CONCERNING THE

SPIRITUAL IN ART

* * *

WASSILY KANDINSKY

Translated by

MICHAEL T. H. SADLER

1

*

Concerning the Spiritual in Art

First published in 1911.

ISBN 978-1-775411-54-3

© 2008 THE FLOATING PRESS.

While every effort has been used to

ensure the accuracy and reliabilityof the information contained inThe Floating Press edition of thisbook, The Floating Press does notassume liability or responsibilityfor any errors or omissions in thisbook. The Floating Press does notaccept responsibility for losssuffered as a result of relianceupon the accuracy or currency ofinformation contained in this book.Do not use while operating amotor vehicle or heavy equipment.Many suitcases look alike.

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2

Contents

*

Translator's Introduction

PART 1: ABOUT GENERALAESTHETIC

I. Introduction

II. The Movement of the Triangle

III. Spiritual Revolution

IV. The Pyramid

PART II: ABOUT PAINTING

V. The Psychological Working ofColour

VI. The Language of Form andColour

VII. Theory

VIII. Art and Artists

IX. Conclusion

Endnotes

3

Translator's Introduction

*

It is no common thing to find anartist who, even if he be willing totry, is capable of expressing his

aims and ideals with any clearnessand moderation. Some people willsay that any such capacity is a flawin the perfect artist, who should findhis expression in line and colour,and leave the multitude to grope itsway unaided towardscomprehension. This attitude is arelic of the days when

"l'art pour l'art" was the latest battlecry; when eccentricity of mannerand irregularity of life were moreimportant than any talent to the

would-be artist; when every oneexcept oneself was bourgeois.

The last few years have in somemeasure removed this absurdity, bydestroying the old convention that itwas middle-class to be sane, andthat between the artist and the outer-world yawned a gulf which fewcould cross.

Modern artists are beginning torealize their social duties.

They are the spiritual teachers of

the world, and for their teaching tohave weight, it must becomprehensible. Any 4

attempt, therefore, to bring artistand public into sympathy, to enablethe latter to understand the ideals ofthe former, should be thoroughlywelcome; and such an attempt isthis book of Kandinsky's.

The author is one of the leaders ofthe new art movement in Munich.The group of which he is a memberincludes painters, poets, musicians,

dramatists, critics, all working tothe same end—the expression of theSOUL of nature and humanity, or, asKandinsky terms it, the INNERER

KLANG.

Perhaps the fault of this book oftheory—or rather the characteristicmost likely to give cause for attack—is the tendency to verbosity.Philosophy, especially in the handsof a writer of German, presentsinexhaustible opportunities forvague and grandiloquent language.

Partly for this reason, partly fromincompetence, I have not primarilyattempted to deal with thephilosophical basis of Kandinsky'sart. Some, probably, will find inthis aspect of the book its chiefinterest, but better service will bedone to the author's ideas by leavingthem to the reader's judgement thanby even the most expert

criticism.

The power of a book to exciteargument is often the best proof of

its value, and my own experiencehas always 5

been that those new ideas are atonce most challenging and moststimulating which come direct fromtheir author, with no intermediatediscussion.

The task undertaken in thisIntroduction is a humbler butperhaps a more necessary one.England, throughout her history, hasshown scant respect for suddenspasms of theory. Whether in

politics, religion, or art, shedemands an historical foundationfor every belief, and when such afoundation is not forthcoming shemay smile

indulgently, but serious interest isimmediately withdrawn. I amkeenly anxious that Kandinsky's artshould not suffer this fate. Mypersonal belief in his sincerity andthe future of his ideas will go forvery little, but if it can be shownthat he is a reasonable

development of what we regard asserious art, that he is no adventurerstriving for a momentary notorietyby the strangeness of his beliefs,then there is a chance that somepeople at least will give his art fairconsideration, and that, of thesepeople, a few will come to love itas, in my opinion, it deserves.

Post-Impressionism, that vague andmuch-abused term, is now almost ahousehold word. That the name ofthe movement is better known than

the names of its chief leaders is asad misfortune, largely caused bythe over-rapidity of its introductioninto England. Within the 6

space of two short years a mass ofartists from Manet to the mostrecent of Cubists were thrust on apublic, who had hardly realizedImpressionism. The inevitableresult has been complete mentalchaos. The tradition of which truePost- Impressionism is the modernexpression has been kept alive

down the ages of European art byscattered and, until lately, neglectedpainters. But not since the time ofthe so-called Byzantines, not sincethe period of which Giotto and hisSchool were the final splendidblossoming, has the "Symbolist"ideal in art held general sway overthe "Naturalist." The PrimitiveItalians, like their predecessors thePrimitive Greeks, and, in turn, theirpredecessors the Egyptians, soughtto express the inner feeling ratherthan the outer reality.

This ideal tended to be lost to sightin the naturalistic revival of theRenaissance, which derived itsinspiration solely from thoseperiods of Greek and Roman artwhich were pre-occupied with theexpression of external reality.Although the all-embracing geniusof

Michelangelo kept the "Symbolist"tradition alive, it is the work of ElGreco that merits the complete titleof

"Symbolist." From El Greco springsGoya and the Spanish influence onDaumier and Manet. When it isremembered that, in the meantime,Rembrandt and his contemporaries,notably Brouwer, left their mark onFrench art in the work of Delacroix,Decamps and 7

Courbet, the way will be seenclearly open to Cezanne andGauguin.

The phrase "symbolist tradition" isnot used to express any conscious

affinity between the variousgenerations of artists. As Kandinskysays: "the relationships in art arenot necessarily ones of outwardform, but are founded on innersympathy of meaning." Sometimes,perhaps frequently, a similarity ofoutward form will appear. But intracing spiritual relationship onlyinner meaning must be taken intoaccount.

There are, of course, many peoplewho deny that

Primitive Art had an inner meaningor, rather, that what is called"archaic expression" was dictatedby anything but ignorance ofrepresentative methods anddefective materials. Such peopleare numbered among the bitterestopponents of Post-Impressionism,and indeed it is difficult to see howthey could be otherwise. "Painting,"

they say, "which seeks to learn froman age when art was, howeversincere, incompetent and

uneducated, deliberately rejects theknowledge and skill of centuries."

It will be no easy matter to conquerthis assumption that Primitive art ismerely untrained Naturalism, butuntil it is conquered there seemslittle hope for a sympatheticunderstanding of the symbolistideal.

8

The task is all the more difficultbecause of the analogy drawn by

friends of the new movementbetween the neo-primitive visionand that of a child. That the analogycontains a grain of truth does notmake it the less mischievous.Freshness of vision the child has,and freshness of vision is animportant element in the newmovement. But beyond this aparallel is non-existent, must benon-existent in any art other thanpure

artificiality. It is one thing to ape

ineptitude in technique and anotherto acquire simplicity of vision.Simplicity—

or rather discrimination of vision—is the trademark of the true Post-Impressionist. He OBSERVES andthen SELECTS what is essential.The result is a logical and verysophisticated synthesis. Such asynthesis will find expression insimple and even harsh technique.But the process can only comeAFTER the naturalist process and

not before it. The child has a directvision, because his mind isunencumbered by association andbecause his power of concentrationis unimpaired by a multiplicity ofinterests. His method of drawing isimmature; its variations from theordinary result from lack ofcapacity.

Two examples will make mymeaning clearer. The child draws alandscape. His picture contains oneor two objects only from the number

before his eyes. These are theobjects which strike him asimportant. So far, good.

But there is no relation betweenthem; they stand isolated 9

on his paper, mere lumpish shapes.The Post-

Impressionist, however, selects hisobjects with a view to expressingby their means the whole feeling ofthe landscape. His choice falls onelements which sum up the whole,

not those which first attractimmediate attention.

Again, let us take the case of thedefinitely religious

picture. [1]

It is not often that children drawreligious scenes. More often battlesand pageants attract them. But sincethe revival of the religious pictureis so noticeable a factor in the newmovement, since the Byzantinespainted almost entirely religious

subjects, and finally, since a bookof such drawings by a child oftwelve has recently been published,I prefer to take them as my example.Daphne Alien's religious drawingshave the graceful charm ofchildhood, but they are merechildish echoes of

conventional prettiness. Her talent,when mature, will turn to thecharming rather than to thevigorous. There could be no greatercontrast between such drawing and

that of—say—Cimabue. Cimabue'sMadonnas are not

pretty women, but huge, solemnsymbols. Their heads droop stiffly;their tenderness is universal. InGauguin's

"Agony in the Garden" the figure ofChrist is haggard with pain andgrief. These artists have filled their10

pictures with a bitter experiencewhich no child can possibly

possess. I repeat, therefore, that theanalogy between Post-Impressionism and child- art is afalse analogy, and that for a trainedman or woman to paint as

a child paints is an impossibility.[2]

All this does not presume to say thatthe "symbolist"

school of art is necessarily noblerthan the "naturalist." I am making nocomparison, only a distinction.

When the difference in aim is fullyrealized, the Primitives can nolonger be condemned asincompetent, nor the moderns aslunatics, for such a condemnation ismade from a wrong point of view.Judgement must be passed, not onthe failure to achieve "naturalism"but on the failure to express theinner meaning.

The brief historical surveyattempted above ended with thenames of Cezanne and Gauguin, and

for the purposes of this Introduction,for the purpose, that is to say, oftracing the genealogy of the Cubistsand of Kandinsky, these two namesmay be taken to represent themodern expression of the"symbolist" tradition.

The difference between them issubtle but goes very deep. For boththe ultimate and internalsignificance of what they paintedcounted for more than thesignificance which is momentary

and external. Cezanne saw in a tree,11

a heap of apples, a human face, agroup of bathing men or women,something more abiding than either

photography or impressionistpainting could present. He paintedthe "treeness" of the tree, as amodern critic has admirablyexpressed it. But in everything hedid he showed the architecturalmind of the true Frenchman.

His landscape studies were basedon a profound sense of the structureof rocks and hills, and beingstructural, his art dependsessentially on reality. Though he didnot scruple, and rightly, to sacrificeaccuracy of form to the inner need,the material of which his art wascomposed was drawn from the hugestores of actual nature.

Gauguin has greater solemnity andfire than Cezanne.

His pictures are tragic or passionate

poems. He also sacrificesconventional form to innerexpression, but his art tends evertowards the spiritual, towards thatprofounder emphasis which cannotbe expressed in natural objects norin words. True his abandonment ofrepresentative methods did not leadhim to an

abandonment of natural terms ofexpression—that is to say humanfigures, trees and animals do appearin his pictures. But that he was

much nearer a complete rejection ofrepresentation than was Cezanne isshown by the course followed bytheir respective disciples.

The generation immediatelysubsequent to Cezanne, 12

Herbin, Vlaminck, Friesz, Marquet,etc., do little more than exaggerateCezanne's technique, until thereappear the first signs of Cubism.These are seen very clearly inHerbin. Objects begin to be treatedin flat planes. A round vase is

represented by a series of planes setone into the other, which at adistance blend into a curve.

This is the first stage.

The real plunge into Cubism wastaken by Picasso, who, nurtured onCezanne, carried to its perfectlylogical conclusion the master'sstructural treatment of nature.

Representation disappears. Startingfrom a single natural object,Picasso and the Cubists produce

lines and project angles till theircanvases are covered with intricateand often very beautiful series ofbalanced lines and curves.

They persist, however, in givingthem picture titles which recall thenatural object from which theirminds first took flight.

With Gauguin the case is different.The generation of his discipleswhich followed him—I put it thus to

distinguish them from his actual

pupils at Pont Aven, Serusier andthe rest— carried the tendencyfurther. One hesitates to mentionDerain, for his beginnings, full ofvitality and promise, have givenplace to a dreary compromise withCubism, without visible future, andabove all without humour. But thereis no better example 13

of the development of syntheticsymbolism than his first

book of woodcuts. [3]

Here is work which keeps themerest semblance of conventionalform, which gives its effect bystartling masses of black and white,by sudden curves, but more

frequently by sudden angles. [4]

In the process of the gradualabandonment of natural form the"angle" school is paralleled by the"curve"

school, which also descends whollyfrom Gauguin. The best known

representative is Maurice Denis.But he has become a slave tosentimentality, and has been leftbehind. Matisse is the mostprominent French artist who hasfollowed Gauguin with curves. InGermany a group of young men,who form the NeueKunstlevereinigung in Munich,work almost entirely in sweepingcurves, and have reduced naturalobjects purely to flowing,

decorative units.

But while they have followedGauguin's lead in

abandoning representation both ofthese two groups of advance arelacking in spiritual meaning. Theiraim becomes more and moredecorative, with an

undercurrent of suggestion ofsimplified form. Anyone who hasstudied Gauguin will be aware ofthe intense spiritual value of hiswork. The man is a preacher and a14

psychologist, universal by his veryunorthodoxy, fundamental becausehe goes deeper than civilization. Inhis disciples this great element iswanting. Kandinsky has suppliedthe need. He is not only on the trackof an art more purely spiritual thanwas conceived even by Gauguin,but he has achieved the finalabandonment of all representativeintention. In this way he combinesin himself the spiritual and technicaltendencies of one great branch ofPost-Impressionism.

The question most generally askedabout Kandinsky's art is: "What ishe trying to do?" It is to be hopedthat this book will do somethingtowards answering the question.

But it will not do everything. This—partly because it is impossible toput into words the whole ofKandinsky's ideal, partly because inhis anxiety to state his case, to courtcriticism, the author has beentempted to formulate more than iswise. His analysis of colours and

their effects on the spectator is notthe real basis of his art, because, ifit were, one could, with the help ofa scientific manual, describe one'semotions before his pictures withperfect accuracy. And this isimpossible.

Kandinsky is painting music. That isto say, he has broken down thebarrier between music and painting,and has isolated the pure emotionwhich, for want of a better name,we call the artistic emotion. Anyone

who has 15

listened to good music with anyenjoyment will admit to anunmistakable but quite indefinablethrill. He will not be able, withsincerity, to say that such a passagegave him such visual impressions,or such a harmony roused in himsuch emotions. The effect of musicis too subtle for words. And thesame with this painting of

Kandinsky's. Speaking for myself,to stand in front of some of his

drawings or pictures gives a keenerand more spiritual pleasure than anyother kind of painting. But I couldnot express in the least what givesthe pleasure.

Presumably the lines and colourshave the same effect as harmony andrhythm in music have on the trulymusical.

That psychology comes in no onecan deny. Many people

—perhaps at present the very large

majority of people—

have their colour-music sensedormant. It has never beenexercised. In the same way manypeople are unmusical—

either wholly, by nature, or partly,for lack of experience.

Even when Kandinsky's idea isuniversally understood there may bemany who are not moved by hismelody.

For my part, something within meanswered to

Kandinsky's art the first time I metwith it. There was no question oflooking for representation; aharmony had been set up, and thatwas enough.

Of course colour-music is no newidea. That is to say attempts havebeen made to play compositions incolour, by flashes and harmonies.[5] Also music has been

16

interpreted in colour. But I do notknow of any previous attempt topaint, without any reference tomusic, compositions which shallhave on the spectator an effectwholly divorced fromrepresentative association.

Kandinsky refers to attempts topaint in colour-

counterpoint. But that is a differentmatter, in that it is the borrowing

from one art by another of purely

technical methods, without aprevious impulse from spiritualsympathy.

One is faced then with theconflicting claims of Picasso andKandinsky to the position of trueleader of non-representative art.Picasso's admirers hail him, just asthis Introduction hails Kandinsky, asa visual musician. The methods andideas of each rival are so differentthat the title cannot be accorded to

both. In his book, Kandinsky stateshis opinion of Cubism and its fatalweakness, and history goes tosupport his contention. The origin ofCubism in Cezanne, in a structuralart that owes its very existence tomatter, makes its claim to pureemotionalism seem untenable.Emotions are not composed ofstrata and conflicting pressures.Once abandon reality and thegeometrical vision becomesabstract mathematics. It seems to methat Picasso shares a Futurist error

when he endeavours to harmonizeone item of reality—a number, abutton, a few capital letters—with asurrounding aura of angularprojections. There must be aconflict of 17

impressions, which differessentially in quality. One trend ofmodern music is towards realism ofsound.

