CONCERNING THE SPIRITUAL IN ART

BY WASSILY KANDINSKY [TRANSLATED BY MICHAEL T. H. SADLER]

TABLE OF CONTENTS

 LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS [NOT IN E-TEXT] TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION

 PART I. ABOUT GENERAL AESTHETIC

 I. INTRODUCTION II. THE MOVEMENT OF THE TRIANGLE III. SPIRITUAL REVOLUTION IV. THE PYRAMID

 PART II. ABOUT PAINTING

 V. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL WORKING OF COLOUR VI. THE LANGUAGE OF FORM AND COLOUR VII. THEORY VIII. ART AND ARTISTS IX. CONCLUSION

LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS [NOT IN E-TEXT]

Mosaic in S. Vitale, Ravenna

Victor and Heinrich Dunwegge: "The Crucifixion" (in the AltePinakothek, Munich)

Albrecht Durer: "The Descent from the Cross" (in the AltePinakothek, Munich)

Raphael: "The Canigiani Holy Family" (in the Alte Pinakothek, Munich)

Paul Cezanne: "Bathing Women" (by permission of Messrs. Bernheim-Jeune, Paris)

Kandinsky: Impression No. 4, "Moscow" (1911)

 "Improvisation No. 29 (1912) "Composition No. 2 (1910) "Kleine Freuden" (1913)

TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION

It is no common thing to find an artist who, even if he bewilling to try, is capable of expressing his aims and ideals withany clearness and moderation. Some people will say that any suchcapacity is a flaw in the perfect artist, who should find hisexpression in line and colour, and leave the multitude to gropeits way unaided towards comprehension. This attitude is a relicof the days when "l'art pour l'art" was the latest battle cry;when eccentricity of manner and 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 some measure removed this absurdity, by destroying the old convention that it was middle-class to besane, and that between the artist and the outer-world yawned agulf which few could cross. Modern artists are beginning torealize their social duties. They are the spiritual teachers ofthe world, and for their teaching to have weight, it must becomprehensible. Any attempt, therefore, to bring artist andpublic into sympathy, to enable the latter to understand theideals of the former, should be thoroughly welcome; and such anattempt is this book of Kandinsky's. 

The author is one of the leaders of the new art movement inMunich. The group of which he is a member includes painters, poets, musicians, dramatists, critics, all working to the sameend--the expression of the SOUL of nature and humanity, or, asKandinsky terms it, the INNERER KLANG. 

Perhaps the fault of this book of theory--or rather thecharacteristic most likely to give cause for attack--is thetendency to verbosity. Philosophy, especially in the hands of awriter of German, presents inexhaustible opportunities for vagueand grandiloquent language. Partly for this reason, partly fromincompetence, I have not primarily attempted to deal with thephilosophical basis of Kandinsky's art. Some, probably, will findin this aspect of the book its chief interest, but better servicewill be done to the author's ideas by leaving them to thereader's judgement than by even the most expert criticism. 

The power of a book to excite argument is often the best proof ofits value, and my own experience has always been that those newideas are at once most challenging and most stimulating whichcome direct from their author, with no intermediate discussion. 

The task undertaken in this Introduction is a humbler but perhapsa more necessary one. England, throughout her history, has shownscant respect for sudden spasms of theory. Whether in politics, religion, or art, she demands an historical foundation for everybelief, and when such a foundation is not forthcoming she maysmile indulgently, but serious interest is immediately withdrawn. I am keenly anxious that Kandinsky's art should not suffer thisfate. My personal belief in his sincerity and the future of hisideas will go for very little, but if it can be shown that he isa reasonable development of what we regard as serious art, thathe is no adventurer striving for a momentary notoriety by thestrangeness of his beliefs, then there is a chance that somepeople at least will give his art fair consideration, and that, of these people, a few will come to love it as, in my opinion, itdeserves. 

Post-Impressionism, that vague and much-abused term, is nowalmost a household word. That the name of the movement is betterknown than the names of its chief leaders is a sad misfortune, largely caused by the over-rapidity of its introduction intoEngland. Within the space of two short years a mass of artistsfrom Manet to the most recent of Cubists were thrust on a public, who had hardly realized Impressionism. The inevitable result hasbeen complete mental chaos. The tradition of which true Post-Impressionism is the modern expression has been kept alive downthe ages of European art by scattered and, until lately, neglected painters. But not since the time of the so-calledByzantines, not since the period of which Giotto and his Schoolwere the final splendid blossoming, has the "Symbolist" ideal inart held general sway over the "Naturalist. " The PrimitiveItalians, like their predecessors the Primitive Greeks, and, inturn, their predecessors the Egyptians, sought to express theinner feeling rather than the outer reality. 

This ideal tended to be lost to sight in the naturalistic revivalof the Renaissance, which derived its inspiration solely fromthose periods of Greek and Roman art which were pre-occupied withthe expression of external reality. Although the all-embracinggenius of Michelangelo kept the "Symbolist" tradition alive, itis the work of El Greco that merits the complete title of"Symbolist. " From El Greco springs Goya and the Spanish influenceon Daumier and Manet. When it is remembered that, in themeantime, Rembrandt and his contemporaries, notably Brouwer, lefttheir mark on French art in the work of Delacroix, Decamps andCourbet, the way will be seen clearly open to Cezanne andGauguin. 

The phrase "symbolist tradition" is not used to express anyconscious affinity between the various generations of artists. AsKandinsky says: "the relationships in art are not necessarilyones of outward form, but are founded on inner sympathy ofmeaning. " Sometimes, perhaps frequently, a similarity of outwardform will appear. But in tracing spiritual relationship onlyinner meaning must be taken into account. 

There are, of course, many people who deny that Primitive Art hadan inner meaning or, rather, that what is called "archaicexpression" was dictated by anything but ignorance ofrepresentative methods and defective materials. Such people arenumbered among the bitterest opponents of Post-Impressionism, andindeed it is difficult to see how they could be otherwise. "Painting, " they say, "which seeks to learn from an age when artwas, however sincere, incompetent and uneducated, deliberatelyrejects the knowledge and skill of centuries. " It will be no easymatter to conquer this assumption that Primitive art is merelyuntrained Naturalism, but until it is conquered there seemslittle hope for a sympathetic understanding of the symbolistideal. 

The task is all the more difficult because of the analogy drawnby friends of the new movement between the neo-primitive visionand that of a child. That the analogy contains a grain of truthdoes not make it the less mischievous. Freshness of vision thechild has, and freshness of vision is an important element in thenew movement. But beyond this a parallel is non-existent, must benon-existent in any art other than pure artificiality. It is onething to ape ineptitude in technique and another to acquiresimplicity of vision. Simplicity--or rather discrimination ofvision--is the trademark of the true Post-Impressionist. HeOBSERVES and then SELECTS what is essential. The result is alogical and very sophisticated synthesis. Such a synthesis willfind expression in simple and even harsh technique. But theprocess can only come AFTER the naturalist process and not beforeit. The child has a direct vision, because his mind isunencumbered by association and because his power ofconcentration is unimpaired by a multiplicity of interests. Hismethod of drawing is immature; its variations from the ordinaryresult from lack of capacity. 

Two examples will make my meaning clearer. The child draws alandscape. His picture contains one or two objects only from thenumber before his eyes. These are the objects which strike him asimportant. So far, good. But there is no relation between them;they stand isolated on his paper, mere lumpish shapes. The Post-Impressionist, however, selects his objects with a view toexpressing by their means the whole feeling of the landscape. Hischoice falls on elements which sum up the whole, not those whichfirst attract immediate attention. 

Again, let us take the case of the definitely religious picture. 

[Footnote: Religion, in the sense of awe, is present in all trueart. But here I use the term in the narrower sense to meanpictures of which the subject is connected with Christian orother worship. ]

It is not often that children draw religious scenes. More oftenbattles and pageants attract them. But since the revival of thereligious picture is so noticeable a factor in the new movement, since the Byzantines painted almost entirely religious subjects, and finally, since a book of such drawings by a child of twelvehas recently been published, I prefer to take them as my example. Daphne Alien's religious drawings have the graceful charm ofchildhood, but they are mere childish echoes of conventionalprettiness. Her talent, when mature, will turn to the charmingrather than to the vigorous. There could be no greater contrastbetween such drawing and that of--say--Cimabue. Cimabue'sMadonnas are not pretty women, but huge, solemn symbols. Theirheads droop stiffly; their tenderness is universal. In Gauguin's"Agony in the Garden" the figure of Christ is haggard with painand grief. These artists have filled their pictures with a bitterexperience which no child can possibly possess. I repeat, therefore, that the analogy between Post-Impressionism and child-art is a false analogy, and that for a trained man or woman topaint as a child paints is an impossibility. [Footnote: I am wellaware that this statement is at variance with Kandinsky, who hascontributed a long article--"Uber die Formfrage"--to Der BlaueReiter, in which he argues the parallel between Post-Impressionism and child vision, as exemplified in the work ofHenri Rousseau. Certainly Rousseau's vision is childlike. He hashad no artistic training and pretends to none. But I considerthat his art suffers so greatly from his lack of training, thatbeyond a sentimental interest it has little to recommend it. ]

All this does not presume to say that the "symbolist" school ofart is necessarily nobler than the "naturalist. " I am making nocomparison, only a distinction. When the difference in aim isfully realized, the Primitives can no longer be condemned asincompetent, nor the moderns as lunatics, for such a condemnationis made from a wrong point of view. Judgement must be passed, noton the failure to achieve "naturalism" but on the failure toexpress the inner meaning. 

The brief historical survey attempted above ended with the namesof Cezanne and Gauguin, and for the purposes of thisIntroduction, for the purpose, that is to say, of tracing thegenealogy of the Cubists and of Kandinsky, these two names may betaken to represent the modern expression of the "symbolist"tradition. 

The difference between them is subtle but goes very deep. Forboth the ultimate and internal significance of what they paintedcounted for more than the significance which is momentary andexternal. Cezanne saw in a tree, a heap of apples, a human face, a group of bathing men or women, something more abiding thaneither photography or impressionist painting could present. Hepainted the "treeness" of the tree, as a modern critic hasadmirably expressed it. But in everything he did he showed thearchitectural mind of the true Frenchman. His landscape studieswere based on a profound sense of the structure of rocks andhills, and being structural, his art depends essentially onreality. Though he did not scruple, and rightly, to sacrificeaccuracy of form to the inner need, the material of which his artwas composed was drawn from the huge stores of actual nature. 

Gauguin has greater solemnity and fire than Cezanne. His picturesare tragic or passionate poems. He also sacrifices conventionalform to inner expression, but his art tends ever towards thespiritual, towards that profounder emphasis which cannot beexpressed in natural objects nor in words. True his abandonmentof representative methods did not lead him to an abandonment ofnatural terms of expression--that is to say human figures, treesand animals do appear in his pictures. But that he was muchnearer a complete rejection of representation than was Cezanne isshown by the course followed by their respective disciples. 

The generation immediately subsequent to Cezanne, Herbin, Vlaminck, Friesz, Marquet, etc. , do little more than exaggerateCezanne's technique, until there appear the first signs ofCubism. These are seen very clearly in Herbin. Objects begin tobe treated in flat planes. A round vase is represented by aseries of planes set one into the other, which at a distanceblend into a curve. This is the first stage. 

The real plunge into Cubism was taken by Picasso, who, nurturedon Cezanne, carried to its perfectly logical conclusion themaster's structural treatment of nature. Representationdisappears. Starting from a single natural object, Picasso andthe Cubists produce lines and project angles till their canvasesare covered with intricate and often very beautiful series ofbalanced lines and curves. They persist, however, in giving thempicture titles which recall the natural object from which theirminds first took flight. 

With Gauguin the case is different. The generation of hisdisciples which followed him--I put it thus to distinguish themfrom his actual pupils at Pont Aven, Serusier and the rest--carried the tendency further. One hesitates to mention Derain, for his beginnings, full of vitality and promise, have givenplace to a dreary compromise with Cubism, without visible future, and above all without humour. But there is no better example ofthe development of synthetic symbolism than his first book ofwoodcuts. 

[Footnote: L'Enchanteur pourrissant, par Guillaume Apollinaire, avec illustrations gravees sur bois par Andre Derain. Paris, Kahnweiler, 1910. ]

Here is work which keeps the merest semblance of conventionalform, which gives its effect by startling masses of black andwhite, by sudden curves, but more frequently by sudden angles. 

[Footnote: The renaissance of the angle in art is an interestingfeature of the new movement. Not since Egyptian times has it beenused with such noble effect. There is a painting of Gauguin's atHagen, of a row of Tahitian women seated on a bench, thatconsists entirely of a telling design in Egyptian angles. Cubismis the result of this discovery of the angle, blended with theinfluence of Cezanne. ]

In the process of the gradual abandonment of natural form the"angle" school is paralleled by the "curve" school, which alsodescends wholly from Gauguin. The best known representative isMaurice Denis. But he has become a slave to sentimentality, andhas been left behind. Matisse is the most prominent French artistwho has followed Gauguin with curves. In Germany a group of youngmen, who form the Neue Kunstlevereinigung in Munich, work almostentirely in sweeping curves, and have reduced natural objectspurely to flowing, decorative units. 

But while they have followed Gauguin's lead in abandoningrepresentation both of these two groups of advance are lacking inspiritual meaning. Their aim becomes more and more decorative, with an undercurrent of suggestion of simplified form. Anyone whohas studied Gauguin will be aware of the intense spiritual valueof his work. The man is a preacher and a psychologist, universalby his very unorthodoxy, fundamental because he goes deeper thancivilization. In his disciples this great element is wanting. Kandinsky has supplied the need. He is not only on the track ofan art more purely spiritual than was conceived even by Gauguin, but he has achieved the final abandonment of all representativeintention. In this way he combines in himself the spiritual andtechnical tendencies of one great branch of Post-Impressionism. 

The question most generally asked about Kandinsky's art is: "Whatis he trying to do?" It is to be hoped that this book will dosomething towards answering the question. But it will not doeverything. This--partly because it is impossible to put intowords the whole of Kandinsky's ideal, partly because in hisanxiety to state his case, to court criticism, the author hasbeen tempted to formulate more than is wise. His analysis ofcolours and their effects on the spectator is not the real basisof his art, because, if it were, one could, with the help of ascientific manual, describe one's emotions before his pictureswith perfect accuracy. And this is impossible. 

Kandinsky is painting music. That is to say, he has broken downthe barrier between music and painting, and has isolated the pureemotion which, for want of a better name, we call the artisticemotion. Anyone who has listened to good music with any enjoymentwill admit to an unmistakable but quite indefinable thrill. Hewill not be able, with sincerity, to say that such a passage gavehim such visual impressions, or such a harmony roused in him suchemotions. The effect of music is too subtle for words. And thesame with this painting of Kandinsky's. Speaking for myself, tostand in front of some of his drawings or pictures gives a keenerand more spiritual pleasure than any other kind of painting. ButI could not express in the least what gives the pleasure. Presumably the lines and colours have the same effect as harmonyand rhythm in music have on the truly musical. That psychologycomes in no one can deny. Many people--perhaps at present thevery large majority of people--have their colour-music sensedormant. It has never been exercised. In the same way many peopleare unmusical--either wholly, by nature, or partly, for lack ofexperience. Even when Kandinsky's idea is universally understoodthere may be many who are not moved by his melody. For my part, something within me answered to Kandinsky's art the first time Imet with it. There was no question of looking for representation;a harmony had been set up, and that was enough. 

