We wish from the first to make it clearly understood as to what is our object in comparing photography with the other pictorial arts. It is not to condemn any of the other arts as inadequate for artistic expression, for we hold that good art, as expressed even by a lead pencil, is better than bad art expressed on the largest of canvases, but our object is to inquire what position the technique of photography takes when regarded side by side with the methods and limits of each of the pictorial arts. |Rock scratchings.| The earliest pictorial expressions of the human mind were, as we all know, rude rock-scratchings in the form of outline. |Outline drawing.| This outline drawing served the earliest nations, as it still serves children, to express in a conventional way certain limited truths, for the power of seeing and analyzing nature is of recent development, and is even now far from fully developed. Keeping this in mind, we must nevertheless not allow ourselves to despise these efforts of the undeveloped mind. Line drawing, it must be remembered, has nothing to do with tone. If you look at a line drawing of a figure by a great master, it suggests to you, in a certain limited way, the real thing, for the lines bound spaces, hence there is a suggestion of the solid figure. With almost any medium, even with pen, ink, and paper, an artist will often draw a subject in outline, to see “how it will come.” Sculptors nearly always do this, but these men do not consider these outlines as finished works, but simply as an aid to their work,—mere brief sketches suggestive of what shall be. Of course, such notes when done by a great artist become invaluable, as suggesting great truth of impression. Yet there are men who seem to stop at this stage, and revel in “beauty of line,” or else they elaborate these drawings until they pass beyond the legitimate limits of the art by which they are expressed.

We will now briefly enumerate these arts with their limitations.

Lead Pencil.—The scale between the white and black is very limited, for, as any one who has drawn with lead pencil will remember, the lowest tones are grey as compared with dead black. They are also shiny because light is reflected by the plumbago. An artist can, however, express a suggestion of tone within a limited scale, and, notwithstanding this limitation, a first-rate lead pencil drawing may give a far truer impression of nature than a bad painting, and will accordingly rank higher artistically.

Pen and Ink.—The scale in this case is also limited and there can be no tone, but an artist, by shading can give an impression of tone, as can be seen in the clever drawings by an artist in the “German Punch.” Of course, as in lead pencil drawings, all subtle tonality is left out, the lightest tones being lost in white, and the darkest in black, but the suggestion may be a truthful impression if well done, and in such cases the work commands the greatest respect, ranking far higher than inferior work done with a more perfect technique. Sometimes washes are added to pen-and-ink drawings to increase the impression of tone. Here, again, the bad craftsman goes beyond the legitimate limits of the art, by the pen-rendering detail, and by the wash-rendering tone, impossibilities except in monochrome work. We have seen some detestable hybrids of this class, the result of the misspent energies of amateurs and others.

Chalk.—This gives the artist greater scope, for his scale is greater, and, in addition, chalk is not shiny and unnatural. This material is generally used for large work, and is better suited to that purpose, for the line is not so regular and has more of the decision and indecision of a natural outline as seen in a figure standing against a background. By choosing an appropriately colored chalk an artist can give a potent suggestion of texture, and, therefore, of truthfulness. Chalk was formerly much used for studies, but charcoal has now largely taken its place.

Lithography.—In this art a peculiar stone is chosen, which has an affinity for water and grease. The stone is drawn upon with a greasy, specially prepared lithographic ink. From this many copies can be taken. For reproducing chalk drawings the method is worked a little differently. It is of little use now for original work, on account of the introduction of the cheaper, more certain, and more beautiful photographic processes. We are all only too well acquainted with the outcome of this process of lithography, chromo-lithographs,—monstrosities which, it is needless to say, do not enter into the category of the fine arts. Chromo-lithography, however, has a commercial value, being very useful in the reproduction of patterns, &c.