Children cry, dogs bark, plates arebroken. Picasso approaches thesame goal from the opposite

direction. It is as though he weretrying to work from realism tomusic. The waste of time is, to mymind, equally complete in bothcases. The power of music to giveexpression without the help ofrepresentation is its noblestpossession. No painting has everhad such a precious power.Kandinsky is striving to give it thatpower, and prove what is at leastthe logical analogy between colourand sound, between line and rhythmof beat. Picasso makes little use of

colour, and confines himself only toone series of line effects—thosecaused by conflicting angles. So hisaim is smaller and more limitedthan Kandinsky's even if it is asreasonable. But because it has notwholly abandoned realism but usesfor the painting of feeling astructural vision dependent for itsvalue on the association of reality,because in so doing it tries to makethe best of two worlds, there seemslittle hope for it of redemption ineither.

As has been said above, Picassoand Kandinsky make an interestingparallel, in that they havedeveloped the art respectively ofCezanne and Gauguin, in a similardirection. On the decision ofPicasso's failure or success reststhe distinction between Cezanne andGauguin, the 18

realist and the symbolist, the painterof externals and the painter ofreligious feeling. Unless a spiritualvalue is accorded to Cezanne's

work, unless he is believed to be areligious painter (and religiouspainters need not paint Madonnas),unless in fact he is paralleledclosely with Gauguin, his followerPicasso cannot claim to stand, withKandinsky, as a prophet of an art ofspiritual harmony.

If Kandinsky ever attains his ideal—for he is the first to admit that hehas not yet reached his goal—if heever succeeds in finding a commonlanguage of colour and line which

shall stand alone as the language ofsound and beat stands alone,without recourse to natural form orrepresentation, he will on all handsbe hailed as a great innovator, as achampion of the freedom of art.Until such time, it is the duty ofthose to whom his work has spoken,to bear their testimony. Otherwisehe may be condemned as one whohas invented a shorthand of his own,and who paints pictures whichcannot be

understood by those who have notthe key of the cipher.

In the meantime also it is importantthat his position should berecognized as a legitimate, almostinevitable outcome of Post-Impressionist tendencies. Such isthe recognition this Introductionstrives to secure.

MICHAEL T. H. SADLER

19

DEDICATED TO THE MEMORYOF ELISABETH

TICHEJEFF

20

PART 1: ABOUT GENERAL

AESTHETIC

*

21

I. Introduction

*

Every work of art is the child of itsage and, in many cases, the motherof our emotions. It follows that eachperiod of culture produces an art ofits own which can never berepeated. Efforts to revive the art-principles of the past will at bestproduce an art that is still-born. It isimpossible for us to live and feel,as did the ancient Greeks. In thesame way those who strive to

follow the Greek methods insculpture achieve only a similarityof form, the work remainingsoulless for all time. Such imitationis mere aping. Externally themonkey

completely resembles a humanbeing; he will sit holding a book infront of his nose, and turn over thepages with a thoughtful aspect, buthis actions have for him no realmeaning.

There is, however, in art another

kind of external similarity which isfounded on a fundamental truth.

When there is a similarity of innertendency in the whole moral andspiritual atmosphere, a similarity ofideals, at 22

first closely pursued but later lost tosight, a similarity in the innerfeeling of any one period to that ofanother, the logical result will be arevival of the external forms whichserved to express those innerfeelings in an earlier age. An

example of this today is oursympathy, our spiritual relationship,with the Primitives. Like ourselves,these artists sought to express intheir work only internal truths,renouncing in consequence allconsideration of external form.

This all-important spark of innerlife today is at present only a spark.Our minds, which are even nowonly just awakening after years ofmaterialism, are infected with thedespair of unbelief, of lack of

purpose and ideal. The nightmare ofmaterialism, which has turned thelife of the universe into an evil,useless game, is not yet past; itholds the awakening soul still in itsgrip. Only a feeble light glimmerslike a tiny star in a vast gulf ofdarkness.

This feeble light is but apresentiment, and the soul, when itsees it, trembles in doubt whetherthe light is not a dream, and the gulfof darkness reality. This doubt, and

the still harsh tyranny of thematerialistic philosophy, divide oursoul sharply from that of thePrimitives. Our soul rings crackedwhen we seek to play upon it, asdoes a costly vase, long buried inthe earth, which is found to have aflaw when it is dug up once more.For this reason, the Primitive phase,through which we are now passing,23

with its temporary similarity ofform, can only be of short duration.

These two possible resemblancesbetween the art forms of today andthose of the past will be at oncerecognized as diametricallyopposed to one another. The first,being purely external, has no future.The second, being internal, containsthe seed of the future within itself.

After the period of materialisteffort, which held the soul in checkuntil it was shaken off as evil, thesoul is emerging, purged by trialsand sufferings. Shapeless emotions

such as fear, joy, grief, etc., whichbelonged to this time of effort, willno longer greatly attract the artist.

He will endeavour to awake subtleremotions, as yet unnamed. Livinghimself a complicated and

comparatively subtle life, his workwill give to those observerscapable of feeling them loftyemotions beyond the reach ofwords.

The observer of today, however, is

seldom capable of feeling suchemotions. He seeks in a work of arta mere imitation of nature whichcan serve some definite purpose(for example a portrait in theordinary sense) or a presentment ofnature according to a certainconvention ("impressionist"painting), or some inner feelingexpressed in terms of natural form(as we say—a picture withStimmung) [6] All those varieties ofpicture, when

24

they are really art, fulfil theirpurpose and feed the spirit.

Though this applies to the first case,it applies more strongly to the third,where the spectator does feel acorresponding thrill in himself.Such harmony or even contrast ofemotion cannot be superficial orworthless; indeed the Stimmung of apicture can deepen and purify thatof the spectator. Such works of artat least preserve the soul from

coarseness; they "key it up," so tospeak, to a certain height, as atuning-key the strings of a musicalinstrument. But purification, andextension in duration and size ofthis sympathy of soul, remain one-sided, and the possibilities of theinfluence of art are not exerted totheir utmost.

Imagine a building divided intomany rooms. The

building may be large or small.Every wall of every room is

covered with pictures of varioussizes; perhaps they number manythousands. They represent in colourbits of nature—animals in sunlightor shadow, drinking,

standing in water, lying on thegrass; near to, a Crucifixion by apainter who does not believe inChrist; flowers; human figuressitting, standing, walking; often theyare naked; many naked women, seenforeshortened from behind; applesand silver dishes; portrait of

Councillor So and So; sunset; ladyin red; flying duck; portrait of LadyX; flying geese; lady in white;calves in shadow flecked withbrilliant yellow sunlight; portrait of25

Prince Y; lady in green. All this iscarefully printed in a book—nameof artist—name of picture. Peoplewith these books in their hands gofrom wall to wall, turning overpages, reading the names. Then theygo away, neither richer nor poorer

than when they came, and areabsorbed at once in their business,which has nothing to do with art.Why did they come? In each pictureis a whole lifetime imprisoned, awhole lifetime of fears, doubts,hopes, and joys.

Whither is this lifetime tending?What is the message of thecompetent artist? "To send light intothe darkness of men's hearts—suchis the duty of the artist," saidSchumann. "An artist is a man who

can draw and paint everything,"said Tolstoi.

Of these two definitions of theartist's activity we must choose thesecond, if we think of the exhibitionjust described. On one canvas is ahuddle of objects painted withvarying degrees of skill, virtuosityand vigour, harshly or smoothly. Toharmonize the whole is the task ofart. With cold eyes and indifferentmind the spectators regard thework. Connoisseurs admire the

"skill" (as one admires a tightropewalker), enjoy the "quality ofpainting" (as one enjoys a pasty).But hungry souls go hungry away.

26

The vulgar herd stroll through therooms and pronounce the pictures"nice" or "splendid." Those whocould speak have said nothing,those who could hear have heardnothing. This condition of art iscalled "art for art's sake."

This neglect of inner meanings,which is the life of colours, thisvain squandering of artistic poweris called

"art for art's sake."

The artist seeks for material rewardfor his dexterity, his power ofvision and experience. His purposebecomes the satisfaction of vanityand greed. In place of the steady co-operation of artists is a scramblefor good things. There arecomplaints of excessive

competition, of over-production.Hatred, partisanship, cliques,jealousy, intrigues are the naturalconsequences of this aimless,

materialist art. [7]

The onlooker turns away from theartist who has higher ideals andwho cannot see his life purpose inan art without aims.

Sympathy is the education of thespectator from the point of view ofthe artist. It has been said above that

art is the child of its age. Such anart can only create an artisticfeeling which is already clearly felt.This art, which has no power for thefuture, which is only a child of theage and cannot become a mother ofthe future, is a barren art.

27

She is transitory and to all intentdies the moment the atmospherealters which nourished her.

The other art, that which is capable

of educating further, springs equallyfrom contemporary feeling, but is atthe same time not only echo andmirror of it, but also has a deep andpowerful prophetic strength.

The spiritual life, to which artbelongs and of which she is one ofthe mightiest elements, is acomplicated but definite and easilydefinable movement forwards andupwards. This movement is themovement of experience.

It may take different forms, but it

holds at bottom to the same innerthought and purpose.

Veiled in obscurity are the causesof this need to move ever upwardsand forwards, by sweat of the brow,through sufferings and fears. Whenone stage has been accomplished,and many evil stones cleared fromthe road, some unseen and wickedhand scatters new

obstacles in the way, so that thepath often seems blocked and totallyobliterated. But there never fails to

come to the rescue some humanbeing, like ourselves in everythingexcept that he has in him a secretpower of vision.

He sees and points the way. Thepower to do this he 28

would sometimes fain lay aside, forit is a bitter cross to bear. But hecannot do so. Scorned and hated, hedrags after him over the stones theheavy chariot of a dividedhumanity, ever forwards andupwards.

Often, many years after his body hasvanished from the earth, men try byevery means to recreate this body inmarble, iron, bronze, or stone, on anenormous scale. As if there wereany intrinsic value in the bodilyexistence of such divine martyrs andservants of humanity, who despisedthe flesh and lived only for thespirit! But at least such setting up ofmarble is a proof that a greatnumber of men have reached thepoint where once the being theywould now honour, stood alone.

29

II. The Movement of the

Triangle

*

The life of the spirit may be fairlyrepresented in diagram as a largeacute-angled triangle dividedhorizontally into unequal parts withthe narrowest segment uppermost.

The lower the segment the greater it

is in breadth, depth, and area.

The whole triangle is movingslowly, almost invisibly forwardsand upwards. Where the apex wastoday the second segment istomorrow; what today can be

understood only by the apex and tothe rest of the triangle is anincomprehensible gibberish, formstomorrow the true thought andfeeling of the second segment.

At the apex of the top segment

stands often one man, and only one.His joyful vision cloaks a vastsorrow. Even those who are nearestto him in sympathy do not

30

understand him. Angrily they abusehim as charlatan or madman. So inhis lifetime stood Beethoven,solitary and insulted. [8]

How many years will it be before agreater segment of the trianglereaches the spot where he once

stood alone?

Despite memorials and statues, arethey really many who

have risen to his level? [9]

In every segment of the triangle areartists. Each one of them who cansee beyond the limits of his segmentis a prophet to those about him, andhelps the advance of the obstinatewhole. But those who are blind, orthose who retard the movement ofthe triangle for baser reasons, are

fully understood by their fellowsand acclaimed for their genius. Thegreater the segment (which is thesame as saying the lower it lies inthe triangle) so the greater thenumber who understand the wordsof the artist. Every segment hungersconsciously or, much more often,unconsciously for theircorresponding spiritual food.

This food is offered by the artists,and for this food the segmentimmediately below will tomorrow

be stretching out eager hands.

This simile of the triangle cannot besaid to express every aspect of thespiritual life. For instance, there isnever an absolute shadow-side tothe picture, never a 31

piece of unrelieved gloom. Eventoo often it happens that one level ofspiritual food suffices for thenourishment of those who arealready in a higher segment. But forthem this food is poison; in smallquantities it depresses their souls

gradually into a lower segment; inlarge quantities it hurls themsuddenly into the depths ever lowerand lower. Sienkiewicz, in one ofhis novels, compares the spirituallife to swimming; for the man whodoes not strive tirelessly, who doesnot fight continually against sinking,will mentally and morally go under.In this strait a man's talent (again inthe biblical sense) becomes a curse—and not only the talent of theartist, but also of those who eat thispoisoned food. The artist uses his

strength to flatter his lower needs;in an ostensibly artistic form hepresents what is impure, draws theweaker elements to him, mixes themwith evil, betrays men and helpsthem to betray themselves, whilethey convince themselves and othersthat they are spiritually thirsty, andthat from this pure spring they mayquench their thirst. Such art does nothelp the forward movement, buthinders it, dragging back those whoare striving to press onward, andspreading pestilence abroad.

Such periods, during which art hasno noble champion, during whichthe true spiritual food is wanting,are periods of retrogression in thespiritual world.

Ceaselessly souls fall from thehigher to the lower 32

segments of the triangle, and thewhole seems

motionless, or even to move downand backwards. Men attribute tothese blind and dumb periods a

special value, for they judge themby outward results, thinking only ofmaterial well-being. They hail sometechnical advance, which can helpnothing but the body, as a great

achievement. Real spiritual gainsare at best under-valued, at worstentirely ignored.

The solitary visionaries aredespised or regarded as abnormaland eccentric. Those who are notwrapped in lethargy and who feelvague longings for spiritual life and

knowledge and progress, cry inharsh chorus, without any to comfortthem. The night of the spirit fallsmore and more darkly. Deeperbecomes the misery of these blindand terrified guides, and theirfollowers, tormented and unnervedby fear and doubt, prefer to thisgradual darkening the final suddenleap into the blackness.

At such a time art ministers tolower needs, and is used formaterial ends. She seeks her

substance in hard realities becauseshe knows of nothing nobler.Objects, the reproduction of whichis considered her sole aim, remainmonotonously the same. Thequestion "what?"

disappears from art; only thequestion "how?" remains.

By what method are these materialobjects to be

33

reproduced? The word becomes acreed. Art has lost her soul. In thesearch for method the artist goesstill further.

Art becomes so specialized as to becomprehensible only to artists, andthey complain bitterly of publicindifference to their work. For sincethe artist in such times has no needto say much, but only to benotorious for some small originalityand consequently lauded by a smallgroup of patrons and connoisseurs

(which

incidentally is also a veryprofitable business for him), therearise a crowd of gifted and skilfulpainters, so easy does the conquestof art appear. In each artistic circleare thousands of such artists, ofwhom the majority seek only forsome new technical manner, andwho produce millions of works ofart without enthusiasm, with coldhearts and souls asleep.

Competition arises. The wild battle

for success becomes more and morematerial. Small groups who havefought their way to the top of thechaotic world of art and picture-making entrench themselves in theterritory they have won. The public,left far behind, looks on

bewildered, loses interest and turnsaway.

But despite all this confusion, thischaos, this wild hunt for notoriety,the spiritual triangle, slowly butsurely, with irresistible strength,

moves onwards and upwards.

34

The invisible Moses descends fromthe mountain and sees the danceround the golden calf. But he bringswith him fresh stores of wisdom toman.

First by the artist is heard his voice,the voice that is inaudible to thecrowd. Almost unknowingly theartist follows the call. Already inthat very question "how?"

lies a hidden seed of renaissance.For when this "how?"

remains without any fruitful answer,there is always a possibility that thesame "something" (which we callpersonality today) may be able tosee in the objects about it not onlywhat is purely material but alsosomething less solid; something less"bodily" than was seen in the periodof realism, when the universal aimwas to reproduce anything "as itreally is" and without fantastic

imagination. [10]

If the emotional power of the artistcan overwhelm the

"how?" and can give free scope tohis finer feelings, then art is on thecrest of the road by which she willnot fail later on to find the "what"she has lost, the "what" which willshow the way to the spiritual foodof the newly awakened spirituallife. This "what?" will no longer bethe material, objective "what" of theformer period, but the internal truth

of art, the soul without which thebody (i.e. the "how") can never behealthy, whether in an individual orin a whole people.