Of course colour-music is no new idea. That is to say attemptshave been made to play compositions in colour, by flashes andharmonies. [Footnote: Cf. "Colour Music, " by A. WallaceRimington. Hutchinson. 6s. Net. ] Also music has been interpretedin colour. But I do not know of any previous attempt to paint, without any reference to music, compositions which shall have onthe spectator an effect wholly divorced from representativeassociation. Kandinsky refers to attempts to paint in colour-counterpoint. But that is a different matter, in that it is theborrowing from one art by another of purely technical methods, without a previous impulse from spiritual sympathy. 

One is faced then with the conflicting claims of Picasso andKandinsky to the position of true leader of non-representativeart. Picasso's admirers hail him, just as this Introduction hailsKandinsky, as a visual musician. The methods and ideas of eachrival are so different that the title cannot be accorded to both. In his book, Kandinsky states his opinion of Cubism and its fatalweakness, and history goes to support his contention. The originof Cubism in Cezanne, in a structural art that owes its veryexistence to matter, makes its claim to pure emotionalism seemuntenable. Emotions are not composed of strata and conflictingpressures. Once abandon reality and the geometrical visionbecomes abstract mathematics. It seems to me that Picasso sharesa Futurist error when he endeavours to harmonize one item ofreality--a number, a button, a few capital letters--with asurrounding aura of angular projections. There must be a conflictof impressions, which differ essentially in quality. One trend ofmodern music is towards realism of sound. Children cry, dogsbark, plates are broken. Picasso approaches the same goal fromthe opposite direction. It is as though he were trying to workfrom realism to music. The waste of time is, to my mind, equallycomplete in both cases. The power of music to give expressionwithout the help of representation is its noblest possession. Nopainting has ever had such a precious power. Kandinsky isstriving to give it that power, and prove what is at least thelogical analogy between colour and sound, between line and rhythmof beat. Picasso makes little use of colour, and confines himselfonly to one series of line effects--those caused by conflictingangles. So his aim is smaller and more limited than Kandinsky'seven if it is as reasonable. But because it has not whollyabandoned realism but uses for the painting of feeling astructural vision dependent for its value on the association ofreality, because in so doing it tries to make the best of twoworlds, there seems little hope for it of redemption in either. 

As has been said above, Picasso and Kandinsky make an interestingparallel, in that they have developed the art respectively ofCezanne and Gauguin, in a similar direction. On the decision ofPicasso's failure or success rests the distinction betweenCezanne and Gauguin, the realist and the symbolist, the painterof externals and the painter of religious feeling. Unless aspiritual value is accorded to Cezanne's work, unless he isbelieved to be a religious painter (and religious painters neednot paint Madonnas), unless in fact he is paralleled closely withGauguin, his follower Picasso cannot claim to stand, withKandinsky, as a prophet of an art of spiritual harmony. 

If Kandinsky ever attains his ideal--for he is the first to admitthat he has not yet reached his goal--if he ever succeeds infinding a common language of colour and line which shall standalone as the language of sound and beat stands alone, withoutrecourse to natural form or representation, he will on all handsbe hailed as a great innovator, as a champion of the freedom ofart. Until such time, it is the duty of those to whom his workhas spoken, to bear their testimony. Otherwise he may becondemned as one who has invented a shorthand of his own, and whopaints pictures which cannot be understood by those who have notthe key of the cipher. In the meantime also it is important thathis position should be recognized as a legitimate, almostinevitable outcome of Post-Impressionist tendencies. Such is therecognition this Introduction strives to secure. 

MICHAEL T. H. SADLER

REFERENCE

Those interested in the ideas and work of Kandinsky and hisfellow artists would do well to consult:

DER BLAUE REITER, vol. I. Piper Verlag, Munich, 10 mk. Thissumptuous volume contains articles by Kandinsky, Franz Marc, Arnold Schonberg, etc. , together with some musical texts andnumerous reproductions--some in colour--of the work of theprimitive mosaicists, glass-painters, and sculptors, as well asof more modern artists from Greco to Kandinsky, Marc, and theirfriends. The choice of illustrations gives an admirable idea ofthe continuity and steady growth of the new painting, sculpture, and music. 

KLANGE. By Wassily Kandinsky. Piper Verlag, Munich, 30 mk. A mostbeautifully produced book of prose-poems, with a large number ofillustrations, many in colour. This is Kandinsky's most recentwork. 

Also the back and current numbers of Der Sturm, a weekly paperpublished in Berlin in the defence of the new art. Illustrationsby Marc, Pechstein, le Fauconnier, Delaunay, Kandinsky, etc. Alsopoems and critical articles. Price per weekly number 25 pfg. DerSturm has in preparation an album of reproductions of picturesand drawings by Kandinsky. 

For Cubism cf. Gleizes et Metzinger, "du Cubisme, " and GuillaumeApollinaire, "Les Peintres Cubistes. " Collection Les Arts. Paris, Figuiere, per vol. 3 fr. 50 c. 

DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF ELISABETH TICHEJEFF

PART 1: ABOUT GENERAL AESTHETIC

I. INTRODUCTION

Every work of art is the child of its age and, in many cases, themother of our emotions. It follows that each period of cultureproduces an art of its own which can never be repeated. Effortsto revive the art-principles of the past will at best produce anart that is still-born. It is impossible for us to live and feel, as did the ancient Greeks. In the same way those who strive tofollow the Greek methods in sculpture achieve only a similarityof form, the work remaining soulless for all time. Such imitationis mere aping. Externally the monkey completely resembles a humanbeing; he will sit holding a book in front of his nose, and turnover the pages with a thoughtful aspect, but his actions have forhim no real meaning. 

There is, however, in art another kind of external similaritywhich is founded on a fundamental truth. When there is asimilarity of inner tendency in the whole moral and spiritualatmosphere, a similarity of ideals, at first closely pursued butlater lost to sight, a similarity in the inner feeling of any oneperiod to that of another, the logical result will be a revivalof the external forms which served to express those innerfeelings in an earlier age. An example of this today is oursympathy, our spiritual relationship, with the Primitives. Likeourselves, these artists sought to express in their work onlyinternal truths, renouncing in consequence all consideration ofexternal form. 

This all-important spark of inner life today is at present only aspark. Our minds, which are even now only just awakening afteryears of materialism, are infected with the despair of unbelief, of lack of purpose and ideal. The nightmare of materialism, whichhas turned the life of the universe into an evil, useless game, is not yet past; it holds the awakening soul still in its grip. Only a feeble light glimmers like a tiny star in a vast gulf ofdarkness. This feeble light is but a presentiment, and the soul, when it sees it, trembles in doubt whether the light is not adream, and the gulf of darkness reality. This doubt, and thestill harsh tyranny of the materialistic philosophy, divide oursoul sharply from that of the Primitives. Our soul rings crackedwhen we seek to play upon it, as does a costly vase, long buriedin the earth, which is found to have a flaw when it is dug uponce more. For this reason, the Primitive phase, through which weare now passing, with its temporary similarity of form, can onlybe of short duration. 

These two possible resemblances between the art forms of todayand those of the past will be at once recognized as diametricallyopposed to one another. The first, being purely external, has nofuture. The second, being internal, contains the seed of thefuture within itself. After the period of materialist effort, which held the soul in check until it was shaken off as evil, thesoul is emerging, purged by trials and sufferings. Shapelessemotions such as fear, joy, grief, etc. , which belonged to thistime of effort, will no longer greatly attract the artist. Hewill endeavour to awake subtler emotions, as yet unnamed. Livinghimself a complicated and comparatively subtle life, his workwill give to those observers capable of feeling them loftyemotions beyond the reach of words. 

The observer of today, however, is seldom capable of feeling suchemotions. He seeks in a work of art a mere imitation of naturewhich can serve some definite purpose (for example a portrait inthe ordinary sense) or a presentment of nature according to acertain convention ("impressionist" painting), or some innerfeeling expressed in terms of natural form (as we say--a picturewith Stimmung) [Footnote: Stimmung is almost untranslateable. Itis almost "sentiment" in the best sense, and almost "feeling. "Many of Corot's twilight landscapes are full of a beautiful"Stimmung. " Kandinsky uses the word later on to mean the"essential spirit" of nature. --M. T. H. S. ] All those varieties ofpicture, when they are really art, fulfil their purpose and feedthe spirit. Though this applies to the first case, it appliesmore strongly to the third, where the spectator does feel acorresponding thrill in himself. Such harmony or even contrast ofemotion cannot be superficial or worthless; indeed the Stimmungof a picture can deepen and purify that of the spectator. Suchworks of art at least preserve the soul from coarseness; they"key it up, " so to speak, to a certain height, as a tuning-keythe strings of a musical instrument. But purification, andextension in duration and size of this sympathy of soul, remainone-sided, and the possibilities of the influence of art are notexerted to their utmost. 

Imagine a building divided into many rooms. The building may belarge or small. Every wall of every room is covered with picturesof various sizes; perhaps they number many thousands. Theyrepresent in colour bits of nature--animals in sunlight orshadow, drinking, standing in water, lying on the grass; near to, a Crucifixion by a painter who does not believe in Christ;flowers; human figures sitting, standing, walking; often they arenaked; many naked women, seen foreshortened from behind; applesand silver dishes; portrait of Councillor So and So; sunset; ladyin red; flying duck; portrait of Lady X; flying geese; lady inwhite; calves in shadow flecked with brilliant yellow sunlight;portrait of Prince Y; lady in green. All this is carefullyprinted in a book--name of artist--name of picture. People withthese books in their hands go from wall to wall, turning overpages, reading the names. Then they go away, neither richer norpoorer than when they came, and are absorbed at once in theirbusiness, which has nothing to do with art. Why did they come? Ineach picture is a whole lifetime imprisoned, a whole lifetime offears, doubts, hopes, and joys. 

Whither is this lifetime tending? What is the message of thecompetent artist? "To send light into the darkness of men'shearts--such is the duty of the artist, " said Schumann. "Anartist is a man who can draw and paint everything, " said Tolstoi. 

Of these two definitions of the artist's activity we must choosethe second, if we think of the exhibition just described. On onecanvas is a huddle of objects painted with varying degrees ofskill, virtuosity and vigour, harshly or smoothly. To harmonizethe whole is the task of art. With cold eyes and indifferent mindthe spectators regard the work. Connoisseurs admire the "skill"(as one admires a tightrope walker), enjoy the "quality ofpainting" (as one enjoys a pasty). But hungry souls go hungryaway. 

The vulgar herd stroll through the rooms and pronounce thepictures "nice" or "splendid. " Those who could speak have saidnothing, those who could hear have heard nothing. This conditionof art is called "art for art's sake. " This neglect of innermeanings, which is the life of colours, this vain squandering ofartistic power is called "art for art's sake. "

The artist seeks for material reward for his dexterity, his powerof vision and experience. His purpose becomes the satisfaction ofvanity and greed. In place of the steady co-operation of artistsis a scramble for good things. There are complaints of excessivecompetition, of over-production. Hatred, partisanship, cliques, jealousy, intrigues are the natural consequences of this aimless, materialist art. 

[Footnote: The few solitary exceptions do not destroy the truthof this sad and ominous picture, and even these exceptions arechiefly believers in the doctrine of art for art's sake. Theyserve, therefore, a higher ideal, but one which is ultimately auseless waste of their strength. External beauty is one elementof a spiritual atmosphere. But beyond this positive fact (thatwhat is beautiful is good) it has the weakness of a talent notused to the full. (The word talent is employed in the biblicalsense. )]

The onlooker turns away from the artist who has higher ideals andwho cannot see his life purpose in an art without aims. 

Sympathy is the education of the spectator from the point of viewof the artist. It has been said above that art is the child ofits age. Such an art can only create an artistic feeling which isalready clearly felt. This art, which has no power for thefuture, which is only a child of the age and cannot become amother of the future, is a barren art. She is transitory and toall intent dies the moment the atmosphere alters which nourishedher. 

The other art, that which is capable of educating further, springs equally from contemporary feeling, but is at the sametime not only echo and mirror of it, but also has a deep andpowerful prophetic strength. 

The spiritual life, to which art belongs and of which she is oneof the mightiest elements, is a complicated but definite andeasily definable movement forwards and upwards. This movement isthe movement of experience. It may take different forms, but itholds at bottom to the same inner thought and purpose. 

Veiled in obscurity are the causes of this need to move everupwards and forwards, by sweat of the brow, through sufferingsand fears. When one stage has been accomplished, and many evilstones cleared from the road, some unseen and wicked handscatters new obstacles in the way, so that the path often seemsblocked and totally obliterated. But there never fails to come tothe rescue some human being, like ourselves in everything exceptthat he has in him a secret power of vision. 

He sees and points the way. The power to do this he wouldsometimes fain lay aside, for it is a bitter cross to bear. Buthe cannot do so. Scorned and hated, he drags after him over thestones the heavy chariot of a divided humanity, ever forwards andupwards. 

Often, many years after his body has vanished from the earth, mentry by every means to recreate this body in marble, iron, bronze, or stone, on an enormous scale. As if there were any intrinsicvalue in the bodily existence of such divine martyrs and servantsof humanity, who despised the flesh and lived only for thespirit! But at least such setting up of marble is a proof that agreat number of men have reached the point where once the beingthey would now honour, stood alone. 

II. THE MOVEMENT OF THE TRIANGLE

The life of the spirit may be fairly represented in diagram as alarge acute-angled triangle divided horizontally into unequalparts with the narrowest segment uppermost. The lower the segmentthe greater it is in breadth, depth, and area. 

The whole triangle is moving slowly, almost invisibly forwardsand upwards. Where the apex was today the second segment istomorrow; what today can be understood only by the apex and tothe rest of the triangle is an incomprehensible gibberish, formstomorrow the true thought and feeling of the second segment. 

At the apex of the top segment stands often one man, and onlyone. His joyful vision cloaks a vast sorrow. Even those who arenearest to him in sympathy do not understand him. Angrily theyabuse him as charlatan or madman. So in his lifetime stoodBeethoven, solitary and insulted. 

[Footnote: Weber, composer of Der Freischutz, said of Beethoven'sSeventh Symphony: "The extravagances of genius have reached thelimit; Beethoven is now ripe 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'; heseems to be deaf to it himself, the idiot!"]

How many years will it be before a greater segment of thetriangle reaches the spot where he once stood alone? Despitememorials and statues, are they really many who have risen to hislevel? [Footnote 2: Are not many monuments in themselves answersto that question?]

In every segment of the triangle are artists. Each one of themwho can see beyond the limits of his segment is a prophet tothose about him, and helps the advance of the obstinate whole. But those who are blind, or those who retard the movement of thetriangle for baser reasons, are fully understood by their fellowsand acclaimed for their genius. The greater the segment (which isthe same as saying the lower it lies in the triangle) so thegreater the number who understand the words of the artist. Everysegment hungers consciously or, much more often, unconsciouslyfor their corresponding spiritual food. This food is offered bythe artists, and for this food the segment immediately below willtomorrow be stretching out eager hands. 

This simile of the triangle cannot be said to express everyaspect of the spiritual life. For instance, there is never anabsolute shadow-side to the picture, never a piece of unrelievedgloom. Even too often it happens that one level of spiritual foodsuffices for the nourishment of those who are already in a highersegment. But for them this food is poison; in small quantities itdepresses their souls gradually into a lower segment; in largequantities it hurls them suddenly into the depths ever lower andlower. Sienkiewicz, in one of his novels, compares the spirituallife to swimming; for the man who does not strive tirelessly, whodoes not fight continually against sinking, will mentally andmorally go under. In this strait a man's talent (again in thebiblical sense) becomes a curse--and not only the talent of theartist, but also of those who eat this poisoned food. The artistuses his strength to flatter his lower needs; in an ostensiblyartistic form he presents what is impure, draws the weakerelements to him, mixes them with evil, betrays men and helps themto betray themselves, while they convince themselves and othersthat they are spiritually thirsty, and that from this pure springthey may quench their thirst. Such art does not help the forwardmovement, but hinders it, dragging back those who are striving topress onward, and spreading pestilence abroad. 

