particular woods. He knows that
what may be an admirable design when executed in brass may be a
very bad one in wrought-iron and is sure to be an absurdity in
wood. An artistic motive for a silver flagon, too, is likely to
prove ugly for pottery or cut-glass, and so on. There is a genius,
born of its particular properties, in every medium, which demands
individual expression. Observe, therefore, that Art is not satisfied
with mere unrelated beauty of form or color. It requires that the
result confess some sensible relation to the means by which it has
been obtained; and in proportion as it does this, it may claim
to possess that individual and distinctive charm which we call
"Style." It may be said, therefore, that the technical limitations
of particular mediums impose what might properly be called natural
conventions; and while misguided ambition may set these conventions
aside to hammer out effects from an unwilling medium, the triumph
is only mechanical; Art does not lie that way.
[Side note: _The Province of the Pen_]
Ought the pen, then, to be persuaded into the province of the brush?
Since the natures of the two means differ, it does not stultify
the water-color that it cannot run the deep gamut of oil. Even if
the church-organ be the grandest and most comprehensive of musical
instruments we may still be permitted to cherish our piano. Each
has its own sphere, its own reason for being. So of the pen,--the
piccolo flute of the artistic orchestra. Let it pipe its high treble
as merrily as it may, but do not coerce it into mimicking the bassoon.
[Illustration: FIG. 1 JOSEPH PENNELL]
Pen drawing is most apt to lose its individuality when it begins
to assume the characteristics of wash-drawing, such as an elaborate
massing of grays, small light areas, and a general indirectness
of method. A painter once told me that he was almost afraid to
handle the pen,--"It is so fearfully direct," he said. He understood
the instrument, certainly, for if there is one characteristic more
than another which should distinguish pen methods it is Directness.
The nature of the pen seems to mark as its peculiar function that
of picking out the really vital features of a subject. Pen drawing
has been aptly termed the "shorthand of Art;" the genius of the
pen-point is essentially epitome.
If we turn to the brush, we find its capacity such that a high
light may be brought down to a minute fraction of an inch with a
few swift stro
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