35

THIS "WHAT" IS THEINTERNAL TRUTH WHICH

ONLY ART CAN DIVINE,WHICH ONLY ART CAN

EXPRESS BY THOSE MEANSOF EXPRESSION

WHICH ARE HERS ALONE.

36

III. Spiritual Revolution

*

The spiritual triangle moves slowlyonwards and

upwards. Today one of the largestof the lower segments has reachedthe point of using the first battle cryof the materialist creed. The

dwellers in this segment groupthemselves round various bannersin religion. They call themselvesJews, Catholics, Protestants, etc.But they are really atheists, and thisa few either of the boldest or thenarrowest openly avow. "Heaven isempty," "God is dead." In politicsthese people are democrats andrepublicans. The fear, horror andhatred which yesterday they felt forthese political creeds they nowdirect against anarchism, of whichthey know nothing but its much

dreaded name.

In economics these people areSocialists. They make sharp thesword of justice with which to slaythe hydra of capitalism and to hewoff the head of evil.

Because the inhabitants of this greatsegment of the 37

triangle have never solved anyproblem independently, but aredragged as it were in a cart by thosethe noblest of their fellowmen who

have sacrificed themselves, theyknow nothing of the vital impulse oflife which they regard alwaysvaguely from a great distance. Theyrate this impulse lightly, puttingtheir trust in purposeless theory andin the working of some logicalmethod.

The men of the segment next beloware dragged slowly higher, blindly,by those just described. But theycling to their old position, full ofdread of the unknown and of

betrayal. The higher segments arenot only blind atheists but canjustify their godlessness withstrange words; for example, thoseof Virchow—so unworthy of alearned man—"I have dissectedmany corpses, but never yetdiscovered a soul in any of them."

In politics they are generallyrepublican, with a knowledge ofdifferent parliamentary procedures;they read the political leadingarticles in the newspapers. In

economics they are socialists ofvarious grades, and can supporttheir "principles" with numerousquotations, passing fromSchweitzer's EMMA via Lasalle'sIRON

LAW OF WAGES, to Marx'sCAPITAL, and still further.

In these loftier segments othercategories of ideas, absent in thesejust described, begin gradually toappear—

38

science and art, to which lastbelong also literature and music.

In science these men are positivists,only recognizing those things thatcan be weighed and measured.

Anything beyond that they consideras rather

discreditable nonsense, that samenonsense about which they heldyesterday the theories that today are

proven.

In art they are naturalists, whichmeans that they recognize and valuethe personality, individuality andtemperament of the artist up to acertain definite point.

This point has been fixed by others,and in it they believe unflinchingly.

But despite their patent and well-ordered security, despite theirinfallible principles, there lurks inthese higher segments a hidden fear,

a nervous trembling, a sense ofinsecurity. And this is due to theirupbringing.

They know that the sages, statesmenand artists whom today they revere,were yesterday spurned asswindlers and charlatans. And thehigher the segment in the triangle,the better defined is this fear, thismodern sense of insecurity. Hereand there are people with eyeswhich can see, minds which cancorrelate. They say to

themselves: "If the science of theday before yesterday is rejected bythe people of yesterday, and that ofyesterday 39

by us of today, is it not possible thatwhat we call science now will berejected by the men of tomorrow?"And the bravest of them answer, "Itis possible."

Then people appear who candistinguish those problems that thescience of today has not yetexplained. And they ask themselves:

"Will science, if it continues on theroad it has followed for so long,ever attain to the solution of theseproblems? And if it does so attain,will men be able to rely on itssolution?" In these segments arealso professional men of learningwho can remember the time whenfacts now recognized by theAcademies as firmly established,were scorned by those sameAcademies.

There are also philosophers of

aesthetic who write profound booksabout an art which was yesterday

condemned as nonsense. In writingthese books they remove thebarriers over which art has mostrecently stepped and set up newones which are to remain for ever inthe places they have chosen. Theydo not notice that they are busyerecting barriers, not in front of art,but behind it. And if they do noticethis, on the morrow they merelywrite fresh books and hastily set

their barriers a little further on. Thisperformance will go on unaltereduntil it is realized that the mostextreme principle of aesthetic cannever be of value to the future, butonly to the past. No such theory ofprinciple can be laid down forthose things which lie beyond, in therealm of the 40

immaterial. That which has nomaterial existence cannot besubjected to a materialclassification. That which belongs

to the spirit of the future can only berealized in feeling, and to thisfeeling the talent of the artist is theonly road. Theory is the lamp whichsheds light on the petrified ideas ofyesterday and of the more distantpast.

[11] And as we rise higher in thetriangle we find that the uneasinessincreases, as a city built on the mostcorrect architectural plan may beshaken suddenly by theuncontrollable force of nature.

Humanity is living in such aspiritual city, subject to thesesudden disturbances for whichneither architects normathematicians have madeallowance. In one place lies a greatwall crumbled to pieces like a cardhouse, in another are the ruins of ahuge tower which once stretched toheaven, built on many presumablyimmortal spiritual pillars. The

abandoned churchyard quakes andforgotten graves open and from

them rise forgotten ghosts. Spotsappear on the sun and the sun growsdark, and what theory can fight withdarkness? And in this city live alsomen deafened by false wisdom whohear no crash, and blinded by falsewisdom, so that they say "our sunwill shine more brightly than everand soon the last spots willdisappear."

But sometime even these men willhear and see.

But when we get still higher there is

no longer this bewilderment. Therework is going on which boldly 41

attacks those pillars which menhave set up. There we find otherprofessional men of learning whotest matter again and again, whotremble before no problem, andwho finally cast doubt on that verymatter which was yesterday thefoundation of everything, so that thewhole universe is shaken. Everyday another scientific theory findsbold discoverers who overstep the

boundaries of prophecy and,forgetful of themselves, join theother soldiers in the conquest ofsome new summit and in thehopeless attack on some stubbornfortress. But "there is no fortressthat man cannot overcome."

On the one hand, FACTS are beingestablished which the science ofyesterday dubbed swindles. Evennewspapers, which are for the mostpart the most obsequious servants ofworldly success and of the mob,

and which trim their sails to everywind, find themselves compelled tomodify their ironical judgements onthe "marvels" of science and evento abandon them altogether. Variouslearned men, among them ultra-materialists, dedicate their strengthto the scientific research of doubtfulproblems, which can

no longer be lied about or passedover in silence. [12]

On the other hand, the number isincreasing of those men who put no

trust in the methods of materialisticscience when it deals with thosequestions which have to do with

"non-matter," or matter which is notaccessible to our 42

minds. Just as art is looking for helpfrom the primitives, so these menare turning to half-forgotten times inorder to get help from their half-forgotten methods. However, thesevery methods are still alive and inuse among nations whom we, fromthe height of our knowledge, have

been accustomed to regard with pityand scorn. To such nations belongthe Indians, who from time to timeconfront those learned in ourcivilization with problems whichwe have either passed by unnoticedor brushed

aside with superficial words andexplanations. [13] Mme.

Blavatsky was the first person, aftera life of many years in India, to seea connection between these"savages" and our "civilization."

From that moment there began atremendous spiritual movementwhich today includes a largenumber of people and has evenassumed a material form in theTHEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY. Thissociety

consists of groups who seek toapproach the problem of the spiritby way of the INNER knowledge.The theory of Theosophy whichserves as the basis to this movementwas set out by Blavatsky in the form

of a catechism in which the pupilreceives definite answers to hisquestions

from the theosophical point of view.[14] Theosophy, according toBlavatsky, is synonymous withETERNAL

TRUTH. "The new torchbearer oftruth will find the minds of menprepared for his message, alanguage ready for him in which toclothe the new truths he brings, anorganization awaiting his arrival,

which will remove the 43

merely mechanical, materialobstacles and difficulties from hispath." And then Blavatskycontinues: "The earth will be aheaven in the twenty-first century in

comparison with what it is now,"and with these words ends herbook.

When religion, science and moralityare shaken, the two last by thestrong hand of Nietzsche, and when

the outer supports threaten to fall,man turns his gaze from externals inon to himself. Literature, music andart are the first and most sensitivespheres in which this spiritualrevolution makes itself felt. Theyreflect the dark picture of thepresent time and show theimportance of what at first was onlya little point of light noticed by fewand for the great majority non-existent. Perhaps they even growdark in their turn, but on the otherhand they turn away from the

soulless life of the present towardsthose substances and ideas whichgive free scope to the non-materialstrivings of the soul.

A poet of this kind in the realm ofliterature is Maeterlinck. He takesus into a world which, rightly orwrongly, we term supernatural. LaPrincesse Maleine, Les SeptPrincesses, Les Aveugles, etc., arenot people of past times as are theheroes in Shakespeare. They aremerely souls lost in the clouds,

threatened by them with death,eternally menaced by someinvisible and sombre 44

power.

Spiritual darkness, the insecurity ofignorance and fear pervade theworld in which they move.Maeterlinck is perhaps one of thefirst prophets, one of the firstartistic reformers and seers toherald the end of the decadence justdescribed. The gloom of thespiritual atmosphere, the terrible,

but all-guiding hand, the sense ofutter fear, the feeling of havingstrayed from the path, the confusionamong the guides, all these areclearly felt in his works.

[15]

This atmosphere Maeterlinckcreates principally by purelyartistic means. His materialmachinery (gloomy mountains,moonlight, marshes, wind, the criesof owls, etc.) plays really asymbolic role and helps to give the

inner note. [16] Maeterlinck'sprincipal technical weapon

is his use of words. The word mayexpress an inner harmony. Thisinner harmony springs partly,perhaps principally, from the objectwhich it names. But if the object isnot itself seen, but only its nameheard, the mind of the hearerreceives an abstract impressiononly, that is to say as of the objectdematerialized, and acorresponding vibration is

immediately set up in the HEART.

The apt use of a word (in itspoetical meaning), repetition 45

of this word, twice, three times oreven more frequently, according tothe need of the poem, will not onlytend to intensify the inner harmonybut also bring to light unsuspectedspiritual properties of the worditself.

Further than that, frequent repetitionof a word (again a favourite game

of children, which is forgotten inafter life) deprives the word of itsoriginal external meaning.

Similarly, in drawing, the abstractmessage of the object drawn tendsto be forgotten and its meaning lost.

Sometimes perhaps weunconsciously hear this realharmony sounding together with thematerial or later on with the non-material sense of the object. But inthe latter case the true harmonyexercises a direct impression on the

soul. The soul undergoes anemotion which has no relation toany definite object, an emotionmore complicated, I might say moresuper- sensuous than the emotioncaused by the sound of a bell or of astringed instrument. This line ofdevelopment offers greatpossibilities to the literature of thefuture. In an embryonic form thisword-power-has already been used

in SERRES CHAUDES. [17] AsMaeterlinck uses them, words

which seem at first to create only aneutral impression have really amore subtle value. Even a familiarword like "hair," if used in a certainway can intensify an atmosphere ofsorrow or despair. And this isMaeterlinck's method. He showsthat thunder, lightning and a moonbehind driving clouds, inthemselves

46

material means, can be used in thetheatre to create a greater sense of

terror than they do in nature.

The true inner forces do not losetheir strength and effect so easily.[18] An the word which has twomeanings, the

first direct, the second indirect, isthe pure material of poetry and ofliterature, the material which thesearts alone can manipulate andthrough which they speak to thespirit.

Something similar may be noticed

in the music of Wagner. His famousleitmotiv is an attempt to givepersonality to his characters bysomething beyond theatricalexpedients and light effect. Hismethod of using a definite motiv is apurely musical method. It creates aspiritual atmosphere by means of amusical phrase which precedes thehero, which he seems to radiateforth from any distance. [19] Themost modern

musicians like Debussy create a

spiritual impression, often takenfrom nature, but embodied in purelymusical form. For this reasonDebussy is often classed with theImpressionist painters on the groundthat he resembles these painters inusing natural phenomena for thepurposes of his art. Whatever truththere may be in this comparisonmerely accentuates the fact that thevarious arts of today learn fromeach other and often resemble eachother. But it would be rash to saythat this definition 47

is an exhaustive statement ofDebussy's significance.

Despite his similarity with theImpressionists this musician isdeeply concerned with spiritualharmony, for in his works one hearsthe suffering and tortured nerves ofthe present time. And furtherDebussy never uses the whollymaterial note so characteristic ofprogramme music, but trusts mainlyin the creation of a more abstractimpression. Debussy has been

greatly influenced by Russianmusic, notably by Mussorgsky. So itis not surprising that he stands inclose relation to the young Russiancomposers, the chief of whom isScriabin. The experience of thehearer is frequently the same duringthe performance of the works ofthese two musicians. He is oftensnatched quite suddenly from aseries of modern discords into thecharm of more or less conventionalbeauty. He feels himself ofteninsulted, tossed about like a tennis

ball over the net between the twoparties of the outer and the innerbeauty. To those who are notaccustomed to it the inner beautyappears as ugliness becausehumanity in general inclines to theouter and knows nothing of theinner. Almost alone in severinghimself from conventional beauty isthe Austrian composer, ArnoldSchonberg. He says in his

Harmonielehre: "Every combinationof notes, every advance is possible,

but I am beginning to feel that thereare also definite rules andconditions which incline me to theuse of this or that dissonance." [20]This means that

48

Schonberg realizes that the greatestfreedom of all, the freedom of anunfettered art, can never beabsolute.

Every age achieves a certainmeasure of this freedom, but beyond

the boundaries of its freedom themightiest genius can never go. Butthe measure of freedom of each agemust be constantly enlarged.Schonberg is

endeavouring to make complete useof his freedom and has alreadydiscovered gold mines of newbeauty in his search for spiritualharmony. His music leads us into arealm where musical experience isa matter not of the ear but of thesoul alone—and from this point

begins the music of the future.

A parallel course has beenfollowed by the Impressionistmovement in painting. It is seen inits dogmatic and most naturalisticform in so-called Neo-Impressionism. The theory of this isto put on the canvas the wholeglitter and brilliance of nature, andnot only an isolated aspect of her.

It is interesting to notice threepractically contemporary and totallydifferent groups in painting. They

are (1) Rossetti and his pupilBurne-Jones, with their followers;(2) Bocklin and his school; (3)Segantini, with his unworthyfollowing of photographic artists. Ihave chosen these three groups toillustrate the search for the abstractin art. Rossetti sought to revive thenon-materialism of the pre-Raphaelites. Bocklin busied 49

himself with the mythologicalscenes, but was in contrast toRossetti in that he gave strongly

material form to his legendaryfigures. Segantini, outwardly themost material of the three, selectedthe most ordinary objects (hills,stones, cattle, etc.) often paintingthem with the minutest realism, buthe never failed to create a spiritualas well as a material value, so thatreally he is the most non-material ofthe trio.

These men sought for the "inner" byway of the "outer."

By another road, and one more

purely artistic, the great seeker aftera new sense of form approached thesame problem. Cezanne made aliving thing out of a teacup, orrather in a teacup he realized theexistence of something alive. Heraised still life to such a point that itceased to be inanimate.

He painted these things as hepainted human brings, because hewas endowed with the gift ofdivining the inner life in everything.His colour and form are alike

suitable to the spiritual harmony. Aman, a tree, an apple, all were usedby Cezanne in the creation ofsomething that is called a "picture,"and which is a piece of true inwardand artistic harmony. The sameintention actuates the work of one ofthe greatest of the young Frenchmen,Henri Matisse. He paints "pictures,"and in these 50

"pictures" endeavours to reproducethe divine. [21] To

attain this end he requires as a

starting point nothing but the objectto be painted (human being orwhatever it may be), and then themethods that belong to paintingalone, colour and form.

