“The people who first visited the Impressionist exhibition obviously poked their noses into the pictures and saw nothing but a confusion of casual brushstrokes… It took some time before the public learned that to appreciate an Impressionist painting one has to step back a few yards, and enjoy the miracle of seeing these puzzling patches suddenly fall into place and come to life before our eyes. To achieve this miracle, and to transfer the actual visual experience of the painter to the beholder, was the true aim of Impressionists.
“The feeling of a new freedom and new power which these artists had must have been truly exhilarating; it must have compensated them for much of the derision and hostility they encountered. Suddenly the whole world offered fit subjects to the painter’s brush. Wherever he discovered a beautiful combination of tones, an interesting configuration of colors and forms, a satisfying and gay patch of sunlight and colored shades, he could set down his easel and try to transfer his impression on to the canvas… The artist was responsible to no one but his own sensibilities for what he painted and how he painted it. Looking back at this struggle it is perhaps less surprising that these views of young artists encountered resistance than that they were so soon to be taken for granted. For bitter as was the fight and as hard as it was for the artists concerned, the triumph of Impressionism was complete… The struggle of the Impressionists became the treasured legend of all innovators in art, who could always point to the conspicuous failure of the public to recognize novel methods. In a sense this notorious failure was as important in the history of art as was the ultimate victory of the Impressionist program.”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 25: Permanent Revolution,” The Story of Art, 15th edition
“We have reached the really modern times which dawned when the French Revolution of 1789 put an end to may assumptions that had been taken for granted for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Just as the Great Revolution has its roots in the Age of Reason, so have the changes in man’s ideas about art… In the past, the subject-matter of paintings had been very much taken for granted… All this changed very rapidly during the period of the French Revolution. Suddenly artists felt free to choose their subjects anything… that appealed to the imagination and aroused interest… The French revolutionaries loved to think of themselves as Greeks and Romans reborn, and their painting, no less than their architecture, reflected this taste for what was called Roman grandeur. The leading artist of this neo-classical style was the painter Jacques Louis David, who was the ‘official artist’ of the Revolutionary Government… These people felt they were living in historic times, and that the events of their own years were just as worthy of the painter’s attention as the episodes of Greek and Roman history.When one of the leaders of the French Revolution, Marat, was killed in his bath by a fanatical young woman, David painted him as a martyr who had died for his cause… He had learned from the study of Greek and Roman sculpture how to model the muscles and sinews of the body, and give it the appearance of noble beauty; he had also learned from classical art to leave out all details which are not essential to the main effect, and to aim at simplicity.”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 23: The Break in Tradition,” The Story of Art, 15th edition
The Prayer Before Meal. Jean-Baptiste-Simeon Chardin. 1740.
“In the eighteenth century, English institutions and English taste became the admired models for all people in Europe who longed for the rule of reason. For in England art had not been used to enhance the power and glory of god-like rulers… [The] aristocratic dream-world began to recede. Painters began to look at the life of the ordinary men and women of their time to draw moving or amusing episodes which could be spun out into a story. The greatest of these was Jean Siméon Chardin… [The Prayer before Meal is] one of his charming paintings—a simple room with a woman setting dinner on the table and asking two children to say grace. Chardin liked these quiet glimpses of the life of ordinary people… [H]e feels and preserves the poetry of a domestic scene, without looking for striking effects or pointed allusions. Even his color is calm and restrained… [I]f we study them in the original, we soon discover in them an unobtrusive mastery in the subtle gradation of tones and the seemingly artless arrangement of the scene that makes him one of the most lovable painters of the eighteenth century.”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 23: The Age of Reason,” The Story of Art, 15th edition
The Reconciliation of David and Absalom. Rembrandt van Rijn. 1642.
“Like Shakespeare, [Rembrandt] seems to have been able to get into the skin of all types of men, and to know how they would behave in any given situation. It is this gift that makes Rembrandt’s illustrations of biblical stories so different from anything that had been done before. As a devout Protestant, Rembrandt must have read the Bible again and again. He entered into the spirit of its episodes, and attempted to visualize exactly what the situation would have been like, and how people would have borne themselves at such a moment.
