Not long ago I was present in the studio of a painter, and became very much interested in the subject; use, and mission of backgrounds. The painter showed me, among other pictures, some partially executed ones upon which he was at work. One of these in particular engaged my serious attention, because of its deep shades and sombre tones, which suggested, rather than expressed in actual form, many indefinite things; for it was vague and shadowy; its leading features manifested only by graduated tones, that blended one thing with another in a way that made all seem to be clothed in, or not yet emerged from, a chaos of nothingness, which, while it continually attracted by what it suggested, left no satisfaction of definite idea in the beholder's thought. The artist told me that this was but the background, or preparation, upon which he proposed to set forth an ideal of beauty, still in his thought, which he considered one of his best conceptions; and asked me to come in again in a few days and see the completed picture, saying,—"A demonstration is better than a wordy description, which, in the absence of the accomplished work, leaves no impressions of value upon the mind."
My attention, at this time, was also called to another small painting which was shown me. "A study from nature," the artist called it, which, while it appeared interesting in many ways, still seemed of comparatively small importance. It was a landscape; some large trees were in it; a running brook, a road, and small bridge; some mountains in the distance; and many other things of detail, both in foreground and distance; all of it bathed in every-day, common-place sunshine.
A while after, I was in the studio again, and was shown the completed picture, the background of which engaged my attention before, and, indeed, there had been a great transformation; The same background was there,—there could be no question about that, when it came to be considered and sought for,—but now it seemed to have a place and use in its complete subordination to the beauty and truth set forth upon it. But what seemed scarcely possible, the sub stance of the picture was the very same as the study from nature that had so lightly engaged my attention before. There were the same trees, the same running brook, the same sunlight; but now, now changed and glorious it all looked! How welcome looked the bright greens of the foliage and the grass in the shining light: The brook sparkled with crystal purity, the variegated foreground was rich in tones of golden radiance in the detail of every-day-things, common and simple things; and yet, now it was so attractive and comfortable to the eye that to leave it caused regret. Was all this in the study from nature also? Yes; but in the study, the sunlight and truth is everywhere, in all parts of the picture, with equal force; in the completed picture its definite appearance is mainly in the foreground.
