The Art of Illustration / 2nd ed.

THE ART OF ILLUSTRATION.

“THE TRUMPETER.” (SIR JOHN GILBERT, R.A.)
(Drawn in pen and ink, from his picture in the Royal Academy, 1883.)
[Size of drawing, 5½ by 4¾ in. Photo-zinc process.]

The Art of Illustration.

BY

HENRY BLACKBURN,

Editor of “Academy Notes,” Cantor Lecturer on Illustration, &c.

WITH

NINETY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS.

SECOND EDITION.

LONDON:
W. H. ALLEN & CO., Limited,

13, WATERLOO PLACE, S.W.
1896.

PRINTED BY
WYMAN AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON, W.C.

DEDICATED TO

SIR JOHN GILBERT, R.A.,

ONE OF THE PRINCIPAL PIONEERS

OF BOOK AND NEWSPAPER ILLUSTRATION.

(PEN-AND-INK DRAWING FROM HIS PICTURE, BY MR. CHARLES COLLINS, 1892.)
[Photo-zinc process.]

PREFACE.

HE object of this book is to explain the modern systems of Book and Newspaper Illustration, and especially the methods of drawing for what is commonly called “process,” on which so many artists are now engaged.

There is almost a revolution in illustration at the present time, and both old and young—teachers and scholars—are in want of a handbook for reference when turning to the new methods. The illustrator of to-day is called upon suddenly to take the place of the wood engraver in interpreting tone into line, and requires practical information which this book is intended to supply.

The most important branch of illustration treated of is line drawing, as it is practically out of reach of competition by the photographer, and is, moreover, the kind of drawing most easily reproduced and printed at the type press; but wash drawing, drawing upon grained papers, and the modern appliances for reproduction, are all treated of.

The best instructors in drawing for process are, after all, the painters of pictures who know so well how to express themselves in black and white, and to whom I owe many obligations. There is a wide distinction between their treatment of “illustration” and the so-called “pen-and-ink” artist.

The “genius” who strikes out a wonderful path of his own, whose scratches and splashes appear in so many books and newspapers, is of the “butterfly” order of being—a creation, so to speak, of the processes, and is not to be emulated or imitated. There is no reason but custom why, in drawing for process, a man’s coat should be made to look like straw, or the background (if there be a background) have the appearance of fireworks. No ability on the part of the illustrator will make these things tolerable in the near future. There is a reaction already, and signs of a better and more sober treatment of illustration, which only requires a better understanding of the requirements and limitations of the processes, to make it equal to some of the best work of the past.

The modern illustrator has much to learn—more than he imagines—in drawing for the processes. A study of examples by masters of line drawing—such as Holbein, Menzell, Fortuny or Sandys—or of the best work of the etchers, will not tell the student of to-day exactly what he requires to know; for they are nearly all misleading as to the principles upon which modern process work is based.

In painting we learn everything from the past—everything that it is best to know. In engraving also, we learn from the past the best way to interpret colour into line, but in drawing for the processes there is practically no “past” to refer to; at the same time the advance of the photographer into the domain of illustration renders it of vital importance to artists to put forth their best work in black and white, and it throws great responsibility upon art teachers to give a good groundwork of education to the illustrator of the future. In all this, education—general education—will take a wider part.

The Illustrations have been selected to show the possibilities of “process” work in educated, capable hands, rather than any tours de force in drawing, or exploits of genius. They are all of modern work, and are printed on the same sheets as the letterpress.

All the Illustrations in this book have been reproduced by mechanical processes, excepting nine (marked on the list), which are engraved on wood.

Acknowledgments are due to the Council of the Society of Arts for permission to reprint a portion of the Cantor Lectures on “Illustration” from their Journal; to the Editors of the National Review and the Nineteenth Century, for permission to reprint several pages from articles in those reviews; to the Editors and Publishers who have lent illustrations; and above all, to the artists whose works adorn these pages.

H. B.

123, Victoria Street, Westminster.

May, 1894.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

[The copyright of all pictures sketched in this book is strictly reserved.]

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.

HERE are, broadly speaking, two kinds of engraving for illustration in books, which are widely distinct—1. intaglio; 2. relievo. The first comprises all engravings, etchings, and photogravures in which the lines are cut or indented by acid or other means, into a steel or copper plate—a system employed, with many variations of method, from the time of Mantegna, Albert Dürer, Holbein and Rembrandt, to the French and English etchers of the present day. Engravings thus produced are little used in modern book illustration, as they cannot be printed easily on the same page as the letterpress; these planches à part, as the French term them, are costly to print and are suitable only for limited editions.

In the second, or ordinary form of illustration, the lines or pictures to be printed are left in relief; the design being generally made on wood with a pencil, and the parts not drawn upon cut away. This was the rudimentary and almost universal form of book-illustration, as practised in the fifteenth century, as revived in England by Bewick in the eighteenth, and continued to the present day. The blocks thus prepared can be printed rapidly on ordinary printing-presses, and on the same page as the text.

During the past few years so many processes have been put forward for producing drawings in relief, for printing with the type, that it has become a business in itself to test and understand them. The best known process is still wood engraving, at least it is the best for the fac-simile reproduction of drawings, as at present understood in England, whether they be drawn direct upon the wood or transmitted by photography. There is no process in relief which has the same certainty, which gives the same colour and brightness, and by which gradation of tone can be more truly rendered.

As to the relative value of the different photographic relief processes, that can only be decided by experts. Speaking generally, I may say that there are six or seven now in use, each of which is, I am informed, the best, and all of which are adapted for printing in the same manner as a wood-block.[1] Improvements in these processes are being made so rapidly that what was best yesterday will not be the best to-morrow, and it is a subject which is still little understood.

In the present book it is proposed to speak principally of the more popular form of illustration (relievo); but the changes which are taking place in all forms of engraving and illustration render it necessary to say a few words first upon intaglio. We have heard much of the “painter-etchers,” and of the claims of the etchers to recognition as original artists; and at the annual exhibition of the Society of Painter-Etchers in London, we have seen examples in which the effects produced in black and white seemed more allied to the painter’s art than to the engraver’s. But we are considering engraving as a means of interpreting the work of others, rather than as an original art.

The influence of photography is felt in nearly every department of illustration. The new photo-mechanical methods of engraving, without the aid of the engraver, have rendered drawing for fac-simile reproduction of more importance than ever; and the wonderful invention called photogravure, in which an engraving is made direct from an oil painting, is almost superseding handwork.[2]

No. II.

