以下這篇〈畫家筆記〉是亨利·馬諦斯（Henry Matisse,
1869~1954）一九〇八年為了回應作家兼藝評家貝拉丹（M. Peladan）的文章而撰寫的。（英文版本附於譯文之後）此前，馬諦斯聯同一個畫家群體一起舉辦展覽，展出作品中大多都不講究傳統透視與明暗的技法表現，不但擯棄了對象物的原始色彩，而且大量使用了強烈對比的、看似不搭調的色彩組合來表達他們形形色色的情感，因此引來後者撰文批評。實際上，在更早之前，這群以馬諦斯為首的畫家頭上已被扣上一頂「野獸派」的帽子了。馬諦斯這篇筆記很快就被人譯成德文和俄文，並且在當年的藝術圈裡廣泛流傳，想當然地有著深遠的影響作用；在其筆下一再出現的幾個字眼：感受（Feelings），情感（Expressions），感覺（Sensations），無疑是該文的關鍵詞了；這些概念莫不是都牽涉到人在心緒上和覺識上程度不一的狀況，在中文語境裡意思相當接近，有興趣瞭解有關內容的街坊們，最好不要掉以輕心！全文相當長，我主要是根據英文版本（某一版本）來翻譯，譯文的全部責任都在我，若有不當之處，敬請教正。
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畫家筆記（1908）
畫家不僅僅面向大眾展示他的作品而已，他的畫揭露了其本身對繪畫藝術的各種觀點，遂使自己暴露在險厄之中。
首先，我知道很多人都喜歡把繪畫看作一種文學的附屬品，藉此認為繪畫無需按照一般觀念意義上的圖像手段，而是傾向文學性的觀念來加以表現，我只怕說有人會基於畫家冒失地闖入文學作者的領地而措手不及。事實上，對於作品才是畫家最佳代言人這個道理，我是完全能夠理解的。
儘管如此，譬如像希涅克（Paul
Signac）、德斯瓦利爾（George
Desvallieres）、丹尼
（Maurice Denis）、布蘭奇（Jacques-Emile
Blanche）、蓋林（Pierre-Narcisse
Guerin）和貝爾納（Emile
Bernard）等人早已寫過不少相關的東西、且都在不同期刊上廣受矚目。我個人不會太在意寫作上的問題，我會試著把自己身為畫家所感受和嚮往的簡括地表達出來。
我現在倒是預見了似有自相矛盾的危險。我強烈感到我早期和近期的畫作之間的聯結，然而我卻已不再完全照著昨天那個方式在想東西了。換個方式說，我的基本概念仍維持不變，反觀我的思路拓擴了，我的表現模式也伴隨著我的思考生變。我沒有否定我的任何作品，不過，如果我打算修改它們，這裡面的每一幅畫我都不會採取如出一轍的做法。雖然我的目的地幾乎都是相同的，我卻選了不一樣的抵達之道。
總之，舉凡我提起這位或那位藝術家的名字，它不單單區分我們在做法上的差異，甚或會被視如我企圖貶低他的作品。可想而知，我免不了會遭人指責不夠厚道，儘管那些畫家的志向和成果都是我極為瞭解、抑或是他們的成就都是我最欣賞的；然而，我用這些人當做例子，與其說是為了證明我比他們更優秀，不如說是要把他們的所作所為更清楚地攤開來，這才是我一心想幹的事。
總的來說，我最在乎情感的抒發。有時候我必須承認自己擁有某種技能，但是，假設我的志向太受限制，包括無法踰越像是藉由觀看一幅畫所獲得的純視覺的滿足感，那一切便等於零了。無論如何，一個畫家的思想不得與其繪畫的手段做一刀切，因為思想無疑也是通過各種手段表達出來而已，他的思想必須更完整（更完整在此並不意味著錯綜複雜）乃至深邃。我無以釐清自己對生活所感受到的以及我轉譯它的方式。
對我而言，情感不只是囿限在溢於臉表的激奮之情，抑或是藉以粗野之舉止展現一番。我的畫中每一個安排都是具表現性的：人物所佔據之處，人物四圍無畫之處，所有這些都是空間整體的組成部份。構圖乃是佈局的技藝，畫家自由運用這些富含裝飾趣味的不同元素，按本身所需來傳情達意。在一幅畫中，顯而易見，每一個部份都會扮演各自的角色，主次格外分明。凡是在畫面上沒有必要存在的自然就像毒瘤了。一件藝術作品在整體上必須協調一致：在觀眾眼裡這些多餘的細節將會抵消了其他一些不可或缺的細節。
構圖的目的是傳情達意，它將隨著反覆疊加的表面而不斷地調整。假如我選了一張既定面積的畫紙，我所畫的便與這一紙材構成一種必然關係。我不會把同一東西重複畫在別的不同大小的紙上，打個比方，從長方形變成正方形。我更不屑於像放大器似的將同一個東西全盤照抄到十倍大的同一形狀的介面上。你所畫的必須具有賦予有關物象周圍的部份一種活化的擴充勢能。一個畫家若要把同一構圖從某一畫布轉移至另一大畫面上，他必須重新構思安排，以便能夠保留住其情感；他也必須更動原圖特徵，不僅僅是把它安置於較大面積的畫布罷了。
