gigantic
petrifactions from which the fires of lust and
intense selfish passion have long dissipated what was animal and
vital'; not merely the shadows cast by the powers who had closed the
light from him as 'with a door and window shutters,' but the shadows
of those who gave them battle.
intense selfish passion have long dissipated what was animal and
vital'; not merely the shadows cast by the powers who had closed the
light from him as 'with a door and window shutters,' but the shadows
of those who gave them battle.
Yeats
He taught it to his disciples, and one finds
it in its purely artistic shape in a diary written by Samuel Palmer, in
1824: 'Excess is the essential vivifying spirit, vital spark, embalming
spice of the finest art. There are many mediums in the _means_--none,
oh, not a jot, not a shadow of a jot, in the _end_ of great art. In a
picture whose merit is to be excessively brilliant, it can't be too
brilliant, but individual tints may be too brilliant. . . . We must not
begin with medium, but think always on excess and only use medium to
make excess more abundantly excessive. '
These three primary commands, to seek a determinate outline, to avoid a
generalized treatment, and to desire always abundance and exuberance,
were insisted upon with vehement anger, and their opponents called
again and again 'demons' and 'villains,' 'hired' by the wealthy and
the idle; but in private, Palmer has told us, he could find 'sources
of delight throughout the whole range of art,' and was ever ready to
praise excellence in any school, finding, doubtless, among friends, no
need for the emphasis of exaggeration. There is a beautiful passage in
'Jerusalem' in which the merely mortal part of the mind, 'the spectre,'
creates 'pyramids of pride,' and 'pillars in the deepest hell to reach
the heavenly arches,' and seeks to discover wisdom in 'the spaces
between the stars,' not 'in the stars,' where it is, but the immortal
part makes all his labours vain, and turns his pyramids to 'grains of
sand,' his 'pillars' to 'dust on the fly's wing,' and makes of 'his
starry heavens a moth of gold and silver mocking his anxious grasp. '
So when man's desire to rest from spiritual labour, and his thirst
to fill his art with mere sensation and memory, seem upon the point
of triumph, some miracle transforms them to a new inspiration; and
here and there among the pictures born of sensation and memory is the
murmuring of a new ritual, the glimmering of new talismans and symbols.
It was during and after the writing of these opinions that Blake did
the various series of pictures which have brought him the bulk of his
fame. He had already completed the illustrations to Young's _Night
Thoughts_--in which the great sprawling figures, a little wearisome even
with the luminous colours of the original water-colour, became nearly
intolerable in plain black and white--and almost all the illustrations
to 'the prophetic books,' which have an energy like that of the
elements, but are rather rapid sketches taken while some phantasmic
procession swept over him, than elaborate compositions, and in whose
shadowy adventures one finds not merely, as did Dr. Garth Wilkinson,
'the hells of the ancient people, the Anakim, the Nephalim, and the
Rephaim . . .
gigantic petrifactions from which the fires of lust and
intense selfish passion have long dissipated what was animal and
vital'; not merely the shadows cast by the powers who had closed the
light from him as 'with a door and window shutters,' but the shadows
of those who gave them battle. He did now, however, the many designs
to Milton, of which I have only seen those to _Paradise Regained_; the
reproductions of those to _Comus_, published, I think, by Mr. Quaritch;
and the three or four to _Paradise Lost_, engraved by Bell Scott--a
series of designs which one good judge considers his greatest work; the
illustrations to Blair's _Grave_, whose gravity and passion struggle
with the mechanical softness and trivial smoothness of Schiavonetti's
engraving; the illustrations to Thornton's _Virgil_, whose influence
is manifest in the work of the little group of landscape-painters who
gathered about him in his old age and delighted to call him master. The
member of the group, whom I have already so often quoted, has alone
praised worthily these illustrations to the first _eclogue_: 'There is
in all such a misty and dreamy glimmer as penetrates and kindles the
inmost soul and gives complete and unreserved delight, unlike the gaudy
daylight of this world. They are like all this wonderful artist's work,
the drawing aside of the fleshly curtain, and the glimpse which all the
most holy, studious saints and sages have enjoyed, of the rest which
remains to the people of God. ' Now, too, he did the great series, the
crowning work of his life, the illustrations to _The Book of Job_ and
the illustrations to _The Divine Comedy_. Hitherto he had protested
against the mechanical 'dots and lozenges' and 'blots and blurs' of
Woollett and Strange, but had himself used both 'dot and lozenge,'
'blot and blur,' though always in subordination 'to a firm and
determinate outline'; but in Marc Antonio, certain of whose engravings
he was shown by Linnell, he found a style full of delicate lines, a
style where all was living and energetic, strong and subtle. And almost
his last words, a letter written upon his death-bed, attack the 'dots
and lozenges' with even more than usually quaint symbolism, and praise
expressive lines. 'I know that the majority of Englishmen are bound
by the indefinite . . . a line is a line in its minutest particulars,
straight or crooked. It is itself not intermeasurable by anything else
. . . but since the French Revolution'--since the reign of reason began,
that is--'Englishmen are all intermeasurable with one another, certainly
a happy state of agreement in which I do not agree.