“Ashes of Roses,” by G. H. Boughton, A.R.A.

This careful drawing, from the painting by Mr. Boughton, in the Royal Academy, reproduced by the Dawson process, is interesting for variety of treatment and indication of textures in pen and ink. It is like the picture, but it has also the individuality of the draughtsman, as in line engraving.

Size of drawing about 6½ x 3½ in.

“BADMINTON IN THE STUDIO.” (FROM THE PAINTING BY R. W. MACBETH, A.R.A.)
(Royal Academy, 1891.)

The art of line-engraving is disappearing in England, giving way to the “painter-etchers,” the “dry-point” etchers and the “mezzotint engravers,” and, finally, to photogravure, a method of engraving which is so extraordinary, and so little understood (although it has been in constant use for more than ten years), that it may be worth while to explain, in a few words, the method as practised by Messrs. Boussod, Valadon & Co., successors to Goupil, of Paris.

In the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1882, Sir Frederick Leighton’s picture called “Wedded” will be remembered by many visitors. This picture was purchased for Australia, and had to be sent from England within a few weeks of the closing of the exhibition. There was no time to make an engraving, or even an etching satisfactorily, and so the picture was sent to Messrs. Goupil, who in a few weeks produced the photogravure, as it is called, which we see in the printsellers’ windows to this day. The operation is roughly as follows:—First, a photograph is taken direct from the picture; then a carbon print is taken from the negative upon glass, which rests upon the surface in delicate relief. From this print a cast is taken in reverse in copper, by placing the glass in a galvanic bath, the deposit of copper upon the glass taking the impression of the picture as certainly as snow takes the pattern of the ground upon which it falls. Thus—omitting details, and certain “secrets” of the process—it may be seen how modern science has superseded much of the engraver’s work, and how a mechanical process can produce in a few days that which formerly took years.

What the permanent art-estimate of “photo-engraving” may be, as a substitute for hand-work, is a question for the collectors of engravings and etchings. In the meantime, it is well that the public should know what a photogravure is, as distinct from an engraving. The system of mechanical engraving, in the reproduction of pictures, is spreading rapidly over the world; but it should be observed that these reproductions are not uniformly successful. One painter’s method of handling lends itself more readily than that of another to mechanical engraving. Thus the work of the President of the Royal Academy would reproduce better than that of Mr. G. F. Watts or Mr. Orchardson. That the actual marks of the brush, the very texture of the painting, can be transferred to copper and steel, and multiplied ad infinitum by this beautiful process, is a fact to which many English artists are keenly alive. The process has its limits, of course, and photogravure has at present to be assisted to a considerable extent by the engraver. But enough has been done in the last few years to prove that photography will henceforth take up the painter’s handiwork as he leaves it, and thus the importance of thoroughness and completeness on the part of the painter has to be more than ever insisted upon by the publishers of “engravings.”

A word may be useful here to explain that the coloured “photogravures,” reproducing the washes of colour in a painting or water-colour drawing, of which we see so many in Paris, are not coloured by hand in the ordinary way, but are produced complete, at one impression, from the printing-press. The colours are laid upon the plate, one by one, by the printer, by a system of stencilling; and thus an almost perfect fac-simile of a picture can be reproduced in pure colour, if the original is simple and broad in treatment.

No. III.

“A Son of Pan,” by William Padgett.

Example of outline drawing, put in solidly with a brush. If this had been done with pencil or autographic chalk, much of the feeling and expression of the original would have been lost. The drawing has suffered slightly in reproduction, where (as in the shadows on the neck and hands) the lines were pale in the original.

Size of drawing 11½ × 6½ in. Zinc process.

“HOME BY THE FERRY.” (FROM THE PAINTING BY EDWARD STOTT.)
(Royal Academy, 1891.)

One other point of interest and importance to collectors of engravings and etchings should be mentioned. Within the last few years, an invention for coating the surface of engraved plates with a film of steel (which can be renewed as often as necessary) renders the surface practically indestructible; and it is now possible to print a thousand impressions from a copper plate without injury or loss of quality. These modern inventions are no secrets, they have been described repeatedly in technical journals and in lectures, notably in those delivered during the past few years at the Society of Arts, and published in the Journal. But the majority of the public, and even many collectors of prints and etchings, are ignorant of the number of copies which can now be taken without deterioration from one plate.

It is necessary to the art amateur that he should know something of these things, if only to explain why it is that scratching on a copper plate has come so much into vogue in England lately, and why there has been such a remarkable revival of the art of Dürer at the end of this century. The reason for the movement will be better understood when it is explained that by the process just referred to, of “steeling” the surface of plates, the “burr,” as it is called, and the most delicate lines of the engraver are preserved intact for a much larger number of impressions than formerly. The taste for etchings and the higher forms of the reproductive arts is still spreading rapidly, but the fact remains that etchings and éditions de luxe do not reach one person in a thousand in any civilised community. It is only by means of wood engravings, and the cheaper and simpler forms of process illustration, that the public is appealed to pictorially through the press.

LINE PROCESS BLOCK.

[1] All the illustrations in this book are produced by mechanical processes excepting those marked in the List of Illustrations; and all are printed simultaneously with the letterpress. For description of processes, see Appendix.

[2] One of the last and best examples of pure line-engraving was by M. Joubert, from a painting by E. J. Poynter, R.A., called “Atalanta’s Race,” exhibited in the Royal Academy, 1876. The engraving of this picture was nearly three years in M. Joubert’s hands—a tardy process in these days.

“GREETING.” (BY THE HON. MRS. BOYLE.)

CHAPTER II.

ELEMENTARY ILLUSTRATION.

HE first object of an illustration, the practical part, is obviously, to illustrate and elucidate the text—a matter often lost sight of. The second is to be artistic, and includes works of the imagination, decoration, ornament, style. In this chapter we shall consider the first, the practical part.

Nearly twenty years ago, at a meeting of the Society of Arts in London, the general question was discussed, whether in the matter of illustrating books and newspapers we are really keeping pace with the times; whether those whose business it is to provide the illustrations which are tossed from steam presses at the rate of several thousand copies an hour, are doing the best work they can.

In illustrated newspapers, it was argued, “there should be a clearer distinction between fact and fiction, between news and pictures.” The exact words may be thought worth repeating now.[3]

“In the production of illustrations we have arrived at great proficiency, and from London are issued the best illustrated newspapers in the world. But our artistic skill has led us into temptation, and by degrees engendered a habit of making pictures when we ought to be recording facts. We have thus, through our cleverness, created a fashion and a demand from the public for something which is often elaborately untrue.