色彩的和諧感與不和諧感都可以產生相應的效果。往往，當我著手創作時，在初始階段我會把很鮮活很膚淺的感覺一一記錄下來。多年以前的那個時段我曾對這一效果感到滿意。然而，今天我已不滿意了，當下我覺得我可以看得更遠，我的畫中呈一種曖昧不清的狀態：縱使我已把那一瞬間各種偶發的感覺都記錄下來，可是這些卻不能全然詮釋我所感受的，而且隔天我便幾乎無法意識到甚麼了。
我要進入那個多重感覺凝合的狀態，並在如此狀態下創作一幅畫。我若能一次過就把一幅作品搞定想必最好不過，然而我很快卻會覺得累了，實際上，我更喜歡改畫，以便在這之後可以將此過程視為我的心理狀態的一種表徵。有一個時期，我從不會離開掛在牆上那些畫作而去，它們會不斷提醒自己要處於極度興奮的狀態中，因為一旦冷靜之後我就不想再見到它們。而今，我試著平心靜氣地面向這些畫作，我會不斷地東塗塗西抹抹，一直到達成自己的要求為止。
譬如說我想要畫一幅女人體：首先我把優雅和嫵媚都灌注其中，但是我知道我必須付出更多。我反覆地搜索一些精粹的線條，就是為了能夠萃取這女人一身體態的意涵。乍看之下這股媚惑力並不怎麼突出，她最後必須以具有更寬廣意思的全新形象中脫穎而出，化為更完整的人。前述媚惑力將會因為它不是這幅畫的唯一特質而顯得不夠醒目，然而卻也不會隨著人像中所涵蓋的籠統概念相對弱化了。
嫵媚，輕鬆，清新，在在都是驟逝的感覺。我開始在一張畫布上重來一遍，它的色澤依舊十分鮮明。而其色調則已變得暗淡。我把原有調子改成更強一等的比重，乍一看似有所改善，可惜怎麼也不再吸引眼球了。
印象派畫家對感覺情有獨鍾，特別是莫內（Claude Monet）與西斯萊（Alfred Sisley）二人走得很近，導致他們的畫作大部份都極為類同。「印象主義」（Impressionism）一詞完美地描述了他們的畫風，莫不是因為他們精準地捕捉住種種的印象。對於某些新進畫家而言，他們避開了第一印象、且將之視為失真的做法，所以這個稱謂並不合適。疾速描繪下來的風景只能呈現其存在的那一瞬間。我寧願堅持它的本質特徵，甘冒失去媚惑力的風險以獲得更大的穩定性。
在這一連串構成存在與事物的表面痕跡的時間基礎上，藉以對之持續不斷地進行修正和轉化，人們可以探尋一個更本真、更精粹的形質，藝術家要抓緊這時機，從而讓自己為現實給出一個更加恆定的詮釋。當我們走進羅浮宮那些十七至十八世紀的雕塑展廳欣賞作品，譬如直面皮傑
（Pierre Puget）的某一創作，我們可以看到這種表現方式被強迫和誇張到令人不安的地步。如果去盧森堡宮【位於巴黎第六區盧森堡公園內，該宮殿始建於1615年，原為法國皇家後殿，現在是法國參議院所在。——譯註】的話則是完全相反的情況。這些雕塑家始終隨著逐一成員的開展來塑造其模特的形質，每塊肌肉的張力都表現為最強的勢能。然而，這樣理解下的共鳴【通感】作用完全沒有對應到自然界裡的任何事物：好比我們在不經意間抓拍的影像，其結果無助於我們想起自己曾見過甚麼來。唯有當我們把目前的感覺與較早或稍後的感覺都聯接在一起，這般延續似的共鳴作用對我們才有意思。
對事物的表達可分為兩種：其一是未經雕鑿地展示出來，其二則是藉由藝術來喚起它。要使人的無窮美和宏偉感得逐所願，則需把自己從共鳴作用的生澀照搬的呈現方式脫離開去。茲舉埃及雕像為例：對我們來說，看起來很死板，但是我們在這人體的形象中可以感受到其所具有的共鳴性，儘管它充滿陽剛味，卻是富含生氣。希臘的也一樣沉著：在投擲鐵餅的雕像那裡，此人聚集力量的那一霎那被抓住了，至少，這個動作無非在暗示著他正處於極其緊張、非常規情勢之下，雕塑家則成功將其萃取和抽縮，遂使這股均勢再度匯成，從而提出時間延續的想法。共鳴作用有其不穩定因素，不宜加諸於雕塑這種經久不變的作品，除非該藝術家很清楚自己呈現的不過是整個動作中的某一時間點而已。
我必須要很精確地詮釋自己想要畫的相關物象或人體的特質。為了這麼做，我非常仔細地研究我的方法：譬如我要在一張白紙上畫一個黑點，不管我從多麼遠的位置看過去，這個點將是明顯能見的：那是一個明確的記號。不過，當我在這個點的一旁另外添補上第二個，乃是第三個點，就會開始亂了。為了能夠保持第一個點的量值，在陸續將其他標記加諸紙上的同時我必須把它放大。