Engraving.—This is drawing on metal with a burin in a special manner; that is by pushing the burin away from the operator. Considerable pressure must be exertedexerted; and it is evident that lines cut in this way must be formal. It is, perhaps, for this reason that it is scarcely ever used for original work, but only for copying. The scale in this case is limited between the black ink and white paper, and is greater than in the arts above dealt with; but there can be no subtleties of tone. Engravers supply this suggestion of tone by cross-hatching, and so suggest a natural impression, as can be seen in some of the landscapes engraved from nature by Albert Durer. Personally we are but very little interested in engraving apart from its historical interest. Artistically, the early work of Durer, and some of that of the so-called “little masters” is, in our opinion, the best ever done. All the work—and there is much of it—which has overstepped the narrow limits of the art of line engraving is to us distasteful, because it could have been so much better expressed by other methods. Engraving with a burin, even when assisted by dry point work, is always hard, formal, textureless, and without tonal subtlety; while the quality of modern engravings, by which popular editions of well-known authors are illustrated, is to us positively unpleasing and false. There is at the present day a vigorous attempt to bolster up engraving, and give it a fictitious value, but we feel sure it is doomed. Such a narrow, limited, untrue method of expression could never live beyond the day of necessity, when there was no better mode of expression. That day is already past, as there exist more complete methods. A good pen-and-ink work by Du Maurier is, artistically, far better than any engraving Cousins ever did; and as for the fearful travesties exposed for sale in dealer’s windows, we can only wonder who buys them. Perhaps the same mild imbeciles who collect “old engravings” promiscuously, not for any art qualities they possess, for the best of them are bad in many ways, but in order to collect, and appear learned (?) and artistic (?) to their less gifted (in purse) brethren. Of all the painters and sculptors we have known, we have never found one really interested in the class of engravings we are now describing.

Stippling, or engraving in dots, seems to us a yet worse device than cross-hatching. It is done with prepared needles, or a toothed wheel called a roulette. Stippling was by Bartolozzi and others combined with etching, and a hybrid was produced which, like all hybrids, was doomed to extinction.

As compared with photo-etching for the reproduction of pictures, no one but a fanatic would maintain its superiority. By using orthochromatic plates relatively, true values or tone, and true texture can be rendered, and no translator steps in to add to, or subtract from, the originality of the work. The student will soon find as he studies nature and the best art together, that line engraving is but a sorry method, its artificiality will soon disgust him, and no one with any real insight into the mysteries of nature can derive much pleasure from engravings, except, perhaps, from some of the best of the simple line engravings, such as some of Durer’s works.

Wood engraving.—In wood cutting the parts left uncut print dark, and those that are hollowed out or cut away do not print at all; thus, the white is cut out from a dark ground. The workman cuts with special graving tools on a block of box-wood, cut sectionally. Durer’s woodcuts are simply drawings on wood, parts of the wood being cut away, for in this way many could be readily printed. They were simply fac-similes of the lines of Durer’s drawing, and had no artistic aim of their own. |Bewick.| With Bewick, however, the matter was different. He saw the limits of wood engraving, and kept resolutely within those limits, like the true artist he was.

With Bewick the flat black and white spaces were the limitations, as we consider they are and always will be for original work, notwithstanding the American school of wood engraving, of which we shall have something to say presently. The scale in wood engraving is limited by the ink and paper, and the suggestion of tone is got by representing the light greys as white, and the darker darks as blacks. There is no subtle tonality in Bewick’s work, and though there is much suggestion of nature and truth, the expression is limited. But here, as in other arts, directly the legitimate limit is overstepped the work becomes bad. Bewick, of course, and a few of his pupils, did original work, but the modern wood engraver, though he expresses greater subtlety of tone, is, after all, only a fac-simile worker. In the American magazines the perfection of this fac-simile work is to be seen, and, in our opinion, this school started with the intention of imitating the delicacies of photography. That such work is most useful no one can doubt, but in our opinion it has outstepped the proper limits of wood engraving, and therefore no longer interests us. It must not be forgotten, too, that the works are fac-simile work and not original. In fact, a good fac-simile wood engraver may be no artist at all. It serves a certain use certainly, but, judged by artistic standards, an intaglio copper-plate print produced by photography is far more satisfactory. Would, however, that all the art-craftsmen who work in fac-simile, kept up to the standard of the American engravers, for the feeble works of this class to be seen in this country in the book and paper illustrations of the day are lamentable. They are travesties of nature; but what more can be expected when a block is often cut into separate pieces, and engraved by different workmen? Lamentable, too, is it that many a good photograph, brought home by travellers from abroad, should be botched and ruined by these wood engravers.

