of Reynolds' Strawberry Girl, and the tragic dignity of Rembrandt's Old Woman.
I doubt if you could give the faintest description of the features of one of these portraits.
And now let us look at our portrait of Rachel or Margery.
That may be Margery's eye, nose, mouth, chin, hair, and ear, but if we have missed Margery's mischievous look, the wicked twinkle in her bright eye, the twitching curve of her lips, and the jaunty tilt of her glossy head; in short, if we have not captured her expression, Margery's portrait is no portrait at all.
When we draw likenesses we must not labour first with one feature and then with another, but try to grasp everything together.
We begin by noting any peculiarity, such as the poise of the head on the shoulders, afterward roughing out the angles of the features, or the arrangement of large masses such a woman's hair or a man's beard; then we confine ourselves to the drawing of the features
There is no sense in racing along if by nature you are a plodder. We must all 'gang our ain gait.'
Personally, however, I have a feeling, or rather a conviction, that if I cannot capture something of the likeness in the earliest stages it will always elude me.
From the very first attack the angle of the head, the placing of the neck on the shoulders, the cock of the eye, the droop of the lip.
There is another point to bear in mind. Do not get too easily discouraged. Don't be depressed if your efforts do not gain immediate success. You must try many times before you can hope to be proficient.
After all, you do not expect to play a sonata of Beethoven's or to write a thesis on an abstruse subject, or to compose an exquisite lyric—without practice.
And remember too that you are in search of the unexpected. It is your business to find and record facts usually unnoticed by persons who are not artists.
