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INTRODUCTION TO THE PROPYLAEA

(1798)

There is no more striking sign of the decay of art than when we find its separate provinces mixed up together.

The arts themselves, as well as their subordinate forms, are closely related to each other, and have a certain tendency to unite, and even lose themselves in each other; but herein lies the duty, the merit, the dignity of the true artist, that he knows how to separate that department in which he labors from the others, and, so far as may be, isolates it.

It has been noticed that all plastic art tends towards painting, all poetry to the drama; and this may furnish the text for some important observations hereafter.

The genuine, law-giving artist strives after artistic truth; the lawless, following a blind instinct, after an appearance of naturalness. The former leads to the highest pinnacle of art, the latter to its lowest step.

This is no less true of the separate arts than of art in general. The sculptor must think and feel differently from the painter, and must go to work differently to execute a work in relief from what he would do with a round and complete piece of statuary. When the work in low relief came to be brought out more and more, and by degrees parts and figures were brought out from the ground, at last buildings and landscapes admitted, and thus a work produced, half picture half puppet-show, true art was on the decline; and it is to be deplored that excellent artists have in more recent times taken this direction.

Whenever we enunciate hereafter such maxims as we esteem true, we shall feel a real desire, since these maxims are drawn from works of art, to have them practically tested by artists. How seldom does one man agree with another concerning a theoretic principle; the practical and immediately useful is far more quickly adopted. How often do we see artists at a loss in the choice of a subject, in the general composition, according to their rules of art, in the arrangement of details; the painter doubtful about the choice of his colors! Then is the time to make trial of a principle; then will it be easier to decide the question, — Do we by its aid come nearer to the great models, and all that we love and prize, or does it forsake us in the empirical confusion of an experiment not thoroughly thought out?

If such maxims should prove useful in forwarding the culture of artists, in guiding them among difficulties, they will also aid the understanding, true estimation, and criticism of ancient and modern works, and, vice versa, will again be discovered in the examination of these works. This is all the more necessary, since, in spite of the universally acknowledged excellence of the antique, individuals as well as whole nations have in modern times often misconceived those very things wherein the highest excellence of those works lies.

An exact scrutiny of these will be the best means of securing us against this evil. Let us now take, as an example, the usual course of proceeding of the amateur in plastic art, in order to make it evident how necessary a thorough criticism of ancient as well as modern works is, if we would profit by it.

No person of a fine natural perception, however uncultivated, can see even an imperfect, incorrect cast of a fine ancient work without being greatly impressed by it; for such a representation still gives the idea, the simplicity and greatness of the form, in a word, the general notion at least, such as a man of imperfect sight would see at a distance.

We may often observe how a strong inclination towards art is awakened through such an imperfect reproduction. But the effect is analogous to the object that caused it, and such beginners in art are rather impressed with a blind and indefinite feeling than with the true worth and significance of the object itself. It is such as these who are the authors of the theory that a too curious critical examination destroys our pleasure, and who decry and resist the investigation of details.

But when by degrees their experience and knowledge become wider, and a sharper cast in place of the imperfect one, or an original instead of a cast comes under their observation, their satisfaction increases with their insight, and continually advances when at last the originals themselves, the perfect originals, become known to them.

We are not deterred by the labyrinth of thorough examination, when the details are of equal perfection with the whole work. Nay, we learn that we are able to appreciate the perfect, just so far as we are in a condition to discern the defective: to distinguish the restored from the original parts, the copy from the model, to contemplate in the smallest fragments the scattered excellence of the whole, is a satisfaction that belongs only to the perfect connoisseur; and there is a wide difference between the contemplation of an imperfect whole with groping sense, and the seeing and seizing, with clear eye, of a perfect one.

He who devotes himself to any department of knowledge should aim at the highest. Insight and Practice follow widely different paths, for in the practical each one soon becomes aware that only a certain measure of power is meted to him. But a far greater number of men are capable of knowledge, of insight; we may even say that every man is so who can deny himself, subordinate himself to objects, and does not strive with a rigid and narrow individuality to bring in himself and his poor onesidedness amid the highest works of nature and art.