Such periods, during which art has no noble champion, duringwhich the true spiritual food is wanting, are periods ofretrogression in the spiritual world. Ceaselessly souls fall fromthe higher to the lower segments of the triangle, and the wholeseems motionless, or even to move down and backwards. Menattribute to these blind and dumb periods a special value, forthey judge them by outward results, thinking only of materialwell-being. They hail some technical advance, which can helpnothing but the body, as a great achievement. Real spiritualgains are at best under-valued, at worst entirely ignored. 

The solitary visionaries are despised or regarded as abnormal andeccentric. Those who are not wrapped in lethargy and who feelvague longings for spiritual life and knowledge and progress, cryin harsh chorus, without any to comfort them. The night of thespirit falls more and more darkly. Deeper becomes the misery ofthese blind and terrified guides, and their followers, tormentedand unnerved by fear and doubt, prefer to this gradual darkeningthe final sudden leap into the blackness. 

At such a time art ministers to lower 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, remain monotonously the same. Thequestion "what?" disappears from art; only the question "how?"remains. By what method are these material objects to bereproduced? The word becomes a creed. Art has lost her soul. In the search for method the artist goes still further. Artbecomes so specialized as to be comprehensible only to artists, and they complain bitterly of public indifference to their work. For since the artist in such times has no need to say much, butonly to be notorious for some small originality and consequentlylauded by a small group of patrons and connoisseurs (whichincidentally is also a very profitable business for him), therearise a crowd of gifted and skilful painters, so easy does theconquest of art appear. In each artistic circle are thousands ofsuch artists, of whom the majority seek only for some newtechnical manner, and who produce millions of works of artwithout enthusiasm, with cold hearts and souls asleep. 

Competition arises. The wild battle for success becomes more andmore material. Small groups who have fought their way to the topof the chaotic world of art and picture-making entrenchthemselves in the territory they have won. The public, left farbehind, looks on bewildered, loses interest and turns away. 

But despite all this confusion, this chaos, this wild hunt fornotoriety, the spiritual triangle, slowly but surely, withirresistible strength, moves onwards and upwards. 

The invisible Moses descends from the mountain and sees the danceround the golden calf. But he brings with him fresh stores ofwisdom to man. 

First by the artist is heard his voice, the voice that isinaudible to the crowd. Almost unknowingly the artist follows thecall. Already in that very question "how?" lies a hidden seed ofrenaissance. For when this "how?" remains without any fruitfulanswer, there is always a possibility that the same "something"(which we call personality today) may be able to see in theobjects about it not only what is purely material but alsosomething less solid; something less "bodily" than was seen inthe period of realism, when the universal aim was to reproduceanything "as it really is" and without fantastic imagination. 

[Footnote: Frequent use is made here of the terms "material" and"non-material, " and of the intermediate phrases "more" or "lessmaterial. " Is everything material? or is EVERYTHING spiritual?Can the distinctions we make between matter and spirit be nothingbut relative modifications of one or the other? Thought which, although a product of the spirit, can be defined with positivescience, is matter, but of fine and not coarse substance. Iswhatever cannot be touched with the hand, spiritual? Thediscussion lies beyond the scope of this little book; all thatmatters here is that the boundaries drawn should not be toodefinite. ]

If the emotional power of the artist can overwhelm the "how?" andcan give free scope to his finer feelings, then art is on thecrest of the road by which she will not fail later on to find the"what" she has lost, the "what" which will show the way to thespiritual food of the newly awakened spiritual life. This "what?"will no longer be the material, objective "what" of the formerperiod, but the internal truth of art, the soul without which thebody (i. E. The "how") can never be healthy, whether in anindividual or in a whole people. 

THIS "WHAT" IS THE INTERNAL TRUTH WHICH ONLY ART CAN DIVINE, WHICH ONLY ART CAN EXPRESS BY THOSE MEANS OF EXPRESSION WHICH AREHERS ALONE. 

III. SPIRITUAL REVOLUTION

The spiritual triangle moves slowly onwards and upwards. Todayone of the largest of the lower segments has reached the point ofusing the first battle cry of the materialist creed. The dwellersin this segment group themselves round various banners inreligion. They call themselves Jews, Catholics, Protestants, etc. But they are really atheists, and this a few either of theboldest or the narrowest openly avow. "Heaven is empty, " "God isdead. " In politics these people are democrats and republicans. The fear, horror and hatred which yesterday they felt for thesepolitical creeds they now direct against anarchism, of which theyknow nothing but its much dreaded name. 

In economics these people are Socialists. They make sharp thesword of justice with which to slay the hydra of capitalism andto hew off the head of evil. 

Because the inhabitants of this great segment of the trianglehave never solved any problem independently, but are dragged asit were in a cart by those the noblest of their fellowmen whohave sacrificed themselves, they know nothing of the vitalimpulse of life which they regard always vaguely from a greatdistance. They rate this impulse lightly, putting their trust inpurposeless theory and in the working of some logical method. 

The men of the segment next below are dragged slowly higher, blindly, by those just described. But they cling to their oldposition, full of dread of the unknown and of betrayal. Thehigher segments are not only blind atheists but can justify theirgodlessness with strange words; for example, those of Virchow--sounworthy of a learned man--"I have dissected many corpses, butnever yet discovered a soul in any of them. "

In politics they are generally republican, with a knowledge ofdifferent parliamentary procedures; they read the politicalleading articles in the newspapers. In economics they aresocialists of various grades, and can support their "principles"with numerous quotations, passing from Schweitzer's EMMA viaLasalle's IRON LAW OF WAGES, to Marx's CAPITAL, and stillfurther. 

In these loftier segments other categories of ideas, absent inthese just described, begin gradually to appear--science and art, to which last belong also literature and music. 

In science these men are positivists, only recognizing thosethings that can be weighed and measured. Anything beyond thatthey consider as rather discreditable nonsense, that samenonsense about which they held yesterday the theories that todayare proven. 

In art they are naturalists, which means that they recognize andvalue the personality, individuality and temperament of theartist up to a certain definite point. This point has been fixedby others, and in it they believe unflinchingly. 

But despite their patent and well-ordered security, despite theirinfallible principles, there lurks in these higher segments ahidden fear, a nervous trembling, a sense of insecurity. And thisis due to their upbringing. They know that the sages, statesmenand artists whom today they revere, were yesterday spurned asswindlers and charlatans. And the higher the segment in thetriangle, the better defined is this fear, this modern sense ofinsecurity. Here and there are people with eyes which can see, minds which can correlate. They say to themselves: "If thescience of the day before yesterday is rejected by the people ofyesterday, and that of yesterday by us of today, is it notpossible that what we call science now will be rejected by themen of tomorrow?" And the bravest of them answer, "It ispossible. "

Then people appear who can distinguish those problems that thescience of today has not yet explained. And they ask themselves:"Will science, if it continues on the road it has followed for solong, ever attain to the solution of these problems? And if itdoes so attain, will men be able to rely on its solution?" Inthese segments are also professional men of learning who canremember the time when facts now recognized by the Academies asfirmly established, were scorned by those same Academies. Thereare also philosophers of aesthetic who write profound books aboutan art which was yesterday condemned as nonsense. In writingthese books they remove the barriers over which art has mostrecently stepped and set up new ones which are to remain for everin the places they have chosen. They do not notice that they arebusy erecting barriers, not in front of art, but behind it. Andif they do notice this, on the morrow they merely write freshbooks and hastily set their barriers a little further on. Thisperformance will go on unaltered until it is realized that themost extreme principle of aesthetic can never be of value to thefuture, but only to the past. No such theory of principle can belaid down for those things which lie beyond, in the realm of theimmaterial. That which has no material existence cannot besubjected to a material classification. That which belongs to thespirit of the future can only be realized in feeling, and to thisfeeling the talent of the artist is the only road. Theory is thelamp which sheds light on the petrified ideas of yesterday and ofthe more distant past. [Footnote: Cf. Chapter VII. ] And as werise higher in the triangle we find that the uneasinessincreases, as a city built on the most correct architectural planmay be shaken suddenly by the uncontrollable force of nature. Humanity is living in such a spiritual city, subject to thesesudden disturbances for which neither architects normathematicians have made allowance. In one place lies a greatwall crumbled to pieces like a card house, in another are theruins of a huge tower which once stretched to heaven, built onmany presumably immortal spiritual pillars. The abandonedchurchyard quakes and forgotten graves open and from them riseforgotten ghosts. Spots appear on the sun and the sun grows dark, and what theory can fight with darkness? And in this city livealso men deafened by false wisdom who hear no crash, and blindedby false wisdom, so that they say "our sun will shine morebrightly than ever and soon the last spots will disappear. " Butsometime even these men will hear and see. 

But when we get still higher there is no longer thisbewilderment. There work is going on which boldly attacks thosepillars which men have set up. There we find other professionalmen of learning who test matter again and again, who tremblebefore no problem, and who finally cast doubt on that very matterwhich was yesterday the foundation of everything, so that thewhole universe is shaken. Every day another scientific theoryfinds bold discoverers who overstep the boundaries of prophecyand, forgetful of themselves, join the other soldiers in theconquest of some new summit and in the hopeless attack on somestubborn fortress. But "there is no fortress that man cannotovercome. "

On the one hand, FACTS are being established which the science ofyesterday dubbed swindles. Even newspapers, which are for themost part the most obsequious servants of worldly success and ofthe mob, and which trim their sails to every wind, findthemselves compelled to modify their ironical judgements on the"marvels" of science and even to abandon them altogether. Variouslearned men, among them ultra-materialists, dedicate theirstrength to the scientific research of doubtful problems, whichcan no longer be lied about or passed over in silence. [Footnote:Zoller, Wagner, Butleroff (St. Petersburg), Crookes (London), etc. ; later on, C. H. Richet, C. Flammarion. The Parisian paperLe Matin, published about two years ago the discoveries of thetwo last named under the title "Je le constate, mais je nel'explique pas. " Finally there are C. Lombroso, the inventor ofthe anthropological method of diagnosing crime, and EusapioPalladino. ]

On the other hand, the number is increasing of those men who putno trust in the methods of materialistic science when it dealswith those questions which have to do with "non-matter, " ormatter which is not accessible to our minds. Just as art islooking for help from the primitives, so these men are turning tohalf-forgotten times in order to get help from their half-forgotten methods. However, these very methods are still aliveand in use among nations whom we, from the height of ourknowledge, have been accustomed to regard with pity and scorn. Tosuch nations belong the Indians, who from time to time confrontthose learned in our civilization with problems which we haveeither passed by unnoticed or brushed aside with superficialwords and explanations. [Footnote: Frequently in such cases useis made of the word hypnotism; that same hypnotism which, in itsearlier form of mesmerism, was disdainfully put aside by variouslearned bodies. ] Mme. Blavatsky was the first person, after alife of many years in India, to see a connection between these"savages" and our "civilization. " From that moment there began atremendous spiritual movement which today includes a large numberof people and has even assumed a material form in theTHEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY. This society consists of groups who seek toapproach the problem of the spirit by way of the INNER knowledge. The theory of Theosophy which serves as the basis to thismovement was set out by Blavatsky in the form of a catechism inwhich the pupil receives definite answers to his questions fromthe theosophical point of view. [Footnote: E. P. Blavatsky, TheKey of Theosophy, London, 1889. ] Theosophy, according toBlavatsky, is synonymous with ETERNAL TRUTH. "The new torchbearerof truth will find the minds of men prepared for his message, alanguage ready for him in which to clothe the new truths hebrings, an organization awaiting his arrival, which will removethe merely mechanical, material obstacles and difficulties fromhis path. " And then Blavatsky continues: "The earth will be aheaven in the twenty-first century in comparison with what it isnow, " and with these words ends her book. 

When religion, science and morality are shaken, the two last bythe strong hand of Nietzsche, and when the outer supportsthreaten to fall, man turns his gaze from externals in on tohimself. Literature, music and art are the first and mostsensitive spheres in which this spiritual revolution makes itselffelt. They reflect the dark picture of the present time and showthe importance of what at first was only a little point of lightnoticed by few and for the great majority non-existent. Perhapsthey even grow dark in their turn, but on the other hand theyturn away from the soulless life of the present towards thosesubstances and ideas which give free scope to the non-materialstrivings of the soul. 

A poet of this kind in the realm of literature is Maeterlinck. Hetakes us into a world which, rightly or wrongly, we termsupernatural. La Princesse Maleine, Les Sept Princesses, LesAveugles, etc. , are not people of past times as are the heroes inShakespeare. They are merely souls lost in the clouds, threatenedby them with death, eternally menaced by some invisible andsombre power. 

Spiritual darkness, the insecurity of ignorance and fear pervadethe world in which they move. Maeterlinck is perhaps one of thefirst prophets, one of the first artistic reformers and seers toherald the end of the decadence just described. The gloom of thespiritual atmosphere, the terrible, but all-guiding hand, thesense of utter fear, the feeling of having strayed from the path, the confusion among the guides, all these are clearly felt in hisworks. [Footnote: To the front tank of such seers of the decadencebelongs also Alfred Kubin. With irresistible force both Kubin'sdrawings and also his novel "Die Andere Seite" seem to engulf usin the terrible atmosphere of empty desolation. ]

This atmosphere Maeterlinck creates principally by purelyartistic means. His material machinery (gloomy mountains, moonlight, marshes, wind, the cries of owls, etc. ) plays really asymbolic role and helps to give the inner note. [Footnote: Whenone of Maeterlinck's plays was produced in St. Petersburg underhis own guidance, he himself at one of the rehearsals had a towerrepresented by a plain piece of hanging linen. It was of noimportance to him to have elaborate scenery prepared. He did aschildren, the greatest imaginers of all time, always do in theirgames; for they use a stick for a horse or create entireregiments of cavalry out of chalks. And in the same way a chalkwith a notch in it is changed from a knight into a horse. Onsimilar lines the imagination of the spectator plays in themodern theatre, and especially in that of Russia, an importantpart. And this is a notable element in the transition from thematerial to the spiritual in the theatre of the future. ]Maeterlinck's principal technical weapon is his use of words. Theword may express an inner harmony. This inner harmony springspartly, perhaps principally, from the object which it names. Butif the object is not itself seen, but only its name heard, themind of the hearer receives an abstract impression only, that isto say as of the object dematerialized, and a correspondingvibration is immediately set up in the HEART. 

The apt use of a word (in its poetical meaning), repetition ofthis word, twice, three times or even more frequently, accordingto the need of the poem, will not only tend to intensify theinner harmony but also bring to light unsuspected spiritualproperties of the word itself. Further than that, frequentrepetition of a word (again a favourite game of children, whichis forgotten in after life) deprives the word of its originalexternal meaning. Similarly, in drawing, the abstract message ofthe object drawn tends to be forgotten and its meaning lost. Sometimes perhaps we unconsciously hear this real harmonysounding together with the material or later on with the non-material sense of the object. But in the latter case the trueharmony exercises a direct impression on the soul. The soulundergoes an emotion which has no relation to any definiteobject, an emotion more complicated, I might say more super-sensuous than the emotion caused by the sound of a bell or of astringed instrument. This line of development offers greatpossibilities to the literature of the future. In an embryonicform this word-power-has already been used in SERRES CHAUDES. [Footnote: SERRES CHAUDES, SUIVIES DE QUINZE CHANSONS, parMaurice Maeterlinck. Brussels. Lacomblez. ] As Maeterlinck usesthem, words which seem at first to create only a neutralimpression have really a more subtle value. Even a familiar wordlike "hair, " if used in a certain way can intensify an atmosphereof sorrow or despair. And this is Maeterlinck's method. He showsthat thunder, lightning and a moon behind driving clouds, inthemselves material means, can be used in the theatre to create agreater sense of terror than they do in nature. 