it in its purely artistic shape in a diary written by Samuel Palmer, in
1824: 'Excess is the essential vivifying spirit, vital spark, embalming
spice of the finest art. There are many mediums in the _means_--none,
oh, not a jot, not a shadow of a jot, in the _end_ of great art. In a
picture whose merit is to be excessively brilliant, it can't be too
brilliant, but individual tints may be too brilliant. . . . We must not
begin with medium, but think always on excess and only use medium to
make excess more abundantly excessive. '
These three primary commands, to seek a determinate outline, to avoid a
generalized treatment, and to desire always abundance and exuberance,
were insisted upon with vehement anger, and their opponents called
again and again 'demons' and 'villains,' 'hired' by the wealthy and
the idle; but in private, Palmer has told us, he could find 'sources
of delight throughout the whole range of art,' and was ever ready to
praise excellence in any school, finding, doubtless, among friends, no
need for the emphasis of exaggeration. There is a beautiful passage in
'Jerusalem' in which the merely mortal part of the mind, 'the spectre,'
creates 'pyramids of pride,' and 'pillars in the deepest hell to reach
the heavenly arches,' and seeks to discover wisdom in 'the spaces
between the stars,' not 'in the stars,' where it is, but the immortal
part makes all his labours vain, and turns his pyramids to 'grains of
sand,' his 'pillars' to 'dust on the fly's wing,' and makes of 'his
starry heavens a moth of gold and silver mocking his anxious grasp. '
So when man's desire to rest from spiritual labour, and his thirst
to fill his art with mere sensation and memory, seem upon the point
of triumph, some miracle transforms them to a new inspiration; and
here and there among the pictures born of sensation and memory is the
murmuring of a new ritual, the glimmering of new talismans and symbols.
It was during and after the writing of these opinions that Blake did
the various series of pictures which have brought him the bulk of his
fame. He had already completed the illustrations to Young's _Night
Thoughts_--in which the great sprawling figures, a little wearisome even
with the luminous colours of the original water-colour, became nearly
intolerable in plain black and white--and almost all the illustrations
to 'the prophetic books,' which have an energy like that of the
elements, but are rather rapid sketches taken while some phantasmic
procession swept over him, than elaborate compositions, and in whose
shadowy adventures one finds not merely, as did Dr. Garth Wilkinson,
'the hells of the ancient people, the Anakim, the Nephalim, and the
Rephaim . . .
gigantic petrifactions from which the fires of lust and
intense selfish passion have long dissipated what was animal and
vital'; not merely the shadows cast by the powers who had closed the
light from him as 'with a door and window shutters,' but the shadows
of those who gave them battle. He did now, however, the many designs
to Milton, of which I have only seen those to _Paradise Regained_; the
reproductions of those to _Comus_, published, I think, by Mr. Quaritch;
and the three or four to _Paradise Lost_, engraved by Bell Scott--a
series of designs which one good judge considers his greatest work; the
illustrations to Blair's _Grave_, whose gravity and passion struggle
with the mechanical softness and trivial smoothness of Schiavonetti's
engraving; the illustrations to Thornton's _Virgil_, whose influence
is manifest in the work of the little group of landscape-painters who
gathered about him in his old age and delighted to call him master. The
member of the group, whom I have already so often quoted, has alone
praised worthily these illustrations to the first _eclogue_: 'There is
in all such a misty and dreamy glimmer as penetrates and kindles the
inmost soul and gives complete and unreserved delight, unlike the gaudy
daylight of this world. They are like all this wonderful artist's work,
the drawing aside of the fleshly curtain, and the glimpse which all the
most holy, studious saints and sages have enjoyed, of the rest which
remains to the people of God. ' Now, too, he did the great series, the
crowning work of his life, the illustrations to _The Book of Job_ and
the illustrations to _The Divine Comedy_. Hitherto he had protested
against the mechanical 'dots and lozenges' and 'blots and blurs' of
Woollett and Strange, but had himself used both 'dot and lozenge,'
'blot and blur,' though always in subordination 'to a firm and
determinate outline'; but in Marc Antonio, certain of whose engravings
he was shown by Linnell, he found a style full of delicate lines, a
style where all was living and energetic, strong and subtle. And almost
his last words, a letter written upon his death-bed, attack the 'dots
and lozenges' with even more than usually quaint symbolism, and praise
expressive lines. 'I know that the majority of Englishmen are bound
by the indefinite . . . a line is a line in its minutest particulars,
straight or crooked. It is itself not intermeasurable by anything else
. . . but since the French Revolution'--since the reign of reason began,
that is--'Englishmen are all intermeasurable with one another, certainly
a happy state of agreement in which I do not agree.
