Till The Latter Days Of European Life The Artist Took No Notice Of
Landscape.
The painting of hills and rocks and rivers, woods and fields, is of
recent date, and even in these scenes the artist finds it necessary to
place some animals or birds.
Even now he cannot ignore the strong love of
human beings for these creatures; if they are omitted the picture loses
its interest to the majority of eyes. Every one knows how wonderfully
popular the works of Landseer have been, and he was an animal painter,
and his subjects chiefly suggested by sport. The same spirit that
inspired the Cave-dweller to engrave the mammoth on the slab of ivory
still lives in the hearts of men.
There is a beautiful etching of "The Poacher" (to which I shall have to
recur); he is in the wood, and his dog is watching his upraised finger.
From that finger the dog learns everything. He knows by its motion when
to start, which way to go, what to do, whether to be quick or slow, to
return or to remain away. He understands his master quite as well as if
they conversed in human speech. He enters into the spirit of the
enterprise. 'If you want your business done, go; if not, send' is true
only of men. The poacher wants his business done, and he sends his
agent - his dog - certain that it will be done for him better than he could
do it himself. The dog is conscientious, he will omit nothing, he will
act as if his master's eye was on him the whole time. Now this attitude
of the dog's mind is so exquisitely rendered in the picture that he seems
verily to speak with intelligence. I love that dog though he does but
exist in ink; he is the true image of a real dog, and his mind shines
through his body. This effect upon me as the spectator is produced by a
clever arrangement of lines upon the plate from which the etching was
printed, thin lines cut into the copper with curious sharp tools, behind
a screen of tissue-paper to shield the eyes from the light, done in the
calm of the studio, thoughtfully, with artistic skill. Given the original
genius to conceive such a dog, the knowledge how to express the ideas,
and the tools to work with, and we see how it became possible to execute
the etching. But suppose the artist supplied with a piece of smooth ivory
for his plate, and a sharp penknife for his etching needle, and set
behind a boulder to watch the mammoth and sketch it by incision on the
ivory, and there would be produced very much the same kind of picture as
the Cave-man made. It could not have the delicate shading, the fine edge,
the completion and finish of the dog; it could not visibly think as that
dog thinks. It would consist of a few quick strong dashes, conveying the
weight and force and image of the elephant in as few strokes as possible.
It would be a charcoal sketch; broad and powerful lines that do not
themselves delineate, but compel your imagination to do the picture in
your mind, so that you see a great deal more than is drawn. So that the
Cave-man was really a great artist - his intense interest in the chase
supplied the lack of academics and scientific knowledge and galleries to
copy from. This primeval picture thus tells you that the highly educated
artist of the present day, removed from his accessories, away from his
liquid colours, easels, canvas, prepared paper, and so frith, can only do
what the Cave-man did. But still further, he can only do that if he
possesses great natural genius - only a man who could draw the poacher's
dog could do it. Those who depend altogether on the prepared paper and
liquid colours, patent easel and sketching stool, could simply do
nothing.
It is nearly certain that if the primeval man sketched the mammoth he
likewise carved his spear-shaft, the haft of his knife, the handle of his
'celt,' that chisel-like weapon whose shape so closely resembles the
front teeth. The 'celt' is a front tooth in flint or bronze, enlarged and
fitted to a handle for chipping, splitting, and general work. In museums
celts are sometimes fitted to a handle to show how they were used, but
the modern adapter has always overlooked the carving. Wild races whose
time is spent in sport or war - very nearly synonymous terms - always carve
or ornament their weapons, their canoes, the lintels of their doors, the
posts of their huts. There is in this the most singular difference from
the ways of landscape civilisation. Things that we use are seldom
ornamented - our tables, our chairs, our houses, our carriages, our
everything is as plain as plain can be. Or if ornamented, it is
ornamented in a manner that seems to bear no kind of relation to the
article or its uses, and to rouse no sympathies whatever. For instance,
our plates - some have the willow pattern, some designs of blackberry
bushes, and I really cannot see what possible connection the bushes or
the Chinese summerhouses have with the roast beef of old England or the
- cotellette - of France. The last relic of Art carving is visible round
about a bread platter, here and there wreaths of wheatears; very suitable
these to a platter bearing bread formed of corn. Alas! I touched one of
these platters one day to feel the grain of the wood, and it was cold
earthenware - cold, ungenial, repellent crockery, a mockery, sham! Now the
original wooden platter was, I think, true Art, and the crockery copy is
not Art. The primeval savage, without doubt, laboriously cut out a
design, or at least gave some curve and shape to the handle of his celt
or the shaft of his spear, and the savages at this clay as laboriously
carve their canoes.
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