假設我要在白色的畫布上添加一些藍的、綠的，抑或是紅的感覺，每一新筆觸都會消減了上一個筆觸。譬如我要描繪一個室內：在我眼下有一個櫥櫃；它給我一種鮮紅的感覺，我便賦予它一個令人滿意的紅色。這個紅的跟畫布的白色之間的關係於是確立下來了。接著我在紅的一旁補上綠色，地上則塗上黃色；再一次，這些綠的或黃的以及畫布的白色的關係是我滿意的。這些不同的明暗色調彼此相互削弱對方。我必須平衡處理這些各種各樣的標記，使它們不會互相破壞。一個新的色彩組合將率先形成，隨後呈示出我的整體表現。我被逼改變次序，直到經過連續不停地修修改改，最終由紅色取代綠色成為主要色彩之後，我的畫作看似完全變了樣。從我所發現的所有色調關係中，其中勢必要達成動人心魄的色彩和諧之效，彷彿音樂作品的諧調感那般。
對我而言，這一切源於構想之中。也因此我必須從一開始在整體上有一個清晰的願景。我想到一位偉大的雕塑家，他為我們帶來了不少令人驚嘆的作品：但是在他那裡，構圖僅僅是把許多碎片撮合起來而已，結果導致其在表達上紊亂不清。轉過頭去看塞尚的某一幅畫：所有的人物都安排得妥妥當當，無論您站的距離有多遠，即使畫面上佈滿了一整群人，您終究還是可以一清二楚地辨識那些人物，並知道哪一肢體屬於哪一身體。如果畫中井然有序和清晰度高，則意味著從一開始在畫家的腦海中就有著相同的秩序和清晰度，畫家大概意識到了這些都是有其必要的。四肢可能交叉纏繞，但在觀眾看來，它們仍然會拼接、且有助於直指具體的身軀：所有的困惑消失了。
色彩的主要功能莫不是盡可能地服務於抒情表意。在未經預先構思的情形下我設下我的調子。倘使從一開始——也許我並無意識到，某種色調特別吸引我或者把我逮住，而往往不止一次，當畫成之後，我注意到自己會偏重那些經過我再三修改後、大部份都變掉了的色調。色彩的表現力將其純本能的方式強加給我。當我作一幅秋天的風景畫，我不會去思慮甚麼色系更適於表現這個季節，且任由這個季節在體內引起的感覺來啟發我：冰清潔淨、而酸酸的藍天以及樹葉的細微差別一樣能夠將節氣表達出來。我的感覺本身似乎也會變不同，秋天彷彿是柔和中帶溫暖的，一如炎夏已近尾聲那樣，甚或天空微寒，卻相當涼爽，而檸檬黃的樹叢予人一種冷淡的觀感，似乎已宣告冬天來了。
在色彩的採擇上我不受制於任何科學理論；它得自觀察，敏感，切身經驗。像希涅克這樣的藝術家在受到德拉克羅瓦（Eugene
Delacroix）某些方面的啟發下專心一致於互補色，而且那方面的理論知識促使他會在某個地方運用某種色調。然而，我卻嘗以選用某些色彩來呈現我的感覺。那些使不得不的色調配搭有可能會導致我整修人物的形狀，抑或是變動我的構圖。在構圖中所有部份都達到這個比率之前，我會一直努力並且繼續努力不懈。一直到這些構成元素都能夠各就各位，從那一刻之後，只要我添多一筆在畫面上，就不可避免地必須從頭再來一遍。
就事實上說，我認為互補色的理論並非絕對的。在研究畫家的作品時，他們對色彩知識往往取決於本能和感覺，並且不斷地與他們的各種感覺相類比，人們可以詮釋某些色彩原理，進而拓擴了現有意義下的色彩理論的界限。
我最感興趣的既不是靜物畫，也不是風景畫，反而是人物畫。最能表達我對近乎宗教情操的生活非人物畫莫屬。我沒有執著於採用臉部的每一個細節，而是按照解剖學上的精確意義把這張臉呈現出來。譬如我有一個意大利模特，乍看之下，她什麼都沒有表露，在在是一般純粹的原始的存在，儘管如此我發現了她不可或缺的秉性，我洞察了那張臉的線條，這些線暗示著在每個人身上都具有的吸引力。一件藝術品必須在其自身內部擁有完整的意義，並且能夠感染旁觀者，甚至在他還未意識到創作題材之前。當我在帕多瓦（Padua；位於意大利北部）看到喬托（Giotto
di Bondone）的壁畫時，我對於描述耶穌一生的事蹟那一些情節，並不會跟自己先前所認知的感到有所出入，我立即明白這恰恰是由於其中的線條、構成、色彩所帶出的情感而產生。那個標題不過是確證了我的印象而已。
我夢寐以求的是一種平衡、純粹、沉靜的藝術，不會引起紛擾或者鬱悶的題材，這一種藝術也許適用於包括生意人與文化人在內的各種腦力勞動者，它撫慰、舒緩了受創的心靈，就像一把極好的扶手椅，它能夠驅除身體的疲勞。
攸關不同過程的所值多寡與其性情落差有何關係是經常引起議論的議題。直接從自然中取景以及純粹取徑想像來創作的畫家之間有所不同。就個人而言，我認為這兩種方法都不能自我宣稱比對方的做法更好。同一個人或可把這兩種方法都使用上，也許是因為他需要接觸外在對象、並藉此來領受激發其創造力的感覺，抑或是他的感覺早已組織起來了。無論那一種情況，他終將可以取得造就一幅畫的總和。在任何情況下，我認為人們曉得如何判斷一位藝術家的活力和威勢：從自然景觀中直接獲致這些印象後，他能夠在不同時候編制其所感所知、且以始終如一的心態埋首於創作中，更將這些感覺加以擴展開來；這種能力證明了他完全可以操控自如，嚴以律己。