The true inner forces do not lose their strength and effect soeasily. [Footnote: A comparison between the work of Poe andMaeterlinck shows the course of artistic transition from thematerial to the abstract. ] An the word which has two meanings, the first direct, the second indirect, is the pure material ofpoetry and of literature, the material which these arts alone canmanipulate and through which they speak to the spirit. 

Something similar may be noticed in the music of Wagner. Hisfamous leitmotiv is an attempt to give personality to hischaracters by something beyond theatrical expedients and lighteffect. His method of using a definite motiv is a purely musicalmethod. It creates a spiritual atmosphere by means of a musicalphrase which precedes the hero, which he seems to radiate forthfrom any distance. [Footnote: Frequent attempts have shown thatsuch a spiritual atmosphere can belong not only to heroes but toany human being. Sensitives cannot, for example, remain in a roomin which a person has been who is spiritually antagonistic tothem, even though they know nothing of his existence. ] The mostmodern musicians like Debussy create a spiritual impression, often taken from nature, but embodied in purely musical form. Forthis reason Debussy is often classed with the Impressionistpainters on the ground that he resembles these painters in usingnatural phenomena for the purposes of his art. Whatever truththere may be in this comparison merely accentuates the fact thatthe various arts of today learn from each other and oftenresemble each other. But it would be rash to say that thisdefinition is an exhaustive statement of Debussy's significance. Despite his similarity with the Impressionists this musician isdeeply concerned with spiritual harmony, for in his works onehears the suffering and tortured nerves of the present time. Andfurther Debussy never uses the wholly material note socharacteristic of programme music, but trusts mainly in thecreation of a more abstract impression. Debussy has been greatlyinfluenced by Russian music, notably by Mussorgsky. So it is notsurprising that he stands in close relation to the young Russiancomposers, the chief of whom is Scriabin. The experience of thehearer is frequently the same during the performance of the worksof these two musicians. He is often snatched quite suddenly froma series of modern discords into the charm of more or lessconventional beauty. He feels himself often insulted, tossedabout like a tennis ball over the net between the two parties ofthe outer and the inner beauty. To those who are not accustomedto it the inner beauty appears as ugliness because humanity ingeneral inclines to the outer and knows nothing of the inner. Almost alone in severing himself from conventional beauty is theAustrian composer, Arnold Schonberg. He says in hisHarmonielehre: "Every combination of notes, every advance ispossible, but I am beginning to feel that there are also definiterules and conditions which incline me to the use of this or thatdissonance. " [Footnote: "Die Musik, " p. 104, from theHarmonielehre (Verlag der Universal Edition). ] This means thatSchonberg realizes that the greatest freedom of all, the freedomof an unfettered art, can never be absolute. Every age achieves acertain measure of this freedom, but beyond the boundaries of itsfreedom the mightiest genius can never go. But the measure offreedom of each age must be constantly enlarged. Schonberg isendeavouring to make complete use of his freedom and has alreadydiscovered gold mines of new beauty in his search for spiritualharmony. His music leads us into a realm where musical experienceis a matter not of the ear but of the soul alone--and from thispoint begins the music of the future. 

A parallel course has been followed by the Impressionist movementin painting. It is seen in its dogmatic and most naturalisticform in so-called Neo-Impressionism. The theory of this is to puton the canvas the whole glitter and brilliance of nature, and notonly an isolated aspect of her. 

It is interesting to notice three practically contemporary andtotally different groups in painting. They are (1) Rossetti andhis pupil Burne-Jones, with their followers; (2) Bocklin and hisschool; (3) Segantini, with his unworthy following ofphotographic artists. I have chosen these three groups toillustrate the search for the abstract in art. Rossetti sought torevive the non-materialism of the pre-Raphaelites. Bocklin busiedhimself with the mythological scenes, but was in contrast toRossetti in that he gave strongly material form to his legendaryfigures. Segantini, outwardly the most material of the three, selected the most ordinary objects (hills, stones, cattle, etc. )often painting them with the minutest realism, but he neverfailed to create a spiritual as well as a material value, so thatreally he is the most non-material of the trio. 

These men sought for the "inner" by way of the "outer. "

By another road, and one more purely artistic, the great seekerafter a new sense of form approached the same problem. Cezannemade a living thing out of a teacup, or rather in a teacup herealized the existence of something alive. He raised still lifeto such a point that it ceased to be inanimate. 

He painted these things as he painted human brings, because hewas endowed with the gift of divining the inner life ineverything. His colour and form are alike suitable to thespiritual harmony. A man, a tree, an apple, all were used byCezanne in the creation of something that is called a "picture, "and which is a piece of true inward and artistic harmony. Thesame intention actuates the work of one of the greatest of theyoung Frenchmen, Henri Matisse. He paints "pictures, " and inthese "pictures" endeavours to reproduce the divine. [Footnote:Cf. His article in KUNST UND KUNSTLER, 1909, No. 8. ] To attainthis end he requires as a starting point nothing but the objectto be painted (human being or whatever it may be), and then themethods that belong to painting alone, colour and form. 

By personal inclination, because he is French and because he isspecially gifted as a colourist, Matisse is apt to lay too muchstress on the colour. Like Debussy, he cannot always refrain fromconventional beauty; Impressionism is in his blood. One seespictures of Matisse which are full of great inward vitality, produced by the stress of the inner need, and also pictures whichpossess only outer charm, because they were painted on an outerimpulse. (How often one is reminded of Manet in this. ) His workseems to be typical French painting, with its dainty sense ofmelody, raised from time to time to the summit of a great hillabove the clouds. 

But in the work of another great artist in Paris, the SpaniardPablo Picasso, there is never any suspicion of this conventionalbeauty. Tossed hither and thither by the need for self-expression, Picasso hurries from one manner to another. At timesa great gulf appears between consecutive manners, because Picassoleaps boldly and is found continually by his bewildered crowd offollowers standing at a point very different from that at whichthey saw him last. No sooner do they think that they have reachedhim again than he has changed once more. In this way there aroseCubism, the latest of the French movements, which is treated indetail in Part II. Picasso is trying to arrive atconstructiveness by way of proportion. In his latest works (1911)he has achieved the logical destruction of matter, not, however, by dissolution but rather by a kind of a parcelling out of itsvarious divisions and a constructive scattering of thesedivisions about the canvas. But he seems in this most recent workdistinctly desirous of keeping an appearance of matter. Heshrinks from no innovation, and if colour seems likely to balkhim in his search for a pure artistic form, he throws itoverboard and paints a picture in brown and white; and theproblem of purely artistic form is the real problem of his life. 

In their pursuit of the same supreme end Matisse and Picassostand side by side, Matisse representing colour and Picasso form. 

IV. THE PYRAMID

And so at different points along the road are the different arts, saying what they are best able to say, and in the language whichis peculiarly their own. Despite, or perhaps thanks to, thedifferences between them, there has never been a time when thearts approached each other more nearly than they do today, inthis later phase of spiritual development. 

In each manifestation is the seed of a striving towards theabstract, the non-material. Consciously or unconsciously they areobeying Socrates' command--Know thyself. Consciously orunconsciously artists are studying and proving their material, setting in the balance the spiritual value of those elements, with which it is their several privilege to work. 

And the natural result of this striving is that the various artsare drawing together. They are finding in Music the best teacher. With few exceptions music has been for some centuries the artwhich has devoted itself not to the reproduction of naturalphenomena, but rather to the expression of the artist's soul, inmusical sound. 

A painter, who finds no satisfaction in mere representation, however artistic, in his longing to express his inner life, cannot but envy the ease with which music, the most non-materialof the arts today, achieves this end. He naturally seeks to applythe methods of music to his own art. And from this results thatmodern desire for rhythm in painting, for mathematical, abstractconstruction, for repeated notes of colour, for setting colour inmotion. 

This borrowing of method by one art from another, can only betruly successful when the application of the borrowed methods isnot superficial but fundamental. One art must learn first howanother uses its methods, so that the methods may afterwards beapplied to the borrower's art from the beginning, and suitably. The artist must not forget that in him lies the power of trueapplication of every method, but that that power must bedeveloped. 

In manipulation of form music can achieve results which arebeyond the reach of painting. On the other hand, painting isahead of music in several particulars. Music, for example, has atits disposal duration of time; while painting can present to thespectator the whole content of its message at one moment. [Footnote: These statements of difference are, of course, relative; for music can on occasions dispense with extension oftime, and painting make use of it. ] Music, which is outwardlyunfettered by nature, needs no definite form for its expression. 

[Footnote: How miserably music fails when attempting to expressmaterial appearances is proved by the affected absurdity ofprogramme music. Quite lately such experiments have been made. The imitation in sound of croaking frogs, of farmyard noises, ofhousehold duties, makes an excellent music hall turn and isamusing enough. But in serious music such attempts are merelywarnings against any imitation of nature. Nature has her ownlanguage, and a powerful one; this language cannot be imitated. The sound of a farmyard in music is never successfullyreproduced, and is unnecessary waste of time. The Stimmung ofnature can be imparted by every art, not, however, by imitation, but by the artistic divination of its inner spirit. ]

Painting today is almost exclusively concerned with thereproduction of natural forms and phenomena. Her business is nowto test her strength and methods, to know herself as music hasdone for a long time, and then to use her powers to a trulyartistic end. 

And so the arts are encroaching one upon another, and from aproper use of this encroachment will rise the art that is trulymonumental. Every man who steeps himself in the spiritualpossibilities of his art is a valuable helper in the building ofthe spiritual pyramid which will some day reach to heaven. 

PART II: ABOUT PAINTING

V. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL WORKING OF COLOUR

To let the eye stray over a palette, splashed with many colours, produces a dual result. In the first place one receives a PURELYPHYSICAL IMPRESSION, one of pleasure and contentment at thevaried and beautiful colours. The eye is either warmed or elsesoothed and cooled. But these physical sensations can only be ofshort duration. They are merely superficial and leave no lastingimpression, for the soul is unaffected. But although the effectof the colours is forgotten when the eye is turned away, thesuperficial impression of varied colour may be the starting pointof a whole chain of related sensations. 

On the average man only the impressions caused by very familiarobjects, will be purely superficial. A first encounter with anynew phenomenon exercises immediately an impression on the soul. This is the experience of the child discovering the world, towhom every object is new. He sees a light, wishes to take hold ofit, burns his finger and feels henceforward a proper respect forflame. But later he learns that light has a friendly as well asan unfriendly side, that it drives away the darkness, makes theday longer, is essential to warmth, cooking, play-acting. Fromthe mass of these discoveries is composed a knowledge of light, which is indelibly fixed in his mind. The strong, intensiveinterest disappears and the various properties of flame arebalanced against each other. In this way the whole world becomesgradually disenchanted. It is realized that trees give shade, that horses run fast and motor-cars still faster, that dogs bite, that the figure seen in a mirror is not a real human being. 

As the man develops, the circle of these experiences caused bydifferent beings and objects, grows ever wider. They acquire aninner meaning and eventually a spiritual harmony. It is the samewith colour, which makes only a momentary and superficialimpression on a soul but slightly developed in sensitiveness. Buteven this superficial impression varies in quality. The eye isstrongly attracted by light, clear colours, and still morestrongly attracted by those colours which are warm as well asclear; vermilion has the charm of flame, which has alwaysattracted human beings. Keen lemon-yellow hurts the eye in timeas a prolonged and shrill trumpet-note the ear, and the gazerturns away to seek relief in blue or green. 

But to a more sensitive soul the effect of colours is deeper andintensely moving. And so we come to the second main result oflooking at colours: THEIR PSYCHIC EFFECT. They produce acorresponding spiritual vibration, and it is only as a steptowards this spiritual vibration that the elementary physicalimpression is of importance. 

Whether the psychic effect of colour is a direct one, as theselast few lines imply, or whether it is the outcome ofassociation, is perhaps open to question. The soul being one withthe body, the former may well experience a psychic shock, causedby association acting on the latter. For example, red may cause asensation analogous to that caused by flame, because red is thecolour of flame. A warm red will prove exciting, another shade ofred will cause pain or disgust through association with runningblood. In these cases colour awakens a corresponding physicalsensation, which undoubtedly works upon the soul. 

If this were always the case, it would be easy to define byassociation the effects of colour upon other senses than that ofsight. One might say that keen yellow looks sour, because itrecalls the taste of a lemon. 

But such definitions are not universally possible. There are manyexamples of colour working which refuse to be so classified. ADresden doctor relates of one of his patients, whom he designatesas an "exceptionally sensitive person, " that he could not eat acertain sauce without tasting "blue, " i. E. Without experiencing afeeling of seeing a blue color. [Footnote: Dr. Freudenberg. "Spaltung der Personlichkeit" (Ubersinnliche Welt. 1908. No. 2, p. 64-65). The author also discusses the hearing of colour, andsays that here also no rules can be laid down. But cf. L. Sabanejeff in "Musik, " Moscow, 1911, No. 9, where the imminentpossibility of laying down a law is clearly hinted at. ] It wouldbe possible to suggest, by way of explanation of this, that inhighly sensitive people, the way to the soul is so direct and thesoul itself so impressionable, that any impression of tastecommunicates itself immediately to the soul, and thence to theother organs of sense (in this case, the eyes). This would implyan echo or reverberation, such as occurs sometimes in musicalinstruments which, without being touched, sound in harmony withsome other instrument struck at the moment. 

But not only with taste has sight been known to work in harmony. Many colours have been described as rough or sticky, others assmooth and uniform, so that one feels inclined to stroke them(e. G. , dark ultramarine, chromic oxide green, and rose madder). Equally the distinction between warm and cold colours belongs tothis connection. Some colours appear soft (rose madder), othershard (cobalt green, blue-green oxide), so that even fresh fromthe tube they seem to be dry. 

The expression "scented colours" is frequently met with. Andfinally the sound of colours is so definite that it would be hardto find anyone who would try to express bright yellow in the bassnotes, or dark lake in the treble. 

[Footnote: Much theory and practice have been devoted to thisquestion. People have sought to paint in counterpoint. Alsounmusical children have been successfully helped to play thepiano by quoting a parallel in colour (e. G. , of flowers). Onthese lines Frau A. Sacharjin-Unkowsky has worked for severalyears and has evolved a method of "so describing sounds bynatural colours, and colours by natural sounds, that colour couldbe heard and sound seen. " The system has proved successful forseveral years both in the inventor's own school and theConservatoire at St. Petersburg. Finally Scriabin, on morespiritual lines, has paralleled sound and colours in a chart notunlike that of Frau Unkowsky. In "Prometheus" he has givenconvincing proof of his theories. (His chart appeared in "Musik, "Moscow, 1911, No. 9. )]

[Footnote: The converse question, i. E. The colour of sound, wastouched upon by Mallarme and systematized by his disciple ReneGhil, whose book, Traite du Verbe, gives the rules for"l'instrumentation verbale. "--M. T. H. S. ]

The explanation by association will not suffice us in many, andthe most important cases. Those who have heard of chromotherapywill know that coloured light can exercise very definiteinfluences on the whole body. Attempts have been made withdifferent colours in the treatment of various nervous ailments. They have shown that red light stimulates and excites the heart, while blue light can cause temporary paralysis. But when theexperiments come to be tried on animals and even plants, theassociation theory falls to the ground. So one is bound to admitthat the question is at present unexplored, but that colour canexercise enormous influence over the body as a physical organism. 

