The Portable William Blake (52 page)

Many People are so foolish [as] to think that they can wound Mr. Fuseli over my Shoulder; they will find themselves mistaken; they could not wound even Mr. Barry so.
A certain Portrait Painter said To me in a boasting way, “Since I have Practised Painting I have lost all idea of drawing.” Such a Man must know that I look’d upon him with contempt; he did not care for this any more than West did, who hesitated & equivocated with me upon the same subject, at which time he asserted that Woolett’s Prints were superior to Basire’s because they had more Labour & Care; now this is contrary to the truth. Woolett did not know how to put so much labour into a head or a foot as Basire did; he did not know how to draw the Leaf of a tree; all his study was clean strokes & mossy tints—how then should he be able to make use of either Labour or Care, unless the Labour & Care of Imbecillity? The Life’s Labour of Mental Weakness scarcely Equals one Hour of the Labour of Ordinary Capacity, like the full Gallop of the Gouty Man to the ordinary walk of youth & health. I allow that there is such a thing as high finish’d Ignorance, as there may be a fool or a knave in an Embroider’d Coat; but I say that the Embroidery of the Ignorant finisher is not like a Coat made by another, but is an Emanation from Ignorance itself, & its finishing is like its master—The Life’s Labour of Five Hundred Idiots, for he never does the Work Himself.
What is Call’d the English Style of Engraving, such as proceeded from the Toilettes of Woolett & Strange (for theirs were Fribble’s Toilettes) can never produce Character & Expression. I knew the Men intimately, from their Intimacy with Basire, my Master, & knew them both to be heavy lumps of Cunning & Ignorance, as their works shew to all the Continent, who laugh at the Contemptible Pretences of Englishmen to Improve Art before they even know the first Beginnings of Art. I hope this Print will redeem my Country from this Coxcomb situation & shew that it is only some Englishmen, and not All, who are thus ridiculous in their Pretences. Advertisements in Newspapers are no proof of Popular approbation, but often the Contrary. A Man who Pretends to Improve Fine Art does not know what Fine Art is. Ye English Engravers must come down from your high flights; ye must condescend to study Marc Antonio & Albert Durer. Ye must begin before you attempt to finish or improve, & when you have begun you will know better than to think of improving what cannot be improv’d. It is very true, what you have said for these thirty two Years. I am Mad or Else you are so; both of us cannot be in our right senses. Posterity will judge by our Works. Woolett’s & Strange’s works are like those of Titian & Correggio: the Life’s Labour of Ignorant Journeymen, Suited to the Purposes of Commerce no doubt, for Commerce Cannot endure Individual Merit; its insatiable Maw must be fed by What all can do Equally well; at least it is so in England, as I have found to my Cost these Forty Years.
Commerce is so far from being beneficial to Arts, or to Empires, that it is destructive of both, as all their History shews, for the above Reason of Individual Merit being its Great hatred. Empires flourish till they become Commercial, & then they are scatter’d abroad to the four winds.
Woolett’s best works were Etch’d by Jack. Brown. Woolett Etch’d very bad himself. Strange’s Prints were, when I knew him, all done by Aliamet & his french journeymen whose names I forget.
“The Cottagers”, & “Jocund Peasants”, the “Views in Kew Gardens”, “Foots Cray”, & “Diana”, & “Acteon”, & in short all that are Call’d Woolett’s were Etch’d by Jack Browne, & in Woolett’s works the Etching is All, tho’ even in these, a single leaf of a tree is never correct.
Such Prints as Woolett & Strange produc’d will do for those who choose to purchase the Life’s labour of Ignorance & Imbecillity, in Preference to the Inspired Moments of Genius & Animation.
 
P. 60.
I also knew something of Tom Cooke who Engraved after Hogarth. Cooke wished to Give to Hogarth what he could take from Rafael, that is Outline & Mass & Colour, but he could not.
 
P. 57.
I do not pretend to Paint better than Rafael or Mich. Angelo or Julio Romane or Alb. Durer, but I do Pretend to Paint finer than Rubens or Rembt. or Correggio or Titian. I do not Pretend to Engrave finer than Alb. Durer, Goltzius, Sadelar or Edelinck, but I do pretend to Engrave finer than Strange, Woolett, Hall or Bartolozzi, & all because I understand drawing which They understood not.
 