那些最能讓藝術家表達自我的手段正是最簡易不過的手段。若他怯於平庸，他就不可避免地會表現得不可思議，抑或是趨向使用狂怪的畫法和奇異的色彩。他的表達方式似乎必須從他的性情中獲取。他必須很謙卑地承認自己只能畫出自己所見過的事物。我喜歡查爾丁（Jean Simeon Chardin）的表述方式：「直到相似之前我不會停下筆來。」或塞尚（Paul Cezanne）所言：「我想確立一種相似性。」或如羅丹（Auguste Rodin）說的：「複製自然！」達芬奇（Leonardo da Vinci）則說：「懂得複製就可以創造了。」那些採以先入為主的風格、刻意違反自然的工作方式者，與真相擦肩而過了。藝術家必須清楚知道，當他進行論析時，他的畫就是一種計謀；不過，當他作畫之際，他勢必會感覺到自己不過是在複製自然。即使他背離自然而去，他也必須懷著如此信念，亦即是對自然做出更充分的詮釋罷了。
有人也許很期待畫家能夠提出與繪畫相關的其他觀點，我卻只有陳詞濫調。針對這一點，我或只能回應說此處沒有新的真理。一如學者般，藝術家的角色便是著眼於反覆出現在自己身前的真理，這個做法往往會給他帶來嶄新的意義，一旦他掌握住最深邃的意義時，他便會創造自己的意義。如果飛行員需要向我們解釋為何飛機可以飛離地表並在空中飛騰的相關研究，那麼他們至多能夠證實一些連不太到位的發明家都會忽略的非常入門的物理學原理。
藝術家總是從攸關自我的信息中獲益，我很高興得知自己的弱點是什麼。貝拉丹（Merodack
Josephin Peladan；作家兼藝評家）發表在《評論週刊》（Revue Hebdomadaire）的文章中，把為數不少的畫家稱做「野獸」（Fauves）來羞辱人家，我想我自己應該對號入座，乃至跟其他人都穿得一個模樣，如此一來，大夥兒才不致於比那些在百貨公司裡閒逛的甲乙丙丁等受到矚目。天才得以取決的是不是這麼少？倘使只是我一個人的問題引起貝拉丹先生感到不悅，明天我將自稱為「薩爾人」（Sar；莽夫），並且打扮成一個招魂術士那樣好了。
在同一篇文章中，這位不凡的作家宣稱我沒有真誠地作畫，他十分武斷地發表聲明時使我有理由氣上心頭，他說，「對我而言真誠的意思是忠於理想和法則。」問題在於他沒有提到這些法則是什麼。我很樂意看到這些法則存在其間，可是，說不準學會了這些法則，我們到底會擁有何等卓越的藝術家！
規則並非自外於個人而存在：否則的話，一名優秀的教授準會像拉辛（Jean-Baptiste
Racine；劇作家）這個天才般高強了。我們當中可以重述那些優美格言者大有人在，相對只有少數人有能力理解其中含義。我必須坦誠地說，研究顯示了拉斐爾（Raphael）或提香（Titian）的作品中可以得出比從馬奈（Edouard
Manet）或雷諾阿（Auguste Renoir）的作品更為完整的一套規則，但是馬奈和雷諾阿依循的是那些適合他們本身氣質的規則，我寧可選擇他們所有繪畫中相較次要一些的，而不是那些執意在仿效〈烏爾比諾的維納斯〉（Venus of Urbino；提香作品）或〈有金翅雀的聖母〉（Madonna of the Goldfinch；拉斐爾作品）的作品。後者對任何人都沒有價值，因為無論我們願意與否，我們都屬於我們的時代，在畫作中我們與人分享觀點、感受甚至是遐想。大凡藝術家都烙下了自己的時代印記，然而偉大的藝術家卻是在這中間擁有最深刻烙印的藝術家。譬如說庫爾貝特（Gustave
Courbet）的繪畫既比弗蘭德林（Jean-Hippolyte Flandrin）而羅丹的雕塑也比弗雷米耶特（Emmanuel
Frémiet）更好地表徵了我們這一時代。無論我們是否喜歡它，無論我們如何堅持不懈地稱自己為流放者，在我們的時代和我們之間已建立了不解之緣，即便是貝拉丹先生本人也擺脫不了。未來的美學家大概會採用他的著作，如果他們存心想要借此來論證我們這個時代根本無人對達芬奇的藝術有一丁點認識。
◆2020.05.30／新冠病毒全球大流行（311定調）／全國行動管制令期間（始於318）
【畫家作品】
Woman with a Hat, 1905.
Oil on canvas, 80.56 cm X
59.69 cm.
San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.
Self Portrait in a Striped T-shirt, 1906.
Oil on
canvas, 55 cm X 46 cm.