No more sufficient, in the psychic sphere, is the theory ofassociation. Generally speaking, colour is a power which directlyinfluences the soul. Colour is the keyboard, the eyes are thehammers, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist isthe hand which plays, touching one key or another, to causevibrations in the soul. 

IT IS EVIDENT THEREFORE THAT COLOUR HARMONY MUST REST ONLY ON ACORRESPONDING VIBRATION IN THE HUMAN SOUL; AND THIS IS ONE OF THEGUIDING PRINCIPLES OF THE INNER NEED. 

[Footnote: The phrase "inner need" (innere Notwendigkeit) meansprimarily the impulse felt by the artist for spiritualexpression. Kandinsky is apt, however, to use the phrasesometimes to mean not only the hunger for spiritual expression, but also the actual expression itself. --M. T. H. S. ]

VI. THE LANGUAGE OF FORM AND COLOUR

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov'd withconcord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, andspoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And hisaffections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted. Mark themusic. (The Merchant of Venice, Act v, Scene I. )

Musical sound acts directly on the soul and finds an echo therebecause, though to varying extents, music is innate in man. [Footnote: Cf. E. Jacques-Dalcroze in The Eurhythmics of Jacques-Dalcroze. London, Constable. --M. T. H. S. ]

"Everyone knows that yellow, orange, and red suggest ideas of joyand plenty" (Delacroix). [Footnote: Cf. Paul Signac, D'EugeneDelacroix au Neo-Impressionisme. Paris. Floury. Also compare aninteresting article by K. Schettler: "Notizen uber die Farbe. "(Decorative Kunst, 1901, February). ]

These two quotations show the deep relationship between the arts, and especially between music and painting. Goethe said thatpainting must count this relationship her main foundation, and bythis prophetic remark he seems to foretell the position in whichpainting is today. She stands, in fact, at the first stage of theroad by which she will, according to her own possibilities, makeart an abstraction of thought and arrive finally at purelyartistic composition. [Footnote: By "Komposition" Kandinsky heremeans, of course, an artistic creation. He is not referring tothe arrangement of the objects in a picture. --M. T. H. S. ]

Painting has two weapons at her disposal:

 1. Colour. 2. Form. 

Form can stand alone as representing an object (either real orotherwise) or as a purely abstract limit to a space or a surface. 

Colour cannot stand alone; it cannot dispense with boundaries ofsome kind. [Footnote: Cf. A. Wallace Rimington. Colour music (OP. CIT. ) where experiments are recounted with a colour organ, whichgives symphonies of rapidly changing colour without boundaries--except the unavoidable ones of the white curtain on which thecolours are reflected. --M. T. H. S. ] A never-ending extent of redcan only be seen in the mind; when the word red is heard, thecolour is evoked without definite boundaries. If such arenecessary they have deliberately to be imagined. But such red, asis seen by the mind and not by the eye, exercises at once adefinite and an indefinite impression on the soul, and producesspiritual harmony. I say "indefinite, " because in itself it hasno suggestion of warmth or cold, such attributes having to beimagined for it afterwards, as modifications of the original"redness. " I say "definite, " because the spiritual harmony existswithout any need for such subsequent attributes of warmth orcold. An analogous case is the sound of a trumpet which one hearswhen the word "trumpet" is pronounced. This sound is audible tothe soul, without the distinctive character of a trumpet heard inthe open air or in a room, played alone or with otherinstruments, in the hands of a postilion, a huntsman, a soldier, or a professional musician. 

But when red is presented in a material form (as in painting) itmust possess (1) some definite shade of the many shades of redthat exist and (2) a limited surface, divided off from the othercolours, which are undoubtedly there. The first of theseconditions (the subjective) is affected by the second (theobjective), for the neighbouring colours affect the shade of red. 

This essential connection between colour and form brings us tothe question of the influences of form on colour. Form alone, even though totally abstract and geometrical, has a power ofinner suggestion. A triangle (without the accessory considerationof its being acute-or obtuse-angled or equilateral) has aspiritual value of its own. In connection with other forms, thisvalue may be somewhat modified, but remains in quality the same. The case is similar with a circle, a square, or any conceivablegeometrical figure. [Footnote: The angle at which the trianglestands, and whether it is stationary or moving, are of importanceto its spiritual value. This fact is specially worthy of thepainter's consideration. ] As above, with the red, we have here asubjective substance in an objective shell. 

The mutual influence of form and colour now becomes clear. Ayellow triangle, a blue circle, a green square, or a greentriangle, a yellow circle, a blue square--all these are differentand have different spiritual values. 

It is evident that many colours are hampered and even nullifiedin effect by many forms. On the whole, keen colours are wellsuited by sharp forms (e. G. , a yellow triangle), and soft, deepcolours by round forms (e. G. , a blue circle). But it must beremembered that an unsuitable combination of form and colour isnot necessarily discordant, but may, with manipulation, show theway to fresh possibilities of harmony. 

Since colours and forms are well-nigh innumerable, theircombination and their influences are likewise unending. Thematerial is inexhaustible. 

Form, in the narrow sense, is nothing but the separating linebetween surfaces of colour. That is its outer meaning. But it hasalso an inner meaning, of varying intensity, [Footnote: It isnever literally true that any form is meaningless and "saysnothing. " Every form in the world says something. But its messageoften fails to reach us, and even if it does, full understandingis often withheld from us. ] and, properly speaking, FORM IS THEOUTWARD EXPRESSION OF THIS INNER MEANING. To use once more themetaphor of the piano--the artist is the hand which, by playingon this or that key (i. E. , form), affects the human soul in thisor that way. SO IT IS EVIDENT THAT FORM-HARMONY MUST REST ONLY ONA CORRESPONDING VIBRATION OF THE HUMAN SOUL; AND THIS IS A SECONDGUIDING PRINCIPLE OF THE INNER NEED. 

The two aspects of form just mentioned define its two aims. Thetask of limiting surfaces (the outer aspect) is well performed ifthe inner meaning is fully expressed. 

[Footnote: The phrase "full expression" must be clearlyunderstood. Form often is most expressive when least coherent. Itis often most expressive when outwardly most imperfect, perhapsonly a stroke, a mere hint of outer meaning. ]

The outer task may assume many different shapes; but it willnever fail in one of two purposes: (1) Either form aims at solimiting surfaces as to fashion of them some material object; (2)Or form remains abstract, describing only a non-material, spiritual entity. Such non-material entities, with life and valueas such, are a circle, a triangle, a rhombus, a trapeze, etc. , many of them so complicated as to have no mathematicaldenomination. 

Between these two extremes lie the innumerable forms in whichboth elements exist; with a preponderance either of the abstractor the material. These intermediate forms are, at present, thestore on which the artist has to draw. Purely abstract forms arebeyond the reach of the artist at present; they are tooindefinite for him. To limit himself to the purely indefinitewould be to rob himself of possibilities, to exclude the humanelement and therefore to weaken his power of expression. 

On the other hand, there exists equally no purely material form. A material object cannot be absolutely reproduced. For good orevil, the artist has eyes and hands, which are perhaps moreartistic than his intentions and refuse to aim at photographyalone. Many genuine artists, who cannot be content with a mereinventory of material objects, seek to express the objects bywhat was once called "idealization, " then "selection, " and whichtomorrow will again be called something different. 

[Footnote: The motive of idealization is so to beautify theorganic form as to bring out its harmony and rouse poeticfeeling. "Selection" aims not so much at beautification as atemphasizing the character of the object, by the omission of non-essentials. The desire of the future will be purely theexpression of the inner meaning. The organic form no longerserves as direct object, but as the human words in which a divinemessage must be written, in order for it to be comprehensible tohuman minds. ]

The impossibility and, in art, the uselessness of attempting tocopy an object exactly, the desire to give the object fullexpression, are the impulses which drive the artist away from"literal" colouring to purely artistic aims. And that brings usto the question of composition. [Footnote: Here Kandinsky meansarrangement of the picture. --M. T. H. S. ]

Pure artistic composition has two elements:

1. The composition of the whole picture. 

2. The creation of the various forms which, by standing indifferent relationships to each other, decide the composition ofthe whole. [Footnote: The general composition will naturallyinclude many little compositions which may be antagonistic toeach other, though helping--perhaps by their very antagonism--theharmony of the whole. These little compositions have themselvessubdivisions of varied inner meanings. ] Many objects have to beconsidered in the light of the whole, and so ordered as to suitthis whole. Singly they will have little meaning, being ofimportance only in so far as they help the general effect. Thesesingle objects must be fashioned in one way only; and this, notbecause their own inner meaning demands that particularfashioning, but entirely because they have to serve as buildingmaterial for the whole composition. [Footnote: A good example isCezanne's "Bathing Women, " which is built in the form of atriangle. Such building is an old principle, which was beingabandoned only because academic usage had made it lifeless. ButCezanne has given it new life. He does not use it to harmonizehis groups, but for purely artistic purposes. He distorts thehuman figure with perfect justification. Not only must the wholefigure follow the lines of the triangle, but each limb must grownarrower from bottom to top. Raphael's "Holy Family" is anexample of triangular composition used only for the harmonizingof the group, and without any mystical motive. ]

So the abstract idea is creeping into art, although, onlyyesterday, it was scorned and obscured by purely material ideals. Its gradual advance is natural enough, for in proportion as theorganic form falls into the background, the abstract idealachieves greater prominence. 

But the organic form possesses all the same an inner harmony ofits own, which may be either the same as that of its abstractparallel (thus producing a simple combination of the twoelements) or totally different (in which case the combination maybe unavoidably discordant). However diminished in importance theorganic form may be, its inner note will always be heard; and forthis reason the choice of material objects is an important one. The spiritual accord of the organic with the abstract element maystrengthen the appeal of the latter (as much by contrast as bysimilarity) or may destroy it. 

Suppose a rhomboidal composition, made up of a number of humanfigures. The artist asks himself: Are these human figures anabsolute necessity to the composition, or should they be replacedby other forms, and that without affecting the fundamentalharmony of the whole? If the answer is "Yes, " we have a case inwhich the material appeal directly weakens the abstract appeal. The human form must either be replaced by another object which, whether by similarity or contrast, will strengthen the abstractappeal, or must remain a purely non-material symbol. [Footnote:Cf. Translator's Introduction, pp. Xviii and xx. --M. T. H. S. ]

Once more the metaphor of the piano. For "colour" or "form"substitute "object. " Every object has its own life and thereforeits own appeal; man is continually subject to these appeals. Butthe results are often dubbed either sub--or super-conscious. Nature, that is to say the ever-changing surroundings of man, sets in vibration the strings of the piano (the soul) bymanipulation of the keys (the various objects with their severalappeals). 

The impressions we receive, which often appear merely chaotic, consist of three elements: the impression of the colour of theobject, of its form, and of its combined colour and form, i. E. Ofthe object itself. 

At this point the individuality of the artist comes to the frontand disposes, as he wills, these three elements. IT IS CLEAR, THEREFORE, THAT THE CHOICE OF OBJECT (i. E. OF ONE OF THE ELEMENTSIN THE HARMONY OF FORM) MUST BE DECIDED ONLY BY A CORRESPONDINGVIBRATION IN THE HUMAN SOUL; AND THIS IS A THIRD GUIDINGPRINCIPLE OF THE INNER NEED. 

The more abstract is form, the more clear and direct is itsappeal. In any composition the material side may be more or lessomitted in proportion as the forms used are more or lessmaterial, and for them substituted pure abstractions, or largelydematerialized objects. The more an artist uses these abstractedforms, the deeper and more confidently will he advance into thekingdom of the abstract. And after him will follow the gazer athis pictures, who also will have gradually acquired a greaterfamiliarity with the language of that kingdom. 

Must we then abandon utterly all material objects and paintsolely in abstractions? The problem of harmonizing the appeal ofthe material and the non-material shows us the answer to thisquestion. As every word spoken rouses an inner vibration, solikewise does every object represented. To deprive oneself ofthis possibility is to limit one's powers of expression. That isat any rate the case at present. But besides this answer to thequestion, there is another, and one which art can always employto any question beginning with "must": There is no "must" in art, because art is free. 

With regard to the second problem of composition, the creation ofthe single elements which are to compose the whole, it must beremembered that the same form in the same circumstances willalways have the same inner appeal. Only the circumstances areconstantly varying. It results that: (1) The ideal harmony altersaccording to the relation to other forms of the form which causesit. (2) Even in similar relationship a slight approach to orwithdrawal from other forms may affect the harmony. [Footnote:This is what is meant by "an appeal of motion. " For example, theappeal of an upright triangle is more steadfast and quiet thanthat of one set obliquely on its side. ] Nothing is absolute. Form-composition rests on a relative basis, depending on (1) thealterations in the mutual relations of forms one to another, (2)alterations in each individual form, down to the very smallest. Every form is as sensitive as a puff of smoke, the slightestbreath will alter it completely. This extreme mobility makes iteasier to obtain similar harmonies from the use of differentforms, than from a repetition of the same one; though of coursean exact replica of a spiritual harmony can never be produced. Solong as we are susceptible only to the appeal of a wholecomposition, this fact is of mainly theoretical importance. Butwhen we become more sensitive by a constant use of abstract forms(which have no material interpretation) it will become of greatpractical significance. And so as art becomes more difficult, itswealth of expression in form becomes greater and greater. At thesame time the question of distortion in drawing falls out and isreplaced by the question how far the inner appeal of theparticular form is veiled or given full expression. And once morethe possibilities are extended, for combinations of veiled andfully expressed appeals suggest new LEITMOTIVEN in composition. 

Without such development as this, form-composition is impossible. To anyone who cannot experience the inner appeal of form (whethermaterial or abstract) such composition can never be other thanmeaningless. Apparently aimless alterations in form-arrangementwill make art seem merely a game. So once more we are faced withthe same principle, which is to set art free, the principle ofthe inner need. 

When features or limbs for artistic reasons are changed ordistorted, men reject the artistic problem and fall back on thesecondary question of anatomy. But, on our argument, thissecondary consideration does not appear, only the real, artisticquestion remaining. These apparently irresponsible, but reallywell-reasoned alterations in form provide one of the storehousesof artistic possibilities. 

The adaptability of forms, their organic but inward variations, their motion in the picture, their inclination to material orabstract, their mutual relations, either individually or as partsof a whole; further, the concord or discord of the variouselements of a picture, the handling of groups, the combinationsof veiled and openly expressed appeals, the use of rhythmical orunrhythmical, of geometrical or non-geometrical forms, theircontiguity or separation--all these things are the material forcounterpoint in painting. 

But so long as colour is excluded, such counterpoint is confinedto black and white. Colour provides a whole wealth ofpossibilities of her own, and when combined with form, yet afurther series of possibilities. And all these will beexpressions of the inner need. 

The inner need is built up of three mystical elements: (1) Everyartist, as a creator, has something in him which calls forexpression (this is the element of personality). (2) Everyartist, as child of his age, is impelled to express the spirit ofhis age (this is the element of style)--dictated by the periodand particular country to which the artist belongs (it isdoubtful how long the latter distinction will continue to exist). (3) Every artist, as a servant of art, has to help the cause ofart (this is the element of pure artistry, which is constant inall ages and among all nationalities). 

A full understanding of the first two elements is necessary for arealization of the third. But he who has this realization willrecognize that a rudely carved Indian column is an expression ofthe same spirit as actuates any real work of art of today. 

In the past and even today much talk is heard of "personality" inart. Talk of the coming "style" becomes more frequent daily. Butfor all their importance today, these questions will havedisappeared after a few hundred or thousand years. 

