Munich. He saw in it a very fine reproduction of nature, but one which had not been arrived at from the standpoint of form. In that statement he caught Dürer's manner of seeing. But Cézanne also proceeds in this manner. He speaks of two plastic presentations, the one sculptural and linear, the other decorative and colouristic. The one could be designated roughly as the Venus de Milo type of art, the other is related to Michael Angelo and Rubens. The first is servile, and here contour has the upper hand; the latter is free, with the domination of colour, inspiration, and the sudden glimpse. Ingres belongs to the first, Delacroix to the second.
As I have said before, Matisse lived in a continual concern for the fitness of his pictorial elements, and when he had made an incomplete picture he would question himself in this fashion: Perhaps the red is not full enough; it seems empty; what if I replaced it with yellow? As a rule, however, he would not replace it with another colour, but would try to remedy the error indirectly by changing some other part of the picture. In my view this is the reason for his most delicate qualities, his strength, simplicity, charm, and brilliance. And it is precisely here—I must say to obviate any misunderstanding—that his painting stands definitely apart from literature.
Matisse found that Cézanne, whom he loved immeasurably, had never neglected the broader equations of a picture. To-day that is readily forgotten; later artists give too much attention to the isolated composition of minor details. Matisse tried for a stronger ensemble; for instance, if he was bringing out the silhouette of a form, he would not supplement it with muscles; or if he wanted a strong yellow in a picture he recognized the need for an appropriate counteraction. The secret of his colour effects lies in a wise economy.
Of course the matter of final importance, the appealing thing about a picture, cannot be explained, and here all science falls short. Still, it is not beside the issue that an art should make use of the sciences; scientific discovery has always brought progress into art. Nature is there to awaken an image and arouse the senses. With the aid of the sciences nature can be copied, but it cannot be represented in its spiritual equivalent. It remains for the painter to afford a mouthpiece for the genius of nature. Whether it be for a brief moment in passing through an exhibit, or in some room where the spectator must be brought into a state of harmony day after
