable; the diagonal line dividing the whole into two halves, gives the largest space for the distribution of light and shade, as well as extent for the design.

When the whole composition is placed on one side, a single object—but stronger in colour than the rest—placed at the opposite side, will generally be found sufficient to balance all on the other, however complicated or extensive in its details it may be. (Plate 1, fig. 1.)

More repose and softness is obtained by uniting the composition with the darker shadows of the clouds, than by opposition.

On the other hand, an harmonious and agreeable whole is often achieved by bringing the line of the clouds in an opposing angle to the line of the landscape, the principal figures being then mostly placed at the opposite side of the mass of the composition.

The first plan embraces an advantageous union of the parts with the greatest breadth that can perhaps be obtained, while the other frequently produces a dexterous effect by the opposition of colour.

A long stretching swamp, a bog, or line of sandy waste, marshes, a broken heath, the distant sea or sand-bank, with nothing but its straight horizon, are the sweetest morsels to good painters; for when nature has done nothing, they must do all; and, with these difficulties to contend with, it is something surprising to see the most broad and beautiful productions result from so barren materials by investing them with the all-controlling powers of chiaroscuro, by a careful inspection of their natural colours, the forms of their lights and shadows, and above all, the shapes and masses of the passing clouds; but variety and simplicity should ever be their leading principle, and grandeur is sure to be the result. Matter, seemingly incapable of form; wide extents of pathless and unbroken sterility, of nakedness and desolation, will become beautiful and masterly arrangements on these conditions: the torn, and ragged, and scattered fragments of the clouds in their wild and rushing fury over the sea, with its inexhaustible changes and endless variety of colour, are the objects painters often choose, from their very seeming nothingness, to invest with the beau ideal of art.

The extremes of simplicity in composition, should not be attempted by Tyros; the long-practiced and master hand alone can accomplish that, which in others, would appear affectation.

The most powerful impressions are produced by the simplest construction. The chief interest confined to a very small portion of the work, and the larger space left in so much repose as will give value to, and dignify the subject, that should at once meet the eye and engage our energies; investing their accessories with their due portion of interest; taking care that the expression of the principal action of the picture is agreeably supported by their subordinate quality; that the object desired is obtained, to the exclusion of all others, and that its episodes be in character.

In the arrangement of figures, Mr. Burnet, in his Hints on Composition, says, 'the heads and hands, the seats of action and expression, are often referred to each other for the completion of form or extension of light, beyond which a strong point is required, as a link of communication between the figures and the background. By making this point the strongest of a secondary group of objects, either from its size, lights, or darks, the eye is carried into the most remote circumstances, which become a part of the whole, from the principal group being made to depend upon such point for the completion of its form, the extension of the light, or the repetition of colour.' Thus, in Vandyke we often see the luminous points of his picture referring to each other in the form of a losenge, composed of the heads and hands, the collar, ruffs, the hilt of a sword, &c., while all the other parts are absorbed in dark or half shade, and making the form of his composition complete, but differing something in their force and attraction: strong light and dark coming in cutting contrast at a single point, places the subordinate lights and darks in their proper situations; at the same time, these points should always be characteristic of meaning to the composition. (Plate 1, figs. 5, 6.)

Nothing will teach you to compose a picture like sketching, however slightly, the different groups you encounter in walking about; never be without a little book for this purpose, as the merest draught will, when you are composing, apply itself to your picture better than any thing that may be suggested. I have invariably found this the best resource. Take first the exact outline, shape, and position of the figure, and afterwards the expression of what he is doing, carefully noticing the shadowed parts, and dividing them boldly from the light; the half-tints may be blended with comparative ease; therefore make as few lines as possible, never encumbering them. That part of the figure which is foreshortened will have the greater number of folds, while that which is not, will come out plain and bold. Such memoranda will always have a look of reality over every other means of obtaining it.

It is not unfrequently the case that, in the progress of a work, a number of circumstances, partly the result of thought, partly of accident, may occur; therefore, entire reliance on the first sketch is not always to be depended on; at the same time, the various improvements that suggest themselves, do not always interfere with the carrying out our first conceptions, and still securing the same treatment with which we commenced.

A repetition of forms can only be diverted by opposing lines being brought in somewhat strong contrast against them; and, if possible, between their recurrence. (Plate 2, fig. 1.)

In copying, draw various lines across the original, and the same on the paper the copy is to be made on. Begin with the centre, and draw towards the sides; the objects represented will be neither too large nor too small by this means.