A great deal of cant has been talked lately about the harm done to engraving by photography. The harm was done long ago, when artists ceased to practise the art of engraving as an original art, as was done by Bewick and some few others, and when the work of cheap reproduction fell into the hands of craftsmen. If photographic processes do anything, they will either raise the standard of fac-simile art-craft by competition, or, which would be, perhaps, as well, kill it altogether. For artists in wood engraving like Bewick there is always room; and among the first to appreciate such work and to foster it, will be the artist who works in photography; he will understand the limits of the art, and appreciate any artist who uses it artistically.

Etching.—As the public become more educated in art matters, we find etching rapidly replacing line engraving, just as we think original photo-etching will in time replace etchings.

Etching is drawing on zinc or copper with a needle, the plate being first prepared with a ground, the nature of which varies with different practitioners. Wax, burgundy pitch, and asphaltum form a common combination for producing a ground. This ground is often smoked to produce a uniform surface, and then the artist sketches on it as freely and lightly as he would on paper. The lines are afterwards bitten in by immersing the plate in acid. Some etchers assert that they etch whilst the plate is in the bath, but we cannot imagine such a method being very successful, for want of proper control over the work. Tone is produced by thickness of lines and by cross-hatching, and also by the printer in the manner of wiping the plate, and finally touches are often added with a dry point. In addition separate bitings can be given to a plate by “stopping out” the portion not requiring further biting, with some substance which resists the acid, usually a varnish. Another method is to silver the plate and cover it with a white wax ground, so that the etcher gets a dark line on a white surface. The plate is finally covered with a thin coating of steel by electricity, this process being called “acierage.” This facing is given to the plate to resist the wear and tear of printing.

Etching, it will be seen, is far more amenable to the artist’s will than line engraving and wood-cutting. Still it has its limits, for in it all the subtleties of tone are wanting, and there is, therefore, imperfect modelling. The values cannot be relatively truly rendered, nor is texture well rendered. All this great artists have recognized and have therefore resolutely confined themselves within the legitimate limits. The masters of etching, as Rembrandt in the past and Whistler in the present day, never try for delicacies of tone in their plates, but by line and cross-hatching, like an artist in pen and ink, they express themselves, and their works are beautiful and priceless. But as with all the other arts, so with etching, inferior men have tried by this method to rival more complete methods, and the result has been failure. By complicated line work and by printing flat tones, etchers are daily striving to express in translation the perfect technique of painting, and the results are unsatisfactory. Here, again, we find that the art-craftsmen, the translators of pictures, and not original artists, are the chief sinners, and this is a fact to be carefully remembered. A good etching by Rembrandt or Whistler gives us a satisfaction we cannot well express; but carefully elaborated etchings from pictures give us no satisfaction; on the contrary, they have gone so far that they compel us to compare the work with a more complete technique, and the result is great disappointment.

As mere art-craft for the translation of pictures, photo-etching will give etching points (points not of taste but of artistic facts), and beat it hollow, as any first-rate judge will allow. The best etchers we have met are unanimous in condemning elaborated work in etching, and they themselves work within the limits of its technique. Equally averse are they to the hybrid process of combining etching with photo-etching, a hybrid only practised by inferior men and appreciated by the untrained.

We must now leave line work, for though, as we have shown, very subtle suggestions of tone can be obtained by the use of cross-hatching, still true tonality and modelling cannot be obtained by any save more perfect methods. Directly an artist has a method by which he can express subtle tonality, he has a great additional power.

Charcoal.—With this method the scale is limited as the black is not so deep as many other blacks used in the arts, but by its means delicate tonality can be obtained, but not the most delicate. The values too in a charcoal drawing are not true for this reason, because the most delicate light greys are lost; neither do we like the texture it gives. It is not true; nevertheless the result is often very fine. We had quite lately the opportunity of comparing the charcoal drawing of a very fine subject with nature, and also with a very fine painting of the same subject, and our opinion is that the charcoal drawing suggested the scene better than any line method could have done, but the suggestion was very far off the suggestion offered by the painting.

