reat consequence from this; and I find that
those who have studied light and shadow the most never appear to fail in
it.

_Wilkie._

XCV

The commonest error into which a critic can fall is the remark we so
often hear that such-and-such an artist's work is "careless," and "would
be better had more labour been spent upon it." As often as not this is
wholly untrue. As soon as the spectator can _see_ that "more labour has
been spent upon it," he may be sure that the picture is to that extent
incomplete and unfinished, while the look of freshness that is
inseparable from a really successful picture would of necessity be
absent. If the high finish of a picture is so apparent as immediately to
force itself upon the spectator, he may _know_ that it is not as it
should be; and from the moment that the artist feels his work is
becoming a labour, he may depend upon it it will be without freshness,
and to that extent without the merit of a true work of art. Work should
always look as though it had been done with ease, however elaborate;
what we see should appear to have been done without effort, whatever may
be the agonies beneath the surface. M. Meissonier surpasses all his
predecessors, as well as all his contemporaries, in the quality of high
finish, but what you see is evidently done easily and without labour. I
remember Thackeray saying to me, concerning a certain chapter in one of
his books that the critics agreed in accusing of carelessness;
"Careless? If I've written that chapter once I've written it a dozen
times--and each time worse than the last!" a proof that labour did not
assist in his case. When an artist fails it is not so much from
carelessness: to do his best is not only profitable to him, but a joy.
But it is not given to every man--not, indeed, to any--to succeed
whenever and however he tries. The best painter that ever lived never
entirely succeeded more than four or five times; that is to say, no
artist ever painted more than four or five _masterpieces_, however high
his general average may have been, for such success depends on the
coincidence, not only of genius and inspiration, but of health and mood
and a hundred other mysterious contingencies. For my own part, I have
often been laboured, but whatever I am I am never careless. I may
honestly say that I never consciously placed an idle touch upon canvas,
and that I have always been earnest and hard-working; yet the worst
pictures I ever painted in my