Statens Museum for Kunst, Denmark.
【英文譯文】
Henri Matisse: “Notes of a Painter” (1908)
A painter who addresses the public not just in order to
present his works, but to reveal some of his ideas on the art of painting,
exposes himself to several dangers.
In the first place, knowing that many people like to
think of painting as an appendage of literature and therefore want it to
express not general ideas suited to pictorial means, but specifically literary
ideas, I fear that one will look with astonishment upon the painter who
ventures to invade the domain of the literary man. As a matter of fact, I am
fully aware that a painter’s best spokesman is his work.
However, such painters as Signac, Desvallieres, Denis,
Blanche, Guerin and Bernard have written on such matters and been well received
by various periodicals. Personally, I shall simply try to state my feelings and
aspirations as a painter without worrying about the writing.
But now I foresee the danger of appearing to contradict
myself. I feel very strongly the tie between my earlier and my recent works,
but I do not think exactly the way I thought yesterday. Or rather, my basic
idea has not changed, but my thought has evolved, and my modes of expression have
followed my thoughts. I do not repudiate any of my paintings but there is not
one of them that I would not redo differently, if I had it to redo. My
destination is always the same but I work out a different route to get there.
Finally, if I mention the name of this or that artist it
will be to point out how our manners differ, and it may seem that I am
belittling his work. Thus I risk being accused of injustice towards painters
whose aims and results I best understand, or whose accomplishments I most
appreciate, whereas I will have used them as examples, not to establish my
superiority over them, but to show more clearly, through what they have done,
what I am attempting to do.