Would it, then, be too much to ask those who cater for (and really create) the public taste, that they should give us one of two things, or rather two things, in our illustrated papers, the real and the ideal—

1st. Pictorial records of events in the simplest and truest manner possible;

2nd. Pictures of the highest class that can be printed in a newspaper?

Here are two methods of illustration which only require to be kept distinct, each in its proper place, and our interest in them would be doubled. We ask first for a record of news and then for a picture gallery; and to know, to use a common phrase, which is which.”

At the time referred to, drawing on the wood-block and engraving were almost universal—instantaneous photography was in its infancy, “process blocks,” that is to say, mechanical engraving, was very seldom employed, and (for popular purposes) American engraving and printing was considered the best.

The system of producing illustrations in direct fac-simile of an artist’s drawing, suitable for printing at a type press without the aid of the wood engraver, is of such value for cheap and simple forms of illustration, and is, moreover, in such constant use, that it seems wonderful at first sight that it should not be better understood in England. But the cause is not far to seek. We have not yet acquired the art of pictorial expression in black and white, nor do many of our artists excel in “illustration” in the true sense of the word.

It has often been pointed out that through the pictorial system the mind receives impressions with the least effort and in the quickest way, and that the graphic method is the true way of imparting knowledge. Are we then, in the matter of giving information or in imparting knowledge through the medium of illustrations, adopting the truest and simplest methods? I venture to say that in the majority of cases we are doing nothing of the kind. We have pictures in abundance which delight the eye, which are artistically drawn and skilfully engraved, but in which, in nine cases out of ten, there is more thought given to effect as a picture than to illustrating the text.

It has often been suggested that the art of printing is, after all, but a questionable blessing on account of the error and the evil disseminated by it. Without going into that question, I think that we may find that the art of printing with movable type has led to some neglect of the art of expressing ourselves pictorially, and that the apparently inexorable necessity of running every word and thought into uniform lines, has cramped and limited our powers of expression, and of communicating ideas to each other.

Let us begin at the lowest step of the artistic ladder, and consider some forms of illustration which are within the reach of nearly every writer for the press. With the means now at command for reproducing any lines drawn or written, in perfect fac-simile, mounted on square blocks to range with the type, and giving little or no trouble to the printer, there is no question that we should more frequently see the hand work of the writer as well as of the artist appearing on the page. For example: it happens sometimes in a work of fiction, or in the record of some accident or event, that it is important to the clear understanding of the text, to know the exact position of a house, say at a street corner, and also (as in the case of a late trial for arson) which way the wind blew on a particular evening. Words are powerless to explain the position beyond the possibility of doubt or misconstruction; and yet words are, and have been, used for such purposes for hundreds of years, because it is “the custom.”

But if it were made plain that where words fail to express a meaning easily, a few lines, such as those above, drawn in ink on ordinary paper, may be substituted (and, if sent to the printer with the manuscript, will appear in fac-simile on the proof with the printed page), I think a new light may dawn on many minds, and new methods of expression come into vogue.

This illustration (which was written on the sheet of MS.) is one example, out of a hundred that might be given, where a diagram should come to the aid of the verbal description, now that the reproduction of lines for the press is no longer costly, and the blocks can be printed, if necessary, on rapidly revolving cylinders, which (by duplicating) can produce in a night 100,000 copies of a newspaper.

Before exploring some of the possibilities of illustration, it may be interesting to glance at what has been done in this direction since the invention of producing blocks rapidly to print at the type press and the improvements in machinery.

In the spring of 1873 a Canadian company started a daily illustrated evening newspaper in New York, called The Daily Graphic, which was to eclipse all previous publications by the rapidity and excellence of its illustrations. It started with an attempt to give a daily record of news, and its conductors made every effort to bring about a system of rapid sketching and drawing in line. But the public of New York in 1873 (as of London, apparently, in 1893) cared more for “pictures,” and so by degrees the paper degenerated into a picture-sheet, reproducing (without leave) engravings from the Illustrated London News, the Graphic, and other papers, as they arrived from England. The paper was lithographed, and survived until 1889.

The report of the first year’s working of the first daily illustrated newspaper in the world is worth recording. The proprietors stated that although the paper was started “in a year of great financial depression, they have abundant reason to be satisfied with their success,” and further, that they attribute it to “an absence of all sensational news.”(!)

The report ended with the following interesting paragraph:

“Pictorial records of crime, executions, scenes involving misery, and the more unwholesome phases of social life, are a positive detriment to a daily illustrated newspaper. In fact, the higher the tone and the better the taste appealed to, the larger we have found our circulation to be.”

The great art, it would seem, of conducting a daily illustrated newspaper is to know what to leave out—when, in fact, to have no illustrations at all!

In England the first systematic attempt at illustration in a daily newspaper was the insertion of a little map or weather chart in the Times in 1875, and the Pall Mall Gazette followed suit with a dial showing the direction of the wind, and afterwards with other explanatory diagrams and sketches.

But, in June, 1875, the Times and all other newspapers in England were far distanced by the New York Tribune in reporting the result of a shooting match in Dublin between an American Rifle Corps and some of our volunteers. On the morning after the contest there were long verbal reports in the English papers, describing the shooting and the results; but in the pages of the New York Tribune there appeared a series of targets with the shots of the successful competitors marked upon them, communicated by telegraph and printed in the paper in America on the following morning.[4]

After this period we seem to have moved slowly, only some very important geographical discovery, or event, extorting from the daily newspapers an explanatory plan or diagram. But during the “Transit of Venus,” on the 6th of December, 1882, a gleam of light was vouchsafed to the readers of the Daily Telegraph (and possibly to other papers), and that exciting astronomical event from which “mankind was to obtain a clearer knowledge of the scale of the universe,” was understood and remembered better, by three or four lines in the form of a diagram (showing, roughly, the track of Venus and its comparative size and distance from the sun) printed in the newspaper on the day of the event.

Maps and plans have appeared from time to time in all the daily newspapers, but not systematically, or their interest and usefulness would have been much greater. Many instances might be given of the use of diagrams in newspapers; a little dial showing the direction of the wind, is obviously better than words and figures, but it is only lately that printing difficulties have been overcome, and that the system can be widely extended.