P. 58.
In this manner the English Public have been imposed upon for many Years under the impression that Engraving & Painting are somewhat Else besides drawing. Painting is drawing on Canvas, & Engraving is drawing on Copper, & Nothing Else; & he who pretends to be either Painter or Engraver without being a Master of drawing is an Imposter. We may be Clever as Pugilists, but as Artists we are & have long been the Contempt of the Continent. Gravelot once said to My Master, Basire, “de English may be very clever in deir own opinions, but dey do not draw de draw.”
Resentment for Personal Injuries has had some share in this Public Address, But Love to My Art & Zeal for my Country a much Greater.
P. 59.
Men think they can Copy Nature as Correctly as I copy Imagination; this they will find Impossible, & all the Copies or Pretended Copiers of Nature, from Rembrandt to Reynolds, Prove that Nature becomes to its Victim nothing but Blots & Blurs. Why are Copiers of Nature Incorrect, while Copiers of Imagination are Correct? this is manifest to all.
 
Pp. 60-62.
The Originality of this Production makes it necessary to say a few words.
While the Works of Pope & Dryden are look’d upon as the same Art with those of Milton & Shakespeare, while the works of Strange & Woollett are look’d upon as the same Art with those of Rafael & Albert Durer, there can be no Art in a Nation but such as is Subservient to the interest of the Monopolizing Trader who Manufactures Art by the Hands of Ignorant Journeymen till at length Christian Charity is held out as a Motive to encourage a Blockhead, & he is Counted the Greatest Genius who can sell a Good-for-Nothing Commodity for a Great Price. Obedience to the Will of the Monopolist is call’d Virtue, and the really Industrious, Virtuous & Independent Barry is driven out to make room for a pack of Idle Sycophants with whitlows on their fingers. Englishmen, rouze yourselves from the fatal Slumber into which Booksellers & Trading Dealers have thrown you, Under the artfully propagated pretence that a Translation or a Copy of any kind can be as honourable to a Nation as an Original, Be-lying the English Character in that well known Saying, “Englishmen Improve what others Invent.” This Even Hogarth’s Works Prove a detestable Falshood. No Man Can Improve An Original Invention. Since Hogarth’s time we have had very few Efforts of Originality. Nor can an Original Invention Exist without Execution, Organized & minutely delineated & Articulated, Either by God or Man. I do not mean smooth’d up & Niggled & Poco-Pen’d, and all the beauties picked out & blurr’d & blotted, but Drawn with a firm & decided hand at once with all its Spots & Blemishes which are beauties & not faults, like Fuseli & Michael Angelo, Shakespeare & Milton.
 
Dryden in Rhyme cries, “Milton only Planned.”
Every Fool shook his bells throughout the Land.
Tom Cooke cut Hogarth down with his clean Graving.
How many thousand Connoisseurs with joy ran raving!
Some blush at what others can see no crime in,
But Nobody at all sees harm in Rhyming.
Thus Hayley on his toilette seeing the sope
Says, “Homer is very much improv’d by Pope.”
While I looking up to my Umbrella,
Resolv’d to be a very Contrary Fellow,
Cry, “Tom Cooke proves, from Circumference to Center,
No one can finish so high as the original inventor.”
 
I have heard many People say, “Give me the Ideas. It is no matter what Words you put them into,” & others say, “Give me the Design, it is no matter for the Execution.” These People know Enough of Artifice, but Nothing Of Art. Ideas cannot be Given but in their minutely Appropriate Words, nor Can a Design be made without its minutely Appropriate Execution. The unorganized Blots & Blurs of Rubens & Titian are not Art, nor can their Method ever express Ideas or Imaginations any more than Pope’s Metaphysical Jargon of Rhyming. Unappropriate Execution is the Most nauseous of all affectation & foppery. He who copies does not Execute; he only Imitates what is already Executed. Execution is only the result of Invention.
P. 63.
Whoever looks at any of the Great & Expensive Works of Engraving that have been Publish’d by English Traders must feel a Loathing & disgust, & accordingly.most Englishmen have a Contempt for Art, which is the Greatest Curse that can fall upon a Nation.
He who could represent Christ uniformly like a Dray-man must have Queer Conceptions; consequently his Execution must have been as Queer, & those must be Queer fellows who give great sums for such nonsense & think it fine Art.
The Modern Chalcographic Connoisseurs & Amateurs admire only the work of the journeyman, Picking out of whites & blacks in what is call’d Tints; they despise drawing, which despises them in return. They see only whether every thing is toned down but one spot of light.
Mr. B. submits to a more severe tribunal; he invites the admirers of old English Portraits to look at his Print.
P. 64.
I do not know whether Homer is a Liar & that there is no such thing as Generous Contention: I know that all those with whom I have Contended in Art have strove not to Excell, but to Starve me out by Calumny & the Arts of Trading Combination.
P. 66.
It is Nonsense for Noblemen & Gentlemen to offer Premiums for the Encouragement of Art when such Pictures as these can be done without Premiums; let them Encourage what Exists Already, & not endeavour to counteract by tricks; let it no more be said that Empires Encourage Arts, for it is Arts that Encourage Empires. Arts & Artists are Spiritual & laugh at Mortal Contingencies. It is in their Power to hinder Instruction but not to Instruct, just as it is in their Power to Murder a Man but not to make a Man.
Let us teach Buonaparte, & whomsoever else it may concern, That it is not Arts that follow & attend upon Empire, but Empire that attends upon & follows The Arts.
 