By personal inclination, because heis French and because he isspecially gifted as a colourist,Matisse is apt to lay too much stresson the colour. Like Debussy, hecannot always refrain fromconventional beauty; Impressionismis in his blood. One sees pictures of

Matisse which are full of greatinward vitality, produced by thestress of the inner need, and alsopictures which possess only outercharm, because they were paintedon an outer impulse. (How oftenone is reminded of Manet in this.)His work seems to be typicalFrench painting, with its daintysense of melody, raised from timeto time to the summit of a great hillabove the clouds.

But in the work of another great

artist in Paris, the Spaniard PabloPicasso, there is never anysuspicion of this conventionalbeauty. Tossed hither and thither bythe need for self- expression,Picasso hurries from one manner toanother. At times a great gulfappears between consecutivemanners, because Picasso leapsboldly and is found continually byhis bewildered crowd of followersstanding at a point very differentfrom that at which they 51

saw him last. No sooner do theythink that they have reached himagain than he has changed oncemore. In this way there aroseCubism, the latest of the Frenchmovements, which is treated indetail in Part II. Picasso is trying toarrive at constructiveness by way ofproportion. In his latest works(1911) he has achieved the logicaldestruction of matter, not, however,by

dissolution but rather by a kind of a

parcelling out of its variousdivisions and a constructivescattering of these divisions aboutthe canvas. But he seems in thismost recent work distinctly desirousof keeping an appearance of matter.He shrinks from no innovation, andif colour seems likely to balk him inhis search for a pure artistic form,he throws it overboard and paints apicture in brown and white; and theproblem of purely artistic form isthe real problem of his life.

In their pursuit of the same supremeend Matisse and Picasso stand sideby side, Matisse representingcolour and Picasso form.

52

IV. The Pyramid

*

And so at different points along theroad are the different arts, sayingwhat they are best able to say, andin the language which is peculiarly

their own. Despite, or perhapsthanks to, the differences betweenthem, there has never been a timewhen the arts approached eachother more nearly than they dotoday, in this later phase of spiritualdevelopment.

In each manifestation is the seed ofa striving towards the abstract, thenon-material. Consciously orunconsciously they are obeyingSocrates' command—Know thyself.

Consciously or unconsciously

artists are studying and provingtheir material, setting in the balancethe spiritual value of thoseelements, with which it is theirseveral privilege to work.

And the natural result of thisstriving is that the various arts aredrawing together. They are findingin Music the best teacher. With fewexceptions music has been for 53

some centuries the art which hasdevoted itself not to thereproduction of natural phenomena,

but rather to the expression of theartist's soul, in musical sound.

A painter, who finds no satisfactionin mere

representation, however artistic, inhis longing to express his inner life,cannot but envy the ease with whichmusic, the most non-material of thearts today, achieves this end. Henaturally seeks to apply the methodsof music to his own art. And fromthis results that modern desire forrhythm in painting, for

mathematical, abstract

construction, for repeated notes ofcolour, for setting colour in motion.

This borrowing of method by oneart from another, can only be trulysuccessful when the application ofthe borrowed methods is notsuperficial but fundamental.

One art must learn first how anotheruses its methods, so that themethods may afterwards be appliedto the borrower's art from the

beginning, and suitably. The artistmust not forget that in him lies thepower of true application of everymethod, but that that power must bedeveloped.

In manipulation of form music canachieve results which are beyondthe reach of painting. On the otherhand, painting is ahead of music inseveral particulars. Music, 54

for example, has at its disposalduration of time; while painting canpresent to the spectator the whole

content of

its message at one moment. [22]Music, which is outwardlyunfettered by nature, needs nodefinite form for its expression.[23]

Painting today is almost exclusivelyconcerned with the reproduction ofnatural forms and phenomena. Herbusiness is now to test her strengthand methods, to know herself asmusic has done for a long time, andthen to use her powers to a truly

artistic end.

And so the arts are encroaching oneupon another, and from a proper useof this encroachment will rise theart that is truly monumental. Everyman who steeps himself in thespiritual possibilities of his art is avaluable helper in the building ofthe spiritual pyramid which willsome day reach to heaven.

55

PART II: ABOUT PAINTING

*

56

V. The Psychological Working

of Colour

*

To let the eye stray over a palette,splashed with many colours,produces a dual result. In the firstplace one receives a PURELYPHYSICAL IMPRESSION, one of

pleasure and contentment at thevaried and beautiful colours. Theeye is either warmed or elsesoothed and cooled. But thesephysical sensations can only be ofshort duration. They are merelysuperficial and leave no lastingimpression, for the soul isunaffected. But although the effectof the colours is forgotten when theeye is turned away, the superficialimpression of varied colour may bethe starting point of a whole chainof related sensations.

On the average man only theimpressions caused by very familiarobjects, will be purely superficial.A first encounter with any newphenomenon exercises

immediately an impression on thesoul. This is the 57

experience of the child discoveringthe world, to whom every object isnew. He sees a light, wishes to takehold of it, burns his finger and feelshenceforward a proper respect forflame. But later he learns that light

has a friendly as well as anunfriendly side, that it drives awaythe darkness, makes the day longer,is essential to warmth, cooking,play-acting. From the mass of thesediscoveries is composed aknowledge of light, which isindelibly fixed in his mind. Thestrong, intensive interest disappearsand the various properties of flameare balanced against each other. Inthis way the whole world becomesgradually disenchanted. It isrealized that trees give shade, that

horses run fast and motor-cars stillfaster, that dogs bite, that the figureseen in a mirror is not a real humanbeing.

As the man develops, the circle ofthese experiences caused bydifferent beings and objects, growsever wider.

They acquire an inner meaning andeventually a spiritual harmony. It isthe same with colour, which makesonly a momentary and superficialimpression on a soul but slightly

developed in sensitiveness. Buteven this superficial impressionvaries in quality. The eye isstrongly attracted by light, clearcolours, and still more stronglyattracted by those colours which arewarm as well as clear; vermilionhas the charm of flame, which hasalways attracted human beings.Keen lemon-yellow 58

hurts the eye in time as a prolongedand shrill trumpet-note the ear, andthe gazer turns away to seek relief

in blue or green.

But to a more sensitive soul theeffect of colours is deeper andintensely moving. And so we cometo the second main result of lookingat colours: THEIR

PSYCHIC EFFECT. They producea corresponding

spiritual vibration, and it is only asa step towards this spiritualvibration that the elementaryphysical impression is of

importance.

Whether the psychic effect of colouris a direct one, as these last fewlines imply, or whether it is theoutcome of association, is perhapsopen to question. The soul beingone with the body, the former maywell experience a psychic shock,caused by association acting on thelatter.

For example, red may cause asensation analogous to that causedby flame, because red is the colour

of flame. A warm red will proveexciting, another shade of red willcause pain or disgust throughassociation with running blood. Inthese cases colour awakens acorresponding physical sensation,which undoubtedly works upon thesoul.

If this were always the case, itwould be easy to define byassociation the effects of colourupon other senses 59

than that of sight. One might say that

keen yellow looks sour, because itrecalls the taste of a lemon.

But such definitions are notuniversally possible. There aremany examples of colour workingwhich refuse to be so classified. ADresden doctor relates of one of hispatients, whom he designates as an"exceptionally sensitive person,"that he could not eat a certain saucewithout tasting "blue," i.e. withoutexperiencing a feeling of seeing ablue color. [24] It would be

possible to

suggest, by way of explanation ofthis, that in highly sensitive people,the way to the soul is so direct andthe soul itself so impressionable,that any impression of tastecommunicates itself immediately tothe soul, and thence to the otherorgans of sense (in this case, theeyes). This would imply an echo orreverberation, such as occurssometimes in musical instrumentswhich, without being touched,

sound in harmony with some otherinstrument struck at the moment.

But not only with taste has sightbeen known to work in harmony.Many colours have been describedas rough or sticky, others as smoothand uniform, so that one feelsinclined to stroke them (e.g., darkultramarine, chromic oxide green,and rose madder). Equally thedistinction between warm and coldcolours belongs to this

connection. Some colours appear

soft (rose madder), 60

others hard (cobalt green, blue-green oxide), so that even freshfrom the tube they seem to be dry.

The expression "scented colours" isfrequently met with.

And finally the sound of colours isso definite that it would be hard tofind anyone who would try toexpress bright yellow in the bassnotes, or dark lake in the treble.

[25] [26]

The explanation by association willnot suffice us in many, and the mostimportant cases. Those who haveheard of chromotherapy will knowthat coloured light can exercise verydefinite influences on the wholebody.

Attempts have been made withdifferent colours in the treatment ofvarious nervous ailments. Theyhave shown that red light stimulatesand excites the heart, while blue

light can cause temporary paralysis.But when the experiments come tobe tried on animals and even plants,the association theory falls to theground. So one is bound to admitthat the question is at presentunexplored, but that colour canexercise enormous influence overthe body as a physical organism.

No more sufficient, in the psychicsphere, is the theory of association.Generally speaking, colour is apower which directly influences the

soul. Colour is the keyboard, theeyes are the hammers, the soul is thepiano with many 61

strings. The artist is the hand whichplays, touching one key or another,to cause vibrations in the soul.

IT IS EVIDENT THEREFORETHAT COLOUR

HARMONY MUST REST ONLYON A

CORRESPONDING VIBRATION

IN THE HUMAN

SOUL; AND THIS IS ONE OFTHE GUIDING

PRINCIPLES OF THE INNERNEED. [27]

62

VI. The Language of Form and

Colour

*

The man that hath no music inhimself, Nor is not mov'd withconcord of sweet sounds, Is fit fortreasons, stratagems, and spoils;The motions of his spirit are dull asnight, And his affections dark asErebus: Let no such man be trusted.Mark the music. (The Merchant ofVenice, Act v, Scene I.)

Musical sound acts directly on thesoul and finds an echo therebecause, though to varying extents,music is innate in man. [28]

"Everyone knows that yellow,orange, and red suggest ideas of joyand plenty" (Delacroix). [29]

These two quotations show the deeprelationship

between the arts, and especiallybetween music and painting. Goethesaid that painting must count this 63

relationship her main foundation,and by this prophetic remark heseems to foretell the position inwhich painting is today. She stands,

in fact, at the first stage of the roadby which she will, according to herown possibilities, make art anabstraction of thought and arrivefinally at purely artisticcomposition. [30]

Painting has two weapons at herdisposal:

1. Colour.

2. Form.

Form can stand alone as

representing an object (either realor otherwise) or as a purelyabstract limit to a space or asurface.

Colour cannot stand alone; it cannotdispense with

boundaries of some kind. [31] Anever-ending extent of red can onlybe seen in the mind; when the wordred is heard, the colour is evokedwithout definite boundaries.

If such are necessary they have

deliberately to be imagined. Butsuch red, as is seen by the mind andnot by the eye, exercises at once adefinite and an indefiniteimpression on the soul, andproduces spiritual harmony. I say"indefinite," because in itself it hasno suggestion of warmth or cold,such attributes having to beimagined for it afterwards, asmodifications of the original"redness." I 64

say "definite," because the spiritual

harmony exists without any need forsuch subsequent attributes ofwarmth or cold. An analogous caseis the sound of a trumpet which onehears when the word "trumpet" ispronounced. This sound is audibleto the soul, without the distinctivecharacter of a trumpet heard in theopen air or in a room, played aloneor with other instruments, in thehands of a postilion, a huntsman, asoldier, or a professional musician.

But when red is presented in a

material form (as in painting) itmust possess (1) some definiteshade of the many shades of red thatexist and (2) a limited surface,divided off from the other colours,which are

undoubtedly there. The first of theseconditions (the subjective) isaffected by the second (theobjective), for the neighbouringcolours affect the shade of red.

This essential connection betweencolour and form brings us to the

question of the influences of formon colour. Form alone, even thoughtotally abstract and geometrical, hasa power of inner suggestion. Atriangle (without the accessoryconsideration of its being acute-orobtuse-angled or equilateral) has aspiritual value of its own. Inconnection with other forms, thisvalue may be somewhat modified,but remains in quality the same. Thecase is similar with a circle, asquare, or any conceivable 65

geometrical figure. [32] As above,with the red, we have

here a subjective substance in anobjective shell.

The mutual influence of form andcolour now becomes clear. Ayellow triangle, a blue circle, agreen square, or a green triangle, ayellow circle, a blue square—allthese are different and havedifferent spiritual values.

It is evident that many colours are

hampered and even nullified ineffect by many forms. On the whole,keen colours are well suited bysharp forms (e.g., a yellowtriangle), and soft, deep colours byround forms (e.g., a blue circle).But it must be remembered that an

unsuitable combination of form andcolour is not necessarily discordant,but may, with manipulation, showthe way to fresh possibilities ofharmony.

Since colours and forms are well-

nigh innumerable, their combinationand their influences are likewiseunending.

The material is inexhaustible.

Form, in the narrow sense, isnothing but the separating linebetween surfaces of colour. That isits outer meaning. But it has also aninner meaning, of varying

intensity, [33] and, properlyspeaking, FORM IS THE

OUTWARD EXPRESSION OFTHIS INNER

MEANING. To use once more themetaphor of the piano 66

—the artist is the hand which, byplaying on this or that key (i.e.,form), affects the human soul in thisor that way. SO IT IS EVIDENTTHAT FORM-HARMONY

MUST REST ONLY ON ACORRESPONDING

VIBRATION OF THE HUMANSOUL; AND THIS IS

A SECOND GUIDING PRINCIPLEOF THE INNER

NEED.

The two aspects of form justmentioned define its two aims. Thetask of limiting surfaces (the outeraspect) is well performed if theinner meaning is fully expressed.

[34]

The outer task may assume manydifferent shapes; but it will neverfail in one of two purposes: (1)Either form aims at so limitingsurfaces as to fashion of them somematerial object; (2) Or formremains abstract, describing only anon-material, spiritual entity. Suchnon-material entities, with life andvalue as such, are a circle, atriangle, a rhombus, a trapeze, etc.,many of them so complicated as tohave no mathematical denomination.

Between these two extremes lie theinnumerable forms in which bothelements exist; with apreponderance either of the abstractor the material. These intermediateforms are, at present, the store onwhich the artist has to draw.

Purely abstract forms are beyondthe reach of the artist at 67

present; they are too indefinite forhim. To limit himself to the purelyindefinite would be to rob himselfof possibilities, to exclude the

human element and therefore toweaken his power of expression.

On the other hand, there existsequally no purely material form. Amaterial object cannot be absolutelyreproduced.

For good or evil, the artist has eyesand hands, which are perhaps moreartistic than his intentions andrefuse to aim at photography alone.Many genuine artists, who cannot becontent with a mere inventory ofmaterial objects, seek to express the

objects by what was once called"idealization," then "selection," andwhich

tomorrow will again be calledsomething different. [35]

The impossibility and, in art, theuselessness of attempting to copy anobject exactly, the desire to give theobject full expression, are theimpulses which drive the artistaway from "literal" colouring topurely artistic aims. And that bringsus to the question of composition.

[36]

Pure artistic composition has twoelements:

1. The composition of the wholepicture.

2. The creation of the various formswhich, by standing 68

in different relationships to eachother, decide the

composition of the whole. [37]

Many objects have to be consideredin the light of the whole, and soordered as to suit this whole. Singlythey will have little meaning, beingof importance only in so far as theyhelp the general effect. These singleobjects must be fashioned in oneway only; and this, not because theirown inner meaning demands thatparticular fashioning, but entirelybecause they have to serve asbuilding material for the

whole composition. [38]

So the abstract idea is creeping intoart, although, only yesterday, it wasscorned and obscured by purelymaterial ideals. Its gradual advanceis natural enough, for in proportionas the organic form falls into thebackground, the abstract idealachieves greater

prominence.

But the organic form possesses allthe same an inner harmony of itsown, which may be either the sameas that of its abstract parallel (thus

producing a simple combination ofthe two elements) or totallydifferent (in which case thecombination may be unavoidably

discordant). However diminished inimportance the organic form maybe, its inner note will always beheard; and for this reason the choiceof material objects is an importantone. The spiritual accord of theorganic with 69

the abstract element may strengthenthe appeal of the latter (as much by

contrast as by similarity) or maydestroy it.