It remains to be seen how far the Daily Graphic, with experience and capital at command, will aid in a system of illustration which is one day to become general. Thus far it would seem that the production of a large number of pictures (more or less à-propos) is the popular thing to do. We may be excused if we are disappointed in the result from a practical point of view; for as the functions of a daily newspaper are primâ facie to record facts, it follows that if words fail to communicate the right meaning, pictorial expression should come to the aid of the verbal, no matter how crude or inartistic the result might appear.

Let me give one or two examples, out of many which come to mind.

1. The transmission of form by telegraph. To realise the importance of this system in conveying news, we have only to consider (going back nearly forty years) what interest would have been added to Dr. Russell’s letters from the Crimea in the Times newspaper, if it had been considered possible, then, to have inserted, here and there, with the type, a line or two pictorially giving (e.g.) the outline of a hillside, and the position of troops upon it. It was possible to do this in 1855, but it is much more feasible now. The transmission of form by telegraph is of the utmost importance to journalists and scientific men, and, as our electricians have not yet determined the best methods, it may be interesting to point out the simplest and most rudimentary means at hand. The method is well known in the army and is used for field purposes, but hitherto newspapers have been strangely slow to avail themselves of it. The diagram on the opposite page will explain a system which is capable of much development with and without the aid of photography.

If the reader will imagine this series of squares to represent a portable piece of open trellis-work, which might be set up at a window or in the open field, between the spectator and any object of interest at a distance—each square representing a number corresponding with a code in universal use—it will be obvious, that by noticing the squares which the outline of a hill would cover, and telegraphing the numbers of the squares, something in the way of form and outline may be quickly communicated from the other side of the world.

CODE FOR TRANSMITTING FORM BY TELEGRAPH.

This is for rough-and-ready use in time of war, when rapidity of communication is of the first importance; but in time of peace a correspondent’s letter continually requires elucidation.

Next is an example, which, for want of better words, I will call “the shorthand of pictorial art.” A newspaper correspondent is in a boat on one of the Italian lakes, and wishes to describe the scene on a calm summer day. This is how he proceeds—

“We are shut in by mountains,” he says, “but the blue lake seems as wide as the sea. On a rocky promontory on the left hand the trees grow down to the water’s edge and the banks are precipitous, indicating the great depth of this part of the lake. The water is as smooth as glass; on its surface is one vessel, a heavily-laden market boat with drooping sails, floating slowly down” (and so on)—there is no need to repeat it all; but when half a column of word-painting had been written (and well-written) the correspondent failed to present the picture clearly to the eye without these four explanatory lines (no more) which should of course have been sent with his letter.

This method of description requires certain aptitude and training; but not much, not more than many a journalist could acquire for himself with a little practice. The director of the Daily Graphic is reported to have said that “the ideal correspondent, who can sketch as well as write, is not yet born.” He takes perhaps a higher view of the artistic functions of a daily newspaper than we should be disposed to grant him; by “we” I mean, of course, “the public,” expecting news in the most graphic manner. There are, and will be, many moments when we want information, simply and solely, and care little how, or in what shape, it comes.

This kind of information, given pictorially, has no pretension to be artistic, but it is “illustration” in the true sense of the word, and its value when rightly applied is great. When the alterations at Hyde Park Corner (one of the most important of the London improvements of our day) were first debated in Parliament, a daily newspaper, as if moved by some sudden flash of intelligence, printed a ground-plan of the proposed alterations with descriptive text; and once or twice only, during Stanley’s long absence in Africa, did we have sketches or plans printed with the letters to elucidate the text, such as a sketch of the floating islands with their weird inhabitants, at Stanley’s Station on the Congo river, which appeared in a daily newspaper—instances of news presented to the reader in a better form than words. “The very thing that was wanted!” was the general exclamation, as if there were some new discovery of the powers of description.

As the war correspondent’s occupation does not appear likely to cease in our time, it would seem worth while to make sure that he is fully equipped.

The method of writing employed by correspondents on the field of battle seems unnecessarily clumsy and prolix; we hear of letters written actually under fire, on a drum-head, or in the saddle, and on opening the packet as it arrives by the post we may find, if we take the trouble to measure it, that the point of the pen or pencil, has travelled over a distance of a hundred feet! This is the actual ascertained measurement, taking into account all the ups and downs, crosses and dashes, as it arrives from abroad. No wonder the typewriter is resorted to in journalism wherever possible.

A newspaper correspondent is sent suddenly to the seat of war, or is stationed in some remote country to give the readers of a newspaper the benefit of his observations. What is he doing in 1894? In the imperfect, clumsy language which he possesses in common with every minister of state and public schoolboy, he proceeds to describe what he sees in a hundred lines, when with two or three strokes of the pen he might have expressed his meaning better pictorially. I have used these words before, but they apply with redoubled force at the present time. The fact is, that with the means now at command for reproducing any lines drawn or written, the correspondent is not thoroughly equipped if he cannot send them as suggested, by telegraph or by letter. It is all a matter of education, and the newspaper reporter of the future will not be considered complete unless he is able to express himself, to some extent, pictorially as well as verbally. Then, and not till then, will our complicated language be rescued from many obscurities, by the aid of lines other than verbal.[5]

In nearly every city, town, or place there is some feature, architectural or natural, which gives character to it, and it would add greatly to the interest of letters from abroad if they were headed with a little outline sketch, or indication of the principal objects. This is seldom done, because the art of looking at things, and the power of putting them down simply in a few lines, has not been cultivated and is not given to many.

Two things are principally necessary to attain this end—

A STUDY IN PERSPECTIVE. (HUME NISBET.)
A. Standpoint. B. Point of Sight. C. Horizontal line. D. Vanishing lines.
E. Point of distance. F. Vanishing lines of distance. G. Line of sight.

1. The education of hand and eye and a knowledge of perspective, to be imparted to every schoolboy, no matter what his profession or occupation is likely to be.

2. The education of the public to read aright this new language (new to most people), the “shorthand of pictorial art.”

The popular theory amongst editors and publishers is that the public would not care for information presented to them in this way—that they “would not understand it and would not buy it.” Sketches of the kind indicated have never been fairly tried in England; but they are increasing in number every day, and the time is not far distant when we shall look back upon the present system with considerable amusement and on a book or a newspaper which is not illustrated as an incomplete production. The number of illustrations produced and consumed daily in the printing press is enormous; but they are too much of one pattern, and, as a rule, too elaborate.