What I am after, above all, is expression. Sometimes it has been conceded that
I have a certain technical ability but that all the same my ambition is
limited, and does not go beyond the purely visual satisfaction such as can be
obtained from looking at a picture. But the thought of a painter must not be
considered as separate from his pictorial means, for the thought is worth no
more than its expression
by the means, which must be more complete (and by complete I do not mean
complicated) the deeper is his thought. I am unable to distinguish between the feeling I have about
life and my way of translating it.
Expression,
for me, does not reside in passions glowing in a human face or manifested by
violent movement. The entire arrangement of my picture is expressive: the place
occupied by the figures, the empty spaces around them, the proportions,
everything has its share. Composition is the art of arranging in a decorative
manner the diverse elements at the painter’s command to express his feelings.
In a picture every part will be visible and will play its appointed role,
whether it be principal or secondary. Everything that is not useful in the
picture is, it follows, harmful. A work of art must be harmonious in its
entirety: any superfluous detail would replace some other essential detail in
the mind of the spectator.
Composition, the aim of which should be expression, is modified
according to the surface to be covered. If I take a sheet of paper of a given
size, my drawing will have a necessary relationship to its format. I would not
repeat this drawing on another sheet of different proportions, for example,
rectangular instead of square. Nor should I be satisfied with a mere
enlargement, had I to transfer the drawing to a sheet the same shape, but ten
times larger. A drawing must have an expansive force which gives life to the
things around it. An artist who wants to transpose a composition from one
canvas to another larger one must conceive it anew in order to preserve its
expression; he must alter its character and not just square it up onto the
larger canvas.
Both harmonies and dissonances of color can produce
agreeable effects. Often when I start to work I record fresh and superficial sensations during the first
session. A few years ago I was sometimes satisfied with the result. But today
if I were satisfied with this, now that I think I can see further, my picture
would have a vagueness in it: I should have recorded the fugitive sensations of a moment which
could not completely define my feelings and which I should barely recognize the
next day.
I want to reach that state of condensation of sensations
which makes a painting. I might be satisfied with a work done at one sitting,
but I would soon tire of it, therefore, I prefer to rework it so that later I
may recognize it as representative of my state of mind. There was a time when I
never left my paintings hanging on the wall because they reminded me of moments
of over-excitement and I did not like to see them again when I was calm.
Nowadays I try to put serenity into my pictures and rework them as long as I
have not succeeded.
Suppose I want to paint a woman’s body: first of all I
imbue it with grace and charm, but I know that I must give something more. I
will condense the meaning of this body by seeking its essential lines. The
charm will be less apparent at first glance, but it must eventually emerge from
the new image which will have a broader meaning, one more fully human. The
charm will be less striking since it will not be the sole quality of the
painting, but it will not exist less for its being contained within the general
conception of the figure.
Charm, lightness, freshness—such fleeting sensations. I have a canvas
on which the colors are still fresh and I begin to work on it again. The tone
will no doubt become duller. I will replace my original tone with one of
greater density, an improvement, but less seductive to the eve.
The Impressionist painters, especially Monet and Sisley,
had delicate sensations, quite close to each other: as a result their canvases
all look alike. The word “impressionism” perfectly characterizes their style,
for they register fleeting impressions. It is not an appropriate designation
for certain more recent painters who avoid the first impression, and consider
it almost dishonest. A rapid rendering of a landscape represents only one
moment of its existence [durée]. I prefer, by insisting upon its
essential character,
to risk losing charm in order to obtain greater stability.
Underlying this succession of moments which constitutes
the superficial existence of beings and things, and which is continually
modifying and transforming them, one can search for a truer, more essential
character, which the artist will seize so that he may give to reality a more
lasting interpretation. When we go into the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century
sculpture rooms in the Louvre and look, for example, at a Puget, we can see
that the expression is
forced and exaggerated to the point of being disquieting. It is quite a
different matter if we go to the Luxembourg; the attitude in which the
sculptors catch their models is always the one in which the development of the
members and tensions of the muscles will be shown to greatest advantage. And
yet movement thus
understood corresponds to nothing in nature: when we capture it by surprise in
a snapshot, the resulting image reminds us of nothing that we have seen. Movement seized while it
is going on is meaningful to us only if we do not isolate the present sensation either from that
which precedes it or that which follows it.
There are two ways of expressing things; one is to show
them crudely, the other is to evoke them through art. By removing oneself from
the literal representation of movement one attains greater beauty and grandeur.