Suppose a rhomboidal composition,made up of a

number of human figures. The artistasks himself: Are these humanfigures an absolute necessity to thecomposition, or should they bereplaced by other forms, and thatwithout affecting the fundamentalharmony of the whole? If the answeris "Yes," we have a case in whichthe material appeal directly

weakens the abstract appeal. Thehuman form must either be replacedby another object which, whether bysimilarity or contrast, willstrengthen the abstract appeal, ormust remain a

purely non-material symbol. [39]

Once more the metaphor of thepiano. For "colour" or

"form" substitute "object." Everyobject has its own life and thereforeits own appeal; man is continually

subject to these appeals. But theresults are often dubbed either sub—or super-conscious. Nature, thatis to say the ever-changingsurroundings of man, sets invibration the strings of the piano(the soul) by manipulation of thekeys (the various objects with theirseveral appeals).

The impressions we receive, whichoften appear merely chaotic, consistof three elements: the impression ofthe 70

colour of the object, of its form, andof its combined colour and form,i.e. of the object itself.

At this point the individuality of theartist comes to the front anddisposes, as he wills, these threeelements. IT

IS CLEAR, THEREFORE, THATTHE CHOICE OF

OBJECT (i.e. OF ONE OF THEELEMENTS IN THE

HARMONY OF FORM) MUST BEDECIDED ONLY

BY A CORRESPONDINGVIBRATION IN THE

HUMAN SOUL; AND THIS IS ATHIRD GUIDING

PRINCIPLE OF THE INNERNEED.

The more abstract is form, the moreclear and direct is its appeal. In anycomposition the material side may

be more or less omitted inproportion as the forms used aremore or less material, and for themsubstituted pure abstractions, orlargely dematerialized objects. Themore an artist uses these abstractedforms, the deeper and moreconfidently will he advance into thekingdom of the abstract. And afterhim will follow the gazer at hispictures, who also will havegradually acquired a greaterfamiliarity with the language of thatkingdom.

Must we then abandon utterly allmaterial objects and paint solely inabstractions? The problem ofharmonizing the appeal of thematerial and the non-material showsus the answer to this question. Asevery word spoken rouses 71

an inner vibration, so likewise doesevery object represented. Todeprive oneself of this possibility isto limit one's powers of expression.That is at any rate the case atpresent. But besides this answer to

the question, there is another, andone which art can always employ toany question beginning with "must":There is no "must"

in art, because art is free.

With regard to the second problemof composition, the creation of thesingle elements which are tocompose the whole, it must beremembered that the same form inthe same circumstances will alwayshave the same inner appeal. Onlythe circumstances are constantly

varying. It results that: (1) The idealharmony alters according to therelation to other forms of the formwhich causes it. (2) Even in similarrelationship a slight approach to orwithdrawal from other forms mayaffect the harmony.

[40] Nothing is absolute. Form-composition rests on a relativebasis, depending on (1) thealterations in the mutual relations offorms one to another, (2) alterationsin each individual form, down to the

very smallest. Every form is assensitive as a puff of smoke, theslightest breath will alter itcompletely. This extreme mobilitymakes it easier to obtain similarharmonies from the use of differentforms, than from a repetition of thesame one; though of course an exactreplica of a spiritual harmony cannever be produced. So long as weare 72

susceptible only to the appeal of awhole composition, this fact is of

mainly theoretical importance. Butwhen we become more sensitive bya constant use of abstract forms(which have no materialinterpretation) it will become ofgreat practical significance. And soas art becomes more difficult, itswealth of expression in formbecomes greater and greater. At thesame time the question of distortionin drawing falls out and is replacedby the question how far the innerappeal of the particular form isveiled or given full expression. And

once more the possibilities areextended, for combinations ofveiled and fully expressed appealssuggest new

LEITMOTIVEN in composition.

Without such development as this,form-composition is impossible. Toanyone who cannot experience theinner appeal of form (whethermaterial or abstract) suchcomposition can never be other thanmeaningless.

Apparently aimless alterations inform-arrangement will make artseem merely a game. So once morewe are faced with the sameprinciple, which is to set art free,the principle of the inner need.

When features or limbs for artisticreasons are changed or distorted,men reject the artistic problem andfall back on the secondary questionof anatomy. But, on our argument,this secondary consideration doesnot appear, 73

only the real, artistic questionremaining. These apparentlyirresponsible, but really well-reasoned alterations in formprovide one of the storehouses ofartistic possibilities.

The adaptability of forms, theirorganic but inward variations, theirmotion in the picture, theirinclination to material or abstract,their mutual relations, eitherindividually or as parts of a whole;further, the concord or discord of

the various elements of a picture,the handling of groups, thecombinations of veiled and openlyexpressed appeals, the use ofrhythmical or unrhythmical, ofgeometrical or non-geometricalforms, their contiguity or separation—all these things are the materialfor counterpoint in painting.

But so long as colour is excluded,such counterpoint is confined toblack and white. Colour provides awhole wealth of possibilities of her

own, and when combined withform, yet a further series ofpossibilities. And all these will beexpressions of the inner need.

The inner need is built up of threemystical elements: (1) Every artist,as a creator, has something in himwhich calls for expression (this isthe element of personality).

(2) Every artist, as child of his age,is impelled to express the spirit ofhis age (this is the element of style)—

74

dictated by the period andparticular country to which the artistbelongs (it is doubtful how long thelatter distinction will continue toexist). (3) Every artist, as a servantof art, has to help the cause of art(this is the element of pure artistry,which is constant in all ages andamong all nationalities).

A full understanding of the first twoelements is necessary for arealization of the third. But he who

has this realization will recognizethat a rudely carved Indian columnis an expression of the same spiritas actuates any real work of art oftoday.

In the past and even today much talkis heard of

"personality" in art. Talk of thecoming "style" becomes morefrequent daily. But for all theirimportance today, these questionswill have disappeared after a fewhundred or thousand years.

Only the third element—that of pureartistry—will remain for ever. AnEgyptian carving speaks to us todaymore subtly than it did to itschronological

contemporaries; for they judged itwith the hampering knowledge ofperiod and personality. But we canjudge purely as an expression of theeternal artistry.

Similarly—the greater the partplayed in a modern work 75

of art by the two elements of styleand personality, the better will it beappreciated by people today; but amodern work of art which is full ofthe third element, will fail to reachthe contemporary soul. For manycenturies have to pass away beforethe third element can be receivedwith understanding. But the artist inwhose work this third elementpredominates is the really greatartist.

Because the elements of style and

personality make up what is calledthe periodic characteristics of anywork of art, the "development" ofartistic forms must depend on theirseparation from the element of pureartistry, which knows neither periodnor nationality. But as style andpersonality create in every epochcertain definite forms, which, for alltheir superficial differences, arereally closely related, these formscan be spoken of as one side of art—the SUBJECTIVE. Every artistchooses, from the forms which

reflect his own time, those whichare sympathetic to him, andexpresses himself through them.

So the subjective element is thedefinite and external expression ofthe inner, objective element.

The inevitable desire for outwardexpression of the OBJECTIVEelement is the impulse here definedas the

"inner need." The forms it borrowschange from day to day, and, as it

continually advances, what is todaya 76

phrase of inner harmony becomestomorrow one of outer harmony. Itis clear, therefore, that the innerspirit of art only uses the outer formof any particular period as astepping-stone to further expression.

In short, the working of the innerneed and the

development of art is an ever-advancing expression of the eternal

and objective in the terms of theperiodic and subjective.

Because the objective is foreverexchanging the

subjective expression of today forthat of tomorrow, each newextension of liberty in the use ofouter form is hailed as the last andsupreme. At present we say that anartist can use any form he wishes,so long as he remains in touch withnature. But this limitation, like allits predecessors, is only temporary.

From the point of view of the innerneed, no limitation must be made.The artist may use any form whichhis expression demands; for hisinner impulse must find suitableoutward expression.

So we see that a deliberate searchfor personality and

"style" is not only impossible, butcomparatively unimportant. Theclose relationship of art throughoutthe ages, is not a relationship inoutward form but in inner meaning.

And therefore the talk of schools, oflines of

"development," of "principles ofart," etc., is based on 77

misunderstanding and can only leadto confusion.

The artist must be blind todistinctions between

"recognized" or "unrecognized"conventions of form, deaf to thetransitory teaching and demands of

his particular age. He must watchonly the trend of the inner need, andhearken to its words alone. Then hewill with safety employ means bothsanctioned and forbidden by hiscontemporaries. All means aresacred which are called for by theinner need. All means are sinfulwhich obscure that inner need.

It is impossible to theorize aboutthis ideal of art. In real art theorydoes not precede practice, butfollows her.

Everything is, at first, a matter offeeling. Any theoretical scheme willbe lacking in the essential ofcreation—the inner desire forexpression—which cannot be

determined. Neither the quality ofthe inner need, nor its

subjective form, can be measurednor weighed. [41]

Such a grammar of painting can onlybe temporarily guessed at, andshould it ever be achieved, it will

be not so much according tophysical rules (which have so oftenbeen tried and which today theCubists are trying) as according tothe rules of the inner need, whichare of the soul.

78

The inner need is the basic alike ofsmall and great problems inpainting. We are seeking today forthe road which is to lead us awayfrom the outer to the inner basis.[42]

The spirit, like the body, can bestrengthened and developed byfrequent exercise. Just as the body,if neglected, grows weaker andfinally impotent, so the spiritperishes if untended. And for thisreason it is necessary for the artistto know the starting point for theexercise of his spirit.

The starting point is the study ofcolour and its effects on men.

There is no need to engage in thefiner shades of complicated colour,

but rather at first to consider onlythe direct use of simple colours.

To begin with, let us test theworking on ourselves of individualcolours, and so make a simplechart, which will facilitate theconsideration of the whole question.

Two great divisions of colour occurto the mind at the outset: into warmand cold, and into light and dark. Toeach colour there are therefore fourshades of appeal—

warm and light or warm and dark,or cold and light or 79

cold and dark.

Generally speaking, warmth or coldin a colour means an approachrespectively to yellow or to blue.This distinction is, so to speak, onone basis, the colour having aconstant fundamental appeal, butassuming either a more material ormore non-material quality. The

movement is an horizontal one, the

warm colours

approaching the spectator, the coldones retreating from him.

The colours, which cause in anothercolour this

horizontal movement, while they arethemselves affected by it, haveanother movement of their own,which acts with a violent separativeforce. This is, therefore, the firstantithesis in the inner appeal, andthe inclination of the colour to

yellow or to blue, is of tremendousimportance.

The second antithesis is betweenwhite and black; i.e., the inclinationto light or dark caused by the pair ofcolours just mentioned. Thesecolours have once more theirpeculiar movement to and from thespectator, but in a more rigid form.

Yellow and blue have anothermovement which affects the firstantithesis—an ex-and concentricmovement. If two circles are drawn

and painted respectively yellow 80

and blue, brief concentration willreveal in the yellow a spreadingmovement out from the centre, and a

noticeable approach to thespectator. The blue, on the otherhand, moves in upon itself, like asnail retreating into its shell, anddraws away from the spectator.[43]

In the case of light and dark coloursthe movement is emphasized. That

of the yellow increases with anadmixture of white, i.e., as itbecomes lighter. That of the blueincreases with an admixture ofblack, i.e., as it becomes darker.This means that there can never be adark-coloured yellow. Therelationship between white andyellow is as close as between blackand blue, for blue can be so dark asto border on black. Besides thisphysical relationship, is also aspiritual one (between yellow andwhite on one side, between blue

and black on the other) which marksa strong separation between the twopairs.

An attempt to make yellow colderproduces a green tint and checksboth the horizontal and excentricmovement.

The colour becomes sickly andunreal. The blue by its contrarymovement acts as a brake on theyellow, and is hindered in its ownmovement, till the two togetherbecome stationary, and the result is

green. Similarly a mixture of blackand white produces gray, which ismotionless and spiritually verysimilar to green.

81

But while green, yellow, and blueare potentially active, thoughtemporarily paralysed, in gray thereis no possibility of movement,because gray consists of twocolours that have no active force,for they stand the, one in motionlessdiscord, the other in a motionless

negation, even of discord, like anendless wall or a bottomless pit.

Because the component colours ofgreen are active and have amovement of their own, it ispossible, on the basis of thismovement, to reckon their spiritualappeal.

The first movement of yellow, thatof approach to the spectator (whichcan be increased by anintensification of the yellow), andalso the second movement, that of

over-spreading the boundaries,have a material parallel in thehuman energy which assails everyobstacle blindly, and bursts forthaimlessly in every direction.

Yellow, if steadily gazed at in anygeometrical form, has a disturbinginfluence, and reveals in the colouran

insistent, aggressive character. [44]The intensification of the yellowincreases the painful shrillness ofits note. [45]

Yellow is the typically earthlycolour. It can never have profoundmeaning. An intermixture of bluemakes it a sickly colour. It may beparalleled in human nature, with 82

madness, not with melancholy orhypochondriacal

mania, but rather with violentraving lunacy.

The power of profound meaning isfound in blue, and first in itsphysical movements (1) of retreat

from the spectator, (2) of turning inupon its own centre. The inclinationof blue to depth is so strong that itsinner appeal is stronger when itsshade is deeper.

Blue is the typical heavenly colour.[46]

The ultimate feeling it creates is oneof rest. [47]

When it sinks almost to black, itechoes a grief that is

hardly human. [48]

When it rises towards white, amovement little suited to it, itsappeal to men grows weaker andmore distant. In music a light blue islike a flute, a darker blue a cello; astill darker a thunderous doublebass; and the darkest blue of all-anorgan.

A well-balanced mixture of blueand yellow produces green. Thehorizontal movement ceases;likewise that from and towards the

centre. The effect on the soulthrough the eye is thereforemotionless. This is a fact 83

recognized not only by opticians butby the world. Green is the mostrestful colour that exists. Onexhausted men this restfulness has abeneficial effect, but after a time itbecomes wearisome. Picturespainted in shades of green arepassive and tend to be wearisome;this contrasts with the activewarmth of yellow or the active

coolness of blue. In the hierarchy ofcolours green is the

"bourgeoisie"-self-satisfied,immovable, narrow. It is the colourof summer, the period when natureis resting from the storms of winterand the productive energy of spring.

Any preponderance in green ofyellow or blue introduces acorresponding activity and changesthe inner appeal.

The green keeps its characteristic

equanimity and restfulness, theformer increasing with theinclination to lightness, the latterwith the inclination to depth. Inmusic the absolute green isrepresented by the placid, middlenotes of a violin.

Black and white have already beendiscussed in general terms. Moreparticularly speaking, white,although often considered as nocolour (a theory largely due to theImpressionists, who saw no white

in nature as a symbol of a worldfrom which all colour as a definiteattribute has disappeared). [49]

This world is too far above us forits harmony to touch 84

our souls. A great silence, like animpenetrable wall, shrouds its lifefrom our understanding. White,therefore, has this harmony ofsilence, which works upon usnegatively, like many pauses inmusic that break temporarily themelody. It is not a dead silence, but

one pregnant with possibilities.White has the appeal of thenothingness that is before birth, ofthe world in the ice age.

A totally dead silence, on the otherhand, a silence with nopossibilities, has the inner harmonyof black. In music it is representedby one of those profound and finalpauses, after which any continuationof the melody seems the dawn ofanother world. Black is somethingburnt out, like the ashes of a funeral

pyre, something motionless like acorpse. The silence of black is thesilence of death. Outwardly black isthe colour with least harmony of all,a kind of neutral background againstwhich the minutest shades of othercolours stand clearly forward. Itdiffers from white in this also, forwith white nearly every colour is indiscord, or even mute

altogether. [50]

Not without reason is white taken assymbolizing joy and spotless purity,

and black grief and death. A blendof black and white produces graywhich, as has been said, is silentand motionless, being composed oftwo inactive 85

colours, its restfulness having noneof the potential activity of green. Asimilar gray is produced by amixture of green and red, a spiritualblend of passivity and

glowing warmth. [51]

The unbounded warmth of red has

not the irresponsible appeal ofyellow, but rings inwardly with adetermined and powerful intensity Itglows in itself, maturely, and doesnot distribute its vigour aimlessly.