In the illustration of books of all kinds there should be a more general use of diagrams and plans to elucidate the text. No new building of importance should be described anywhere without an indication of the elevation, if not also of the ground plan; and, as a rule, no picture should be described without a sketch to indicate the composition. In history words so often fail to give the correct locale that it seems wonderful we have no better method in common use. The following rough plan will illustrate one of the simplest ways of making a description clear to the reader. Take the verbal one first:—

“The young Bretonne stood under the doorway of the house, sheltered from the rain which came with the soft west wind. From her point of vantage on the ‘Place’ she commanded a view of the whole village, and could see down the four streets of which it was principally composed.”

In this instance a writer was at some pains to describe (and failed to describe in three pages) the exact position of the streets near where the girl stood; and it was a situation in which photography could hardly help him.

It may seem strange at first sight to occupy the pages of a book on art with diagrams and elementary outlines, but it must be remembered that plans and diagrams are at the basis of a system of illustration which will one day become general. The reason, as already pointed out, for drawing attention to the subject now, is that it is only lately that systems have been perfected for reproducing lines on the printed page almost as rapidly as setting up the type. Thus a new era, so to speak, in the art of expressing ourselves pictorially as well as verbally has commenced: the means of reproduction are to hand; the blocks can be made, if necessary, in less than three hours, and copies can be printed on revolving cylinders at the rate of 10,000 an hour.

The advance in scientific discovery by means of subtle instruments brings the surgeon sometimes to the knowledge of facts which, in the interests of science, he requires to demonstrate graphically, objects which it would often be impossible to have photographed. With a rudimentary knowledge of drawing and perspective, the surgeon and the astronomer would both be better equipped. At the University of Pennsylvania, in Philadelphia, where the majority of students are intended for the medical profession, this subject is considered of high importance, and the student in America is learning to express himself in a language that can be understood.

In architecture it is often necessary, in order to understand the description of a building, to indicate in a few lines not only the general plan and elevation, but also its position in perspective in a landscape or street. Few architects can do this if called upon at a moment’s notice in a Parliamentary committee room. And yet it is a necessary part of the language of an architect.[6]

These remarks apply with great force to books of travel, where an author should be able to take part in the drawing of his illustrations, at least to the extent of being able to explain his meaning and ensure topographical accuracy.

A curious experiment was made lately with some students in an Art school, to prove the fallacy of the accepted system of describing landscapes, buildings, and the like in words. A page or two from one of the Waverley novels (a description of a castle and the heights of mountainous land, with a river winding in the valley towards the sea, and clusters of houses and trees on the right hand) was read slowly and repeated before a number of students, three of whom, standing apart from each other by pre-arrangement, proceeded to indicate on blackboards before an audience the leading lines of the picture as the words had presented it to their minds. It is needless to say that the results, highly skilful in one case, were all different, and all wrong; and that in particular the horizon line of the sea (so easy to indicate with any clue, and so important to the composition) was hopelessly out of place. Thus we describe day by day, and the pictures formed in the mind are erroneous, for the imagination of the reader is at work at once, and requires simple guidance. The exhibition was, I need hardly say, highly stimulating and suggestive.

Many arguments might be used for the substitution of pictorial for verbal methods of expression, which apply to books as well as periodicals. Two may be mentioned of a purely topical kind.

1. In June, 1893, when the strife of political parties ran high in England, and anything like a rapprochement between their leaders seemed impossible, Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Balfour were seen in apparently friendly conversation behind the Speaker’s chair in the House of Commons. A newspaper reporter in one of the galleries, observing the interesting situation, does not say in so many words, that “Mr. G. was seen talking to Mr. B.,” but makes, or has made for him, a sketch (without caricature) of the two figures standing talking together, and writes under it, “Amenities behind the Speaker’s chair.” Here it will be seen that the subject is approached with more delicacy, and the position indicated with greater force through the pictorial method.

2. The second modern instance of the power—the eloquence, so to speak, of the pictorial method—appeared in the pages of Punch on the occasion of the visit of the Russian sailors to Paris in October, 1893. A rollicking, dancing Russian bear, with the words “Vive la République” wound round his head, hit the situation as no words could have done, especially when exposed for sale in the kiosques of the Paris boulevards. The picture required no translation into the languages of Europe.

It may be said that there is nothing new here—that the political cartoon is everywhere—that it has existed always, that it flourished in Athens and Rome, that all history teems with it, that it comes down to us on English soil through Gillray, Rowlandson, Hogarth, Blake, and many distinguished names. I draw attention to these things because the town is laden with newspapers and illustrated sheets. The tendency of the time seems to be to read less and less, and to depend more upon pictorial records of events. There are underlying reasons for this on which we must not dwell; the point of importance to illustrators is the fact that there is an insatiable demand for “pictures” which tell us something quickly and accurately, in a language which every nation can understand.

Another example of the use of pictorial expression to aid the verbal. A traveller in the Harz Mountains finds himself on the Zeigenkop, near Blankenberg, on a clear summer’s day, and thus describes it in words:—

“We are now on the heights above Blankenberg, a promontory 1,360 feet above the plains, with an almost uninterrupted view of distant country looking northward and eastward. The plateau of mountains on which we have been travelling here ends abruptly. It is the end of the upper world, but the plains seem illimitable. There is nothing between us and our homes in Berlin—nothing to impede the view which it is almost impossible to describe in words. The setting sun has pierced the veil of mist, and a map of Northern Germany seems unrolled before us, distant cities coming into view one by one. First, we see Halberstadt with its spires, then Magdeburg, then another city, and another.

“We have been so occupied with the distant prospect, and with the objects of interest which give character to it, that we had almost overlooked the charming composition and suggestive lines of this wonderful view. There is an ancient castle on the heights, the town of Blankenberg at our feet, a strange wall of perpendicular rocks in the middle distance; there are the curves of the valleys, flat pastures, undulating woods, and roads winding away across the plains. The central point of interest is the church spire with its cluster of houses spreading upwards towards the château, with its massive terraces fringed with trees, &c., &c.”

This was all very well in word-painting, but what a veil is lifted from the reader’s eyes by some such sketch as the one below.

VIEW ABOVE BLANKENBERG, HARZ MOUNTAINS.

It should be mentioned that three photographic prints joined together would hardly have given the picture, owing to the vast extent of this inland view, and the varying atmospheric effects.

