its form of mind, almost all
individual differences arising from imperfections; hence a truth of
species is the more valuable to art, because it must always be a beauty,
while a truth of individuals is commonly, in some sort or way, a defect.

Sec. 8. And many truths, valuable if separate, may be objectionable in
connection with others.

Again, a truth which may be of great interest, when an object is viewed
by itself, may be objectionable when it is viewed in relation to other
objects. Thus if we were painting a piece of drapery as our whole
subject, it would be proper to give in it every source of entertainment,
which particular truths could supply, to give it varied color and
delicate texture; but if we paint this same piece of drapery, as part of
the dress of a Madonna, all these ideas of richness or texture become
thoroughly contemptible, and unfit to occupy the mind at the same moment
with the idea of the Virgin. The conception of drapery is then to be
suggested by the simplest and slightest means possible, and all notions
of texture and detail are to be rejected with utter reprobation; but
this, observe, is not because they are particular or general or anything
else, with respect to the drapery itself, but because they draw the
attention to the dress instead of the saint, and disturb and degrade the
imagination and the feelings; hence we ought to give the conception of
the drapery in the most unobtrusive way possible, by rendering those
essential qualities distinctly, which are necessary to the very
existence of drapery, and not one more.

With these last two sources of the importance of truths, we have nothing
to do at present, as they are dependent upon ideas of beauty and
relation: I merely allude to them now, to show that all that is alleged
by Sir J. Reynolds and other scientific writers respecting the kind of
truths proper to be represented by the painter or sculptor is perfectly
just and right; while yet the principle on which they base their
selection (that general truths are more important than particular ones)
is altogether false. Canova's Perseus in the Vatican is entirely spoiled
by an unlucky _tassel_ in the folds of the mantle (which the next
admirer of Canova who passes would do well to knock off;) but it is
spoiled not because this is a particular truth, but because it is a
contemptible, unnecessary, and ugly truth. The button which fastens the
vest of the Sistine Daniel is as much a pa