The varied powers of red are verystriking. By a skillful use of it in itsdifferent shades, its fundamentaltone may be made warm or cold.[52]

Light warm red has a certainsimilarity to medium yellow, alikein texture and appeal, and gives a

feeling of strength, vigour,determination, triumph. In music, itis a sound of trumpets, strong,harsh, and ringing.

Vermilion is a red with a feeling ofsharpness, like glowing steel whichcan be cooled by water. Vermilionis quenched by blue, for it cansupport no mixture with a coldcolour. More accurately speaking,such a mixture produces what iscalled a dirty colour, scorned bypainters of today. But "dirt" as a

material object has its own innerappeal, and therefore to avoid it inpainting, is as unjust and narrow aswas the cry of yesterday for pure 86

colour. At the call of the inner needthat which is outwardly foul may beinwardly pure, and vice versa.

The two shades of red justdiscussed are similar to yellow,except that they reach out less to thespectator.

The glow of red is within itself. For

this reason it is a colour morebeloved than yellow, beingfrequently used in primitive andtraditional decoration, and also inpeasant costumes, because in theopen air the harmony of red andgreen is very beautiful. Taken byitself this red is material, and, likeyellow, has no very deep appeal.Only when combined withsomething nobler does it acquirethis deep appeal. It is dangerous toseek to deepen red by an admixtureof black, for black quenches the

glow, or at least reduces itconsiderably.

But there remains brown,unemotional, disinclined formovement. An intermixture of red isoutwardly barely audible, but thererings out a powerful inner harmony.

Skillful blending can produce aninner appeal of extraordinary,indescribable beauty. The vermilionnow rings like a great trumpet, orthunders like a drum.

Cool red (madder) like any otherfundamentally cold colour, can bedeepened—especially by anintermixture of azure. The characterof the colour changes; the inwardglow increases, the active elementgradually disappears.

87

But this active element is never sowholly absent as in deep green.There always remains a hint ofrenewed vigour, somewhere out ofsight, waiting for a certain moment

to burst forth afresh. In this lies thegreat difference between adeepened red and a deepened blue,because in red there is always atrace of the material. A parallel inmusic are the sad, middle tones of acello. A cold, light red contains avery distinct bodily or materialelement, but it is always pure, likethe fresh beauty of the face of ayoung girl. The singing notes of aviolin express this exactly in music.

Warm red, intensified by a suitable

yellow, is orange.

This blend brings red almost to thepoint of spreading out towards thespectator. But the element of red isalways sufficiently strong to keepthe colour from flippancy.

Orange is like a man, convinced ofhis own powers. Its note is that ofthe angelus, or of an old violin.

Just as orange is red brought nearerto humanity by yellow, so violet isred withdrawn from humanity by

blue. But the red in violet must becold, for the spiritual need does notallow of a mixture of warm redwith cold blue.

Violet is therefore both in thephysical and spiritual sense acooled red. It is consequently rathersad and ailing. It is 88

worn by old women, and in Chinaas a sign of mourning.

In music it is an English horn, or thedeep notes of wood

instruments (e.g. a bassoon). [53]

The two last mentioned colours(orange and violet) are the fourthand last pair of antitheses of theprimitive colours. They stand toeach other in the same relation asthe third antitheses—green and red—i.e., as

complementary colours.

As in a great circle, a serpent bitingits own tail (the symbol of eternity,of something without end) the six

colours appear that make up thethree main antitheses.

And to right and left stand the twogreat possibilities of silence—deathand birth.

It is clear that all I have said ofthese simple colours is veryprovisional and general, and so alsoare those feelings (joy, grief, etc.)which have been quoted asparallels of the colours. For thesefeelings are only the materialexpressions of the soul. Shades of

colour, like those of sound, are of amuch finer texture and awake in thesoul emotions too fine to beexpressed in words.

Certainly each tone will find someprobable expression in words, but itwill always be incomplete, and thatpart which the word fails to expresswill not be unimportant but ratherthe very kernel of its existence. Forthis reason 89

words are, and will always remain,only hints, mere suggestions of

colours. In this impossibility ofexpressing colour in words with theconsequent need for some othermode of expression lies theopportunity of the art of the future.In this art among innumerable richand varied combinations there isone which is founded on firm fact,and that is as follows. The actualexpression of colour can beachieved simultaneously by severalforms of art, each art playing itsseparate part, and producing awhole which exceeds in richness

and force any expression attainableby one art alone. The immensepossibilities of depth and strength tobe gained by combination or bydiscord between the various artscan be easily realized.

It is often said that admission of thepossibility of one art helpinganother amounts to a denial of thenecessary differences between thearts. This is, however, not the case.As has been said, an absolutelysimilar inner appeal cannot be

achieved by two different arts. Evenif it were possible the secondversion would differ at leastoutwardly. But suppose this werenot the case, that is to say, supposea repetition of the same appealexactly alike both outwardly andinwardly could be achieved bydifferent arts, such repetition wouldnot be merely superfluous. To beginwith, different people find sympathyin different forms of art (alike onthe active 90

and passive side among the creatorsor the receivers of the appeal); butfurther and more important,repetition of the same appealthickens the spiritual atmospherewhich is necessary for the maturingof the finest feelings, in the sameway as the hot air of a greenhouse isnecessary for the ripening of certainfruit. An example of this is the caseof the individual who receives apowerful

impression from constantly repeated

actions, thoughts or feelings,although if they came singly theymight have

passed by unnoticed. [54] We mustnot, however, apply this rule only tothe simple examples of the spiritualatmosphere. For this atmosphere islike air, which can be either pure orfilled with various alien elements.Not only visible actions, thoughtsand feelings, with outwardexpression, make up thisatmosphere, but secret

happenings of which no one knows,unspoken thoughts, hidden feelingsare also elements in it. Suicide,murder, violence, low and unworthythoughts, hate, hostility, egotism,envy, narrow "patriotism,"partisanship, are

elements in the spiritualatmosphere. [55]

And conversely, self-sacrifice,mutual help, lofty thoughts, love, un-selfishness, joy in the success ofothers, humanity, justness, are the

elements which slay those alreadyenumerated as the sun slays themicrobes, and restore theatmosphere to purity. [56]

91

The second and more complicatedform of repetition is that in whichseveral different elements makemutual use of different forms. In ourcase these elements are the differentarts summed up in the art of thefuture. And this form of repetition iseven more powerful, for the

different natures of men respond tothe different elements in thecombination. For one the musicalform is the most moving andimpressive; for another the

pictorial, for the third the literary,and so on. There reside, therefore,in arts which are outwardlydifferent, hidden forces equallydifferent, so that they may all workin one man towards a single result,even though each art may beworking in isolation.

This sharply defined working ofindividual colours is the basis onwhich various values can be builtup in harmony. Pictures will cometo be painted—veritable artisticarrangements, planned in shades ofone colour chosen according toartistic feeling. The carrying out ofone colour, the binding together andadmixture of two related colours,are the foundations of mostcoloured harmonies. From what hasbeen said above about colourworking, from the fact that we live

in a time of questioning, experimentand contradiction, we can draw theeasy conclusion that for aharmonization on the basis ofindividual colours our age isespecially unsuitable.

Perhaps with envy and with amournful sympathy we 92

listen to the music of Mozart. It actsas a welcome pause in the turmoilof our inner life, as a consolationand as a hope, but we hear it as theecho of something from another age

long past and fundamentally strangeto us.

The strife of colours, the sense ofbalance we have lost, totteringprinciples, unexpected assaults,great questions, apparently uselessstriving, storm and tempest, brokenchains, antitheses andcontradictions, these make up ourharmony. The composition arisingfrom this harmony is a mingling ofcolour and form each with itsseparate existence, but each

blended into a common life whichis called a picture by the force ofthe inner need. Only theseindividual parts are vital.Everything else (such assurrounding conditions) issubsidiary. The combination of twocolours is a logical outcome ofmodern

conditions. The combination ofcolours hitherto

considered discordant, is merely afurther development.

For example, the use, side by side,of red and blue, colours inthemselves of no physicalrelationship, but from their veryspiritual contrast of the strongesteffect, is one of the most frequentoccurrences in modern choice

of harmony. [57] Harmony todayrests chiefly on the principle ofcontrast which has for all time beenone of the most important principlesof art. But our contrast is an innercontrast which stands alone and

rejects the help (for that help wouldmean destruction) of any otherprinciples of harmony. It isinteresting to note that this 93

very placing together of red andblue was so beloved by theprimitive both in Germany and Italythat it has till today survived,principally in folk pictures ofreligious subjects. One often sees insuch pictures the Virgin in a redgown and a blue cloak. It seems thatthe artists wished to express the

grace of heaven in terms ofhumanity, and humanity in terms ofheaven. Legitimate and illegitimatecombinations of colours, contrastsof various colours, the over-painting of one colour with another,the definition of coloured surfacesby

boundaries of various forms, theoverstepping of these boundaries,the mingling and the sharpseparation of surfaces, all theseopen great vistas of artistic

possibility.

One of the first steps in the turningaway from material objects into therealm of the abstract was, to use thetechnical artistic term, the rejectionof the third dimension, that is to say,the attempt to keep a picture on asingle plane. Modelling wasabandoned. In this way the materialobject was made more abstract andan important step forward wasachieved—this step forward has,however, had the effect of limiting

the possibilities of painting to onedefinite piece of canvas, and thislimitation has not only introduced avery material element into painting,but has seriously lessened itspossibilities.

94

Any attempt to free painting fromthis material limitation togetherwith the striving after a new form of

composition must concern itselffirst of all with the destruction of

this theory of one single surface—attempts must be made to bring thepicture on to some ideal planewhich shall be expressed in termsof the material plane of the canvas.[58] There has arisen out of the

composition in flat triangles acomposition with plastic three-dimensional triangles, that is to saywith pyramids; and that is Cubism.But there has arisen here also thetendency to inertia, to aconcentration on this form for its

own sake, and consequently oncemore to an

impoverishment of possibility. Butthat is the

unavoidable result of the externalapplication of an inner principle.

A further point of great importancemust not be

forgotten. There are other means ofusing the material plane as a spaceof three dimensions in order to

create an ideal plane. The thinnessor thickness of a line, the placing ofthe form on the surface, theoverlaying of one form on anothermay be quoted as examples ofartistic means that may beemployed. Similar possibilities areoffered by colour which, whenrightly used, can advance or retreat,and can make of the picture a livingthing, and so achieve an artisticexpansion of space. The

combination of both means of

extension in harmony or 95

concord is one of the richest andmost powerful elements in purelyartistic composition.

96

VII. Theory

*

From the nature of modern harmony,it results that never has there been atime when it was more difficult than

it is today to formulate a completetheory, [59] or to lay down

a firm artistic basis. All attempts todo so would have one result,namely, that already cited in thecase of Leonardo and his system oflittle spoons. It would, however, beprecipitate to say that there are nobasic principles nor firm rules inpainting, or that a search for themleads inevitably to academism.Even music has a grammar, which,although modified from time to

time, is of continual help and valueas a kind of dictionary.

Painting is, however, in a differentposition. The revolt fromdependence on nature is only justbeginning. Any realization of theinner working of colour and form isso far unconscious. The subjectionof composition to some geometricalform is no new idea (cf. the art ofthe Persians). Construction on apurely abstract basis is a slowbusiness, and at first seemingly

blind and aimless.

97

The artist must train not only his eyebut also his soul, so that he can testcolours for themselves and not onlyby external impressions.

If we begin at once to break thebonds which bind us to nature, anddevote ourselves purely tocombination of pure colour andabstract form, we shall produceworks which are mere decoration,

which are suited to neckties orcarpets. Beauty of Form and Colouris no sufficient aim by itself, despitethe assertions of pure aesthetes oreven of naturalists, who areobsessed with the idea of

"beauty." It is because of theelementary stage reached by ourpainting that we are so little able tograsp the inner harmony of truecolour and form composition. Thenerve vibrations are there,certainly, but they get no further than

the nerves, because thecorresponding vibrations of thespirit which they call forth are tooweak.

When we remember, however, thatspiritual experience is quickening,that positive science, the firmestbasis of human thought, is tottering,that dissolution of matter isimminent, we have reason to hopethat the hour of pure composition isnot far away.

It must not be thought that pure

decoration is lifeless. It has itsinner being, but one which is either

incomprehensible to us, as in thecase of old decorative art, or whichseems mere illogical confusion, as aworld 98

in which full-grown men andembryos play equal roles, in whichbeings deprived of limbs are on alevel with noses and toes whichlive isolated and of their ownvitality. The confusion is like that ofa kaleidoscope, which though

possessing a life of its own, belongsto another sphere. Nevertheless,decoration has its effect on us;oriental decoration quite differentlyto Swedish, savage, or ancientGreek. It is not for nothing that thereis a general custom of describingsamples of decoration as gay,serious, sad, etc., as music isdescribed as Allegro, Serioso, etc.,according to the nature of the piece.

Probably conventional decorationhad its beginnings in nature. But

when we would assert that externalnature is the sole source of all art,we must remember that, inpatterning, natural objects are usedas symbols, almost as though theywere mere hieroglyphics. For thisreason we cannot gauge their innerharmony. For instance, we can beara design of Chinese dragons in ourdining or bed rooms, and are nomore disturbed by it than by adesign of daisies.

It is possible that towards the close

of our already dying epoch a newdecorative art will develop, but it isnot likely to be founded ongeometrical form. At the presenttime any attempt to define this newart would be as 99

useless as pulling a small bud openso as to make a fully blown flower.Nowadays we are still bound toexternal nature and must find ourmeans of expression in her. But howare we to do it? In other words,how far may we go in altering the

forms and colours of this nature?

We may go as far as the artist isable to carry his emotion, and oncemore we see how immense is theneed for true emotion. A fewexamples will make the meaning ofthis clearer.

A warm red tone will materiallyalter in inner value when it is nolonger considered as an isolatedcolour, as something abstract, but isapplied as an element of some otherobject, and combined with natural

form. The variety of natural formswill create a variety of spiritualvalues, all of which will harmonizewith that of the original isolatedred. Suppose we combine red withsky, flowers, a garment, a face, ahorse, a tree.

A red sky suggests to us sunset, orfire, and has a consequent effectupon us—either of splendour ormenace. Much depends now on theway in which other objects aretreated in connection with this red

sky. If the treatment is faithful tonature, but all the same harmonious,the "naturalistic" appeal of the skyis strengthened. If, however, theother objects are treated in 100

a way which is more abstract, theytend to lessen, if not to destroy, thenaturalistic appeal of the sky. Muchthe same applies to the use of red ina human face. In this case red canbe employed to emphasize thepassionate or other characteristicsof the model, with a force that only

an extremely abstract treatment ofthe rest of the picture can subdue.

A red garment is quite a differentmatter; for it can in reality be of anycolour. Red will, however, befound best to supply the needs ofpure artistry, for here alone can itbe used without any associationwith material aims. The artist has toconsider not only the value of thered cloak by itself, but also itsvalue in connection with the figurewearing it, and further the relation

of the figure to the whole picture.Suppose the picture to be a sad one,and the red-cloaked figure to be thecentral point on which the sadnessis concentrated—either from itscentral position, or features,attitude, colour, or what not.

The red will provide an acutediscord of feeling, which willemphasize the gloom of the picture.The use of a colour, in itself sad,would weaken the effect of the

dramatic whole. [60] This is the

principle of antithesis alreadydefined. Red by itself cannot have asad effect on the spectator, and itsinclusion in a sad picture will, ifproperly handled, provide thedramatic element. [61]

101

Yet again is the case of a red treedifferent. The fundamental value ofred remains, as in every case. Butthe association of "autumn" creepsin.