Monochrome Painting.—A monochrome painting may be in any colour, but since the scale is so limited, say in red for example, and the effect, except for portraits, is so incongruous that no artist dares use it. Indian ink and sepia are the commonest colours used. Monochrome painting, did it portray the different colours, would follow the same laws as painting, and would have to be considered from the same stand-point. Therein then lies the difference, a good artist may express much in monochrome, and give the suggestion of nature to a very great extent, but he is limited by this method. Delicate tonality and modelling can be obtained, but there is an unnaturalness of the middle tints and an artificial look in the textures. Notwithstanding, very fine work is done in this way, especially by some of the modern French and Dutch painters.

Aquatint, as its name implies, is a form of engraving best suited to reproduce water-colours. The plate is prepared in much the same way as it is for photo-etching, the acid biting between the dots of resin. This method is now rarely used.

Mezzotint.—In this process the plate is roughened all over by an instrument called a “cradle” or berceau. This is really a broad chisel with a cradle-shaped edge, on which are small rough edges. This is worked by the hand all over the plate until it is rough enough to hold ink. The scale in this method is wide, the blacks being very deep. The tones are formed by scraping away the ink by the engraver, the highest light being the deepest. It gives a very good tonality, and is really the only rival to photo-etching, but the plate will not last well, thirty good prints often being all that can be taken from a plate. The engraver, too, has not sufficient control over his work. As a rule it is only used for fac-simile work, and not for original work. It will in our opinion be the last form of engraving to succumb to photo-etching. It is better suited for portraiture than landscape work; the mezzotints from Constable’s paintings are very feeble and untrue.

Photography.—Now we come to photography, which possesses a technique more perfect than any of the arts yet treated of. Photography, in fact, stands at the top of the tone class of methods of expression; so nearly perfect is its technique that in some respects it may be compared with the colour class. The scale here, too, is limited, but less so than that of any other black and white method. Its drawing is all but absolutely correct, that is if the lenses are properly used, as has been shown. It renders the values relatively correct if orthochromatic plates are used, and it renders texture perfectly. Its one limitation is that it must always be worked from models; but from what we have already said, we consider this no limit of consequence when the end in view is artistic expression. When, on the other hand, the end in view is utilitarian, this is, in certain cases, a limitation, but as we are considering it only as a method for artistic expression, we do not now consider that side of the question. As a facsimile method, it is unrivalled, for some of the art-craftsmen who have worked in this direction have so perfected it that little now remains to be done so far as copperplate work goes, though much remains to be done in connection with delicate blocks for the printing-press. As a recorder of scientific facts and as an adjunct to the traveller, it has no equal, for nothing need be allowed for the personal equation of the individual. Its immense value in all the sciences and arts has been touched upon. Critics opposed to photography, and they are now-a-days the old and prejudiced, are fond of citing Mr. P. G. Hamerton’s reasons for not considering photography one of the pictorial arts. Some of his arguments were perfectly admissible when he wrote them, but as he has not taken the trouble to correct them since, we suppose he still rests in the fancied security of having slain photography for ever. But photography was not killed by Mr. Hamerton. It could not resist him then, for it was but a little child, but now that it is well grown and can resist him it will do so through us here.

Mr. Hamerton says when any new art is under consideration, we must ask, “Can it interpret nature? Can it express emotions? Can it express fact and truth and poetry? Within what limit can it do these things? and finally has any one with it expressed human knowledge and feeling? Will it record the results of human observation? Has it ever been practised by great men, or do they pay much regard to it?”

Beginning, then, with question I.:—

Can it interpret nature? Yes, that at any rate is the opinion of more than one good sculptor, painter, and photographer, and plates can be produced which we challenge any one to prove are not interpretations of nature in the strictest sense of the word.

II. Can it express emotions? Yes, and so faithfully and subtilely that the late Charles Darwin used it to illustrate from nature, his work “On the Expression of Emotions in Man and Animals.” Of these photographs taken by Rejlander, Mr. Darwin writes in the work mentioned, “Several of the figures in these seven heliotype plates have been reproduced from photographs, instead of from the original negatives; and they are in consequence somewhat indistinct; nevertheless, they are faithful copies, and are much superior for my purpose to any drawing, however carefully executed.”

III. Can it express fact and truth? Yes, and there is no need to say any more on this head, except that it can express fact and truth more perfectly than any other black and white process. It is not absolutely perfect, but no art is.