P. 67.
No Man of Sense can think that an Imitation of the Objects of Nature is The Art of Painting, or that such Imitation, which any one may easily perform, is worthy of Notice, much less that such an Art should be the Glory & Pride of a Nation. The Italians laugh at English Connoisseurs, who are most of them such silly Fellows as to believe this.
A Man sets himself down with Colours & with all the Articles of Painting; he puts a Model before him & he copies that so neat as to make it a deception: now let any Man of Sense ask himself one Question: Is this Art? can it be worthy of admiration to any body of Understanding? Who could not do this? what man who has eyes and an ordinary share of patience cannot do this neatly? Is this Art? Or is it glorious to a Nation to produce such contemptible Copies? Countrymen, Countrymen, do not suffer yourselves to be disgraced!
P. 66.
The English Artist may be assured that he is doing an injury & injustice to his Country while he studies & imitates the Effects of Nature. England will never rival Italy while we servilely copy what the Wise Italians, Rafael & Michael Angelo, scorned, nay abhorred, as Vasari tells us.
Call that the Public Voice which is their Error,
Like as a Monkey peeping in a Mirror
Admires all his colours brown & warm
And never once percieves his ugly form.
What kind of Intellects must he have who sees only the Colours of things & not the Forms of Things.
P. 71.
A Jockey that is anything of a Jockey will never buy a Horse by the Colour, & a Man who has got any brains will never buy a Picture by the Colour.
When I tell any Truth it is not for the sake of Convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those who do.
P. 76.
No Man of Sense ever supposes that copying from Nature is the Art of Painting; if Art is no more than this, it is no better than any other Manual Labour; anybody may do it & the fool often will do it best as it is a work of no Mind.
 
P. 78.
The Greatest part of what are call’d in England Old Pictures are Oil Colour Copies from Fresco originals; the Comparison is Easily made & the copy detected. Note, I mean Fresco, Easel, or Cabinet Pictures on Canvas & Wood & Copper &c.
 
P.86.
The Painter hopes that his Friends Anytus, Melitus & Lycon will perceive that they are not now in Ancient Greece, & tho’ they can use the Poison of Calumny, the English Public will be convinc’d that such a Picture as this Could never be Painted by a Madman or by one in a State of Outrageous manners, as these Bad Men both Print and Publish by all the means in their Power; the Painter begs Public Protection & all will be well.
 
P. 17.
I wonder who can say, Speak no Ill of the dead when it is asserted in the Bible that the name of the Wicked shall Rot. It is Deistical Virtue, I suppose, but as I have none of this I will pour Aqua fortis on the Name of the Wicked & turn it into an Ornament & an Example to be Avoided by Some & Imitated by Others if they Please.
Columbus discover’d America, but American Vesputius finish’d & smooth’d it over like an English Engraver or Corregio & Titian.
 
Pp. 18-19.
What Man of Sense will lay out his Money upon the Life’s Labours of Imbecility & Imbecility’s Journeyman, or think to Educate a Fool how to build a Universe with Farthing Balls? The Contemptible Idiots who have been call’d Great Men of late Years ought to rouze the Public Indignation of Men of Sense in all Professions.
There is not, because there cannot be, any difference of Effect in the Pictures of Rubens & Rembrandt: when you have seen one of their Pictures you have seen all. It is not so with Rafael, Julio Roman[o], Alb. d[ürer]. Mich. Ang. Every Picture of theirs has a different & appropriate Effect.

Other books

Love in the Falls by Rachel Hanna
The Last Days of Lorien by Pittacus Lore
The Last Banquet by Jonathan Grimwood
Best Friends...Forever? by Krysten Lindsay Hager
The Manor by Scott Nicholson
The Last Kolovsky Playboy by Carol Marinelli
Ollie by Olivier Dunrea


readsbookonline.com Copyright 2016 - 2024