The colour combines easily withthis association, and there is nodramatic clash as in the case of thered cloak.

Finally, the red horse provides afurther variation. The very wordsput us in another atmosphere. The

impossibility of a red horsedemands an unreal world. It ispossible that this combination ofcolour and form will appeal as afreak—a purely superficial andnon-artistic appeal—or as a hint of

a fairy story [62]—once more a

non-artistic appeal. To set this redhorse in a careful naturalisticlandscape would create such adiscord as to produce no appeal andno coherence. The need forcoherence is the essential ofharmony—whether founded onconventional discord or concord.The new harmony demands that theinner value of a picture shouldremain unified whatever thevariations or contrasts of outward

form or colour. The elements of thenew art are to be found, therefore,in the inner and not the outerqualities of nature.

The spectator is too ready to lookfor a meaning in a picture— i.e.,some outward connection betweenits various parts. Our materialisticage has produced a type 102

of spectator or "connoisseur," whois not content to put himselfopposite a picture and let it say itsown message.

Instead of allowing the inner valueof the picture to work, he worrieshimself in looking for "closeness tonature," or "temperament," or"handling," or "tonality,"

or "perspective," or what not. Hiseye does not probe the outerexpression to arrive at the innermeaning. In a conversation with aninteresting person, we endeavour toget at his fundamental ideas andfeelings. We do not bother about thewords he uses, nor the spelling of

those words, nor the breathnecessary for speaking them, nor themovements of his tongue and lips,nor the

psychological working on our brain,nor the physical sound in our ear,nor the physiological effect on ournerves. We realize that these things,though interesting and important, arenot the main things of the moment,but that the meaning and idea iswhat concerns us. We should havethe same feeling when confronted

with a work of art. When thisbecomes general the artist will beable to dispense with natural formand colour and speak in purelyartistic language.

To return to the combination ofcolour and form, there is anotherpossibility which should be noted.Non-naturalistic objects in a picturemay have a "literary"

appeal, and the whole picture mayhave the working of a fable. Thespectator is put in an atmosphere

which does 103

not disturb him because he acceptsit as fabulous, and in which he triesto trace the story and undergoesmore or less the various appeals ofcolour. But the pure inner workingof colour is impossible; the outwardidea has the mastery still. For thespectator has only exchanged ablind reality for a blind dreamland,where the truth of inner feelingcannot be felt.

We must find, therefore, a form of

expression which excludes the fableand yet does not restrict the freeworking of colour in any way. Theforms, movement, and colourswhich we borrow from nature mustproduce no outward effect nor beassociated with external objects.

The more obvious is the separationfrom nature, the more likely is theinner meaning to be pure andunhampered.

The tendency of a work of art maybe very simple, but provided it is

not dictated by any external motiveand provided it is not working toany material end, the harmony willbe pure. The most ordinary action—for example, preparation for liftinga heavy weight—

becomes mysterious and dramatic,when its actual purpose is notrevealed. We stand and gazefascinated, till of a sudden theexplanation bursts suddenly uponus.

It is the conviction that nothing

mysterious can ever happen in oureveryday life that has destroyed thejoy of abstract thought. Practicalconsiderations have ousted all 104

else. It is with this fact in view thatthe new dancing is being evolved—as, that is to say, the only means ofgiving in terms of time and spacethe real inner meaning of motion.The origin of dancing is probablypurely sexual. In folk-dances westill see this element plainly.

The later development of dancing as

a religious

ceremony joins itself to thepreceding element and the twotogether take artistic form andemerge as the ballet.

The ballet at the present time is in astate of chaos owing to this doubleorigin. Its external motives—the

expression of love and fear, etc.—are too material and naive for theabstract ideas of the future. In thesearch for more subtle expression,

our modern reformers have lookedto the past for help. Isadora Duncanhas forged a link between the Greekdancing and that of the future. In thisshe is working on parallel lines tothe painters who

are looking for inspiration from theprimitives. [63]

In dance as in painting this is only astage of transition.

In dancing as in painting we are onthe threshold of the art of the future.

The same rules must be applied inboth cases. Conventional beautymust go by the board and theliterary element of "story-telling" or"anecdote" must be abandoned asuseless. Both arts must learn frommusic that every harmony and everydiscord which springs from theinner spirit is beautiful, but that it isessential 105

that they should spring from theinner spirit and from that alone.

The achievement of the dance-art of

the future will make possible thefirst ebullition of the art of spiritualharmony

—the true stage-composition.

The composition for the new theatrewill consist of these three elements:

(1) Musical movement

(2) Pictorial movement

(3) Physical movement

and these three, properly combined,make up the spiritual movement,which is the working of the innerharmony.

They will be interwoven inharmony and discord as are the twochief elements of painting, form andcolour.

Scriabin's attempt to intensifymusical tone by

corresponding use of colour isnecessarily tentative. In the

perfected stage- composition thetwo elements are increased by thethird, and endless possibilities ofcombination and individual use areopened up. Further, the external canbe combined with the internalharmony, as Schonberg hasattempted in his quartettes. It isimpossible here to go further intothe developments of 106

this idea. The reader must apply theprinciples of painting already statedto the problem of stage-

composition, and outline for himselfthe possibilities of the theatre of thefuture, founded on the immovableprinciple of the inner need.

From what has been said of thecombination of colour and form, theway to the new art can be traced.This way lies today between twodangers. On the one hand is thetotally arbitrary application ofcolour to geometrical form

—pure patterning. On the other handis the more

naturalistic use of colour in bodilyform—pure phantasy.

Either of these alternatives may intheir turn be exaggerated.Everything is at the artist's disposal,and the freedom of today has atonce its dangers and itspossibilities. We may be present atthe conception of a new greatepoch, or we may see theopportunity

squandered in aimlessextravagance. [64]

That art is above nature is no newdiscovery. [65] New

principles do not fall from heaven,but are logically if indirectlyconnected with past and future.What is important to us is themomentary position of the principleand how best it can be used. It mustnot be employed forcibly. But if theartist tunes his soul to this note, thesound will ring in his work of itself.The

"emancipation" of today must

advance on the lines of the 107

inner need. It is hampered at presentby external form, and as that isthrown aside, there arises as theaim of composition- construction.The search for constructive formhas produced Cubism, in whichnatural form is often forciblysubjected to geometricalconstruction, a process which tendsto hamper the abstract by theconcrete and spoil the concrete bythe abstract.

The harmony of the new artdemands a more subtle constructionthan this, something that appealsless to the eye and more to the soul.This "concealed construction"

may arise from an apparentlyfortuitous selection of forms on thecanvas. Their external lack ofcohesion is their internal harmony.This haphazard arrangement offorms may be the future of artisticharmony. Their fundamentalrelationship will finally be able to

be expressed in mathematical form,but in terms irregular rather thanregular.

108

VIII. Art and Artists

*

The work of art is born of the artistin a mysterious and secret way.From him it gains life and being.Nor is its existence casual andinconsequent, but it has a definite

and purposeful strength, alike in itsmaterial and spiritual life. It existsand has power to create spiritualatmosphere; and from this innerstandpoint one judges whether it isa good work of art or a bad one. Ifits

"form" is bad it means that the formis too feeble in meaning to call forthcorresponding vibrations of the

soul. [66] Therefore a picture is notnecessarily "well painted" if itpossesses the "values" of which the

French so constantly speak. It isonly well painted if its spiritualvalue is complete and satisfying."Good drawing" is drawing thatcannot be altered withoutdestruction of this inner value, quiteirrespective of its correctness asanatomy, botany, or any otherscience. There is no question of aviolation of natural form, but onlyof the need of the artist for suchform. Similarly colours are used notbecause they are true to nature, butbecause they 109

are necessary to the particularpicture. In fact, the artist is not onlyjustified in using, but it is his duty touse only those forms which fulfil hisown need. Absolute

freedom, whether from anatomy oranything of the kind, must be giventhe artist in his choice of material.Such spiritual freedom is asnecessary in art as it is in life. [67]

Note, however, that blind followingof scientific precept is lessblameworthy than its blind and

purposeless rejection. The formerproduces at least an imitation of

material objects which may be ofsome use. [68]

The latter is an artistic betrayal andbrings confusion in its train. Theformer leaves the spiritualatmosphere empty; the latterpoisons it.

Painting is an art, and art is notvague production, transitory andisolated, but a power which must be

directed to the improvement andrefinement of the human soul—to, infact, the raising of the spiritualtriangle.

If art refrains from doing this work,a chasm remains unbridged, for noother power can take the place ofart in this activity. And at timeswhen the human soul is gaininggreater strength, art will also growin power, for the two areinextricably connected andcomplementary 110

one to the other. Conversely, atthose times when the soul tends tobe choked by material disbelief, artbecomes purposeless and talk isheard that art exists for

art's sake alone. [69]

Then is the bond between art andthe soul, as it were, drugged intounconsciousness. The artist and thespectator drift apart, till finally thelatter turns his back on the former orregards him as a juggler whose skilland dexterity are worthy of

applause. It is very important for theartist to gauge his position aright, torealize that he has a duty to his artand to himself, that he is not king ofthe castle but rather a servant of anobler purpose. He must searchdeeply into his own soul, developand tend it, so that his art hassomething to clothe, and does notremain a glove without a hand.

THE ARTIST MUST HAVESOMETHING TO SAY,

FOR MASTERY OVER FORM IS

NOT HIS GOAL

BUT RATHER THE ADAPTINGOF FORM TO ITS

INNER MEANING. [70]

The artist is not born to a life ofpleasure. He must not live idle; hehas a hard work to perform, and onewhich often proves a cross to beborne. He must realize that hisevery deed, feeling, and thought areraw but sure material from whichhis work is to arise, that he is free

in 111

art but not in life.

The artist has a triple responsibilityto the non-artists: (1) He must repaythe talent which he has; (2) hisdeeds, feelings, and thoughts, asthose of every man, create aspiritual atmosphere which is eitherpure or poisonous.

(3) These deeds and thoughts arematerials for his creations, whichthemselves exercise influence on

the spiritual atmosphere. The artistis not only a king, as Peladan says,because he has great power, butalso because he has great duties.

If the artist be priest of beauty,nevertheless this beauty is to besought only according to theprinciple of the inner need, and canbe measured only according to thesize and intensity of that need.

THAT IS BEAUTIFUL WHICH ISPRODUCED BY

THE INNER NEED, WHICHSPRINGS FROM THE

SOUL.

Maeterlinck, one of the firstwarriors, one of the first modernartists of the soul, says: "There isnothing on earth so curious forbeauty or so absorbent of it, as asoul. For that reason few mortalsouls withstand the leadership of asoul which gives to them beauty."[71]

112

And this property of the soul is theoil, which facilitates the slow,scarcely visible but irresistiblemovement of the triangle, onwardsand upwards.

113

IX. Conclusion

*

The first five illustrations in this

book show the course ofconstructive effort in painting. Thiseffort falls into two divisions:

(1) Simple composition, which isregulated according to an obviousand simple form. This kind ofcomposition I call the MELODIC.

(2) Complex composition,consisting of various forms,subjected more or less completelyto a principal form.

Probably the principal form may be

hard to grasp outwardly, and forthat reason possessed of a stronginner value. This kind ofcomposition I call theSYMPHONIC.

Between the two lie varioustransitional forms, in which themelodic principle predominates.The history of the development isclosely parallel to that of music.

114

If, in considering an example of

melodic composition, one forgetsthe material aspect and probesdown into the artistic reason of thewhole, one finds primitivegeometrical forms or anarrangement of simple lines whichhelp toward a common motion. Thiscommon

motion is echoed by varioussections and may be varied by asingle line or form. Such isolatedvariations serve different purposes.For instance, they may act as a

sudden check, or to use a musicalterm, a "fermata." [72]

Each form which goes to make upthe composition has a simple innervalue, which has in its turn amelody. For this reason I call thecomposition melodic. By the agency

of Cezanne and later of Hodler [73]this kind of composition won newlife, and earned the name of

"rhythmic." The limitations of theterm "rhythmic" are obvious. In

music and nature each manifestationhas a rhythm of its own, so also inpainting. In nature this rhythm isoften not clear to us, because itspurpose is not clear to us. We thenspeak of it as unrhythmic. So theterms rhythmic and unrhythmic arepurely conventional, as also areharmony and discord, which haveno actual

existence. [74]

Complex rhythmic composition,with a strong flavour of the

symphonic, is seen in numerouspictures and

woodcuts of the past. One mightmention the work of old Germanmasters, of the Persians, of theJapanese, the 115

Russian icons, broadsides, etc. [75]

In nearly all these works thesymphonic composition is not veryclosely allied to the melodic. Thismeans that fundamentally there is acomposition founded on rest and

balance. The mind thinks at once ofchoral compositions, of Mozart andBeethoven. All these works havethe solemn and regular architectureof a Gothic cathedral; they belong tothe transition period.

As examples of the new symphoniccomposition, in which the melodicelement plays a subordinate part,and that only rarely, I have addedreproductions of four of my ownpictures.

They represent three different

sources of inspiration: (1) A directimpression of outward nature,expressed in purely artistic form.This I call an "Impression."

(2) A largely unconscious,spontaneous expression of innercharacter, the non-material nature.This I call an

"Improvisation."

(3) An expression of a slowlyformed inner feeling, which comesto utterance only after long

maturing. This 116

I call a "Composition." In this,reason, consciousness, purpose,play an overwhelming part. But ofthe

calculation nothing appears, only

the feeling. Which kind ofconstruction, whether conscious orunconscious, really underlies mywork, the patient reader willreadily understand.

Finally, I would remark that, in myopinion, we are fast approachingthe time of reasoned and conscious

composition, when the painter willbe proud to declare his workconstructive. This will be incontrast to the claim of theImpressionists that they could

explain nothing, that their art cameupon them by inspiration. We havebefore us the age of consciouscreation, and this new spirit inpainting is going hand in hand withthe spirit of thought towards anepoch of great spiritual leaders.

* * *

117

Endnotes

*

[1] Religion, in the sense of awe, ispresent in all true art.

But here I use the term in thenarrower sense to mean pictures ofwhich the subject is connected withChristian or other worship.

[2] I am well aware that thisstatement is at variance with

Kandinsky, who has contributed along article—"Uber dieFormfrage"—to Der Blaue Reiter,in which he argues the parallel

between Post- Impressionism andchild vision, as exemplified in thework of Henri Rousseau.

Certainly Rousseau's vision ischildlike. He has had no artistictraining and pretends to none. But Iconsider that his art suffers sogreatly from his lack of training, thatbeyond a sentimental interest it haslittle to recommend it.

[3] L'Enchanteur pourrissant, parGuillaume Apollinaire,

avec illustrations gravees sur boispar Andre Derain.

Paris, Kahnweiler, 1910.

118

[4] The renaissance of the angle inart is an interesting

feature of the new movement. Notsince Egyptian times has it beenused with such noble effect. Thereis a painting of Gauguin's at Hagen,of a row of Tahitian women seated

on a bench, that consists entirely ofa telling design in Egyptian angles.Cubism is the result of thisdiscovery of the angle, blendedwith the influence of Cezanne.

[5] Cf. "Colour Music," by A.Wallace Rimington.

Hutchinson. 6s. net.

[6] Stimmung is almostuntranslateable. It is almost

"sentiment" in the best sense, and

almost "feeling." Many of Corot'stwilight landscapes are full of abeautiful

"Stimmung." Kandinsky uses theword later on to mean the "essentialspirit" of nature.—M.T.H.S.

[7] The few solitary exceptions donot destroy the truth

of this sad and ominous picture, andeven these

exceptions are chiefly believers in

the doctrine of art for art's sake.They serve, therefore, a higherideal, but one which is ultimately auseless waste of their strength.

External beauty is one element of aspiritual atmosphere.

But beyond this positive fact (thatwhat is beautiful is good) it has theweakness of a talent not used to thefull.

119

(The word talent is employed in thebiblical sense.)