Look at an Egyptian statue: it looks rigid to us, yet we sense in it the image
of a body capable of movement and which, despite its rigidity, is animated. The Greeks too
are calm: a man hurling a discus will be caught at the moment in which he
gathers his strength, or at least, if he is shown in the most strained and
precarious position implied by his action, the sculptor will have epitomized
and condensed it so that equilibrium is re-established, thereby suggesting the
idea of duration. Movement
is in itself unstable and is not suited to something durable like a statue,
unless the artist is aware of the entire action of which he represents only a
moment.
I must precisely define the character of the object or of
the body that I wish to paint. To do so, I study my method very closely: If I
put a black dot on a sheet of white paper, the dot will be visible no matter
how far away I hold it: it is a clear notation. But beside this dot I place
another one, and then a third, and already there is confusion. In order for the
first dot to maintain its value I must enlarge it as I put other marks on the
paper.
If upon a white canvas I set down some sensations of blue, of green,
of red, each new stroke diminishes the importance of the preceding ones.
Suppose I have to paint an interior: I have before me a cupboard; it gives me a
sensation of vivid red, and I put down a red which satisfies me. A relation is
established between this red and the white of the canvas. Let me put a green
near the red, and make the floor yellow; and again there will be relationships
between the green or yellow and the white of the canvas which will satisfy me.
But these different tones mutually weaken one another. It is necessary that the
various marks I use be balanced so that they do not destroy each other. To do
this I must organize my ideas; the relationships between the tones must be such
that it will sustain and not destroy them. A new combination of colors will
succeed the first and render the totality of my representation. I am forced to
transpose until finally my picture may seem completely changed when, after
successive modifications, the red has succeeded the green as the dominant
color. I cannot copy nature in a servile way; I am forced to interpret nature
and submit it to the spirit of the picture. From the relationship I have found
in all the tones there must result a living harmony of colors, a harmony
analogous to that of a musical composition.
For me all is in the conception. I must therefore have a
clear vision of the whole from the beginning. I could mention a great sculptor
who gives us some admirable pieces: but for him a composition is merely a
grouping of fragments, which results in a confusion of expression. Look instead
at one of Cézanne‟s pictures: all is so well arranged that no matter at what
distance you stand or how many figures are represented you will always be able
to distinguish each figure clearly and to know which limb belongs to which
body. If there is order and clarity in the picture, it means that from the
outset this same order and clarity existed in the mind of the painter, or that
the painter was conscious of their necessity. Limbs may cross and intertwine,
but in the eyes of the spectator they will nevertheless remain attached to and
help to articulate the right body: all confusion has disappeared.
The chief function of color should be to serve expression
as well as possible. I put down my tones without a preconceived plan. If at
first, and perhaps without my having been conscious of it, one tone has
particularly seduced or caught me, more often than not once the picture is
finished I will notice that I have respected this tone while I progressively
altered and transformed all the others. The expressive aspect of colors imposes
itself on me in a purely instinctive way. To paint an autumn landscape I will
not try to remember what colors suit this season, I will be inspired only by
the sensation that the season arouses in me: the icy purity of the sour blue
sky will express the season just as well as the nuances of foliage. My
sensation itself may vary, the autumn may be soft and warm like a continuation
of summer, or quite cool with a cold sky and lemon- yellow trees that give a
chilly impression and already announce winter.
My choice of colors does not rest on any scientific
theory; it is based on observation, on sensitivity, on felt experiences.
Inspired by certain pages of Delacroix, an artist like Signac is preoccupied
with complementary colors, and the theoretical knowledge of them will lead him
to use a certain tone in a certain place. But I simply try to put down colors
which render my sensation. There is an impelling proportion of tones that may
lead me to change the shape of a figure or to transform my composition. Until I
have achieved this proportion in all the parts of the composition I strive
towards it and keep on working. Then a moment comes when all the parts have
found their definite relationships, and from then on it would be impossible for
me to add a stroke to my picture without having to repaint it entirely.
In reality, I think that the very theory of complementary
colors is not absolute. In studying the paintings of artists whose knowledge of
colors depends upon instinct and feeling, and on a constant analogy with their
sensations, one could define certain laws of color and so broaden the limits of
color theory as it is now defined.