IV. Within what limits can it do these things? The answer to this we have shown in this work.

V. Has it ever been practised by great men? Yes, and is practised now by many of our greatest living painters and sculptors, whose names we could give.

M. Adam Salomon, a sculptor of ability, a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, took the photographic world by storm, by his portraits exhibited at the Paris Exhibition of 1867, and he continued to practise it up to within a short time of his death. Let the best sculptors and painters be asked how they regard photography—especially when they are at work on posthumous works. Finally we will give here an opinion on photography as written by an able landscape painter—namely, T. F. Goodall.

“Photography has undoubtedly played an important part in the development of modern art, both in figure and landscape. In landscapes we are inclined to think that the influence of photography was for a time hurtful, for this reason, painters were apt to emulate the detail of the photograph, and lose the breadth of man’s view of Nature in consequence. They did not take into account the fact that the lens commonly used was a more powerful mechanism than the human eye, or that it reproduced at once every detail of a scene with more distinctness on the plate than the eye would on the retina, even if the attention was concentrated on one part only at a time, and that therefore the resulting picture was not a true representation of Nature, as impressed on the mind by human vision. But for artistic purposes this may be remedied, and it appears to us that photographers must take the point into consideration if they would use the camera as a means of artistic expression. Hitherto the chief aim of the photographer seems to have been a biting sharpness of detail in the negative, which is generally quite fatal to the result from an artistic point of view, for in breadth lies the beauty and sentiment of landscape. To produce a picture the photographer must select his lens and adjust his focus, so as to get an expression as nearly identical with the visual one as possible, and he must print in such good tone as will give the closest approximation to the values in nature. In all these matters the result will depend on the taste and intelligence of the author, and bear the impress of his mind. If that be commonplace, his negative will be so also; if artistic, so will be his picture. There is no reason why photography, in capable hands, may not be made a means of interpreting nature second only in value to painting itself, destined to supersede all other black and white methods in bringing an extended knowledge of and taste for art to the masses of the people. The prejudice existing against photography arises from the fact that hitherto it has been worked merely as a mechanical process; but if by results it can show that it is worthy, it will rank as a fine art. Dr. Emerson was the first to advocate rationally the claims of photography to this distinction, and, artists will admit, has by his subsequent work made good his position so far as his own productions are concerned. There should be a great future for photography if followed on really artistic lines. It should be hailed as a most powerful ally by the modern school of painting, as by means of it people may be taught to perceive how false are many of the pictures they believe in, and how much more beautiful and interesting is truth. From an art-educational point of view its value can scarcely be overrated; much has been done, by photogravure and other processes of reproduction, to spread a knowledge of pictures, and there is no reason why the same methods should not be used for original work. A good photogravure is to be preferred to a bad painting or second rate engraving, and is incomparably better than the odious chromos and wretched prints with which so many walls are disfigured.

If, instead of being satisfied with mere topographical views or foreground sketches, the photographer has cultivated artistic feeling, means are at his command for communicating to others what has impressed himself, and he may produce work of permanent value. Everything depends on what he finds to say and how he tells it. If the operator has artistic insight, it will show itself in his negative, just as it would on his canvas, if he were a painter. The mechanical and chemical processes, the practical judgment necessary in timing his exposures, the skill and knowledge necessary in developing his plates; these are his technique; but the art value of the result will depend on what he communicates to us by its aid. As long as his ideas of pictorial art are confined in landscape to views of churches and ruins, rustic bridges and waterfalls, or topographical views of the haunts of tourists, taken from the guide-book point of view, and in figure to artificial compositions, reminding one of an amateur theatrical performance, so long will his work be destitute of artistic qualities, and therefore valueless, but if he brings to his work a genuine appreciation of the picturesque in landscape and figure, and a knowledge of how so to place a subject on his plate as to convey his impressions to others, he may produce most beautiful and meritorious results. He must learn, as the painter has to do, to distinguish what in nature is really suitable for pictorial purposes, on account of beauty of form, or tone, from what merely gives him pleasure by some quality which, however impressive in nature, it is not possible to transfer to canvas. A picture being a design enclosed by four straight lines, can only please and impress by certain suitable decorative qualities in the subject. To know what will make a picture is one of the most difficult secrets in landscape art; knowing just how much of a scene to take in, where to begin and where to end, decides whether the result will carry a distinct and complete impression, or be merely a haphazard study.”