Only the third element--that of pure artistry--will remain forever. An Egyptian carving speaks to us today more subtly than itdid to its chronological contemporaries; for they judged it withthe hampering knowledge of period and personality. But we canjudge purely as an expression of the eternal artistry. 

Similarly--the greater the part played in a modern work of art bythe two elements of style and personality, the better will it beappreciated by people today; but a modern work of art which isfull of the third element, will fail to reach the contemporarysoul. For many centuries have to pass away before the thirdelement can be received with understanding. But the artist inwhose work this third element predominates is the really greatartist. 

Because the elements of style and personality make up what iscalled the periodic characteristics of any work of art, the"development" of artistic forms must depend on their separationfrom the element of pure artistry, which knows neither period nornationality. But as style and personality create in every epochcertain definite forms, which, for all their superficialdifferences, are really closely related, these forms can bespoken of as one side of art--the SUBJECTIVE. Every artistchooses, from the forms which reflect his own time, those whichare sympathetic to him, and expresses himself through them. Sothe subjective element is the definite and external expression ofthe inner, objective element. 

The inevitable desire for outward expression of the OBJECTIVEelement is the impulse here defined as the "inner need. " Theforms it borrows change from day to day, and, as it continuallyadvances, what is today a phrase of inner harmony becomestomorrow one of outer harmony. It is clear, therefore, that theinner spirit of art only uses the outer form of any particularperiod as a stepping-stone to further expression. 

In short, the working of the inner need and the development ofart is an ever-advancing expression of the eternal and objectivein the terms of the periodic and subjective. 

Because the objective is forever exchanging the subjectiveexpression of today for that of tomorrow, each new extension ofliberty in the use of outer form is hailed as the last andsupreme. At present we say that an artist can use any form hewishes, so long as he remains in touch with nature. But thislimitation, like all its predecessors, is only temporary. Fromthe point of view of the inner need, no limitation must be made. The artist may use any form which his expression demands; for hisinner impulse must find suitable outward expression. 

So we see that a deliberate search for personality and "style" isnot only impossible, but comparatively unimportant. The closerelationship of art throughout the ages, is not a relationship inoutward form but in inner meaning. And therefore the talk ofschools, of lines of "development, " of "principles of art, " etc. , is based on misunderstanding and can only lead to confusion. 

The artist must be blind to distinctions between "recognized" or"unrecognized" conventions of form, deaf to the transitoryteaching and demands of his particular age. He must watch onlythe trend of the inner need, and hearken to its words alone. Thenhe will with safety employ means both sanctioned and forbidden byhis contemporaries. All means are sacred which are called for bythe inner need. All means are sinful which obscure that innerneed. 

It is impossible to theorize about this ideal of art. In real arttheory does not precede practice, but follows her. Everything is, at first, a matter of feeling. Any theoretical scheme will belacking in the essential of creation--the inner desire forexpression--which cannot be determined. Neither the quality ofthe inner need, nor its subjective form, can be measured norweighed. 

[Footnote: The many-sided genius of Leonardo devised a system oflittle spoons with which different colours were to be used, thuscreating a kind of mechanical harmony. One of his pupils, aftertrying in vain to use this system, in despair asked one of hiscolleagues how the master himself used the invention. Thecolleague replied: "The master never uses it at all. "(Mereschowski, LEONARDO DA VINCI). ]

Such a grammar of painting can only be temporarily guessed at, and should it ever be achieved, it will be not so much accordingto physical rules (which have so often been tried and which todaythe Cubists are trying) as according to the rules of the innerneed, which are of the soul. 

The inner need is the basic alike of small and great problems inpainting. We are seeking today for the road which is to lead usaway from the outer to the inner basis. 

[Footnote: The term "outer, " here used, must not be confused withthe term "material" used previously. I am using the former tomean "outer need, " which never goes beyond conventional limits, nor produces other than conventional beauty. The "inner need"knows no such limits, and often produces results conventionallyconsidered "ugly. " But "ugly" itself is a conventional term, andonly means "spiritually unsympathetic, " being applied to someexpression of an inner need, either outgrown or not yet attained. But everything which adequately expresses the inner need isbeautiful. ]

The spirit, like the body, can be strengthened and developed byfrequent exercise. Just as the body, if neglected, grows weakerand finally impotent, so the spirit perishes if untended. And forthis reason it is necessary for the artist to know the startingpoint for the exercise of his spirit. 

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

There is no need to engage in the finer shades of complicatedcolour, but rather at first to consider only the direct use ofsimple colours. 

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

Two great divisions of colour occur to the mind at the outset:into warm and cold, and into light and dark. To each colour thereare therefore four shades of appeal--warm and light or warm anddark, or cold and light or cold and dark. 

Generally speaking, warmth or cold in a colour means an approachrespectively to yellow or to blue. This distinction is, so tospeak, on one basis, the colour having a constant fundamentalappeal, but assuming either a more material or more non-materialquality. The movement is an horizontal one, the warm coloursapproaching the spectator, the cold ones retreating from him. 

The colours, which cause in another colour this horizontalmovement, while they are themselves affected by it, have anothermovement of their own, which acts with a violent separativeforce. This is, therefore, the first antithesis in the innerappeal, and the inclination of the colour to yellow or to blue, is of tremendous importance. 

The second antithesis is between white and black; i. E. , theinclination to light or dark caused by the pair of colours justmentioned. These colours have once more their peculiar movementto and from the spectator, but in a more rigid form (see Fig. 1). 

FIGURE I

 First Pair of antitheses. (inner appeal acting on A and B. The spirit)

A. Warm Cold Yellow Blue = First antithesis

Two movements:

 (i) horizontal

Towards the spectator -----> Away from the spectator (bodily) (spiritual)

 Yellow Blue

 (ii) Ex- and concentric

B. Light Dark White Black = Second Antithesis

Two movements:

 (i) discordant

Eternal discord, but with Absolute discord, devoid possibilities for the White Black of possibilities for the future (birth) future (death)

 (ii) ex-and concentric, as in case of yellow and blue, but more rigid. 

Yellow and blue have another movement which affects the firstantithesis--an ex-and concentric movement. If two circles aredrawn and painted respectively yellow and blue, briefconcentration will reveal in the yellow a spreading movement outfrom the centre, and a noticeable approach to the spectator. Theblue, on the other hand, moves in upon itself, like a snailretreating into its shell, and draws away from the spectator. [Footnote: These statements have no scientific basis, but arefounded purely on spiritual experience. ]

In the case of light and dark colours the movement is emphasized. That of the yellow increases with an admixture of white, i. E. , asit becomes lighter. That of the blue increases with an admixtureof black, i. E. , as it becomes darker. This means that there cannever be a dark-coloured yellow. The relationship between whiteand yellow is as close as between black and blue, for blue can beso dark as to border on black. Besides this physicalrelationship, is also a spiritual one (between yellow and whiteon one side, between blue and black on the other) which marks astrong separation between the two pairs. 

An attempt to make yellow colder produces a green tint and checksboth the horizontal and excentric movement. The colour becomessickly and unreal. The blue by its contrary movement acts as abrake on the yellow, and is hindered in its own movement, tillthe two together become stationary, and the result is green. Similarly a mixture of black and white produces gray, which ismotionless and spiritually very similar to green. 

But while green, yellow, and blue are potentially active, thoughtemporarily paralysed, in gray there is no possibility ofmovement, because gray consists of two colours that have noactive force, for they stand the, one in motionless discord, theother in a motionless negation, even of discord, like an endlesswall or a bottomless pit. 

Because the component colours of green are active and have amovement of their own, it is possible, on the basis of thismovement, to reckon their spiritual appeal. 

The first movement of yellow, that of approach to the spectator(which can be increased by an intensification of the yellow), andalso the second movement, that of over-spreading the boundaries, have a material parallel in the human energy which assails everyobstacle blindly, and bursts forth aimlessly in every direction. 

Yellow, if steadily gazed at in any geometrical form, has adisturbing influence, and reveals in the colour an insistent, aggressive character. [Footnote: It is worth noting that thesour-tasting lemon and shrill-singing canary are both yellow. ]The intensification of the yellow increases the painfulshrillness of its note. 

[Footnote: Any parallel between colour and music can only berelative. Just as a violin can give various shades of tone, --soyellow has shades, which can be expressed by various instruments. But in making such parallels, I am assuming in each case a puretone of colour or sound, unvaried by vibration or dampers, etc. ]

Yellow is the typically earthly colour. It can never haveprofound meaning. An intermixture of blue makes it a sicklycolour. It may be paralleled in human nature, with madness, notwith melancholy or hypochondriacal mania, but rather with violentraving lunacy. 

The power of profound meaning is found in blue, and first in itsphysical movements (1) of retreat from the spectator, (2) ofturning in upon its own centre. The inclination of blue to depthis so strong that its inner appeal is stronger when its shade isdeeper. 

Blue is the typical heavenly colour. 

[Footnote: . . . The halos are golden for emperors and prophets(i. E. For mortals), and sky-blue for symbolic figures (i. E. Spiritual beings); (Kondakoff, Histoire de l'An Byzantineconsideree principalement dans les miniatures, vol. Ii, p. 382, Paris, 1886-91). ]

The ultimate feeling it creates is one of rest. 

[Footnote: Supernatural rest, not the earthly contentment ofgreen. The way to the supernatural lies through the natural. Andwe mortals passing from the earthly yellow to the heavenly bluemust pass through green. ]

When it sinks almost to black, it echoes a grief that is hardlyhuman. 

[Footnote: As an echo of grief violet stand to blue as does greenin its production of rest. ]

When it rises towards white, a movement little suited to it, itsappeal to men grows weaker and more distant. In music a lightblue is like a flute, a darker blue a cello; a still darker athunderous double bass; and the darkest blue of all-an organ. 

A well-balanced mixture of blue and yellow produces green. Thehorizontal movement ceases; likewise that from and towards thecentre. The effect on the soul through the eye is thereforemotionless. This is a fact recognized not only by opticians butby the world. Green is the most restful colour that exists. Onexhausted men this restfulness has a beneficial effect, but aftera time it becomes wearisome. Pictures painted in shades of greenare passive and tend to be wearisome; this contrasts with theactive warmth of yellow or the active coolness of blue. In thehierarchy of colours green is the "bourgeoisie"-self-satisfied, immovable, narrow. It is the colour of summer, the period whennature is resting from the storms of winter and the productiveenergy of spring (cf. Fig. 2). 

Any preponderance in green of yellow or blue introduces acorresponding activity and changes the inner appeal. The greenkeeps its characteristic equanimity and restfulness, the formerincreasing with the inclination to lightness, the latter with theinclination to depth. In music the absolute green is representedby the placid, middle notes of a violin. 

Black and white have already been discussed in general terms. More particularly speaking, white, although often considered asno colour (a theory largely due to the Impressionists, who saw nowhite in nature as a symbol of a world from which all colour as adefinite attribute has disappeared). 

[Footnote: Van Gogh, in his letters, asks whether he may notpaint a white wall dead white. This question offers no difficultyto the non-representative artist who is concerned only with theinner harmony of colour. But to the impressionist-realist itseems a bold liberty to take with nature. To him it seems asoutrageous as his own change from brown shadows to blue seemed tohis contemporaries. Van Gogh's question marks a transition fromImpressionism to an art of spiritual harmony, as the coming ofthe blue shadow marked a transition from academism toImpressionism. (Cf. The Letters of Vincent van Gogh. Constable, London. )]

This world is too far above us for its harmony to touch oursouls. A great silence, like an impenetrable wall, shrouds itslife from our understanding. White, therefore, has this harmonyof silence, which works upon us negatively, like many pauses inmusic that break temporarily the melody. It is not a deadsilence, but one pregnant with possibilities. White has theappeal of the nothingness that is before birth, of the world inthe ice age. 

A totally dead silence, on the other hand, a silence with nopossibilities, has the inner harmony of black. In music it isrepresented by one of those profound and final pauses, afterwhich any continuation of the melody seems the dawn of anotherworld. Black is something burnt out, like the ashes of a funeralpyre, something motionless like a corpse. The silence of black isthe silence of death. Outwardly black is the colour with leastharmony of all, a kind of neutral background against which theminutest shades of other colours stand clearly forward. Itdiffers from white in this also, for with white nearly everycolour is in discord, or even mute altogether. 

[Footnote: E. G. Vermilion rings dull and muddy against white, butagainst black with clear strength. Light yellow against white isweak, against black pure and brilliant. ]

Not without reason is white taken as symbolizing joy and spotlesspurity, and black grief and death. A blend of black and whiteproduces gray which, as has been said, is silent and motionless, being composed of two inactive colours, its restfulness havingnone of the potential activity of green. A similar gray isproduced by a mixture of green and red, a spiritual blend ofpassivity and glowing warmth. 

[Footnote: Gray = immobility and rest. Delacroix sought toexpress rest by a mixture of green and red (cf. Signac, sup. Cit. ). ]

The unbounded warmth of red has not the irresponsible appeal ofyellow, but rings inwardly with a determined and powerfulintensity It glows in itself, maturely, and does not distributeits vigour aimlessly (see Fig. 2). 

The varied powers of red are very striking. By a skillful use ofit in its different shades, its fundamental tone may be made warmor cold. 

[Footnote: Of course every colour can be to some extent variedbetween warm and cold, but no colour has so extensive a scale ofvarieties as red. ]

Light warm red has a certain similarity to medium yellow, alikein texture and appeal, and gives a feeling of strength, vigour, determination, triumph. In music, it is a sound of trumpets, strong, harsh, and ringing. 

Vermilion is a red with a feeling of sharpness, like glowingsteel which can be cooled by water. Vermilion is quenched byblue, for it can support no mixture with a cold colour. Moreaccurately speaking, such a mixture produces what is called adirty colour, scorned by painters of today. But "dirt" as amaterial object has its own inner appeal, and therefore to avoidit in painting, is as unjust and narrow as was the cry ofyesterday for pure colour. At the call of the inner need thatwhich is outwardly foul may be inwardly pure, and vice versa. 

The two shades of red just discussed are similar to yellow, except that they reach out less to the spectator. The glow of redis within itself. For this reason it is a colour more belovedthan yellow, being frequently used in primitive and traditionaldecoration, and also in peasant costumes, because in the open airthe harmony of red and green is very beautiful. Taken by itselfthis red is material, and, like yellow, has no very deep appeal. Only when combined with something nobler does it acquire thisdeep appeal. It is dangerous to seek to deepen red by anadmixture of black, for black quenches the glow, or at leastreduces it considerably. 

But there remains brown, unemotional, disinclined for movement. An intermixture of red is outwardly barely audible, but thererings out a powerful inner harmony. Skillful blending can producean inner appeal of extraordinary, indescribable beauty. Thevermilion now rings like a great trumpet, or thunders like adrum. 

Cool red (madder) like any other fundamentally cold colour, canbe deepened--especially by an intermixture of azure. Thecharacter of the colour changes; the inward glow increases, theactive element gradually disappears. But this active element isnever so wholly absent as in deep green. There always remains ahint of renewed vigour, somewhere out of sight, waiting for acertain moment to burst forth afresh. In this lies the greatdifference between a deepened red and a deepened blue, because inred there is always a trace of the material. A parallel in musicare the sad, middle tones of a cello. A cold, light red containsa very distinct bodily or material element, but it is alwayspure, like the fresh beauty of the face of a young girl. Thesinging notes of a violin express this exactly in music. 