I have said, that variety and intricacy have many charms. In passing over our embellished lands, with all the advantages our country affords in landscape objects, we cannot but observe this infinite variety in the English oak, the birch, the ash, the abele; the magnificent white poplar, with its large and beautiful leaves; the beech, the elm, the stately horse-chestnut, &c.; their great diversity of foliage and bark; their distinct peculiarities of colour and form; the oriental plane, the hazel, sycamore, the maple; especially where the landscape-gardener was never heard of, when the universal and monotonous green of summer gives place to the glowing hues of October and November, the best months of all, from the large portion of pearly grey that pervades all nature at that time, and from which are brought out, as from a background of the softest neutrals, the umbrageous, rich, bitumen-looking browns, deep crimsons, reds, and golden colours of the leaves, &c.

OF THE CIRCULAR FORM IN COMPOSITION.

Circular composition is another of the best forms, and most easily adapted for the arrangement of light and shade; as it generally possesses receding hollows for the reception of the shadows, and graduated projections for the lights to rest on. (Plate 1, fig. 4.)

Taste is the discriminating power of selecting good from bad; and this is attainable by enquiry: there is neither instability nor uncertainty in its rules; so long as you have the good sense to place all 'inspiration' out of the question! Nothing is so pernicious as that illusion of the mind.

Grace, in my opinion, consists of lines flowing, more or less, into the ellipsis—free of constraint and affectation. Raphael, for instance, was all grace; Parmegiano degenerated into affectation.

In pictorial economy, the repetition of the same lines, and often of the same forms, assist and support each other; as necessarily as repetition of colours in painting. This extension of the same thing is frequently indispensable, both in preventing the individuality of form, and, when well broken up by opposing lines, adding materially to the seeming negligence and irregularity that carries with it so great a charm. (Plate 1, fig. 4.)

The luminous spots or lights in a picture, frequently explain the form of its composition.

In this repetition of lines and forms, the ground may be made to run one way, the line of buildings another, the figures another, the horizon another, the forms of the trees a different one, and the shapes of the clouds may describe another: all these may have their repeats; yet will they all seem to form and tend, though apparently all irregularity, to an agreeable arrangement we sometimes see in nature, and an harmonious whole, however intricate, without confusion. The investigation of the means pursued by Salvator Rosa will explain this fascinating system. (Plate 1, figs. 2 and 7.)

In contemplating the best regulated works of art, either in pictures or prints, by always being careful to ascertain the forms by which their effects are produced, is one of the best means of arriving at this object ourselves. Even a few memoranda of the ground plans, as an architect would say, or the form of the line on which the bases stand, will be found useful in enabling us to do this. (Plate 1, fig. 3.)

The eye must be all observation, and the mind all reflection; and it can scarcely fail to become influenced by the advantages to be derived from this practice.

It is to the almost thinking sensibility, subtleness, and feeling of the beautifully and wonderfully constructed human hand, that every thing done with it, so far outstrips all mechanical means of imitating it! It is with this solely and alone, that fine Art is, ever was, and ever will be, identified.

'The cleverness and sensibility of the hand,' says a beautiful and masterly writer in the Quarterly Review, 'is quite as essential as inventive genius.' Speaking of our showy and elaborate park-gates at Hyde Park Corner, 'what men call the police station—in the language of the gods, the triumphal arch!' and, comparing it with the bronze net-work and foliage of Verrochio, 'which seems to grow and spring like living vegetation,' he says, 'these are capital Brummagem, and nothing more.' 'Grasped by the man, the tool becomes a part of himself; the hammer is pervaded by the vitality of the hand. But in the work produced by the machinery of the founder there can be nothing of all this life! What does it give you? Correct, stiff patterns, all on the surface. Whatever is reproduced in form or colour by mechanical means, is moulded—in short, is perpetually branded by mediocrity—Brummagem art! And, like the music ground by the barrel-organ, you never hear the soul of the performer—the expression and feeling, qualities, without which, harmony palls upon the ear.'

'Even in engraving, the best judges all declare that, so far from benefiting art, the harm it has done has been incalculable, substituting a general system of plagiarism in place of invention.'

'What will not be the result of the means of multiplying the metallic basis, and fixing the fleeting sunbeam, which are now opening upon us by means of chemical science? Steam-engine and furnace, the steel plate, the roller, the press, the Daguerreotype, the voltaic battery and the lens, are the antagonist principles of art; and so long as they are permitted to rule, so long must art be prevented from ever taking root again in the affections of mankind. It may continue to afford enjoyment to those who are severed in spirit from the multitude; but the masses will be quite easy without it.' 'Whilst we triumph in the "results of machinery," we must not repine if one of those results be the paralysis of the imaginative faculties of the human mind.'

Of all the application of mechanical means to effect the purposes of art, their contrast, with the operations of the hand, is as the stiffness and weight of death, compared with life, freedom, and vitality.