The last instance I can give here is an engraving from Cassell’s Popular Educator, where a picture is used to demonstrate the curvature of the world’s surface; thus imprinting, for once, and for always, on the young reader’s mind a fact which words fail to describe adequately.

THE CURVATURE OF THE WORLDS SURFACE.

This is “The Art of Illustration” in the true sense of the word.

[3] The quotations are from a paper by the present writer, read before the Society of Arts in March, 1875.

[4] This system of reporting rifle contests is now almost universal in England.

[5] It seems strange that enterprising newspapers, with capital at command, such as the New York Herald, Daily Telegraph, and Pall Mall Gazette, should not have developed so obvious a method of transmitting information. The Pall Mall Gazette has been the most active in this direction, but might do much more.

[6] It has been well said that if a building can be described in words, it is not worth describing at all!

CHAPTER III.

ARTISTIC ILLUSTRATIONS.

N referring now to more artistic illustrations, we should notice first, some of the changes which have taken place (since the meeting referred to in the last chapter), and, bridging over a distance of nearly twenty years, consider the work of the illustrator, the photographer, and the maker of process blocks, as presented in books and newspapers in 1894; speaking principally of topical illustrations, on which so many thousand people are now engaged.

It may seem strange at first sight to include “newspapers” in a chapter on art illustrations, but the fact is that the weekly newspapers, with their new appliances for printing, and in consequence of the cheapness of good paper, are now competing with books and magazines in the production of illustrations which a few years ago were only to be found in books. The illustrated newspaper is one of the great employers of labour in this field and distributor of the work of the artist in black and white, and in this connection must by no means be ignored. The Post-office carries a volume of 164 pages (each 22 by 16 inches), weighing from two to three pounds, for a half-penny. It is called a “weekly newspaper,” but it contains, sometimes, 100 illustrations, and competes seriously with the production of illustrated books.

Further on we shall see how the illustrations of one number of a weekly newspaper are produced—what part the original artist has in it, what part the engraver and the photographer. These are things with which all students should be acquainted.

The first stage of illustration, where little more than a plan or elevation of a building is aimed at (as suggested in the last chapter), and where an author, with little artistic knowledge, is yet enabled to explain himself, is comparatively easy; it is when we approach the hazardous domain of art that the real difficulties begin.

As matters stand at present, it is scarcely too much to say that the majority of art students and the younger school of draughtsmen in this country are “all abroad” in the matter of drawing for the press, lacking, not industry, not capacity, but method. That they do good work in abundance is not denied, but it is not exactly the kind of work required—in short, they are not taught at the outset the value of a line. That greater skill and certainty of drawing can be attained by our younger draughtsmen is unquestionable, and, bearing in mind that nearly every book and newspaper in the future will be illustrated, the importance of study in this direction is much greater than may appear at first sight.

No. IV.

“Tiresome Dog,” by E. K. Johnson.

This example of pen-and-ink work has been reproduced by the gelatine relief process. The drawing, which has been greatly reduced in reproduction, was made by Mr. Johnson for an Illustrated Catalogue of the Royal Water-Colour Society, of which he is a member.

It is instructive as showing the possibilities and limitations of relief process-work in good hands. The gradation of tone is all obtained in pure black, or dotted lines. Mr. Dawson has aided the effect by “rouletting” on the block on the more delicate parts; but most of the examples in this book are untouched by the engraver.

(See Appendix.)

“FRUSTRATED.” (FROM THE PAINTING BY WALTER HUNT.)
(Royal Academy, 1891.)

Referring to the evident want of training amongst our younger draughtsmen, the question was put very bluntly in the Athenæum some years ago, thus:—

Why is not drawing in line with pen and ink taught in our own Government schools of art? The present system in schools seems to render the art of drawing of as little use to the student as possible, for he has no sooner mastered the preliminary stage of drawing in outline from the flat with a lead pencil, than he has chalk put into his hand, a material which he will seldom or never use in turning his knowledge of drawing to practical account. The readier method of pen and ink would be of great service as a preparatory stage to wood drawing, but unfortunately drawing is taught in most cases as though the student intended only to become a painter.

Since these lines were written, efforts have been made in some schools of art to give special training for illustrators, and instruction is also given in wood engraving, which every draughtsman should learn; but up to the present time there has been no systematic teaching in drawing applicable to the various processes, for the reason that the majority of art masters do not understand them.

“ON THE RIVIERA.” (ELLEN MONTALBA.)

The art of expression in line, or of expressing the effect of a picture or a landscape from Nature in a few leading lines (not necessarily outline) is little understood in this country; and if such study, as the Athenæum pointed out, is important for the wood draughtsman, how much more so in drawing for reproduction by photo-mechanical means? A few artists have the gift of expressing themselves in line, but the majority are strangely ignorant of the principles of this art and of the simple fac-simile processes by which drawing can now be reproduced. In the course of twenty years of editing the Academy Notes, some strange facts have come to the writer’s notice as to the powerlessness of some painters to express the motif of a picture in a few lines; also as to how far we are behind our continental neighbours in this respect.

“A LIGHT OF LAUGHING FLOWERS ALONG THE GRASS IS SPREAD.” (M. RIDLEY CORBET.)

No. V.

H. S. Marks.

An example of line drawing and “the art of leaving out,” by the well-known Royal Academician.

Mr. Marks and Sir John Gilbert (see frontispiece) were the first painters to explain the composition and leading lines of their pictures in the Academy Notes in 1876. Mr. Marks suggests light and shade and the character of his picture in a few skilful lines. Sir John Gilbert’s pen-and-ink drawing is also full of force and individuality. These drawings reproduce well by any of the processes.

“A SELECT COMMITTEE.” (FROM THE PAINTING BY H. S. MARKS, R.A.)
(Royal Academy, 1891.)

It is interesting to note here the firmness of line and clearness of reproduction by the common process block; the result being more satisfactory than many drawings by professional illustrators. The reason is not far to seek; the painter knows his picture and how to give the effect of it in black and white, in a few lines; and, in the case of Mr. Corbet and Miss Montalba, they have made themselves acquainted with the best way of drawing for the Press. There are many other methods than pen-and-ink which draughtsmen use,—pencil, chalk, wash, grained paper, &c, but first as to line drawing, because it is the only means by which certain results can be obtained, and it is the one which, for practical reasons, should be first mastered. Line drawings are now reproduced on zinc blocks fitted for the type press at a cost of less than sixpence the square inch for large blocks; the processes of reproduction will be explained further on.

