Résumé:[1] To describe the mechanics of painting, we had to separate its diverse elements and speak of each as if it were a distinct entity. This would be most misleading if it was to be considered as more than a subterfuge for the sake of clear exposition. One likes to see the inside of a watch and to put the pieces apart, but it must be put together again if we want the watch to mark time.

Line[2] and values are in practice a qualification of color; composition on the surface and space composition are one. The elements are as complexedly woven together as are in a body the blood vessels and the nerves.

As the different qualities expounded are inherent in the material used or more exactly are inherent in the optical image formed––they do not depend for their existence upon the artistic creed[3] of the painter. If he recognizes their existence and has enough knowledge to handle them, the picture will be optically sound. If he denies them and uses paint purely for its imitative[4] connotations or as an outlet for his “abstract” subconscious, the qualities inherent in the material will not for that cease to exist. Each stroke, each line will bring[5] its share of mechanistic potentialities, the only difference being that brought together in an haphazard way, the result stands a good chance of being a bedlam of incompatibles, as a result, a dead thing.

The problem does not overlap[6] that of representation. The organization of a picture can be sound or not, irrespective of its being “abstract” or representational.

The relations of painter and nature are the subject of the subsequent chapter.

We have seen that painting is a complete world in itself. Paint can create space and volume and movement and light. It does not mean, of course, that its aim must be the representation of natural spectacles, but that qualities inherent in the material make it able to produce such effect. It has been used in all ages independently of strict representation (so-called decorative arts), and our time has especially challenged the validity of representational painting. Main modern veins, Cubism and Surrealism, even if they outlaw[7] each other, agree on one point: painting must not look “natural.”

Yet if we can imagine abstract art as ideally fulfilled, we see that (see p. 3)

Man whose eye is trained on natural spectacles is quick to read[8] otherwise meaningless patterns[9] as its symbols. Thus as Leonardo points out, do we see faces and monsters in the cracks of an old wall or the moving mass of the clouds. Contrary to the layman’s opinion, it is not the representation of nature that is difficult,[10] but to sever the connection between painting and representation. The least clue of line or color, however indirect,[11] will set the associative power to work. Whatever distortions Cubism has sponsored, it could never wholly get rid of its guitar and its pipe. It thus remained in the category of representational painting, even if it is imperfect representation.

abuse of “nature”

traditional attitude

Our mind is so wickedly associative that in front of a so-called abstract painting it [continues] to work and find out under their disguise, what natural vision started the painter to work (for painters, as do laymen, possess associative visual memory).

Having found out, the spectator is quite likely to feel so relieved that he will forget to enjoy the painting as painting.

It may be said that a deliberate avoidance by the artist of clear representation is liable to make the painting, for the onlooker, as wholly a problem in representation. In the words of Pascal, “He who boasts of being an angel, becomes a beast.” “Photographic” representation is the other extreme. This, as we have seen, falls short[12] of its goal because it does not take into account:[13] choice[14] of successive focuses,[15] binocular vision, movement on the part both of the onlooker and the object; moreover,[16] by using the material of paint without regard to its inherent qualities and compound qualities, the painted spectacle ends in disorder. Its aim being to paint what one sees, it sins also against the spiritual possibility of paint: to paint what one knows.

By observing the work of the Masters, we see how they choose a wise middle course in their tranquil knowledge that a natural appearance is not a hindrance[17] to good painting. They insist on clear representation. The onlooker seizing at first grasp the subject will be moved by its emotional storytelling implications, but will not have to grapple with the painting to figure a subject matter. The representational angle is thus cleared at the start, and the road is free for the appreciation of painting as such.

 

mirror   shadow on a cave.

as the angels perceive body through spirit . . . . .

Canon

particularizing. 

wrist calligraphy––moral calligraphy.

 

This wise acceptance of nature as an element in art is simply the craftsman’s acknowledgement of[18] those qualities inherent in the material, at least as digested by the human brain.

The world as a spectacle[19] is somehow different from the world as a utensil. That is, our sensorial reactions are trained satisfactorily enough so that we can compute the distance from ourselves to other bodies with enough accuracy not to bump into them.  Our eye knows enough to distinguish hard from smooth, gauge distance and elevation, help us put a name on beasts and things. We can even judge of the character of people at a glance and act with them accordingly. But this purely pragmatic use differs from the use we make of a painted representation of the world. There we are in presence of a make-believe, and though we consent to be fooled, we know that our safety is not in the balance. So that a painting has to appeal to an eye somewhat dispossessed of its utilitarian training, ready to indulge––and the brain too––into a fling[20] between working hours, what Poussin calls aptly: “delectation.” Some commentators have linked delectation with a kind of laziness, of aimlessness. But though no utilitarian point is at stake, the optic nerve remains connected both with heart and brain. Those will work on the material propounded––interpret it, and mindless[21] of its more immediate connotations, read its more remote, if not less real, spiritual meaning.

Such theories of pictorial enjoyment as that much publicized one of “tactile values” suggest that the painter can give a more real presentation of the object, of its smoothness, ruggedness, etc., than the onlooker would perceive in[22] the model––and that this more real than real is the source of enjoyment. If this could be achieved by the artist, it would perhaps please a dog (especially if odors could be thus emphasized), but man uses too much[23] imaginative associations to be satisfied so. The contrary is much nearer the truth. The artist by giving a dubious, incomplete rendering of the objective world forces on the onlooker the realization that this physical world is not so real after all, that its meaning is not so much per se as that of a reflection in a mirror, or the shadow on the wall, of truer things.

The very shackles of pigment limitations do free the onlooker. Painting trains[24] men to connect optical vision and spiritual vision. We may suppose that angels, through direct knowledge of the spiritual idiosyncrasies of a man, can come to conclusions as to his physical appearance. In reverse process, the painter, starting from the physical, must rise to conclusions as to the spiritual.

 

Mayan painting   note on m p. (Forma)

                                           Fresco of Tigers (manuscript)

 

personal cuota [sic] rework from Carnegie book

 

Weston book & foreword

 

Mexico = Art Interpretations.

 

Mex engravers        Manila

                                                Posada

 

Merida = need N^o 1 (Contemporaneos)

 

Pintao = rework with part on modeling? = Sculpture against modeling

 

need = Merida (Contemporaneos) et son catalogue

          Saln [Salu?] article (Hand H.)

 

drop = wood cut

           Asimilando