lasts, because every time we repeat the tour of inspection our eyes rest a moment on these false interests.
To show that these mistakes lie entirely in the treatment, and not in the device of the triangle, we need only turn to the painting of "Mme. Lebrun and Her Daughter," facing page 76. Here is a composition distinctly triangular in design, yet one may have admired this picture hundreds of times without observing that fact. Here is unity, without obviousness or severity. Our eyes leap to the apex of the triangle, and there find the chief interest, the head of the mother. And, as we continue gazing, our attention still favors the mother, because the white areas of her shoulder, arm, and robe attract the eye more strongly than the other portions of the picture. Here, too, is graceful balance and a flowing rhythm in every line.
If we consider merely the dramatic action of the subjects, as the motion picture directors so often do, we observe that the poses in Mme. Lebrun's painting are natural and easy, that the gesture is graceful and telling, and we realize how completely and impressively the technique of design, the craft of composition, expresses the message of the painter.
A part of Mme. Lebrun's technique consisted in eliminating the setting, because in this particular case she found it easier to express her meaning without describing environment. Setting may often well be eliminated in the movies, too, as in "Moon-Gold," discussed below; but usually the physical environment of action, as has been stated rather exhaustively in Chapter VIII of "The Art of Photoplay Making," can be dramatized more vividly in the movies than in any other narrative art. And it is an interesting problem