“Rembrandt needs hardly any gestures or movements express the inner meaning of the scene. He is never theatrical. [This painting] shows one of the paintings in which he visualized [an] incident from the Bible which had hardly ever been illustrated before—the reconciliation between King David and his wicked son Absalom… What could be more moving than the gesture of the young prince in his proud array, burying his face on his father’s breast, or King David in his quiet and sorrowful acceptance of his son’s submission? Thou we do not see Absalom’s face, we feel what he must feel.”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 20: The Mirror of Nature,” The Story of Art, 15th edition
“[T]hat was the great secret of Ruben’s art—his magic skill in making anything alive, intensely and joyfully alive. We can best gauge and admire this mastery of his in some of the simple drawings and paintings done for his own pleasure. ['Head of a Child'] shows the head of a little girl, probably Rubens’s daughter. There are no tricks of composition here, no splendid robes or streams of light, but a simple en face portrait of a child. And yet it seems to breathe and palpitate like living flesh. Compared with this, the portraits of earlier centuries seem somehow remote and unreal—however great they may be as works of art. It is vain to try to analyze how Rubens achieved this impression of gay vitality, but it surely had something to do with the bold and delicate touches of light with which he indicated the moisture of the lips and the modeling of the face and hair. To an even greater degree than Titian before him, he used the brush as his main instrument. His paintings are no longer drawing carefully modeled in color—they are produced by ‘painterly’ means, and that enhances the impression of life and vigor.”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 19: Vision and Visions,” The Story of Art, 5th edition
“[Tintoretto's] painting of St. George’s fight with the dragon, in London, shows how the weird light and the broken tones add to the feeling of tension and excitement. We feel the drama has just reached its climax. The princess seems to be rushing right out of the picture towards us while the hero is removed, against all rules, far into the background of the scene…
Vasari, a great Florentine critic and biographer of the period… thought the work was marred by careless execution and eccentric taste. He was puzzled by the lack of ‘finish’ Tintoretto gave his work. ‘His sketches,’ he says, ‘are so crude that his pencil strokes show more force than judgment and seem to have been made by chance.’ It is a reproach which from that time onwards has often been made against modern artists. Perhaps this is not altogether surprising, for these great innovators in art have often concentrated on the essential things and refused to worry about technical perfection in the usual sense. In periods like that of Tintoretto, technical excellence had reached such a high standard that anyone with some mechanical aptitude could master some of its tricks. A man like Tintoretto wanted to show things in a new light, he wanted to explore new ways of representing the legends and myths of the past. He considered his painting complete when he had conveyed his vision of the legendary scene. A smooth and careful finish did not interest him, for it did not serve his purpose. On the contrary—it might have distracted our attention from the dramatic happenings of the picture. So he left it at that and left people wondering.”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 18: A Crisis of Art,” The Story of Art, 15th edition
“The painter who was looked upon by later generations as the most ‘progressive’ and most daring innovator of the whole period [early sixteenth century]… was Antonio Allegri, called Correggio… [H]e worked out entirely new effects [of light and shade] which greatly influenced later schools of painters…
“At first sight the arrangement looks quite artless and casual. The crowded scene on the left does not seem to be balanced by any corresponding group on the right. It is balanced through the emphasis which the light gives to the group of the Virgin and the Child. Correggio even more than Titian exploited the discovery that color and light can be used to balance forms and to direct our eyes along certain lines. It is we who rush to the scene with the shepherd and who are made to see what he sees—the miracle of the Light that shone in the darkness of which the Gospel of St. John speaks.”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 16: Light and Color,” The Story of Art, 15th century
“[The Italian artist] was no longer a craftsman among craftsman, ready to carry out commissions… He was a master in his own right, who could not achieve fame without exploring the mysteries of nature and probing into the secret laws of the universe. It was natural that the leading artists who had these ambitions felt aggrieved by their social status… Here was another challenge for the artists to meet, another spur which urged them on towards yet greater achievements that would compel the surrounding world to accept them… as men of unique and precious gifts… It was the love of fame on the part of the patrons which helped the artists to break down such prejudices… As there were many centers competing for the services of the most renowned masters, the masters in turn could dictate their terms. In earlier times it was the prince who bestowed his favors on the artist. Now it almost came to pass that the roles were reversed, and that the artist granted a favor to a rich prince or potentate by accepting a commission from him. Thus it came about that the artists could frequently choose the kind of commission which they like, and that they no longer needed to accommodate their works to the whims and fancies of their employers. Whether this new power was an unmixed blessings for art in the long run is difficult to decide. But at first, at any rate, it had the effect of a liberation which released a tremendous amount of pent-up energy. At last, the artist was free.”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 15: Harmony Attained,” The Story of Art, 15th edition
Descent from the Cross. Rogier van der Weyden. 1435.
“Rogier [van der Weyden], like Jan van Eyck, could faithfully reproduce every detail, every hair and every stitch. Nevertheless, his picture [The Descent from the Cross] does not represent a real scene. He has placed his figures on a kind of shallow stage against a neutral background. Remembering Pollaiuolo’s problems [with The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian], we can appreciate the wisdom of Rogier’s decision. He, too, had to make a large altar-painting to be seen from afar, and had to display the sacred theme to the faithful in the church. It has to be clear in outline, and satisfying as a pattern. Rogier’s picture fulfills these requirements without looking forced and self-conscious as does Pollaiouolo’s… In this way, by translating the main ideas of Gothic art into the new, lifelike style, Rogier did a great service to northern art. He saved much of the tradition of lucid design that might otherwise have been lost under the impact of Jan van Eyck’s discoveries. Henceforward northern artists tried, each in his own way, to reconcile the new demands on art with its old religious purpose.”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 14: Tradition and Innovation: The North,” The Story of Art, 15th edition
The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian. Antonio Pollaiuolo. 1457.
“[A]rtists in Florence became increasingly aware of the new problems that [their] inventions had created. In the first place flush of triumph they may have thought that the discovery of perspective and the study of nature could solve all difficulties which are presented. But we must not forget that art is altogether different from science. The artist’s means, his technical devices, can be developed, but art itself can hardly be said to progress in the way in which science progresses. Each discovery in one direction creates a new difficulty somewhere else… As soon as the new concept of making pictures a mirror of reality was adopted [the] question of how to arrange the figures was no longer so easy to solve. In reality figures do not group themselves harmoniously, nor do they stand out clearly against a neutral background. In other words, there was a danger that the new power of the artist would ruin his most precious gift of creating a pleasing and satisfying whole… [The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian] show the way in which… Antonio Pollaiuolo tried to solve this new problem of making a picture both accurate in draughstmanship and harmonious in composition. It is one of the first attempts of its kind to solve this question, not by tact and instinct alone, but by the application of definite rules. It may not be an altogether successful attempt, nor is it a very attractive picture, but it shows clearly how deliberately the Florentine artists set about it…
“Once art had chosen the path of vying with nature, there was no turning back…”
Ernst H. Gombrich, “Chapter 13: Tradition and Innovation: Italy,” The Story of Art, 15th edition
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