It cannot be sufficiently borne in mind—I am speaking now to students who are not intimate with the subject—that to produce with pure black lines the quality and effect of lines in which there is some gradation of tone, is no easy matter, especially to those accustomed to the wood engraver as the interpreter of their work. Sir John Tenniel, M. du Maurier, and Mr. Sambourne, not to mention others on the Punch staff, have been accustomed to draw for wood engraving, and would probably still prefer this method to any other.

“THE ROSE QUEEN.” (G. D. LESLIE, R.A.)
(From “Academy Notes,” 1893.)

But the young illustrator has to learn the newer methods, and how to get his effects through direct photo-engraving. What may be done by process is demonstrated in the line drawings interspersed through these pages, also in the illustrations which are appearing every day in our newspapers, magazines, and books—especially those which are well printed and on good paper. Mr. George Leslie’s pretty line drawing from his picture, on the opposite page, is full of suggestion for illustrative purposes.

But let us glance first at the ordinary hand-book teaching, and see how far it is useful to the illustrator of to-day. The rules laid down as to the methods of line work, the direction of lines for the expression of certain textures, “cross-hatching,” &c., are, if followed too closely, apt to lead to hardness and mannerism in the young artist, which he will with difficulty shake off. On these points, Mr. Robertson, the well-known painter and etcher, writing seven years ago, says well:—

“The mental properties of every line drawn with pen and ink should be original and personal ... this strong point is sure to be attained unconsciously, if an artist’s work is simple and sincere, and not the imitation of another man’s style.”[7]

When the question arises as to what examples a beginner should copy who wishes to practise the art of pen-and-ink drawing, the difficulty will be to select from the great and varied stores of material that are everywhere to his hand. All steel and copper-plate engravings that have been executed in line, and all wood engravings, are within the possible range of pen-and-ink drawing. I hold, however, that much time should not be occupied in the imitatative copying of prints: only, indeed, so much as enables the student to learn with what arrangement of lines the different textures and qualities of objects may be best rendered.

There are, roughly, two methods of obtaining effect with a pen—one by few lines, laid slowly, and the other by many lines, drawn with rapidity. If the intention is to see what effect may be obtained with comparatively few lines deliberately drawn, we may refer to the woodcuts after Albert Dürer and Holbein, and the line engraving of Marc Antonio. The engraved plates by Dürer furnish excellent examples of work, with more and finer lines than his woodcuts [but many of the latter were not done by his hand]. “Some of the etchings of Rembrandt are examples of what may be fairly reproduced in pen and ink, but in them we find the effect to depend upon innumerable lines in all directions. In the matter of landscape the etched plates by Claude and Ruysdael are good examples for study, and in animal life the work of Paul Potter and Dujardin.”

Thus, for style, for mastery of effect and management of line, we must go back to the old masters; to work produced generally in a reposeful life, to which the younger generation are strangers. But the mere copying of other men’s lines is of little avail without mastering the principles of the art of line drawing. The skilful copies, the fac-similes of engravings and etchings drawn in pen and ink, which are the admiration of the young artist’s friends, are of little or no value in deciding the aptitude of the student. The following words are worth placing on the walls of every art school:—

“Proficiency in copying engravings in fac-simile, far from suggesting promise of distinction in the profession of art, plainly marks a tendency to mechanical pursuits, and is not likely to be acquired by anyone with much instinctive feeling for the arts of design.” There is much truth and insight in this remark.

“THE FINDING OF THE INFANT ST. GEORGE.” (CHARLES M. GERE.
(From his painting in the New Gallery, 1893.)

In line work, as now understood, we are going back, in a measure, to the point of view of the missal writer and the illuminator, who, with no thought of the possibilities of reproduction, produced many of his decorative pages by management of line alone (I refer to the parts of his work in which the effect was produced by black and white). No amount of patience, thought, and labour was spared for this one copy. What would he have said if told that in centuries to come this line work would be revived in its integrity, with the possibility of the artist’s own lines being reproduced 100,000 times, at the rate of several thousand an hour. And what would he have thought if told that, out of thousands of students in centuries to come, a few, a very few only, could produce a decorative page; and that few could be brought to realise that a work which was to be repeated, say a thousand times, was worthy of as much attention as his ancestors gave to a single copy!

On the principle that “everything worth doing is worth doing well,” and on the assumption that the processes in common use—[I purposely omit mention here of the older systems of drawing on transfer paper, and drawing on waxed plates, without the aid of photography, which have been dealt with in previous books]—are worth all the care and artistic knowledge which can be bestowed upon them, we would press, upon young artists especially, the importance of study and experiment in this direction. As there is no question that “the handwork of the artist” can be seen more clearly through mechanical engraving than through wood engraving, it behoves him to do his best. And as we are substituting process blocks for wood engraving in every direction, so we should take over some of the patience and care which were formerly given to book illustrations.

We cannot live, easily, in the “cloistered silence of the past,” but we can emulate the deliberate and thoughtful work of Mantegna, of Holbein, of Albert Dürer, and the great men of the past, who, if they were alive to-day, would undoubtedly have preferred drawing for process to the labour of etching and engraving; and, if their work were to be reproduced by others, they would have perceived, what it does not require much insight in us to realise, that the individuality of the artist is better preserved, by making his own lines.

To do this successfully in these days, the artist must give his best and most deliberate (instead of his hurried and careless) drawings to the processes; founding his style, to a limited extent it may be, on old work, but preserving his own individuality.

But we must not slavishly copy sketches by the old masters, which were never intended for reproduction. We may learn from the study of them the power of line to express character, action, and effect, we may learn composition sometimes, but not often from a sketch.

“A PLOUGHBOY.” (G. CLAUSEN.)

As to copying the work of living artists, it should be remembered that the manner and the method of a line drawing is each artist’s property, and the repetition of it by others is injurious to him. It would be an easy method indeed if the young artist, fresh from the schools, could, in a few weeks, imitate the mannerism, say of Sir John Gilbert, whose style is founded upon the labour of 50 years. There is no such royal road.

No. VI.

“A Ploughboy,” by George Clausen.

An excellent example of sketching in line. The original drawing was 7¾ × 5¾ in. I have reproduced Mr. Clausen’s artistic sketch of his picture in two sizes in order to compare results. The small block on page 59 (printed in Grosvenor Notes, 1888) appears to be the most suitable reduction for this drawing. The results are worth comparing by anyone studying process work. The first block was made by the gelatine process; the one opposite by the ordinary zinc process. (See Appendix.)