Warm red, intensified by a suitable yellow, is orange. This blendbrings red almost to the point of spreading out towards thespectator. But the element of red is always sufficiently strongto keep the colour from flippancy. Orange is like a man, convinced of his own powers. Its note is that of the angelus, orof an old violin. 

Just as orange is red brought nearer to humanity by yellow, soviolet is red withdrawn from humanity by blue. But the red inviolet must be cold, for the spiritual need does not allow of amixture of warm red with cold blue. 

Violet is therefore both in the physical and spiritual sense acooled red. It is consequently rather sad and ailing. It is wornby old women, and in China as a sign of mourning. In music it isan English horn, or the deep notes of wood instruments (e. G. Abassoon). 

[Footnote: Among artists one often hears the question, "How areyou?" answered gloomily by the words "Feeling very violet. "]

The two last mentioned colours (orange and violet) are the fourthand last pair of antitheses of the primitive colours. They standto each other in the same relation as the third antitheses--greenand red--i. E. , as complementary colours (see Fig. 2). 

FIGURE II

Second Pair of antitheses (physical appeal of complementary C and D colours)

C. Red Green = Third antithesis Movement of the spiritually extinguished First antithesis

Motion within itself [CIRCLE] = Potentiality of motion = Motionlessness

 Red

Ex-and concentric movements are absent In optical blend = GrayIn mechanical blend of white and black = Gray

D. Orange Violet = Fourth antithesis

Arise out of the first antithesis from:

1. Active element of the yellow in red = Orange2. Passive element of the blue in red = Violet

 In excentric Motion within In Concentric direction itself direction

As in a great circle, a serpent biting its own tail (the symbolof eternity, of something without end) the six colours appearthat make up the three main antitheses. And to right and leftstand the two great possibilities of silence--death and birth(see Fig. 3). 

FIGURE III. 

 A Yellow / \ / \ / \ D C B Orange Green B White | | Black | | | | C D Red Violet \ / \ / \ A / Blue

The antitheses as a circle between two poles, i. E. , the life ofcolours between birth and death. 

(The capital letters designate the pairs of antitheses. )

It is clear that all I have said of these simple colours is veryprovisional and general, and so also are those feelings (joy, grief, etc. ) which have been quoted as parallels of the colours. For these feelings are only the material expressions of the soul. Shades of colour, like those of sound, are of a much finertexture and awake in the soul emotions too fine to be expressedin words. Certainly each tone will find some probable expressionin words, but it will always be incomplete, and that part whichthe word fails to express will not be unimportant but rather thevery kernel of its existence. For this reason words are, and willalways remain, only hints, mere suggestions of colours. In thisimpossibility of expressing colour in words with the consequentneed for some other mode of expression lies the opportunity ofthe art of the future. In this art among innumerable rich andvaried combinations there is one which is founded on firm fact, and that is as follows. The actual expression of colour can beachieved simultaneously by several forms of art, each art playingits separate part, and producing a whole which exceeds inrichness and force any expression attainable by one art alone. The immense possibilities of depth and strength to be gained bycombination or by discord between the various arts can be easilyrealized. 

It is often said that admission of the possibility of one arthelping another amounts to a denial of the necessary differencesbetween the arts. This is, however, not the case. As has beensaid, an absolutely similar inner appeal cannot be achieved bytwo different arts. Even if it were possible the second versionwould differ at least outwardly. But suppose this were not thecase, that is to say, suppose a repetition of the same appealexactly alike both outwardly and inwardly could be achieved bydifferent arts, such repetition would not be merely superfluous. To begin with, different people find sympathy in different formsof art (alike on the active and passive side among the creatorsor the receivers of the appeal); but further and more important, repetition of the same appeal thickens the spiritual atmospherewhich is necessary for the maturing of the finest feelings, inthe same way as the hot air of a greenhouse is necessary for theripening of certain fruit. An example of this is the case of theindividual who receives a powerful impression from constantlyrepeated actions, thoughts or feelings, although if they camesingly they might have passed by unnoticed. [Footnote: This ideaforms, of course, the fundamental reason for advertisement. ] Wemust not, however, apply this rule only to the simple examples ofthe spiritual atmosphere. For this atmosphere is like air, whichcan be either pure or filled with various alien elements. Notonly visible actions, thoughts and feelings, with outwardexpression, make up this atmosphere, but secret happenings ofwhich no one knows, unspoken thoughts, hidden feelings are alsoelements in it. Suicide, murder, violence, low and unworthythoughts, hate, hostility, egotism, envy, narrow "patriotism, "partisanship, are elements in the spiritual atmosphere. 

[Footnote: Epidemics of suicide or of violent warlike feeling, etc. , are products of this impure atmosphere. ]

And conversely, self-sacrifice, mutual help, lofty thoughts, love, un-selfishness, joy in the success of others, humanity, justness, are the elements which slay those already enumerated asthe sun slays the microbes, and restore the atmosphere to purity. 

[Footnote: These elements likewise have their historicalperiods. ]

The second and more complicated form of repetition is that inwhich several different elements make mutual use of differentforms. In our case these elements are the different arts summedup in the art of the future. And this form of repetition is evenmore powerful, for the different natures of men respond to thedifferent elements in the combination. For one the musical formis the most moving and impressive; for another the pictorial, forthe third the literary, and so on. There reside, therefore, inarts which are outwardly different, hidden forces equallydifferent, so that they may all work in one man towards a singleresult, even though each art may be working in isolation. 

This sharply defined working of individual colours is the basison which various values can be built up in harmony. Pictures willcome to be painted--veritable artistic arrangements, planned inshades of one colour chosen according to artistic feeling. Thecarrying out of one colour, the binding together and admixture oftwo related colours, are the foundations of most colouredharmonies. From what has been said above about colour working, from the fact that we live in a time of questioning, experimentand contradiction, we can draw the easy conclusion that for aharmonization on the basis of individual colours our age isespecially unsuitable. Perhaps with envy and with a mournfulsympathy we listen to the music of Mozart. It acts as a welcomepause in the turmoil of our inner life, as a consolation and as ahope, but we hear it as the echo of something from another agelong past and fundamentally strange to us. The strife of colours, the sense of balance we have lost, tottering principles, unexpected assaults, great questions, apparently uselessstriving, storm and tempest, broken chains, antitheses andcontradictions, these make up our harmony. The compositionarising from this harmony is a mingling of colour and form eachwith its separate existence, but each blended into a common lifewhich is called a picture by the force of the inner need. Onlythese individual parts are vital. Everything else (such assurrounding conditions) is subsidiary. The combination of twocolours is a logical outcome of modern conditions. Thecombination of colours hitherto considered discordant, is merelya further development. For example, the use, side by side, of redand blue, colours in themselves of no physical relationship, butfrom their very spiritual contrast of the strongest effect, isone of the most frequent occurrences in modern choice of harmony. [Footnote: Cf. Gauguin, Noa Noa, where the artist states hisdisinclination when he first arrived in Tahiti to juxtapose redand blue. ] Harmony today rests chiefly on the principle ofcontrast which has for all time been one of the most importantprinciples of art. But our contrast is an inner contrast whichstands alone and rejects the help (for that help would meandestruction) of any other principles of harmony. It isinteresting to note that this very placing together of red andblue was so beloved by the primitive both in Germany and Italythat it has till today survived, principally in folk pictures ofreligious subjects. One often sees in such pictures the Virgin ina red gown and a blue cloak. It seems that the artists wished toexpress the grace of heaven in terms of humanity, and humanity interms of heaven. Legitimate and illegitimate combinations ofcolours, contrasts of various colours, the over-painting of onecolour with another, the definition of coloured surfaces byboundaries of various forms, the overstepping of theseboundaries, the mingling and the sharp separation of surfaces, all these open great vistas of artistic possibility. 

One of the first steps in the turning away from material objectsinto the realm of the abstract was, to use the technical artisticterm, the rejection of the third dimension, that is to say, theattempt to keep a picture on a single plane. Modelling wasabandoned. In this way the material object was made more abstractand an important step forward was achieved--this step forwardhas, however, had the effect of limiting the possibilities ofpainting to one definite piece of canvas, and this limitation hasnot only introduced a very material element into painting, buthas seriously lessened its possibilities. 

Any attempt to free painting from this material limitationtogether with the striving after a new form of composition mustconcern itself first of all with the destruction of this theoryof one single surface--attempts must be made to bring the pictureon to some ideal plane which shall be expressed in terms of thematerial plane of the canvas. [Footnote: Compare the article byLe Fauconnier in the catalogue of the second exhibition of theNeue Kunstlervereinigung, Munich, 1910-11. ] There has arisen outof the composition in flat triangles a composition with plasticthree-dimensional triangles, that is to say with pyramids; andthat is Cubism. But there has arisen here also the tendency toinertia, to a concentration on this form for its own sake, andconsequently once more to an impoverishment of possibility. Butthat is the unavoidable result of the external application of aninner principle. 

A further point of great importance must not be forgotten. Thereare other means of using the material plane as a space of threedimensions in order to create an ideal plane. The thinness orthickness of a line, the placing of the form on the surface, theoverlaying of one form on another may be quoted as examples ofartistic means that may be employed. Similar possibilities areoffered by colour which, when rightly used, can advance orretreat, and can make of the picture a living thing, and soachieve an artistic expansion of space. The combination of bothmeans of extension in harmony or concord is one of the richestand most powerful elements in purely artistic composition. 

VII. THEORY

From the nature of modern harmony, it results that never hasthere been a time when it was more difficult than it is today toformulate a complete theory, [Footnote: Attempts have been made. Once more emphasis must be laid on the parallel with music. Forexample, cf. "Tendances Nouvelles, " No. 35, Henri Ravel: "Thelaws of harmony are the same for painting and music. "] or to laydown a firm artistic basis. All attempts to do so would have oneresult, namely, that already cited in the case of Leonardo andhis system of little spoons. It would, however, be precipitate tosay that there are no basic principles nor firm rules inpainting, or that a search for them leads inevitably toacademism. Even music has a grammar, which, although modifiedfrom time to time, is of continual help and value as a kind ofdictionary. 

Painting is, however, in a different position. The revolt fromdependence on nature is only just beginning. Any realization ofthe inner working of colour and form is so far unconscious. Thesubjection of composition to some geometrical form is no new idea(cf. The art of the Persians). Construction on a purely abstractbasis is a slow business, and at first seemingly blind andaimless. The artist must train not only his eye but also hissoul, so that he can test colours for themselves and not only byexternal impressions. 

If we begin at once to break the bonds which bind us to nature, and devote ourselves purely to combination of pure colour andabstract form, we shall produce works which are mere decoration, which are suited to neckties or carpets. Beauty of Form andColour is no sufficient aim by itself, despite the assertions ofpure aesthetes or even of naturalists, who are obsessed with theidea of "beauty. " It is because of the elementary stage reachedby our painting that we are so little able to grasp the innerharmony of true colour and form composition. The nerve vibrationsare there, certainly, but they get no further than the nerves, because the corresponding vibrations of the spirit which theycall forth are too weak. When we remember, however, thatspiritual experience is quickening, that positive science, thefirmest basis of human thought, is tottering, that dissolution ofmatter is imminent, we have reason to hope that the hour of purecomposition is not far away. 

It must not be thought that pure decoration is lifeless. It hasits inner being, but one which is either incomprehensible to us, as in the case of old decorative art, or which seems mereillogical confusion, as a world in which full-grown men andembryos play equal roles, in which beings deprived of limbs areon a level with noses and toes which live isolated and of theirown vitality. The confusion is like that of a kaleidoscope, whichthough possessing a life of its own, belongs to another sphere. Nevertheless, decoration has its effect on us; orientaldecoration quite differently to Swedish, savage, or ancientGreek. It is not for nothing that there is a general custom ofdescribing samples of decoration as gay, serious, sad, etc. , asmusic is described as Allegro, Serioso, etc. , according to thenature of the piece. 

Probably conventional decoration had its beginnings in nature. But when we would assert that external nature is the sole sourceof all art, we must remember that, in patterning, natural objectsare used as symbols, almost as though they were merehieroglyphics. For this reason we cannot gauge their innerharmony. For instance, we can bear a design of Chinese dragons inour dining or bed rooms, and are no more disturbed by it than bya design of daisies. 

It is possible that towards the close of our already dying epocha new decorative art will develop, but it is not likely to befounded on geometrical form. At the present time any attempt todefine this new art would be as useless as pulling a small budopen so as to make a fully blown flower. Nowadays we are stillbound to external nature and must find our means of expression inher. But how are we to do it? In other words, how far may we goin altering the forms and colours of this nature?

We may go as far as the artist is able to carry his emotion, andonce more we see how immense is the need for true emotion. A fewexamples will make the meaning of this clearer. 

A warm red tone will materially alter in inner value when it isno longer considered as an isolated colour, as somethingabstract, but is applied as an element of some other object, andcombined with natural form. The variety of natural forms willcreate a variety of spiritual values, all of which will harmonizewith that of the original isolated red. Suppose we combine redwith sky, flowers, a garment, a face, a horse, a tree. 

A red sky suggests to us sunset, or fire, and has a consequenteffect upon us--either of splendour or menace. Much depends nowon the way in which other objects are treated in connection withthis red sky. If the treatment is faithful to nature, but all thesame harmonious, the "naturalistic" appeal of the sky isstrengthened. If, however, the other objects are treated in a waywhich is more abstract, they tend to lessen, if not to destroy, the naturalistic appeal of the sky. Much the same applies to theuse of red in a human face. In this case red can be employed toemphasize the passionate or other characteristics of the model, with a force that only an extremely abstract treatment of therest of the picture can subdue. 

A red garment is quite a different matter; for it can in realitybe of any colour. Red will, however, be found best to supply theneeds of pure artistry, for here alone can it be used without anyassociation with material aims. The artist has to consider notonly the value of the red cloak by itself, but also its value inconnection with the figure wearing it, and further the relationof the figure to the whole picture. Suppose the picture to be asad one, and the red-cloaked figure to be the central point onwhich the sadness is concentrated--either from its centralposition, or features, attitude, colour, or what not. The redwill provide an acute discord of feeling, which will emphasizethe gloom of the picture. The use of a colour, in itself sad, would weaken the effect of the dramatic whole. [Footnote: Oncemore it is wise to emphasize the necessary inadequacy of theseexamples. Rules cannot be laid down, the variations are soendless. A single line can alter the whole composition of apicture. ] This is the principle of antithesis already defined. Red by itself cannot have a sad effect on the spectator, and itsinclusion in a sad picture will, if properly handled, provide thedramatic element. [Footnote: The use of terms like "sad" and"joyful" are only clumsy equivalents for the delicate spiritualvibrations of the new harmony. They must be read as necessarilyinadequate. ]

Yet again is the case of a red tree different. The fundamentalvalue of red remains, as in every case. But the association of"autumn" creeps in. 

The colour combines easily with this association, and there is nodramatic clash as in the case of the red cloak. 

Finally, the red horse provides a further variation. The verywords put us in another atmosphere. The impossibility of a redhorse demands an unreal world. It is possible that thiscombination of colour and form will appeal as a freak--a purelysuperficial and non-artistic appeal--or as a hint of a fairystory [Footnote: An incomplete fairy story works on the mind asdoes a cinematograph film. ]--once more a non-artistic appeal. Toset this red horse in a careful naturalistic landscape wouldcreate such a discord as to produce no appeal and no coherence. The need for coherence is the essential of harmony--whetherfounded on conventional discord or concord. The new harmonydemands that the inner value of a picture should remain unifiedwhatever the variations or contrasts of outward form or colour. The elements of the new art are to be found, therefore, in theinner and not the outer qualities of nature. 