What interests me most is neither still life nor
landscape, but the human figure. It is that which best permits me to express my
almost religious awe towards life. I do not insist upon all the details of the
face, on setting them down one-by-one with anatomical exactitude. If I have an
Italian model who at first appearance suggests nothing but a purely animal
existence, I nevertheless discover his essential qualities, I penetrate amid
the lines of the face those which suggest the deep gravity which persists in
every human being. A work of art must carry within itself its complete
significance and impose that upon the beholder even before he recognizes the
subject matter. When I see the Giotto frescoes at Padua I do not trouble myself
to recognize which scene of the life of Christ I have before me, but I
immediately understand the sentiment which emerges from it, for it is in the
lines, the composition, the color. The title will only serve to confirm my
impression.
What I dream of
is an art of balance, of purity and serenity, devoid of troubling or depressing
subject matter, an art which could be for every mental worker, for the
businessman as well as the man of letters, for example, a soothing, calming
influence on the mind, something like a good armchair which provides relaxation
from physical fatigue.
Often a discussion arises as to the value of different
processes, and their relationship to different temperaments. A distinction is
made between painters who work directly from nature and those who work purely
from imagination. Personally, I think neither of these methods must be
preferred to the exclusion of the other. Both may be used in turn by the same
individual, either because he needs contact with objects in order to receive
sensations that will excite his creative faculty, or his sensations are already
organized. In either case he will be able to arrive at that totality which
constitutes a picture. In any event I think that one can judge the vitality and
power of an artist who, after having received impressions directly from the
spectacle of nature, is able to organize his sensations to continue his work in
the same frame of mind on different days, and to develop these sensations; this
power proves he is sufficiently master of himself to subject himself to
discipline.
The simplest means are those which best enable an artist
to express himself. If he fears the banal he cannot avoid it by appearing
strange, or going in for bizarre drawing and eccentric color. His means of
expression must derive almost of necessity from his temperament. He must have
the humility of mind to believe that he has painted only what he has seen. I
like Chardin’s way of expressing it: “I apply color until there is a
resemblance.” Or Cézanne’s: “I want to secure a likeness,” or Rodin’s: “Copy
nature!” Leonardo said: “He who can copy can create.” Those who work in a
preconceived style, deliberately turning their backs on nature, miss the truth.
An artist must recognize, when he is reasoning, that his picture is an
artifice; but when he is painting, he should feel that he has copied nature.
And even when he departs from nature, he must do it with the conviction that it
is only to interpret her more fully.
Some may say that other views on painting were expected
from a painter, and that I have only come out with platitudes. To this I shall
reply that there are no new truths. The role of the artist, like that of the
scholar, consists of seizing current truths often repeated to him, but which
will take on new meaning for him and which he will make his own when he has
grasped their deepest significance. If aviators had to explain to us the
research which led to their leaving earth and rising in the air, they would
merely confirm very elementary principles of physics neglected by less
successful inventors.
An artist always profits from information about himself,
and I am glad to have learned what is my weak point. M. Péladan in the Revue
Hébdomadaire reproaches a certain number of painters, amongst whom I think
I should place myself, for calling themselves “Fauves”, and yet dressing like
everyone else, so that they are no more noticeable than the floor-walkers in a
department store. Does genius depend on so little? If it were only a question
of myself that would set M. Péladan’s mind at ease, tomorrow I would call
myself Sar and dress like a necromancer.
In the same article this excellent writer claims that I
do not paint honestly, and I would be justifiably angry if he had not qualified
his statement by saying, “I mean honestly with respect to the ideal and the
rules.” The trouble is that he does not mention where these rules are. I am
willing to have them exist, but were it possible to learn them what sublime
artists we would have!
Rules have no existence outside of individuals: otherwise
a good professor would be as great a genius as Racine. Any one of us is capable
of repeating fine maxims, but few can also penetrate their meaning. I am ready
to admit that from a study of the works of Raphael or Titian a more complete
set of rules can be drawn than from the works of Manet or Renoir, but the rules
followed by Manet and Renoir were those which suited their temperaments and I
prefer the most minor of their paintings to all the work of those who are
content to imitate the Venus of Urbino or the Madonna of the Goldfinch.
These latter are of no value to anyone, for whether we want to or not, we
belong to our time and we share in its opinions, its feelings, even its
delusions. All artists bear the imprint of their time, but the great artists
are those in whom this is most profoundly marked. Our epoch for instance is
better represented by Courbet than by Flandrin, by Rodin better than by
Frémiet. Whether we like it or not, however insistently we call ourselves
exiles, between our period and ourselves an indissoluble bond is established,
and M. Péladan himself cannot escape it. The aestheticians of the future may
perhaps use his books as evidence if they get it in their heads to prove that
no one of our time understood anything about the art of Leonardo da Vinci.