What great artists elsewhere have thought of photography is shown by the following extract from one of J. F. Millet’s letters to his friend Feuardent. After asking Feuardent to bring him some photographs from Italy, Millet continues, “In fact, bring whatever you find, figures and animals. Diaz’s son, the one who died, brought some very good ones, sheep among other things. Of figures, take of course those that smack least of the Academy and the model—in fact all that is good, ancient or modern.”

The daily use made of photography by artists is another proof of the good opinion in which it is held by them. You could not get these men to say a word in favour of chromo-lithography, because that is a hybrid craft with few possibilities. These questions being disposed of, we will proceed to discuss an assertion of Mr. Hamerton’s, that photography is like a reflection in a mirror. Now from what we have shown in this book, means are at the artist’s command to influence the final picture in every stage of its development. If an artist such as Carolus Duran, say, were thoroughly versed in photography, and a craftsman, like one of the numerous operators employed by the large photographic firms, were to be placed together, say on one of the Norfolk Broads for a week, according to Mr. Hamerton’s reflection theory, they would both return with work of the same quality, differing only in points of view; for Duran’s reflections would be the same as the craftsman’s, point of view always excepted. A theory that allows such an absurd application needs little comment, one remark only will we put forward. In what ignorance of optics Mr. Hamerton has allowed himself to remain! when every one knows that a reflection in a mirror is a virtual image, and does not exist. By pushing this theory to its logical conclusion, a monkey with a camera could produce as good pictures as Mr. Hamerton could make with the same instrument.

In “Thoughts on Art” Mr. Hamerton speciously compares photography with painting. Why not compare it with etching? It can never be compared with painting until photography in natural colours is an accomplished fact. Mr. Hamerton, after speaking of the limited scale of light in all art, goes on to say, “But look at poor photography’s scale compared with the scale in painting.” Just so, but it has a much greater scale than any other black and white method, far greater than the scale of his pet etching. Why did he not state this? Why did he ignore it? Further on Mr. Hamerton enunciates that if we expose for the glitter of the sea, everything on the bank will be without detail. It is unnecessary to say this is not so, and any good photographer can easily prove this statement. Of course the only excuse for these untrue statements is that such marvellous strides have been made in what is called “instantaneous photography” since Mr. Hamerton committed his last criticisms to paper (in 1873), that probably he does not know that photographs can now be taken at midnight by a flash of light in a fraction of a second, and with very fair results, as any one can prove for himself. Mr. Hamerton finds too that the sum of detail in good topographical drawings is greater than that in a good photograph. Well, Mr. Hamerton may do so, just as some people see green as red, but all good photographers will laugh at the statement, and we challenge Mr. Hamerton that we will produce a greater sum of detail in a photograph of a set subject than he will by any amount of drawing, and consider it no great feat either. But this has nothing to do with the artistic value of photography, or with its comparison with painting. Mr. Hamerton is here comparing it with architectural drawing.

Mr. Hamerton next says the drawing of mountains is false in photography. If that were so in 1860, it was Mr. Hamerton’s fault for ignorantly using his lens, for, as we have shown, lenses are true perspective delineators if correctly used.

Finally Mr. Hamerton, in 1873, sums up his objections to photography from the purely artistic point, as follow:—

I. “It is false in local colour, putting all the lights and darks of natural colouring out of tone.” With the aid of orthochromatic plates it does no such thing, as any reader can prove for himself by getting a chromograph with yellow, red, blue, or any other bright colours, photographed by Mr. Dixon, of 112, Albany Street, London.

II. “It is false in light, not being able to make those subdivisions in the scale which are necessary to relative truth.” This is not so. It is false in light so far as all art is false in light, but photography can make more subtle distinctions in the scale than any other known black and white method.

III. “It is false in perspective, and consequently in the proportions of forms.” It is not. This remark convicts Mr. Hamerton of ignorance of optics and the proper use of photographic lenses. Vide Cap. II.