To return to illustration. The education of the illustrator in these days means much more than mere art training. The tendency of editors of magazines and newspapers is to employ those who can write as well as draw. This may not be a very hopeful sign from an art point of view, but it is a condition of things which we have to face. Much as we may desire to see a good artist and a good raconteur in one man, the combination will always be rare; those editors who seek for it are often tempted to accept inferior art for the sake of the story. I mention this as one of the influences affecting the quality of illustrations of an ephemeral or topical kind, which should not be overlooked.

In sketches of society the education and standing of the artist has much to do with his success. M. du Maurier’s work in Punch may be taken as an example of what I mean, combining excellent art with knowledge of society. His clever followers and imitators lack something which cannot be learned in an art school.

It should be understood that, in drawing for reproduction by any of the mechanical processes (either in wash or in line, but especially the latter), there is more strain on the artist than when his work was engraved on wood, and the knowledge of this has left drawing for process principally in the hands of the younger men. They will be older by the end of the century, but not as old then as some of our best and experienced illustrators who keep to wood engraving.

No. VII.

“Blowing Bubbles,” by C. E. Wilson.

This is an excellent example of drawing—and of treatment of textures and surfaces—for process reproduction. The few pen touches on the drapery have come out with great fidelity, the double lines marking the paving stones being the only part giving any trouble to the maker of the gelatine relief block. The skilful management of the parts in light shows again “the art of leaving out.”

I am touching now upon a difficult and delicate part of the subject, and must endeavour to make my meaning clear. The illustrations in Punch have, until lately, all been engraved on wood (the elder artists on the staff not taking kindly to the processes), and the style and manner of line we see in its pages is due in great measure to the influence of the wood engraver.[8]

This refers to fac-simile work, but the engraver, as we know, also interprets wash into clean lines, helps out the timid and often unsteady draughtsman, and in little matters puts his drawing right.

The wood engraver was apprenticed to his art, and after long and laborious teaching, mastered the mechanical difficulties. If he had the artistic sense he soon developed into a master-engraver and illustrator, and from crude and often weak and inartistic drawings produced illustrations full of tone, quality, and beauty. From very slight material handed to him by the publisher, the wood engraver would evolve (from his inner consciousness, so to speak) an elaborate and graceful series of illustrations, drawn on the wood block by artists in his own employ, who had special training, and knew exactly how to produce the effects required. The system often involved much care and research for details of costume, architecture, and the like, and, if not very high art, was at least well paid for, and appreciated by the public. I am speaking of the average illustrated book, say of twenty years ago, when it was not an uncommon thing to spend £500 or £600 on the engravings. Let us hope that the highest kind of wood engraving will always find a home in England.

Nobody knows—nobody ever will know—how much the engraver has done for the artist in years past. “For good or evil,”—it may be said; but I am thinking now only of the good, of occasions when the engraver has had to interpret the artist’s meaning, and sometimes, it must be confessed, to come to the rescue and perfect imperfect work.

No. VIII.

Illustration to “Dreamland in History,” by Dr. Gloucester. (London: Isbister & Co.) Drawn by Herbert Railton.

Example of brilliancy and simplicity of treatment in line drawing for process. There is no illustration in this book which shows better the scope and variety of common process work. Mr. Railton has studied his process, and brought to it a knowledge of architecture and sense of the picturesque. This illustration is reduced considerably from the original drawing.

The artist who draws for reproduction by chemical and mechanical means is thrown upon his own resources. He cannot say to the acid, “Make these lines a little sharper,” or to the sun’s rays, “Give a little more light”; and so—as we cannot often have good wood engraving, as it is not always cheap enough or rapid enough for our needs—we draw on paper what we want reproduced, and resort to one of the photographic processes described in this book.

“BY UNFREQUENTED WAYS.” (W. H. GORE.)

I do not think the modern illustrator realises how much depends upon him in taking the place, so to speak, of the wood engraver. The interpretation of tone into line fitted for the type press, to which the wood engraver gave a lifetime, will devolve more and more upon him. We cannot keep this too continually in mind, for in spite of the limitations in mechanically-produced blocks (as compared with wood engraving) in obtaining delicate effects of tone in line, much can be done in which the engraver has no part.

“THE LOWING HERD WINDS SLOWLY O’ER THE LEA.” (W H. GORE.)

I purposely place these two pen-and-ink drawings by Mr. Gore side by side, to show what delicacy of line and tone may be obtained on a relief block by proper treatment. One could hardly point to better examples of pure line. They were drawn on ordinary cardboard (the one above, 4¼ × 9¾ in.) and reproduced by the gelatine relief process.

All this, it will be observed, points to a more delicate and intelligent use of the process block than is generally allowed, to something, in short very different to the thin sketchy outlines and scribbles which are considered the proper style for the “pen-and-ink artist.”

But “the values” are scarcely ever considered in this connection. Mr. Hamerton makes a curious error in his Graphic Arts, where he advocates the use of the “black blot in pen drawing,” arguing that as we use liberally white paper to express air and various degrees of light, so we may use masses of solid black to represent many gradations of darkness. A little reflection will convince anyone that this is no argument at all.

Mr. Ruskin’s advice in his Elements of Drawing, as to how to lay flat tints by means of pure black lines (although written many years ago, and before mechanical processes of reproduction were in vogue) is singularly applicable and useful to the student of to-day; especially where he reminds him that, “if you cannot gradate well with pure black lines, you will never do so with pale ones.”

To “gradate well with pure black lines” is, so to speak, the whole art and mystery of drawing for the photo-zinc process, of which one London firm alone turns out more than a thousand blocks a week.

As to the amount of reduction that a drawing will bear in reproduction, it cannot be sufficiently widely known, that in spite of rules laid down, there is no rule about it.

“ADVERSITY.” (FRED. HALL.)

It is interesting to compare this reproduction with the larger one overleaf. There is no limit to the experiments which may be made in reduction, if pursued on scientific principles.

No. IX.

“Adversity,” by Fred. Hall.

This fine drawing was made in pen and ink by Mr. Hall, from his picture in the Royal Academy, 1889. Size of original 14½ × 11½ in. Reproduced by gelatine blocks.

The feeling in line is conspicuous in both blocks, many painters might prefer the smaller.

“A WILLOWY STREAM.” (FROM THE PAINTING BY MAUD NAFTEL.)
(New Gallery, 1889.)