[8] Weber, composer of DerFreischutz, said of

Beethoven's Seventh Symphony:"The extravagances of genius havereached the limit; Beethoven is nowripe for an asylum." Of the openingphrase, on a reiterated "e,"

the Abbe Stadler said to hisneighbour, when first he heard it:"Always that miserable 'e'; he

seems to be deaf to it himself, theidiot!"

[9] Are not many monuments inthemselves answers to

that question?

[10] Frequent use is made here ofthe terms "material"

and "non-material," and of theintermediate phrases

"more" or "less material." Is

everything material? or isEVERYTHING spiritual? Can thedistinctions we make betweenmatter and spirit be nothing butrelative modifications of one or theother? Thought which, although aproduct of the spirit, can be definedwith positive science, is matter, butof fine and not coarse substance. Iswhatever cannot be touched withthe hand, spiritual? The discussionlies beyond the scope of this littlebook; all that matters here is that theboundaries drawn should not be too

definite.

120

[11] Cf. Chapter VII.

[12] Zoller, Wagner, Butleroff (St.Petersburg), Crookes

(London), etc.; later on, C. H.Richet, C. Flammarion.

The Parisian paper Le Matin,published about two years ago thediscoveries of the two last named

under the title

"Je le constate, mais je nel'explique pas." Finally there are C.Lombroso, the inventor of theanthropological method ofdiagnosing crime, and EusapioPalladino.

[13] Frequently in such cases use ismade of the word

hypnotism; that same hypnotismwhich, in its earlier form ofmesmerism, was disdainfully put

aside by various learned bodies.

[14] E. P. Blavatsky, The Key ofTheosophy, London,

1889.

[15] To the front tank of such seersof the decadence

belongs also Alfred Kubin. Withirresistible force both Kubin'sdrawings and also his novel "DieAndere Seite"

seem to engulf us in the terribleatmosphere of empty desolation.

[16] When one of Maeterlinck'splays was produced in

St. Petersburg under his ownguidance, he himself at one 121

of the rehearsals had a towerrepresented by a plain piece ofhanging linen. It was of noimportance to him to have elaboratescenery prepared. He did aschildren, the greatest imaginers of

all time, always do in their games;for they use a stick for a horse orcreate entire regiments of cavalryout of chalks. And in the same waya chalk with a notch in it is changedfrom a knight into a horse.

On similar lines the imagination ofthe spectator plays in the moderntheatre, and especially in that ofRussia, an important part. And thisis a notable element in the transitionfrom the material to the spiritual inthe theatre of the future.

[17] SERRES CHAUDES,SUIVIES DE QUINZE

CHANSONS, par MauriceMaeterlinck. Brussels.

Lacomblez.

[18] A comparison between thework of Poe and

Maeterlinck shows the course ofartistic transition from the materialto the abstract.

[19] Frequent attempts have shownthat such a spiritual

atmosphere can belong not only toheroes but to any human being.Sensitives cannot, for example,remain in a room in which a personhas been who is spirituallyantagonistic to them, even thoughthey know nothing of his existence.

122

[20] "Die Musik," p. 104, from theHarmonielehre

(Verlag der Universal Edition).

[21] Cf. his article in KUNST UNDKUNSTLER, 1909,

No. 8.

[22] These statements of differenceare, of course,

relative; for music can on occasionsdispense with extension of time, andpainting make use of it.

[23] How miserably music fails

when attempting to

express material appearances isproved by the affected absurdity ofprogramme music. Quite lately such

experiments have been made. Theimitation in sound of croaking frogs,of farmyard noises, of householdduties, makes an excellent musichall turn and is amusing enough. Butin serious music such attempts aremerely warnings against anyimitation of nature. Nature has herown language, and a powerful one;

this language cannot be imitated.The sound of a farmyard in music isnever successfully reproduced, andis unnecessary waste of time. TheStimmung of nature can be impartedby every art, not, however, byimitation, but by the artisticdivination of its inner spirit.

123

[24] Dr. Freudenberg. "Spaltung der

Personlichkeit" (UbersinnlicheWelt. 1908. No. 2, p. 64-65). The

author also discusses the hearing ofcolour, and says that here also norules can be laid down. But cf. L.

Sabanejeff in "Musik," Moscow,1911, No. 9, where the imminentpossibility of laying down a law isclearly hinted at.

[25] Much theory and practice havebeen devoted to this

question. People have sought topaint in counterpoint.

Also unmusical children have beensuccessfully helped to play thepiano by quoting a parallel incolour (e.g., of flowers). On theselines Frau A. Sacharjin-Unkowskyhas worked for several years andhas evolved a method of "sodescribing sounds by naturalcolours, and colours by naturalsounds, that colour could be heardand sound seen." The system hasproved successful for several yearsboth in the inventor's own schooland the

Conservatoire at St. Petersburg.Finally Scriabin, on more spirituallines, has paralleled sound andcolours in a chart not unlike that ofFrau Unkowsky. In "Prometheus"

he has given convincing proof of histheories. (His chart appeared in"Musik," Moscow, 1911, No. 9.)

[26] The converse question, i.e. thecolour of sound, was

touched upon by Mallarme andsystematized by his disciple Rene

Ghil, whose book, Traite du Verbe,gives 124

the rules for "l'instrumentationverbale."—M.T.H.S.

[27] The phrase "inner need"(innere Notwendigkeit)

means primarily the impulse felt bythe artist for spiritual expression.Kandinsky is apt, however, to usethe phrase sometimes to mean notonly the hunger for spiritualexpression, but also the actual

expression itself.—M.T.H.

S.

[28] Cf. E. Jacques-Dalcroze in TheEurhythmics of

Jacques- Dalcroze. London,Constable.—M.T.H.S.

[29] Cf. Paul Signac, D'EugeneDelacroix au Neo-

Impressionisme. Paris. Floury. Alsocompare an

interesting article by K. Schettler:"Notizen uber die Farbe."(Decorative Kunst, 1901,February).

[30] By "Komposition" Kandinskyhere means, of

course, an artistic creation. He isnot referring to the arrangement ofthe objects in a picture.—M.T.H.S.

[31] Cf. A. Wallace Rimington.Colour music (OP. CIT.)

where experiments are recountedwith a colour organ, which givessymphonies of rapidly changingcolour without boundaries— exceptthe unavoidable ones of the whitecurtain on which the colours arereflected.—M.T.

125

H.S.

[32] The angle at which the trianglestands, and whether

it is stationary or moving, are ofimportance to its spiritual value.This fact is specially worthy of thepainter's consideration.

[33] It is never literally true that anyform is meaningless

and "says nothing." Every form inthe world says something. But itsmessage often fails to reach us, andeven if it does, full understanding isoften withheld from us.

[34] The phrase "full expression"

must be clearly

understood. Form often is mostexpressive when least coherent. It isoften most expressive whenoutwardly most imperfect, perhapsonly a stroke, a mere hint of outermeaning.

[35] The motive of idealization isso to beautify the

organic form as to bring out itsharmony and rouse poetic feeling."Selection" aims not so much at

beautification as at emphasizing thecharacter of the object, by theomission of non- essentials. Thedesire of the future will be purelythe expression of the inner meaning.The organic form no longer servesas direct object, but as the 126

human words in which a divinemessage must be written, in orderfor it to be comprehensible tohuman minds.

[36] Here Kandinsky meansarrangement of the picture.

—M.T.H.S.

[37] The general composition willnaturally include

many little compositions which maybe antagonistic to each other, thoughhelping—perhaps by their veryantagonism—the harmony of thewhole. These little compositionshave themselves subdivisions ofvaried inner meanings.

[38] A good example is Cezanne's"Bathing Women,"

which is built in the form of atriangle. Such building is an oldprinciple, which was beingabandoned only because academicusage had made it lifeless. ButCezanne has given it new life. Hedoes not use it to harmonize hisgroups, but for purely artisticpurposes.

He distorts the human figure withperfect justification.

Not only must the whole figurefollow the lines of the triangle, but

each limb must grow narrower frombottom to top. Raphael's "HolyFamily" is an example of triangularcomposition used only for theharmonizing of the group, andwithout any mystical motive.

127

[39] Cf. Translator's Introduction,pp. xviii and xx.—M.

T.H.S.

[40] This is what is meant by "an

appeal of motion." For

example, the appeal of an uprighttriangle is more steadfast and quietthan that of one set obliquely on itsside.

[41] The many-sided genius ofLeonardo devised a

system of little spoons with whichdifferent colours were to be used,thus creating a kind of mechanicalharmony.

One of his pupils, after trying invain to use this system, in despairasked one of his colleagues how themaster himself used the invention.The colleague replied: "The masternever uses it at all."(Mereschowski, LEONARDO DAVINCI).

[42] The term "outer," here used,must not be confused

with the term "material" usedpreviously. I am using the former tomean "outer need," which never

goes beyond conventional limits,nor produces other than

conventional beauty. The "innerneed" knows no such limits, andoften produces resultsconventionally considered "ugly."But "ugly" itself is a conventionalterm, and only means "spirituallyunsympathetic," being applied tosome expression of an inner need,either 128

outgrown or not yet attained. Buteverything which adequately

expresses the inner need isbeautiful.

[43] These statements have noscientific basis, but are

founded purely on spiritualexperience.

[44] It is worth noting that the sour-tasting lemon and

shrill-singing canary are bothyellow.

[45] Any parallel between colourand music can only be

relative. Just as a violin can givevarious shades of tone,

—so yellow has shades, which canbe expressed by variousinstruments. But in making suchparallels, I am assuming in eachcase a pure tone of colour or sound,unvaried by vibration or dampers,etc.

[46] ...The halos are golden for

emperors and prophets (i.

e. for mortals), and sky-blue forsymbolic figures (i.e.

spiritual beings); (Kondakoff,Histoire de l'An Byzantineconsideree principalement dans lesminiatures, vol. ii, p.

382, Paris, 1886-91).

[47] Supernatural rest, not theearthly contentment of

green. The way to the supernaturallies through the natural. And wemortals passing from the earthlyyellow to the heavenly blue mustpass through green.

129

[48] As an echo of grief violet standto blue as does

green in its production of rest.

[49] Van Gogh, in his letters, askswhether he may not

paint a white wall dead white. Thisquestion offers no difficulty to thenon-representative artist who isconcerned only with the innerharmony of colour. But to theimpressionist-realist it seems abold liberty to take with nature. Tohim it seems as outrageous as hisown change from brown shadows toblue seemed to his

contemporaries. Van Gogh'squestion marks a transition fromImpressionism to an art of spiritual

harmony, as the coming of the blueshadow marked a transition fromacademism to Impressionism. (Cf.The Letters of

Vincent van Gogh. Constable,London.)

[50] E.g. vermilion rings dull andmuddy against white,

but against black with clearstrength. Light yellow against whiteis weak, against black pure andbrilliant.

[51] Gray = immobility and rest.Delacroix sought to

express rest by a mixture of greenand red (cf. Signac, sup. cit.).

[52] Of course every colour can beto some extent varied

between warm and cold, but nocolour has so extensive a 130

scale of varieties as red.

[53] Among artists one often hears

the question, "How

are you?" answered gloomily by thewords "Feeling very violet."

[54] This idea forms, of course, thefundamental reason

for advertisement.

[55] Epidemics of suicide or ofviolent warlike feeling,

etc., are products of this impureatmosphere.

[56] These elements likewise havetheir historical

periods.

[57] Cf. Gauguin, Noa Noa, wherethe artist states his

disinclination when he first arrivedin Tahiti to juxtapose red and blue.

[58] Compare the article by LeFauconnier in the

catalogue of the second exhibition

of the Neue

Kunstlervereinigung, Munich, 1910-11.

[59] Attempts have been made.Once more emphasis

must be laid on the parallel withmusic. For example, cf.

131

"Tendances Nouvelles," No. 35,Henri Ravel: "The laws of harmony

are the same for painting andmusic."

[60] Once more it is wise toemphasize the necessary

inadequacy of these examples.Rules cannot be laid down, thevariations are so endless. A singleline can alter the wholecomposition of a picture.

[61] The use of terms like "sad" and"joyful" are only

clumsy equivalents for the delicatespiritual vibrations of the newharmony. They must be read asnecessarily inadequate.

[62] An incomplete fairy storyworks on the mind as

does a cinematograph film.

[63] Kandinsky's example ofIsadora Duncan is not

perhaps perfectly chosen. Thisfamous dancer founds her art mainly

upon a study of Greek vases and not

necessarily of the primitive period.Her aims are distinctly towardswhat Kandinsky calls "conventionalbeauty," and what is perhaps moreimportant, her movements are notdictated solely by the "innerharmony," but largely by consciousoutward imitation of Greekattitudes. Either Nijinsky's laterballets: Le Sacre du Printemps,L'Apres-midi d'un Faune, Jeux, orthe idea 132

actuating the Jacques Dalcrozesystem of Eurhythmics seem to fallmore into line with Kandinsky'sartistic forecast. In the first case"conventional beauty" has beenabandoned, to the dismay ofnumbers of writers and spectators,and a definite return has been madeto primitive angles and abruptness.In the second case motion and danceare brought out of the souls of thepupils, truly spontaneous, at. thecall of the "inner harmony." Indeeda comparison between Isadora

Duncan and M. Dalcroze is acomparison between the

"naturalist" and "symbolist" idealsin art which were outlined in theintroduction to this book.—M.T.H.S.

[64] On this question see my article"Uber die

Formfrage"— in "Der Blaue Reiter"(Piper-Verlag, 1912). Taking thework of Henri Rousseau as astarting point, I go on to prove that

the new naturalism will not only beequivalent to but even identicalwith abstraction.

[65] Cf. "Goethe", by KarlHeinemann, 1899, p. 684;

also Oscar Wilde, "De Profundis";also Delacroix, "My Diary".

[66] So-called indecent pictures areeither incapable of

causing vibrations of the soul (inwhich case they are not art) or they

are so capable. In the latter casethey are not to be spurnedabsolutely, even though at the sametime 133

they gratify what nowadays we arepleased to call the

"lower bodily tastes."

[67] This freedom is man's weaponagainst the

Philistines. It is based on the innerneed.

[68] Plainly, an imitation of nature,if made by the hand

of an artist, is not a purereproduction. The voice of the soulwill in some degree at least makeitself heard. As contrasts one mayquote a landscape of Canaletto andthose sadly famous heads byDenner.—(Alte Pinakothek,Munich.)

[69] This cry "art for art's sake," isreally the best ideal

such an age can attain to. It is anunconscious protest againstmaterialism, against the demand thateverything should have a use andpractical value. It is further proof ofthe indestructibility of art and of thehuman soul, which can never bekilled but only temporarily

smothered.

[70] Naturally this does not meanthat the artist is to

instill forcibly into his work some

deliberate meaning.

As has been said the generation of awork of art is a mystery. So long asartistry exists there is no need oftheory or logic to direct thepainter's action. The inner 134

voice of the soul tells him whatform he needs, whether inside oroutside nature. Every artist knows,who works with feeling, howsuddenly the right form flashes uponhim. Bocklin said that a true workof art must be like an inspiration;

that actual painting, composition,etc., are not the steps by which theartist reaches self-expression.

[71] De la beaute interieure.

[72] E.g., the Ravenna mosaicwhich, in the main, forms

a triangle. The upright figures leanproportionately to the triangle. Theoutstretched arm and door-curtainare the

"fermate."

[73] English readers may roughlyparallel Hodler with

Augustus John for purposes of theargument.—M.T.H.S.

[74] As an example of plainmelodic construction with a

plain rhythm, Cezanne's "BathingWomen" is given in this book.

[75] This applies to many ofHodler's pictures.

135

Document OutlineTitleContentsTranslator's IntroductionPART 1: ABOUT GENERALAESTHETIC

I. IntroductionII. The Movement of theTriangleIII. Spiritual RevolutionIV. The Pyramid

PART II: ABOUT PAINTINGV. The Psychological

Working of ColourVI. The Language of Formand ColourVII. TheoryVIII. Art and ArtistsIX. Conclusion

Endnotes