IV. “Its literalness, incapacity of selection, and emphasis, are antagonistic to the artistic spirit.” Photography is not literal, as the flexible technique shows; it is capable of selection almost to any extent, though, of course, it is incapable of leaving out a tree, and putting in an imaginary man. What an incapacity for emphasis means, we neither know nor care to know.

Following in Mr. Hamerton’s steps other critics have raised their objections to photography, and these we shall discuss briefly.

“A photograph,” it has been said, “shows the art of nature rather than the art of the artist.” This is mere nonsense, as the same remark might be applied equally well to all the fine arts. Nature does not jump into the camera, focus itself, expose itself, develop itself, and print itself. On the contrary, the artist, using photography as a medium, chooses his subject, selects his details, generalizes the whole in the way we have shown, and thus gives his view of nature. This is not copying or imitating nature, but interpreting her, and this is all any artist can do, and how perfectly he does it, depends on his technique, and his knowledge of this technique; and the resulting picture, by whatever method expressed, will be beautiful proportionately to the beauty of the original and the ability of the artist. These remarks apply equally to the critics who call pictures “bits of nature cut out.” There is no need to slay the slain, and give any further answer to the objection that photography is a mechanical process, if there were, it would be enough to remind the objectors that if twenty photographers were sent to a district of limited area, and told to take a given composition, the result would be twenty different renderings. Photographs of any artistic quality have individuality as much as any other works of art, and of the few photographers who send artistic work to our exhibitions, we would wager to tell by whom each picture is done. Of course, the ordinary art-craftsman has no individuality, any more than the reproducer of an architectural or mechanical drawing. But where an artist uses photography to interpret nature, his work will always have individuality, and the strength of the individuality will, of course, vary in proportion to his capacity.

Photography has been called an “irresponsive medium.” This is much the same as calling it a mechanical process, and, therefore, disposed of, we venture to think. A great paradox which has to be combatted, is the assumption that because photography is not “hand-work,” as the public say,—though we find there is very much “hand-work and head-work” in it—therefore, it is not an Art language. This is a fallacy born of thoughtlessness. The painter learns his technique in order to speak, and as more than one painter has told us, “painting is a mental process,” and as for the technique they could almost do that with their feet. So with photography, speaking artistically of it, it is a very severe mental process, and taxes all the artist’s energies even after he has mastered his technique. The point is, what you have to say, and how to say it. It would be as reasonable to object to a poet printing his verse in type instead of writing it in old Gothic with a quill pen on asses' skin. Coupled with this accusation, goes that of want of originality. The originality of a work of art, it should be needless to say, refers to the originality of the thing expressed and the way it is expressed, whether it be in poetry, photography, or painting, and the original artist is surely he who seizes new and subtle impressions from nature, “tears them forth from nature,” as Durer said, and lays them before the world by means of the technique at his command. That one technique is more difficult than another to learn, no one will deny, but the greatest thoughts have been expressed by means of the simplest technique—namely writing.