The spectator is too ready to look for a meaning in a picture--i. E. , some outward connection between its various parts. Ourmaterialistic age has produced a type of spectator or"connoisseur, " who is not content to put himself opposite apicture and let it say its own message. Instead of allowing theinner value of the picture to work, he worries himself in lookingfor "closeness to nature, " or "temperament, " or "handling, " or"tonality, " or "perspective, " or what not. His eye does not probethe outer expression to arrive at the inner meaning. In aconversation with an interesting person, we endeavour to get athis fundamental ideas and feelings. We do not bother about thewords he uses, nor the spelling of those words, nor the breathnecessary for speaking them, nor the movements of his tongue andlips, nor the psychological working on our brain, nor thephysical sound in our ear, nor the physiological effect on ournerves. We realize that these things, though interesting andimportant, are not the main things of the moment, but that themeaning and idea is what concerns us. We should have the samefeeling when confronted with a work of art. When this becomesgeneral the artist will be able to dispense with natural form andcolour and speak in purely artistic language. 

To return to the combination of colour and form, there is anotherpossibility which should be noted. Non-naturalistic objects in apicture may have a "literary" appeal, and the whole picture mayhave the working of a fable. The spectator is put in anatmosphere which does not disturb him because he accepts it asfabulous, and in which he tries to trace the story and undergoesmore or less the various appeals of colour. But the pure innerworking of colour is impossible; the outward idea has the masterystill. For the spectator has only exchanged a blind reality for ablind dreamland, where the truth of inner feeling cannot be felt. 

We must find, therefore, a form of expression which excludes thefable and yet does not restrict the free working of colour in anyway. The forms, movement, and colours which we borrow from naturemust produce no outward effect nor be associated with externalobjects. The more obvious is the separation from nature, the morelikely is the inner meaning to be pure and unhampered. 

The tendency of a work of art may be very simple, but provided itis not dictated by any external motive and provided it is notworking to any material end, the harmony will be pure. The mostordinary action--for example, preparation for lifting a heavyweight--becomes mysterious and dramatic, when its actual purposeis not revealed. We stand and gaze fascinated, till of a suddenthe explanation bursts suddenly upon us. It is the convictionthat nothing mysterious can ever happen in our everyday life thathas destroyed the joy of abstract thought. Practicalconsiderations have ousted all else. It is with this fact in viewthat the new dancing is being evolved--as, that is to say, theonly means of giving in terms of time and space the real innermeaning of motion. The origin of dancing is probably purelysexual. In folk-dances we still see this element plainly. Thelater development of dancing as a religious ceremony joins itselfto the preceding element and the two together take artistic formand emerge as the ballet. 

The ballet at the present time is in a state of chaos owing tothis double origin. Its external motives--the expression of loveand fear, etc. --are too material and naive for the abstract ideasof the future. In the search for more subtle expression, ourmodern reformers have looked to the past for help. Isadora Duncanhas forged a link between the Greek dancing and that of thefuture. In this she is working on parallel lines to the painterswho are looking for inspiration from the primitives. 

[Footnote: Kandinsky's example of Isadora Duncan is not perhapsperfectly chosen. This famous dancer founds her art mainly upon astudy of Greek vases and not necessarily of the primitive period. Her aims are distinctly towards what Kandinsky calls"conventional beauty, " and what is perhaps more important, hermovements are not dictated solely by the "inner harmony, " butlargely by conscious outward imitation of Greek attitudes. EitherNijinsky's later ballets: Le Sacre du Printemps, L'Apres-midid'un Faune, Jeux, or the idea actuating the Jacques Dalcrozesystem of Eurhythmics seem to fall more into line withKandinsky's artistic forecast. In the first case "conventionalbeauty" has been abandoned, to the dismay of numbers of writersand spectators, and a definite return has been made to primitiveangles and abruptness. In the second case motion and dance arebrought out of the souls of the pupils, truly spontaneous, at. The call of the "inner harmony. " Indeed a comparison betweenIsadora Duncan and M. Dalcroze is a comparison between the"naturalist" and "symbolist" ideals in art which were outlined inthe introduction to this book. --M. T. H. S. ]

In dance as in painting this is only a stage of transition. Indancing as in painting we are on the threshold of the art of thefuture. The same rules must be applied in both cases. Conventional beauty must go by the board and the literary elementof "story-telling" or "anecdote" must be abandoned as useless. Both arts must learn from music that every harmony and everydiscord which springs from the inner spirit is beautiful, butthat it is essential that they should spring from the innerspirit and from that alone. 

The achievement of the dance-art of the future will make possiblethe first ebullition of the art of spiritual harmony--the truestage-composition. 

The composition for the new theatre will consist of these threeelements:

 (1) Musical movement (2) Pictorial movement (3) Physical movement

and these three, properly combined, make up the spiritualmovement, which is the working of the inner harmony. They will beinterwoven in harmony and discord as are the two chief elementsof painting, form and colour. 

Scriabin's attempt to intensify musical tone by corresponding useof colour is necessarily tentative. In the perfected stage-composition the two elements are increased by the third, andendless possibilities of combination and individual use areopened up. Further, the external can be combined with theinternal harmony, as Schonberg has attempted in his quartettes. It is impossible here to go further into the developments of thisidea. The reader must apply the principles of painting alreadystated to the problem of stage-composition, and outline forhimself the possibilities of the theatre of the future, foundedon the immovable principle of the inner need. 

From what has been said of the combination of colour and form, the way to the new art can be traced. This way lies today betweentwo dangers. On the one hand is the totally arbitrary applicationof colour to geometrical form--pure patterning. On the other handis the more naturalistic use of colour in bodily form--purephantasy. Either of these alternatives may in their turn beexaggerated. Everything is at the artist's disposal, and thefreedom of today has at once its dangers and its possibilities. We may be present at the conception of a new great epoch, or wemay see the opportunity squandered in aimless extravagance. 

[Footnote: On this question see my article "Uber die Formfrage"--in "Der Blaue Reiter" (Piper-Verlag, 1912). Taking the work ofHenri Rousseau as a starting point, I go on to prove that the newnaturalism will not only be equivalent to but even identical withabstraction. ]

That art is above nature is no new discovery. [Footnote: Cf. "Goethe", by Karl Heinemann, 1899, p. 684; also Oscar Wilde, "DeProfundis"; also Delacroix, "My Diary". ] New principles do notfall from heaven, but are logically if indirectly connected withpast and future. What is important to us is the momentaryposition of the principle and how best it can be used. It mustnot be employed forcibly. But if the artist tunes his soul tothis note, the sound will ring in his work of itself. The"emancipation" of today must advance on the lines of the innerneed. It is hampered at present by external form, and as that isthrown aside, there arises as the aim of composition-construction. The search for constructive form has producedCubism, in which natural form is often forcibly subjected togeometrical construction, a process which tends to hamper theabstract by the concrete and spoil the concrete by the abstract. 

The harmony of the new art demands a more subtle constructionthan this, something that appeals less to the eye and more to thesoul. This "concealed construction" may arise from an apparentlyfortuitous selection of forms on the canvas. Their external lackof cohesion is their internal harmony. This haphazard arrangementof forms may be the future of artistic harmony. Their fundamentalrelationship will finally be able to be expressed in mathematicalform, but in terms irregular rather than regular. 

VIII. ART AND ARTISTS

The work of art is born of the artist in a mysterious and secretway. From him it gains life and being. Nor is its existencecasual and inconsequent, but it has a definite and purposefulstrength, alike in its material and spiritual life. It exists andhas power to create spiritual atmosphere; and from this innerstandpoint one judges whether it is a good work of art or a badone. If its "form" is bad it means that the form is too feeble inmeaning to call forth corresponding vibrations of the soul. 

[Footnote: So-called indecent pictures are either incapable ofcausing vibrations of the soul (in which case they are not art)or they are so capable. In the latter case they are not to bespurned absolutely, even though at the same time they gratifywhat nowadays we are pleased to call the "lower bodily tastes. "]Therefore a picture is not necessarily "well painted" if itpossesses the "values" of which the French so constantly speak. It is only well painted if its spiritual value is complete andsatisfying. "Good drawing" is drawing that cannot be alteredwithout destruction of this inner value, quite irrespective ofits correctness as anatomy, botany, or any other science. Thereis no question of a violation of natural form, but only of theneed of the artist for such form. Similarly colours are used notbecause they are true to nature, but because they are necessaryto the particular picture. In fact, the artist is not onlyjustified in using, but it is his duty to use only those formswhich fulfil his own need. Absolute freedom, whether from anatomyor anything of the kind, must be given the artist in his choiceof material. Such spiritual freedom is as necessary in art as itis in life. [Footnote: This freedom is man's weapon against thePhilistines. It is based on the inner need. ]

Note, however, that blind following of scientific precept is lessblameworthy than its blind and purposeless rejection. The formerproduces at least an imitation of material objects which may beof some use. 

[Footnote: Plainly, an imitation of nature, if made by the handof an artist, is not a pure reproduction. The voice of the soulwill in some degree at least make itself heard. As contrasts onemay quote a landscape of Canaletto and those sadly famous headsby Denner. --(Alte Pinakothek, Munich. )]

The latter is an artistic betrayal and brings confusion in itstrain. The former leaves the spiritual atmosphere empty; thelatter poisons it. 

Painting is an art, and art is not vague production, transitoryand isolated, but a power which must be directed to theimprovement and refinement of the human soul--to, in fact, theraising of the spiritual triangle. 

If art refrains from doing this work, a chasm remains unbridged, for no other power can take the place of art in this activity. And at times when the human soul is gaining greater strength, artwill also grow in power, for the two are inextricably connectedand complementary one to the other. Conversely, at those timeswhen the soul tends to be choked by material disbelief, artbecomes purposeless and talk is heard that art exists for art'ssake alone. 

[Footnote: This cry "art for art's sake, " is really the bestideal such an age can attain to. It is an unconscious protestagainst materialism, against the demand that everything shouldhave a use and practical value. It is further proof of theindestructibility of art and of the human soul, which can neverbe killed but only temporarily smothered. ]

Then is the bond between art and the soul, as it were, druggedinto unconsciousness. The artist and the spectator drift apart, till finally the latter turns his back on the former or regardshim as a juggler whose skill and dexterity are worthy ofapplause. It is very important for the artist to gauge hisposition aright, to realize that he has a duty to his art and tohimself, that he is not king of the castle but rather a servantof a nobler purpose. He must search deeply into his own soul, develop and tend it, so that his art has something to clothe, anddoes not remain a glove without a hand. 

THE ARTIST MUST HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY, FOR MASTERY OVER FORM ISNOT HIS GOAL BUT RATHER THE ADAPTING OF FORM TO ITS INNERMEANING. 

[Footnote: Naturally this does not mean that the artist is toinstill forcibly into his work some deliberate meaning. As hasbeen said the generation of a work of art is a mystery. So longas artistry exists there is no need of theory or logic to directthe painter's action. The inner voice of the soul tells him whatform he needs, whether inside or outside nature. Every artistknows, who works with feeling, how suddenly the right formflashes upon him. Bocklin said that a true work of art must belike an inspiration; that actual painting, composition, etc. , arenot the steps by which the artist reaches self-expression. ]

The artist is not born to a life of pleasure. He must not liveidle; he has a hard work to perform, and one which often proves across to be borne. He must realize that his every deed, feeling, and thought are raw but sure material from which his work is toarise, that he is free in art but not in life. 

The artist has a triple responsibility to the non-artists: (1) Hemust repay the talent which he has; (2) his deeds, feelings, andthoughts, as those of every man, create a spiritual atmospherewhich is either pure or poisonous. (3) These deeds and thoughtsare materials for his creations, which themselves exerciseinfluence on the spiritual atmosphere. The artist is not only aking, as Peladan says, because he has great power, but alsobecause he has great duties. 

If the artist be priest of beauty, nevertheless this beauty is tobe sought only according to the principle of the inner need, andcan be measured only according to the size and intensity of thatneed. 

THAT IS BEAUTIFUL WHICH IS PRODUCED BY THE INNER NEED, WHICHSPRINGS FROM THE SOUL. 

Maeterlinck, one of the first warriors, one of the first modernartists of the soul, says: "There is nothing on earth so curiousfor beauty or so absorbent of it, as a soul. For that reason fewmortal souls withstand the leadership of a soul which gives tothem beauty. " [Footnote: De la beaute interieure. ]

And this property of the soul is the oil, which facilitates theslow, scarcely visible but irresistible movement of the triangle, onwards and upwards. 

IX. CONCLUSION

The first five illustrations in this book show the course ofconstructive effort in painting. This effort falls into twodivisions:

(1) Simple composition, which is regulated according to anobvious and simple form. This kind of composition I call theMELODIC. 

(2) Complex composition, consisting of various forms, subjectedmore or less completely to a principal form. Probably theprincipal form may be hard to grasp outwardly, and for thatreason possessed of a strong inner value. This kind ofcomposition I call the SYMPHONIC. 

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

If, in considering an example of melodic composition, one forgetsthe material aspect and probes down into the artistic reason ofthe whole, one finds primitive geometrical forms or anarrangement of simple lines which help toward a common motion. This common motion is echoed by various sections and may bevaried by a single line or form. Such isolated variations servedifferent purposes. For instance, they may act as a sudden check, or to use a musical term, a "fermata. " [Footnote: E. G. , theRavenna mosaic which, in the main, forms a triangle. The uprightfigures lean proportionately to the triangle. The outstretchedarm and door-curtain are the "fermate. "] Each form which goes tomake up the composition has a simple inner value, which has inits turn a melody. For this reason I call the compositionmelodic. By the agency of Cezanne and later of Hodler [Footnote:English readers may roughly parallel Hodler with Augustus Johnfor purposes of the argument. --M. T. H. S. ] this kind of compositionwon new life, and earned the name of "rhythmic. " The limitationsof the term "rhythmic" are obvious. In music and nature eachmanifestation has a rhythm of its own, so also in painting. Innature this rhythm is often not clear to us, because its purposeis not clear to us. We then speak of it as unrhythmic. So theterms rhythmic and unrhythmic are purely conventional, as alsoare harmony and discord, which have no actual existence. [Footnote: As an example of plain melodic construction with aplain rhythm, Cezanne's "Bathing Women" is given in this book. ]

Complex rhythmic composition, with a strong flavour of thesymphonic, is seen in numerous pictures and woodcuts of the past. One might mention the work of old German masters, of thePersians, of the Japanese, the Russian icons, broadsides, etc. [Footnote: This applies to many of Hodler's pictures. ]

In nearly all these works the symphonic composition is not veryclosely allied to the melodic. This means that fundamentallythere is a composition founded on rest and balance. The mindthinks at once of choral compositions, of Mozart and Beethoven. All these works have the solemn and regular architecture of aGothic cathedral; they belong to the transition period. 

As examples of the new symphonic composition, in which themelodic element plays a subordinate part, and that only rarely, Ihave added reproductions of four of my own pictures. 

They represent three different sources of inspiration:

(1) A direct impression of outward nature, expressed in purelyartistic 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 slowly formed inner feeling, whichcomes to utterance only after long maturing. This I call a"Composition. " In this, reason, consciousness, purpose, playan overwhelming part. But of the calculation nothing appears, only the feeling. Which kind of construction, whetherconscious or unconscious, really underlies my work, thepatient reader will readily understand. 

Finally, I would remark that, in my opinion, we are fastapproaching the time of reasoned and conscious composition, whenthe painter will be proud to declare his work constructive. Thiswill be in contrast to the claim of the Impressionists that theycould explain nothing, that their art came upon them byinspiration. We have before us the age of conscious creation, andthis new spirit in painting is going hand in hand with the spiritof thought towards an epoch of great spiritual leaders.