E-text prepared by Joshua Hutchinson, Tonya Allen, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.
VOL. VII.—FEBRUARY, 1861.—NO. XL.
OUR ARTISTS IN ITALY.
WILLIAM PAGE.
Among artists, William Page is a painter.
This proposition may seem, to the great public which has so long and sowell known him and his works, somewhat unnecessary. There are fewwho are not familiar with his paintings. Whether these seem great orotherwise, whether the Venus be pure or gross, we may not here discuss;the public has, and will have, many estimates; yet on one point thereis no difference of opinion, apparently. The world willingly calls himwhose hand wrought these pictures a painter. It has done so as a matterof course; and we accept the title.
But perhaps the title comes to us from this man's studio, charged with asignificance elevating it above the simply self-evident, and renderingit worthy of the place we have given it as a germ proposition.
Not every one who uses pigments can say, "I also am a painter." To himwho would make visible the ideal, there are presented the marble, thepencil, and the colors; and should he employ either of these, just inproportion to his obedience to the laws of each will he be a sculptor,a designer, or a painter; and the revelations in stone, in light andshade, or on canvas, shall be his witnesses forevermore,—witnesses ofhim not only as an artist, in view of his relation to the ideal world,but as possessing a right to the especial title conferred by the meanswhich he has chosen to be his interpreter.
The world has too much neglected these means of interpretation. It hascondemned the science which would perfect the art, as if the false couldever become the medium of the true. The art of painting has sufferedespecially from the influence of mistaken views.
Nor could it be otherwise. Color-manifestation, of all art-utterance,is the least simple. It requires the fulfilment of a greater numberof conditions than are involved in any other art. He who has selectedcolors as his medium cannot with impunity neglect form; light andshade must be to him as important as they are to the designer inchiaro-scuro; while above all are the mystery and power of color.
There is perplexity in this. The science of form seems to be vast enoughfor any man's genius. No more than he accomplishes is demanded of thegenuine sculptor. His life has been grand with noble fulfilments. We,and all generations, hold his name in the sacred simplicity which hasever been the sign of the consummate. Men say, Phidias, Praxiteles, andknow that they did greatly and sufficiently.
Yet with the science which these men had we combine elements equallygreat, and still truth demands the consummate. Hence success in paintinghas been the rarest success which the world has known. If we searchits history page by page, the great canvas-leaves written over withinnumerable names yield us less than a score of those who have overcomethe difficulties of its science, through that, achieving art, andbecoming painters.
Yes, many men have painted, many great artists have painted, withoutearning the title which excellence gives. Overbeck, the apostle artist,whose rooms are sacred with the presence of the divine, never earnedthat name. Nor did thousands who before him wrought patiently andearnestly.
We think that we have among us a man who has earn