As we have shown, all arts are limited, some in one way, some in another, two limitations of photography are that it “cannot express an intention” and “it must take whatever is before it.” We shall endeavour to answer these objections, which we frankly allow are the only serious objections to be brought against it. “It cannot express an intention.” This, at first sight, seems an insuperable objection, but on reflection it is no real objection at all when the object of photography is artistic expression. As we pointed out in Book I., it is our opinion that all the best art has been done direct from nature, and that no “intention” requires expression. No artist worthy of the name ever drew a picture evolved from his inner consciousness; if it is a brief note to see how a thing will come; it is either from nature, or from his remembrance of nature. The photographer then must compose on his ground glass or in nature, or if he wants to see how it will come, he too can draw the lines on his ground glass. But the great point is, such drawing is perfectly unnecessary for artistic purposes; only for architectural uses is it necessary, for the architect must draw a plan of his building before it can be built. This distinction has either been overlooked or speciously suppressed by Mr. Hamerton. But then we have nothing to do with architectural drawing; and if in this instance photography cannot help the architectural draughtsman, yet there are hundreds of instances in scientific studies in which nothing can help so well as photography, for example, in astronomy, spectral analysis, bacteriology, &c., &c. Finally, we are not aware that sculpture can help the architectural draughtsman. The second objection that the camera will take everything before it, is not of any vital importance. It only makes the field to select from more limited, and gives the artist greater credit when he does a good thing. And if we are true to one of our principles, namely, that the subject should so strike the artist that he wishes only to reproduce it, it is no objection at all, for a subject with an eyesore marring it would not, or should not, appeal to the artist sufficiently to make him wish to reproduce it. We will also give the opinion of a painter on this point. Mr. Goodall writes:—“These two subjects serve well to illustrate how unnecessary it is to alter the natural arrangement of things in order to make a picture. Although they are literal transcripts, it is hard to find a line in them which could be altered with advantage. The designs presented by nature ready made, always interest us far more than the artificial compositions of painters who pick and choose, arrange and alter, the material around them in constructing their pictures. When a picture is patched together, as it were, a bit here and a bit there, whatever the gain in composition, there is always a more than corresponding loss in those little subtleties which give quality to the work. If the beauty of a subject in nature does not appeal to the painter with sufficient force to make him wish to paint it exactly as it is, he had better leave it alone altogether, and seek some other that does. A man must be moved too deeply by something to dream of improving it by alterations, before he can possibly paint a really good picture.” But has not this very limitation its advantages as well as its disadvantages? There can be no scamping or dishonest work, and the artist must always go to nature. Had the ancient Greeks known and handed down photography—and a sculptor friend of ours is inclined to think they did have something of the kind—there would not have followed the terrible decadence in art which came after them owing to the neglect of nature, as we have shown. Again, an immense power which photography possesses over any other art is the rapidity with which an effect can be secured. The painter is limited to a portion of the day—his effect is only present at certain times, or his model tires; but the artist working with photography, when he sees his effect is right, can secure it in the twinkling of an eye. This advantage over all the other arts far outweighs the limitation of the field of selection.

It has been said, “The camera sees far more than the eye takes in at any given moment, and sees it with an impartiality for which there is no parallel in the human vision.” This objection has been answered in the body of the work; it only holds true with bad work, and with that we are in no way concerned.

A kindly critic, who did us the honour of reviewing us in the Spectator, said if our “contention were true, painting would have said its last word, and sculpture would no doubt soon be superseded by some mechanical contrivance, which would be to clay and marble what the camera is to plane surfaces.” Now we must break a lance with this reviewer and gentleman; we wish all reviewers deserved the last title. We fail to see why painting should have said its last word—for our contention is true—pace our reviewer. The great fact of colour alone places true painting as a method of expression far above any other method. When photographs can be taken in natural colours, then will be the time to discuss the probable dying groans of painting. As to sculpture, it seems to us useless to discuss the merits of “probable mechanical contrivances;” when they are invented the time will come to discuss them. At present the only comparison that can be made is that between a cast of, say, a hand from life, and a modelled hand. When this comparison is made, the “cast from life” will be found poor and mean—it is not a true impression. The modelled hand may be so, if the sculptor is good. It is of course needless to point out that the principle of tone holds in sculpture as in painting, but the cast from life cannot have subtleties of tone for a very obvious physiological reason, namely, reflex action. If you touch a hand with a foreign substance, reflex action is set up, and there is an alteration in the heights and depths of the modelling, and the play of light gives a different impression. Now, when a living hand is covered with plaster a rough model is obtained—a model of its structure merely, and all the subtleties of tone are lost. Those subtleties would, however, all be given in a photograph, for nothing is touched, and a true impression is rendered of the hand. What more hideous travesty of nature is there than a cast taken from a dead subject—the cast being merely an exaggeration of the faults in a cast taken from life?

Here, then, we must leave photography at the head of the methods for interpreting nature in monochrome, and we feel sure that any one who comes to the study of photography with a rational and an unbiassed mind will admit there is no case to be made out against it as a means of artistic expression. This much has been allowed by very many of our friends, who are at the same time accomplished artists—etchers, painters, and sculptors.

The student must remember, then, that a first-rate photograph, like a first-rate pencil drawing, pen-and-ink drawing, etching, or mezzotint, is far and away superior to a second-rate painting. The greatest geniuses in art will admire the one and will not tolerate the other; but the student must also remember that a false “picture” is worse than nothing.