To speak suitably, and with real advantage to one's self and others, of works of art, can properly be done only in their presence. All depends on the sight of the object. On this it depends whether the word by which we hope to elucidate the work has produced the clearest impression or none at all. Hence it so often happens that the author who writes concerning works of art deals only in generalities, whereby indeed the mind and imagination are awakened; but of all his readers, he only will derive satisfaction who, book in hand, examines the work itself.

On this account, therefore, we may in our essays often excite rather than gratify the desire of our readers; for there is nothing more natural than that they should wish to have before their eyes any excellent work of which they read a minute criticism, to enjoy that whole which is in question, and to subject to their own judgments the opinions they hear concerning the parts.

But whilst it is the expectation of the authors to labor in behalf of those who are already acquainted with some works and will see others hereafter, we shall try to do what is possible for those who have neither the prospect nor the retrospect. We shall make mention of copies, point out where casts from the antique or ancient works themselves, especially when these are within easy reach, may be found, and thus forward, as far as in us lies, a true love and knowledge of art.

The history of art can be based only on the highest and most complete conception of art; only through an acquaintance with the most perfect that man has ever been enabled to produce can the chronological and psychological progress of mankind in art, as in other departments, be displayed. At first a limited activity occupied itself in a dry and dismal imitation of the insignificant as well as the significant, then a more delicate and agreeable feeling of Nature was developed. Afterwards, accompanied by knowledge, regularity, strength and earnestness, aided by favorable circumstances, art rose to the highest point, until at last it became possible for the fortunate genius who found himself surrounded by all these auxiliaries to produce the enchanting, the perfect.

Unfortunately, works of art, which give themselves forth with such facility, which make men feel themselves so agreeably, which inspire man with clearness and freedom, suggest to the artist who would emulate them the notion of facility in their production. The last achievement of Art and Genius being an appearance of ease and lightness, the imitator is tempted to make it easy for himself, and to labor at this appearance.

Thus, by degrees, art declines from its high estate, in the whole as well as in details. But if we would form to ourselves a true conception of art, we must descend to details of details, an occupation by no means always agreeable and alluring, but for which gradually our eye's ready mastery of the whole will richly indemnify us.

If we work out certain general principles through the examination of ancient and mediaeval works of art, we shall find them particularly needful in our judgment of contemporary productions; for in forming an estimate of living or lately deceased artists, personal considerations, regard or dislike for individuals, popular attraction or repulsion, are so easily mixed up, that we are still more in need of principles in order to express a judgment of our contemporaries. The examination can be undertaken in two ways. Arbitrary influence is diminished, and the case is brought into a higher court. An opportunity is afforded for proving the principles themselves as well as their application; and even where we cannot agree, the point in dispute is clearly and certainly ascertained.

We especially desire that living artists, about whose works we may perhaps have something to say, should make trial of our judgments in this way. For every one who deserves this name is in our time called upon to form, out of his own experience and reflection, if not a theory, at least a certain set of receipts, by the use of which he finds himself aided in various cases. But it must have been frequently remarked how apt a man is, by proceeding in this way, to advance as principles certain maxims which are commensurate with his talents, his inclinations, his convenience. He is subject to the common lot of mankind. How many in other departments follow the same course. But we do not add to our culture when we simply set in motion without trouble or difficulty what already existed in us. Every artist, like every man, is only an individual being, and will always abide by one side; and therefore a man should take in to himself as far as possible that which is theoretically and practically opposed to him. The lively should look about for strength and earnestness, the severe should keep in view the light and agreeable, the strong should look for loveliness, the delicate for strength, and each will thus best cultivate his peculiar nature, while he seems to be going most out of himself. Each art demands the whole man, the highest step of art all humanity.

The practice of the imitative arts is mechanical, and the cultivation of the artist begins naturally in his earliest years with the mechanical. The rest of his education is often slighted, whereas it should be far more carefully attended to than that of others who have the opportunity of learning from life itself. Society soon civilizes the unpolished; a life of business makes the most open circumspect. Literary labors, which by means of the press come before the great public, find resistance and correction on all sides. But the artist is for the most part confined to a narrow studio, and has few dealings save with those who pay for his works, with a public that is often guided only by a certain sickly feeling, with connoisseurs who worry him, with auctioneers who receive anything new with formulas of praise and estimation that would not be too high for the most perfect.